Unmet at Euston in a dream Of London under Turner’s steam Misting the iron gantries, I Found myself running away From Scotland into the golden city.
I ran down Gray’s Inn Road and ran Till I was under a black bridge. This was me at nineteen Late at night arriving between The buildings of the City of London.
And the I (O I have fallen down) Fell in my dream beside the Bank Of England’s wall to be, me With my money belt of Northern ice. I found Eliot and he said yes
And sprang into a Holmes cab. Boswell passed me in the fog Going to visit Whistler who Was with John Donne who had just seen Paul Potts shouting on Soho Green.
Midnight. I hear the moon Light chiming on St Paul’s.
The City is empty. Night Watchmen are drinking their tea,
The Fire had burnt out. The Plague’s pits had closed And gone into literature.
Between the big buildings I sat like a flea crouched In the stopped works of a watch.
Who wrote this poem: W.S. Graham
What is this poem about: I think that it is about a prson who is in paris and is just running around the city and seeing its attractions
How does this make you feel: It makes me want to visit london and just run around the city
What words does the poet use to evoke imagery:Fell in my dream beside the Bank Of England’s wall to be
Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun? Or fester like a sore— And then run? Does it stink like rotten meat? Or crust and sugar over— like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe it just sags like a heavy load.
Or does it explode?
Who wrote the poem?: Langston Hughes
What is the poem about?: This poem was in Harlem Renaissance time period.Blacks faced prejudice and segregation;Their dream was to acquire equal rights.Langston Hughes asks if the dreams of the black community are ignored deferred.Their dream was untreated and was simply abandoned and neglected.
How does it make you feel?: I feel that when Langston Hughes dreams be deferred he is mature about it and says it in a pure speech.
What words does the poet use to evoke imagery?:Dry up like a raisin in the sun.Fester like a sore And then run.Stink like rotten meat.Crust and sugar over like a syrupy sweet.sags like a heavy load.
But you made every delicate, elegant wrist & glistening ankle. But you made them beautiful in braided rope & dime store gold. But you made every necklace clasp. But you made them caress the nape like an errant wind after a shower. But you made every eyelash erotic. Every single strand of hair soft. But you made them from dust & bone. Made every glorious singing thigh. Every button nose. But you made them with holes— wide open to the faintest hints of salt in a sea breeze, salt in the sweaty mouth of a navel, salt in the blood, sweet in every wrong way. Marcus Wicker wrote this poem. The title is The Way We Were Made. This poem makes feel like a one of a kind person.It tells me about how He created in his own image.
The poem is a big picture itself. It crates a picture and it tells you exactly what has or is happening in this poem.
’Twas the night before Christmas, when all thro’ the house, Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse; The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there; The children were nestled all snug in their beds, While visions of sugar plums danc’d in their heads, And Mama in her ‘kerchief, and I in my cap, Had just settled our brains for a long winter’s nap — When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter. Away to the window I flew like a flash, Tore open the shutters, and threw up the sash. The moon on the breast of the new fallen snow, Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below; When, what to my wondering eyes should appear, But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny rein-deer, With a little old driver, so lively and quick, I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick. More rapid than eagles his coursers they came, And he whistled, and shouted, and call’d them by name: “Now! Dasher, now! Dancer, now! Prancer, and Vixen, “On! Comet, on! Cupid, on! Dunder and Blixem; “To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall! “Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!” As dry leaves before the wild hurricane fly, When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky; So up to the house-top the coursers they flew, With the sleigh full of Toys — and St. Nicholas too: And then in a twinkling, I heard on the roof The prancing and pawing of each little hoof. As I drew in my head, and was turning around, Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound: He was dress’d all in fur, from his head to his foot, And his clothes were all tarnish’d with ashes and soot; A bundle of toys was flung on his back, And he look’d like a peddler just opening his pack: His eyes — how they twinkled! his dimples how merry, His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry; His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow. And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow; The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth, And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath. He had a broad face, and a little round belly That shook when he laugh’d, like a bowl full of jelly: He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf, And I laugh’d when I saw him in spite of myself; A wink of his eye and a twist of his head Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread. He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work, And fill’d all the stockings; then turn’d with a jerk, And laying his finger aside of his nose And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose. He sprung to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle, And away they all flew, like the down of a thistle: But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight — Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night.
Major Henry Livingston ,JR. wrote this poem. And The Poem is about The christmas holiday. Its telling about the night before christmas when St. Nick landed on the roof with the rein deer and hopped down the chimney and brought gifts. This poem makes me feel happy just by thinking about how christmas is coming about. I like the Christmas Holiday So Thats why i chose this poem. The poem Tells everything thats happening word for word so that the reader may imagine exactly what is going on.
Lift ev’ry voice and sing, Till earth and heaven ring, Ring with the harmonies of Liberty; Let our rejoicing rise High as the list’ning skies, Let it resound loud as the rolling sea. Sing a song full of the faith that the dark past has taught us, Sing a song full of the hope that the present has brought us; Facing the rising sun of our new day begun, Let us march on till victory is won.
Stony the road we trod, Bitter the chast’ning rod, Felt in the days when hope unborn had died; Yet with a steady beat, Have not our weary feet Come to the place for which our fathers sighed? We have come over a way that with tears has been watered, We have come, treading our path through the blood of the slaughtered, Out from the gloomy past, Till now we stand at last Where the white gleam of our bright star is cast.
God of our weary years, God of our silent tears, Thou who has brought us thus far on the way; Thou who has by Thy might, Led us into the light, Keep us forever in the path, we pray. Lest our feet stray from the places, our God, where we met Thee, Lest our hearts, drunk with the wine of the world, we forget Thee; Shadowed beneath Thy hand, May we forever stand. True to our God, True to our native land.
Who wrote this poem: James Weldon Johnson
What is this poem about: it is about the Harlem renaissance where blacks faced prejudice and segregation.
How does it make me feel?: It makes feel glad that i grew up in a time like that. It also makes me feel proud of the black people that did go through that struggle so i wouldn't have to.
What word does the poet use to evoke imagery?: Shadowed beneath Thy hand,May we forever stand.
The Ditch The Ditch By Michael Ryan b. 1946 Michael Ryan In the ditch, half-ton sections of cast-iron molds hand-greased at the seams with pale petroleum waste and screw-clamped into five-hundred-gallon cylinders drummed with rubber-headed sledges inside and out to settle tight the wet concrete that, dried and caulked, became Monarch Septic Tanks; and, across the ditch, my high school football coach, Don Compo, spunky pug of a man, bronze and bald, all biceps and pecs, raging at some “attitude” of mine he snipped from our argument about Vietnam— I mean raging, scarlet, veins bulging from his neck, he looked like a hard-on stalking back and forth— but I had started college, this was a summer job, I no longer had to take his self-righteous, hectoring shit, so I was chuckling merrily, saying he was ludicrous, and he was calling me “College Man Ryan” and, with his steel-toed workboot, kicking dirt that clattered against the molds and puffed up between us.
It’s probably not like this anymore, but every coach in my hometown was a lunatic. Each had different quirks we mimicked, beloved bromides whose parodies we intoned, but they all conducted practice like boot camp, the same tirades and abuse, no matter the sport, the next game the next battle in a neverending war. Ex-paratroopers and -frogmen, at least three finally convicted child molesters, genuine sadists fixated on the Commie menace and our American softness that was personally bringing the country to the brink of collapse— in this company, Don Compo didn’t even seem crazy. He had never touched any of us; his violence was verbal, which we were used to, having gotten it from our fathers and given it back to our brothers and one another since we had been old enough to button our own pants. Any minute—no guessing what might trigger it— he could be butting your face mask and barking up your nostrils, but generally he favored an unruffled, moralistic carping, in which I, happy to spot phoniness, saw pride and bitterness masquerading as teaching. In the locker room, I’d sit where I could roll my eyeballs as he droned, but, across the ditch, he wasn’t lecturing, but fuming, flaring as I had never seen in four years of football, and it scared and thrilled me to defy him and mock him when he couldn’t make me handwash jockstraps after practice or do pushups on my fingertips in a mud puddle.
But it was myself I was taunting. I could see my retorts snowballing toward his threat to leap the ditch and beat me to a puddle of piss (“you craphead, you wiseass”), and my unspading a shovel from a dirt pile and grasping its balance deliberately down the handle and inviting him to try it. Had he come I would have hit him, There’s no question about that. For a moment, it ripped through our bewilderment, which then closed over again like the ocean if an immense cast-iron mold were dropped in. I was fired when the boss broke the tableau. “The rest of you,” he said, “have work to do,” and, grabbing a hammer and chisel, Don Compo mounted the mold between us in the ditch and with one short punch split it down the seam.
3. Michael Ryan 4. School 5. It makes me realixe how important school is. It also makes me think about my feelings when im in a classroom. 6. He use words to discribe his hands which are said to be greasy like petrolium jelly. That shows that he is nervous. This shows me he is nervous about an assigment.
How to Love Bats BY JUDITH BEVERIDGE Begin in a cave. Listen to the floor boil with rodents, insects. Weep for the pups that have fallen. Later, you’ll fly the narrow passages of those bones, but for now – open your mouth, out will fly names like Pipistrelle, Desmodus, Tadarida. Then, listen for a frequency lower than the seep of water, higher than an ice planet hibernating beyond a glacier of Time.
Visit op shops. Hide in their closets. Breathe in the scales and dust of clothes left hanging. To the underwear and to the crumbled black silks – well, give them your imagination and plenty of line, also a night of gentle wind.
By now your fingers should have been dreaming each night of anthers and of giving to their furred beauty your nectar-loving tongue. But also, your tongue should have been practising the cold of a slippery, frog-filled pond.
Go down on your elbows and knees. You’ll need a spieliologist’s desire for rebirth and a miner’s paranoia of gases — but try to find within yourself the scent of a bat-loving flower.
Read books on pogroms. Never trust an owl. Its face is the biography of propaganda. Never trust a hawk. See its solutions in the fur and bones of regurgitated pellets.
And have you considered the smoke yet from a moving train? You can start half an hour before sunset, but make sure the journey is long, uninterrupted and that you never discover the faces of those Trans-Siberian exiles.
Spend time in the fold of curtains. Seek out boarding-school cloakrooms. Practise the gymnastics of web umbrellas.
Are you floating, yet, thought-light, without a keel on your breastbone? Then, meditate on your bones as piccolos, on mastering the thermals beyond the tremolo; reverberations beyond the lexical.
Become adept at describing the spectacles of the echo — but don’t watch dark clouds passing across the moon. This may lead you to fetishes and cults that worship false gods by lapping up bowls of blood from a tomb.
Practise echo-locating aerodromes, stamens. Send out rippling octaves into the fossils of dark caves — then edit these soundtracks with a metronome of dripping rocks, heartbeats and with a continuous, high-scaled wondering about the evolution of your own mind.
But look, I must tell you — these instructions are no manual. Months of practice may still only win you appreciation of the acoustical moth., hatred of the hawk and owl. You may need
to observe further the floating black host through the hills.
1.)who wrote the poem? The poem was written by Judith Beveride. 2.)What was the poem about? From my understanding the poem was about the life of a bat and it is to be one. 3.)How does the poem make you feel? The poem makes me feel as if i were a bat. 4.)What words do the author use to evoke imagery?She used very defined to details to explain the setting of the story and the characteristics of a bat.
Today when persimmons ripen Today when fox-kits come out of their den into snow Today when the spotted egg releases its wren song Today when the maple sets down its red leaves Today when windows keep their promise to open Today when fire keeps its promise to warm Today when someone you love has died or someone you never met has died Today when someone you love has been born or someone you will not meet has been born Today when rain leaps to the waiting of roots in their dryness Today when starlight bends to the roofs of the hungry and tired Today when someone sits long inside his last sorrow Today when someone steps into the heat of her first embrace Today, let this light bless you With these friends let it bless you With snow-scent and lavender bless you Let the vow of this day keep itself wildly and wholly Spoken and silent, surprise you inside your ears Sleeping and waking, unfold itself inside your eyes Let its fierceness and tenderness hold you Let its vastness be undisguised in all your days
Who wrote this poem:Jane Hirshfeild
What is this poem about: This poem is about 2 people getting married on a special day. And how this day will bless them.
How does it make you feel:This makes me feel happy because they're talking about someone gettin married. I feel elated.
What words does the poet use to evoke imagery: fiercness, tenderness, vastness,fox-kits, starlight, sorrow,persimmons
Leaves By Gerald Stern He was cleaning leaves for one at a time was what he needed and a minute before the two brown poodles walked by he looked at the stripped –down trees from one more point of view and thought they were part of a system in which the dappled was foreign for he had arrived at his own conclusion and that was for him a relief even if he was separated, even if him hands were frozen, even if the wind knocked him down even if his cat went into her helpless mode inside the green and sheltering Japanese yew tree.
1) This poem was written by Gerald Stern. 2) I really don’t know what it is about but I think it’s just about this man and the things he do while picking up the leaves. 3) This poem made me feel like him and get an understanding of what he does while getting up the leaves. 4) He helped me to be able to get a good picture of what he was talking about in the poem he wrote.
First Girls in Little League Baseball First Girls in Little League Baseball By J. Patrick Lewis b. 1942 December 26, 1974 Title IX of the 1972 Education Act is signed, providing for equal opportunity in athletics for girls as well as boys.
The year was 1974 When Little Leaguers learned the score. President Ford took out his pen, And signed a law that said from then On women too would have the chance To wear the stripes and wear the pants. Now what you hear, as flags unfurl, Is "Atta boy!" and "Atta girl!"
1.The writer of this poem is Patrick Lewis. 2.This poem is very interesting and it is about the day when President Ford allows girls to play sports in the U.S. 3.It makes me feel happy because I can relate to this poem. I can relate to it because African Americans had to be allowed to play sports in the U.S. I also makes me feel peaceful. 4.The poem uses a decent amount of words that show imagery since it is a short poem it has words like; took, out, pen signed, unfurl, flags, score, and pants.
A College Room: Lowell R-34, 1945 By L. E. Sissman 1928–1976 A single bed. A single room. I sing Of man alone on the skew surface of life. No kith, no kin, no cat, no kid, no wife, No Frigidaire, no furniture, no ring.
Yes, but the perfect state of weightlessness Is a vacuum the natural mind abhors: The strait bed straightway magnetizes whores; The bare room, aching, itches to possess.
Thus I no sooner shut the tan tin door Behind me than I am at once at home. Will I, nill I, a budget pleasure dome Will rear itself in Suite R-34.
A pleasure dome of Klees and Watteaus made, Of chairs and couches from the Fair Exchange, Of leavings from the previous rich and strange Tenant, of fabrics guaranteed to fade.
Here I will entertain the young idea Of Cambridge, wounded, winsome, and sardonic; Here I will walk the uttermost euphonic Marches of English, where no lines are clear.
Here I will take the interchangeable Parts of ephemerid girls to fit my bed; Here death will first enter my freshman head On a visitor’s passport, putting one tangible
Word in my mouth, a capsule for the day When I will be evicted from my home Suite home so full of life and damned to roam Bodiless and without a thing to say.
This poem tells the story of a freshman at a university moving into his dorm room and him getting use to the enviroment that he is in now. It makes me feel like it is hard to adapt to a new enviroment, like going to a new school where theres no one you know. The author uses words like dorm, freshman, homesick, and roomates.
The Night City BY W. S. GRAHAM Unmet at Euston in a dream Of London under Turner’s steam Misting the iron gantries, I Found myself running away From Scotland into the golden city.
I ran down Gray’s Inn Road and ran Till I was under a black bridge. This was me at nineteen Late at night arriving between The buildings of the City of London.
And the I (O I have fallen down) Fell in my dream beside the Bank Of England’s wall to be, me With my money belt of Northern ice. I found Eliot and he said yes
And sprang into a Holmes cab. Boswell passed me in the fog Going to visit Whistler who Was with John Donne who had just seen Paul Potts shouting on Soho Green.
Midnight. I hear the moon Light chiming on St Paul’s.
The City is empty. Night Watchmen are drinking their tea,
The Fire had burnt out. The Plague’s pits had closed And gone into literature.
Between the big buildings I sat like a flea crouched In the stopped works of a watch. 1.W.S.GRAHAM 2.SOME ONE RUNNING AWAY FROM LONDON 3.IT SOOTHS ME LIKE A COOL WINTER BREEZE 4.NORTHERN ICE, MIDNIGHT,PLAUGE ,BURNT OUT,DREAM
The Kiss By Neil Carpathios By freezing passion at its blossoming perhaps Rodin knew he challenged Sophocles who said as lover you want ice to be ice yet not melt in your hands. How stone, implying permanence, might let us believe, a moment, the seated figures are beyond the leaf that cannot keep from letting go the branch, beyond even stupidly purpling grapes that do not understand the process by which they darken; darken nevertheless.
Who this poem was written by: Neil Carpathios
What is the poem about? Its talking about a kiss and how it it passionate and deep and the perfect moment if if kissed by the right person (I think)
How does it make you feel? It makes me think of my first kiss and how amaaaaaazingggggg it was it was. J
What words does the poet use to evoke imagery? Freezing passion, purpling grapes, darken, ice to be ice yet not melt in your hands.
The Kiss By Neil Carpathios By freezing passion at its blossoming perhaps Rodin knew he challenged Sophocles who said as lover you want ice to be ice yet not melt in your hands. How stone, implying permanence, might let us believe, a moment, the seated figures are beyond the leaf that cannot keep from letting go the branch, beyond even stupidly purpling grapes that do not understand the process by which they darken; darken nevertheless.
Neil Carpathios write ths poem. Good thongs always go bad. A good thing won't be good forever. I think this is true. From experience, I know good things are bound to go wrong. When he sais, "purpling grapes" I get the image of grapes in my head.
By Harriet Maxwell Converse 1836–1903 We who are here present thank the Great Spirit that we are here to praise Him. We thank Him that He has created men and women, and ordered that these beings shall always be living to multiply the earth. We thank Him for making the earth and giving these beings its products to live on. We thank Him for the water that comes out of the earth and runs for our lands. We thank Him for all the animals on the earth. We thank Him for certain timbers that grow and have fluids coming from them for us all. We thank Him for the branches of the trees that grow shadows for our shelter. We thank Him for the beings that come from the west, the thunder and lightning that water the earth. We thank Him for the light which we call our oldest brother, the sun that works for our good. We thank Him for all the fruits that grow on the trees and vines. We thank Him for his goodness in making the forests, and thank all its trees. We thank Him for the darkness that gives us rest, and for the kind Being of the darkness that gives us light, the moon. We thank Him for the bright spots in the skies that give us signs, the stars. We give Him thanks for our supporters, who had charge of our harvests. We give thanks that the voice of the Great Spirit can still be heard through the words of Ga-ne-o-di-o. We thank the Great Spirit that we have the privilege of this pleasant occasion. We give thanks for the persons who can sing the Great Spirit's music, and hope they will be privileged to continue in his faith. We thank the Great Spirit for all the persons who perform the ceremonies on this occasion.
this poem is about giving thanks to the great spirit.
By Walt whitman A noiseless,patient spider.I marked,where, on the little promontory,it stood,isolated;Marked how to explore the vacant, vast surrounding.it launch forth filament,filament,filament,filament out of itself ; ever unreeling them ever tirelessly speed them
Editing the Moon Editing the Moon By Caroline Caddy Caroline Caddy Be precise authority is magic. When you think you've got it straight wax wane declination feel the movement under your hand one summer morning as you observe it set then rise that night. Always use a well-sharpened pencil followed by a good eraser. Watch the white emerge.
The poem of my choose was by: Caroline Caddy
I think the poem is about somone who makes decidions and ends up regreting them. "Always use a well-sharpened pencil followed by a good eraser."
The poem made me read over three times just to get some type of understanding. It makes me feel like I should think more before making a decidion.
The Baseball Players The Baseball Players By Donald Hall b. 1928 Donald Hall Against the bright grass the white-knickered players tense, seize, and attend. A moment ago, outfielders and infielders adjusted their clothing, glanced at the sun and settled forward, hands on knees; the pitcher walked back of the hill, established his cap and returned; the catcher twitched a forefinger; the batter rotated his bat in a slow circle. But now they pause: wary, exact, suspended while abiding moonrise lightens the angel of the overgrown garden, and Walter Blake Adams, who died at fourteen, waits under the footbridge.
Don Hall wrote this poem. The poem is about baseball and the game is about to start He used the words tense seize and attend outfielders and infielders adjusted their clothing glanced at the sun and settled forward hands on knees the pitcher walked back of the hill established his cap and returnedthe catcher twitched a forefinger the batter rotated his bat
"I wish I could remember that first day" BY CHRISTINA ROSSETTI
Era gia l’ora che volge il desio. – Dante Ricorro al tempo ch’io vi vidi prima. – Petrarca
I wish I could remember that first day, First hour, first moment of your meeting me, If btight or dim the season, it might be Summer or Winter for aught I can say; So unrecorded did it slip away, So blind was I to see and to foresee, So dull to mark the budding of my tree That would not blossom yet for many a May. If only I could recollect it, such A day of days! I let it come and go
It was written by Christina Rossetti
The poem is about loving someone. And not really being able to remember the first thing a couple did and you wish you could remember the time you ever did anything.makes you wana go back in your thoughts and see what you remember from the past when yall had a relationship.
It makes me fell like I might want to try to remember the good things from my past rekationships with friends And x's. Makes you wana seriously think about things.
She used winter and i can picture winter as in snow and things. Summer I can see it being sunny and the pool beach and things. She used first makes you wana go to the first best moment in your relationship. She also used bright I could see light. She used dim I could see it being little light. She also mentioned a tree not being blossemed so all the leaves may not be there. Then she mentions the month of may and it makes you thi.king about the surroundings in may and getting out of school.
All morning, doing the hard, root-wrestling work of turning a yard from the wild to a gardener’s will, I heard a bird singing the poem is about how people have a hard time getting out the bed in the morning this p0oem motivates me because even when hard times come arounf i should just push throw it the word root wrestling is imagery because you think of something hurt and rough
O little fleas of speckled light all dancing like a satellite
O belly green trees shaded vale O shiny bobcat winter trail
Amoebic rampage squamous cock a Chinese hairpiece burly sock
A grilled banana smashes gates and mingeless badgers venerate
The asses of the winter trees rock on fat asses as you please
Be jumpy or unhinged with joy enlightened fry cakes Staten hoy.
this poem was written by lisa jarnot.the poem makes me feel like im walking in the street were theres a lot of snow and holiday decorations. the poet uses words like speckeled,shiny,belly green,shaded,smashes,enlightened,and squamous to evoke imagery.I chosed this poem because its very creative and unique.
Behind the black water tower under the grey of the sky that feeds it smoke speeds to where a pigeon spreads its wings
This is no great feat Cold pushes out its lust We walk we drink we cast our giggling insults
Would you please leave the $2.50 you owe me I would rather not talk about it just now Money bores me I would like to visit someone who will stay in bed all day A forest is rising imperceptibly in my head not a civilized park
I think it would be nice this “new moral odor” no it would not mean “everything marching to its tomb” The water tower watches over us Is there someone you would like to invite no one.
Who wrote the poem ? Bill Berkson
What is the poem about ? Christmas eve , the night before christmas.
the poem makes me feel like i should invite people to join me and my family to christmas dinner.
some word thhe author uses are civilized, money bores me and more .
Unmet at Euston in a dream
ReplyDeleteOf London under Turner’s steam
Misting the iron gantries, I
Found myself running away
From Scotland into the golden city.
I ran down Gray’s Inn Road and ran
Till I was under a black bridge.
This was me at nineteen
Late at night arriving between
The buildings of the City of London.
And the I (O I have fallen down)
Fell in my dream beside the Bank
Of England’s wall to be, me
With my money belt of Northern ice.
I found Eliot and he said yes
And sprang into a Holmes cab.
Boswell passed me in the fog
Going to visit Whistler who
Was with John Donne who had just seen
Paul Potts shouting on Soho Green.
Midnight. I hear the moon
Light chiming on St Paul’s.
The City is empty. Night
Watchmen are drinking their tea,
The Fire had burnt out.
The Plague’s pits had closed
And gone into literature.
Between the big buildings
I sat like a flea crouched
In the stopped works of a watch.
Who wrote this poem: W.S. Graham
What is this poem about: I think that it is about a prson who is in paris and is just running around the city and seeing its attractions
How does this make you feel: It makes me want to visit london and just run around the city
What words does the poet use to evoke imagery:Fell in my dream beside the Bank
Of England’s wall to be
What happens to a dream deferred?
ReplyDeleteDoes it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore—
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over—
like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.
Or does it explode?
Who wrote the poem?: Langston Hughes
What is the poem about?: This poem was in Harlem Renaissance time period.Blacks faced prejudice and segregation;Their dream was to acquire equal rights.Langston Hughes asks if the dreams of the black community are ignored deferred.Their dream was untreated and was simply abandoned and neglected.
How does it make you feel?: I feel that when Langston Hughes dreams be deferred he is mature about it and says it in a pure speech.
What words does the poet use to evoke imagery?:Dry up like a raisin in the sun.Fester like a sore And then run.Stink like rotten meat.Crust and sugar over like a syrupy sweet.sags like a heavy load.
But you made every
ReplyDeletedelicate, elegant wrist
& glistening ankle.
But you made them
beautiful
in braided rope
& dime store gold.
But you made every
necklace clasp.
But you made them
caress the nape
like an errant wind
after a shower.
But you made every
eyelash erotic. Every
single strand of hair
soft.
But you made them
from dust & bone.
Made every glorious
singing thigh. Every
button nose.
But you made them
with holes—
wide open
to the faintest hints
of salt
in a sea breeze, salt
in the sweaty mouth
of a navel, salt
in the blood, sweet
in every wrong way.
Marcus Wicker wrote this poem. The title is The Way We Were Made. This poem makes feel like a one of a kind person.It tells me about how He created in his own image.
The poem is a big picture itself. It crates a picture and it tells you exactly what has or is happening in this poem.
’Twas the night before Christmas, when all thro’ the house,
ReplyDeleteNot a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sugar plums danc’d in their heads,
And Mama in her ‘kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled our brains for a long winter’s nap —
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters, and threw up the sash.
The moon on the breast of the new fallen snow,
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below;
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny rein-deer,
With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and call’d them by name:
“Now! Dasher, now! Dancer, now! Prancer, and Vixen,
“On! Comet, on! Cupid, on! Dunder and Blixem;
“To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
“Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!”
As dry leaves before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky;
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of Toys — and St. Nicholas too:
And then in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound:
He was dress’d all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnish’d with ashes and soot;
A bundle of toys was flung on his back,
And he look’d like a peddler just opening his pack:
His eyes — how they twinkled! his dimples how merry,
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry;
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow.
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow;
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.
He had a broad face, and a little round belly
That shook when he laugh’d, like a bowl full of jelly:
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laugh’d when I saw him in spite of myself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And fill’d all the stockings; then turn’d with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose.
He sprung to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew, like the down of a thistle:
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight —
Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night.
Major Henry Livingston ,JR. wrote this poem. And The Poem is about The christmas holiday. Its telling about the night before christmas when St. Nick landed on the roof with the rein deer and hopped down the chimney and brought gifts. This poem makes me feel happy just by thinking about how christmas is coming about. I like the Christmas Holiday So Thats why i chose this poem. The poem Tells everything thats happening word for word so that the reader may imagine exactly what is going on.
Lift ev’ry voice and sing,
ReplyDeleteTill earth and heaven ring,
Ring with the harmonies of Liberty;
Let our rejoicing rise
High as the list’ning skies,
Let it resound loud as the rolling sea.
Sing a song full of the faith that the dark past has taught us,
Sing a song full of the hope that the present has brought us;
Facing the rising sun of our new day begun,
Let us march on till victory is won.
Stony the road we trod,
Bitter the chast’ning rod,
Felt in the days when hope unborn had died;
Yet with a steady beat,
Have not our weary feet
Come to the place for which our fathers sighed?
We have come over a way that with tears has been watered,
We have come, treading our path through the blood of the slaughtered,
Out from the gloomy past,
Till now we stand at last
Where the white gleam of our bright star is cast.
God of our weary years,
God of our silent tears,
Thou who has brought us thus far on the way;
Thou who has by Thy might,
Led us into the light,
Keep us forever in the path, we pray.
Lest our feet stray from the places, our God, where we met Thee,
Lest our hearts, drunk with the wine of the world, we forget Thee;
Shadowed beneath Thy hand,
May we forever stand.
True to our God,
True to our native land.
Who wrote this poem: James Weldon Johnson
What is this poem about: it is about the Harlem renaissance where blacks faced prejudice and segregation.
How does it make me feel?: It makes feel glad that i grew up in a time like that. It also makes me feel proud of the black people that did go through that struggle so i wouldn't have to.
What word does the poet use to evoke imagery?: Shadowed beneath Thy hand,May we forever stand.
The Ditch
ReplyDeleteThe Ditch
By Michael Ryan b. 1946 Michael Ryan
In the ditch, half-ton sections of cast-iron molds
hand-greased at the seams with pale petroleum waste
and screw-clamped into five-hundred-gallon cylinders
drummed with rubber-headed sledges inside and out
to settle tight the wet concrete
that, dried and caulked, became Monarch Septic Tanks;
and, across the ditch, my high school football coach,
Don Compo, spunky pug of a man,
bronze and bald, all biceps and pecs,
raging at some “attitude” of mine
he snipped from our argument about Vietnam—
I mean raging, scarlet, veins bulging from his neck,
he looked like a hard-on stalking back and forth—
but I had started college, this was a summer job,
I no longer had to take his self-righteous, hectoring shit,
so I was chuckling merrily, saying he was ludicrous,
and he was calling me “College Man Ryan”
and, with his steel-toed workboot, kicking dirt
that clattered against the molds and puffed up between us.
It’s probably not like this anymore, but every coach
in my hometown was a lunatic. Each had different quirks
we mimicked, beloved bromides whose parodies we intoned,
but they all conducted practice like boot camp,
the same tirades and abuse, no matter the sport,
the next game the next battle in a neverending war.
Ex-paratroopers and -frogmen, at least three
finally convicted child molesters, genuine sadists
fixated on the Commie menace and our American softness
that was personally bringing the country to the brink of collapse—
in this company, Don Compo didn’t even seem crazy.
He had never touched any of us;
his violence was verbal, which we were used to,
having gotten it from our fathers
and given it back to our brothers and one another
since we had been old enough to button our own pants.
Any minute—no guessing what might trigger it—
he could be butting your face mask and barking up your nostrils,
but generally he favored an unruffled, moralistic carping,
in which I, happy to spot phoniness,
saw pride and bitterness masquerading as teaching.
In the locker room, I’d sit where I could roll my eyeballs
as he droned, but, across the ditch,
he wasn’t lecturing, but fuming, flaring
as I had never seen in four years of football,
and it scared and thrilled me to defy him and mock him
when he couldn’t make me handwash jockstraps after practice
or do pushups on my fingertips in a mud puddle.
But it was myself I was taunting. I could see my retorts
snowballing toward his threat to leap the ditch
and beat me to a puddle of piss (“you craphead,
you wiseass”), and my unspading a shovel from a dirt pile
and grasping its balance deliberately down the handle
and inviting him to try it.
Had he come I would have hit him,
There’s no question about that.
For a moment, it ripped through our bewilderment,
which then closed over again
like the ocean
if an immense cast-iron mold were dropped in.
I was fired when the boss broke the tableau.
“The rest of you,” he said, “have work to do,”
and, grabbing a hammer and chisel, Don Compo
mounted the mold between us in the ditch
and with one short punch split it down the seam.
3. Michael Ryan
4. School
5. It makes me realixe how important school is. It also makes me think about my feelings when im in a classroom.
6. He use words to discribe his hands which are said to be greasy like petrolium jelly. That shows that he is nervous. This shows me he is nervous about an assigment.
How to Love Bats
ReplyDeleteBY JUDITH BEVERIDGE
Begin in a cave.
Listen to the floor boil with rodents, insects.
Weep for the pups that have fallen. Later,
you’ll fly the narrow passages of those bones,
but for now –
open your mouth, out will fly names
like Pipistrelle, Desmodus, Tadarida. Then,
listen for a frequency
lower than the seep of water, higher
than an ice planet hibernating
beyond a glacier of Time.
Visit op shops. Hide in their closets.
Breathe in the scales and dust
of clothes left hanging. To the underwear
and to the crumbled black silks – well,
give them your imagination
and plenty of line, also a night of gentle wind.
By now your fingers should have been dreaming
each night of anthers and of giving
to their furred beauty
your nectar-loving tongue. But also,
your tongue should have been practising the cold
of a slippery, frog-filled pond.
Go down on your elbows and knees.
You’ll need a spieliologist’s desire for rebirth
and a miner’s paranoia of gases —
but try to find within yourself
the scent of a bat-loving flower.
Read books on pogroms. Never trust an owl.
Its face is the biography of propaganda.
Never trust a hawk. See its solutions
in the fur and bones of regurgitated pellets.
And have you considered the smoke
yet from a moving train? You can start
half an hour before sunset,
but make sure the journey is long, uninterrupted
and that you never discover
the faces of those Trans-Siberian exiles.
Spend time in the fold of curtains.
Seek out boarding-school cloakrooms.
Practise the gymnastics of web umbrellas.
Are you
floating, yet, thought-light,
without a keel on your breastbone?
Then, meditate on your bones as piccolos,
on mastering the thermals
beyond the tremolo; reverberations
beyond the lexical.
Become adept
at describing the spectacles of the echo —
but don’t watch dark clouds
passing across the moon. This may lead you
to fetishes and cults that worship false gods
by lapping up bowls of blood from a tomb.
Practise echo-locating aerodromes,
stamens. Send out rippling octaves
into the fossils of dark caves —
then edit these soundtracks
with a metronome of dripping rocks, heartbeats
and with a continuous, high-scaled wondering
about the evolution of your own mind.
But look, I must tell you — these instructions
are no manual. Months of practice
may still only win you appreciation
of the acoustical moth.,
hatred of the hawk and owl. You may need
to observe further the floating black host
through the hills.
1.)who wrote the poem? The poem was written by Judith Beveride.
2.)What was the poem about? From my understanding the poem was about the life of a bat and it is to be one.
3.)How does the poem make you feel? The poem makes me feel as if i were a bat.
4.)What words do the author use to evoke imagery?She used very defined to details to explain the setting of the story and the characteristics of a bat.
Today when persimmons ripen
ReplyDeleteToday when fox-kits come out of their den into snow
Today when the spotted egg releases its wren song
Today when the maple sets down its red leaves
Today when windows keep their promise to open
Today when fire keeps its promise to warm
Today when someone you love has died
or someone you never met has died
Today when someone you love has been born
or someone you will not meet has been born
Today when rain leaps to the waiting of roots in their dryness
Today when starlight bends to the roofs of the hungry and tired
Today when someone sits long inside his last sorrow
Today when someone steps into the heat of her first embrace
Today, let this light bless you
With these friends let it bless you
With snow-scent and lavender bless you
Let the vow of this day keep itself wildly and wholly
Spoken and silent, surprise you inside your ears
Sleeping and waking, unfold itself inside your eyes
Let its fierceness and tenderness hold you
Let its vastness be undisguised in all your days
Who wrote this poem:Jane Hirshfeild
What is this poem about: This poem is about 2 people getting married on a special day. And how this day will bless them.
How does it make you feel:This makes me feel happy because they're talking about someone gettin married. I feel elated.
What words does the poet use to evoke imagery: fiercness, tenderness, vastness,fox-kits, starlight, sorrow,persimmons
Leaves
ReplyDeleteBy Gerald Stern
He was cleaning leaves for one at a time
was what he needed and a minute before the two
brown poodles walked by he looked at the stripped –down trees
from one more point of view and thought they were
part of a system in which the dappled was foreign
for he had arrived at his own conclusion and that was
for him a relief even if he was separated,
even if him hands were frozen,
even if the wind knocked him down
even if his cat went into her helpless mode
inside the green and sheltering Japanese yew tree.
1) This poem was written by Gerald Stern.
2) I really don’t know what it is about but I think it’s just about this man and the things he do while picking up the leaves.
3) This poem made me feel like him and get an understanding of what he does while getting up the leaves.
4) He helped me to be able to get a good picture of what he was talking about in the poem he wrote.
First Girls in Little League Baseball
ReplyDeleteFirst Girls in Little League Baseball
By J. Patrick Lewis b. 1942
December 26, 1974
Title IX of the 1972 Education Act is signed, providing for equal opportunity in athletics for girls as well as boys.
The year was 1974
When Little Leaguers learned the score.
President Ford took out his pen,
And signed a law that said from then
On women too would have the chance
To wear the stripes and wear the pants.
Now what you hear, as flags unfurl,
Is "Atta boy!" and "Atta girl!"
1.The writer of this poem is Patrick Lewis.
2.This poem is very interesting and it is about the day when President Ford allows girls to play sports in the U.S.
3.It makes me feel happy because I can relate to this poem. I can relate to it because African Americans had to be allowed to play sports in the U.S. I also makes me feel peaceful.
4.The poem uses a decent amount of words that show imagery since it is a short poem it has words like; took, out, pen signed, unfurl, flags, score, and pants.
A College Room: Lowell R-34, 1945
ReplyDeleteBy L. E. Sissman 1928–1976
A single bed. A single room. I sing
Of man alone on the skew surface of life.
No kith, no kin, no cat, no kid, no wife,
No Frigidaire, no furniture, no ring.
Yes, but the perfect state of weightlessness
Is a vacuum the natural mind abhors:
The strait bed straightway magnetizes whores;
The bare room, aching, itches to possess.
Thus I no sooner shut the tan tin door
Behind me than I am at once at home.
Will I, nill I, a budget pleasure dome
Will rear itself in Suite R-34.
A pleasure dome of Klees and Watteaus made,
Of chairs and couches from the Fair Exchange,
Of leavings from the previous rich and strange
Tenant, of fabrics guaranteed to fade.
Here I will entertain the young idea
Of Cambridge, wounded, winsome, and sardonic;
Here I will walk the uttermost euphonic
Marches of English, where no lines are clear.
Here I will take the interchangeable
Parts of ephemerid girls to fit my bed;
Here death will first enter my freshman head
On a visitor’s passport, putting one tangible
Word in my mouth, a capsule for the day
When I will be evicted from my home
Suite home so full of life and damned to roam
Bodiless and without a thing to say.
This poem tells the story of a freshman at a university moving into his dorm room and him getting use to the enviroment that he is in now. It makes me feel like it is hard to adapt to a new enviroment, like going to a new school where theres no one you know. The author uses words like dorm, freshman, homesick, and roomates.
The Night City
ReplyDeleteBY W. S. GRAHAM
Unmet at Euston in a dream
Of London under Turner’s steam
Misting the iron gantries, I
Found myself running away
From Scotland into the golden city.
I ran down Gray’s Inn Road and ran
Till I was under a black bridge.
This was me at nineteen
Late at night arriving between
The buildings of the City of London.
And the I (O I have fallen down)
Fell in my dream beside the Bank
Of England’s wall to be, me
With my money belt of Northern ice.
I found Eliot and he said yes
And sprang into a Holmes cab.
Boswell passed me in the fog
Going to visit Whistler who
Was with John Donne who had just seen
Paul Potts shouting on Soho Green.
Midnight. I hear the moon
Light chiming on St Paul’s.
The City is empty. Night
Watchmen are drinking their tea,
The Fire had burnt out.
The Plague’s pits had closed
And gone into literature.
Between the big buildings
I sat like a flea crouched
In the stopped works of a watch.
1.W.S.GRAHAM
2.SOME ONE RUNNING AWAY FROM LONDON
3.IT SOOTHS ME LIKE A COOL WINTER BREEZE
4.NORTHERN ICE, MIDNIGHT,PLAUGE ,BURNT OUT,DREAM
The Kiss
ReplyDeleteBy Neil Carpathios
By freezing passion at its blossoming
perhaps Rodin knew he challenged
Sophocles who said as lover you want
ice to be ice yet not melt
in your hands. How stone,
implying permanence, might let us believe,
a moment, the seated figures are beyond the leaf
that cannot keep from letting go the branch,
beyond even stupidly purpling grapes
that do not understand the process
by which they darken; darken nevertheless.
Who this poem was written by: Neil Carpathios
What is the poem about? Its talking about a kiss and how it it passionate and deep and the perfect moment if if kissed by the right person (I think)
How does it make you feel? It makes me think of my first kiss and how amaaaaaazingggggg it was it was. J
What words does the poet use to evoke imagery? Freezing passion, purpling grapes, darken, ice to be ice yet not melt in your hands.
The Kiss
ReplyDeleteBy Neil Carpathios
By freezing passion at its blossoming
perhaps Rodin knew he challenged
Sophocles who said as lover you want
ice to be ice yet not melt
in your hands. How stone,
implying permanence, might let us believe,
a moment, the seated figures are beyond the leaf
that cannot keep from letting go the branch,
beyond even stupidly purpling grapes
that do not understand the process
by which they darken; darken nevertheless.
Neil Carpathios write ths poem. Good thongs always go bad. A good thing won't be good forever. I think this is true. From experience, I know good things are bound to go wrong. When he sais, "purpling grapes" I get the image of grapes in my head.
The Thanksgivings
ReplyDeleteBy Harriet Maxwell Converse 1836–1903
We who are here present thank the Great Spirit that we are here
to praise Him.
We thank Him that He has created men and women, and ordered
that these beings shall always be living to multiply the earth.
We thank Him for making the earth and giving these beings its products
to live on.
We thank Him for the water that comes out of the earth and runs
for our lands.
We thank Him for all the animals on the earth.
We thank Him for certain timbers that grow and have fluids coming
from them for us all.
We thank Him for the branches of the trees that grow shadows
for our shelter.
We thank Him for the beings that come from the west, the thunder
and lightning that water the earth.
We thank Him for the light which we call our oldest brother, the sun
that works for our good.
We thank Him for all the fruits that grow on the trees and vines.
We thank Him for his goodness in making the forests, and thank
all its trees.
We thank Him for the darkness that gives us rest, and for the kind Being
of the darkness that gives us light, the moon.
We thank Him for the bright spots in the skies that give us signs,
the stars.
We give Him thanks for our supporters, who had charge of our harvests.
We give thanks that the voice of the Great Spirit can still be heard
through the words of Ga-ne-o-di-o.
We thank the Great Spirit that we have the privilege of this pleasant
occasion.
We give thanks for the persons who can sing the Great Spirit's music,
and hope they will be privileged to continue in his faith.
We thank the Great Spirit for all the persons who perform the ceremonies
on this occasion.
this poem is about giving thanks to the great spirit.
By Walt whitman
ReplyDeleteA noiseless,patient spider.I marked,where, on the little promontory,it stood,isolated;Marked how to explore the vacant, vast surrounding.it launch forth filament,filament,filament,filament out of itself ; ever unreeling them ever tirelessly speed them
Editing the Moon
ReplyDeleteEditing the Moon
By Caroline Caddy Caroline Caddy
Be precise
authority is magic.
When you think you've got it straight
wax wane declination
feel the movement under your hand
one summer morning
as you observe it set
then rise that night.
Always use a well-sharpened pencil
followed by a good eraser.
Watch the white emerge.
The poem of my choose was by: Caroline Caddy
I think the poem is about somone who makes decidions and ends up regreting them.
"Always use a well-sharpened pencil
followed by a good eraser."
The poem made me read over three times just to get some type of understanding. It makes me feel like I should think more before making a decidion.
words like: declination & precise
The Baseball Players
ReplyDeleteThe Baseball Players
By Donald Hall b. 1928 Donald Hall
Against the bright
grass the white-knickered
players tense, seize,
and attend. A moment
ago, outfielders
and infielders adjusted
their clothing, glanced
at the sun and settled
forward, hands on knees;
the pitcher walked back
of the hill, established
his cap and returned;
the catcher twitched
a forefinger; the batter
rotated his bat
in a slow circle. But now
they pause: wary,
exact, suspended while
abiding moonrise
lightens the angel
of the overgrown
garden, and Walter Blake
Adams, who died
at fourteen, waits
under the footbridge.
Don Hall wrote this poem.
The poem is about baseball and the game is about to start
He used the words tense seize
and attend outfielders and infielders adjusted their clothing glanced at the sun and settled forward hands on knees the pitcher walked back of the hill established his cap and returnedthe catcher twitched a forefinger the batter rotated his bat
"I wish I could remember that first day" BY CHRISTINA ROSSETTI
ReplyDeleteEra gia l’ora che volge il desio. – Dante Ricorro al tempo ch’io vi vidi prima. – Petrarca
I wish I could remember that first day, First hour, first moment of your meeting me, If btight or dim the season, it might be Summer or Winter for aught I can say; So unrecorded did it slip away, So blind was I to see and to foresee, So dull to mark the budding of my tree That would not blossom yet for many a May. If only I could recollect it, such A day of days! I let it come and go
It was written by Christina Rossetti
The poem is about loving someone. And not really being able to remember the first thing a couple did and you wish you could remember the time you ever did anything.makes you wana go back in your thoughts and see what you remember from the past when yall had a relationship.
It makes me fell like I might want to try to remember the good things from my past rekationships with friends And x's. Makes you wana seriously think about things.
She used winter and i can picture winter as in snow and things. Summer I can see it being sunny and the pool beach and things. She used first makes you wana go to the first best moment in your relationship. She also used bright I could see light. She used dim I could see it being little light. She also mentioned a tree not being blossemed so all the leaves may not be there. Then she mentions the month of may and it makes you thi.king about the surroundings in may and getting out of school.
Believe This
ReplyDeleteby Richard Levine
All morning, doing the hard, root-wrestling
work of turning a yard from the wild
to a gardener’s will, I heard a bird singing
the poem is about how people have a hard time getting out the bed in the morning
this p0oem motivates me because even when hard times come arounf i should just push throw it
the word root wrestling is imagery because you think of something hurt and rough
christmas prelude by lisa jaront
ReplyDeleteO little fleas
of speckled light
all dancing
like a satellite
O belly green trees
shaded vale
O shiny bobcat
winter trail
Amoebic rampage
squamous cock
a Chinese hairpiece
burly sock
A grilled banana
smashes gates
and mingeless badgers
venerate
The asses of the
winter trees
rock on fat asses
as you please
Be jumpy
or unhinged
with joy
enlightened
fry cakes
Staten hoy.
this poem was written by lisa jarnot.the poem makes me feel like im walking in the street were theres a lot of snow and holiday decorations. the poet uses words like speckeled,shiny,belly green,shaded,smashes,enlightened,and squamous to evoke imagery.I chosed this poem because its very creative and unique.
Christmas eve
ReplyDeleteBehind the black water tower
under the grey
of the sky that feeds it
smoke speeds to where a pigeon
spreads its wings
This is no great feat
Cold pushes out its lust
We walk we drink we cast
our giggling insults
Would you please
leave the $2.50 you owe me
I would rather not talk about it
just now Money bores me I would like
to visit someone who will stay
in bed all day A forest is rising
imperceptibly in my head
not a civilized park
I think it would be nice this “new
moral odor” no it would not mean
“everything marching to its tomb”
The water tower
watches over us Is there someone
you would like to invite no one.
Who wrote the poem ? Bill Berkson
What is the poem about ? Christmas eve , the night before christmas.
the poem makes me feel like i should invite people to join me and my family to christmas dinner.
some word thhe author uses are civilized, money bores me and more .