www.nerdtastic.org.. .. ....»-(¯..v..¯)-» «-(¯..v..¯)-«.. .. .. .. .. .. I get upset every time I think of how young Sylvia Plath died, and that no one knew what schizophrenia was and so couldn't help her. She was sooo brilliant.Spinster Now this particular girl During a ceremonious april walk With her latest suitor Found herself, of a sudden, intolerably struck By the bird's irregular babel And the leaves' litter.By this tumult afflicted, she Observed her lover's gestures unbalance the air, His gait stray uneven Through a rank wilderness of fern and flower; She judged petals in disarray, The whole season, sloven.How she longed for winter then!- Scrupulously austere in its order Of white and black Ice and rock; each sentiment within border, And heart's frosty discipline Exact as a snowflake.But here - a burgeoning Unruly enough to pitch her five queenly wits Into vulgar motley- A treason not to be borne; let idiots Reel giddy in bedlam spring; She withdrew neatly.And round her house she set Such a barricade of barb and check Against mutinous weather As no mere insurgent man could hope to break With curse, fist, threat Or love, either.Sylvia PlathThis is my favorite Emily Dickenson poem....I'm not a huge fan of hers as a whole, but this is one of my favorite all time poems MUCH madness is divinest sense To a discerning eye; Much sense the starkest madness. ’T is the majority In this, as all, prevails. Assent, and you are sane; Demur,—you ’re straightway dangerous, And handled with a chain. Emily Dickenson Marianne Moore is arguably one of the best poets to come out of this country. She won numerous literary awards and achievments, however she is virtually unknown to the genral public, not being as "easy" as poets like Dickenson. She is one of my very favorite poets. This is one of my favorite and one of her most famous poems. The poem is a metaphor for WWI which her brother was fighting in at the time. Note the chaotic symbolism and the "iron cliff" implying a submarine.38%
THE FISHwade through black jade. Of the crow-blue mussel-shells, one keeps adjusting the ash-heaps; opening and shutting itself likean injured fan. The barnacles which encrust the side of the wave, cannot hide there for the submerged shafts of thesun, split like spun glass, move themselves with spotlight swiftness into the crevices— in and out, illuminatingthe turquoise sea of bodies. The water drives a wedge of iron throught the iron edge of the cliff; whereupon the stars,pink rice-grains, ink- bespattered jelly fish, crabs like green lilies, and submarine toadstools, slide each on the other.All external marks of abuse are present on this defiant edifice— all the physical features of ac- cident—lack of cornice, dynamite grooves, burns, and hatchet strokes, these things stand out on it; the chasm-side isdead. Repeated evidence ahs proved that it can live on what can not revive its youth. The sea grows old in it. Marianne Moore..
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here's one i started a couple years ago....it's not quite finished thoughThe GreeksWere never satisfied with earth Wanting more, Homer wrote of gods and marvels At what we resemble Too good for mere mortalsHercules was never content with dingy Athens Seeking instead oblivion through godliness
