I was out interviewing clouds amassing the notes of a sky pornographer while patches of the city subnormalized
b
y fear of fear like a reef bleaching closed
looking for a human velocit I took to the streets
y
feeling disequilibrium
dance
of summer light
heavy in the abu
n the silent apathy
of stars which is neither
weather
silent nor apathetic
I am becoming
and
I don't
plan on doing
it alone
1.) Why did I choose this poem for this category? The shape of the poem caught my eye. It is different from most poems, making itself unique and also, more interesting to read. 2.) My favorite lines: "the silent apathy of stars, which is neither silent nor apathetic"
3.) What does this poem make me feel? When I first read this, I felt like I was flying over a city like a pigeon.
| Fusiturricula Lullaby | |
| by Gjertrud Schnackenberg |
A visit to the shores of lullabies,
So far from here, so very far away,
A floor of sand, it doesn't matter where,
And overhead a water-ceiling sways;
A shell is summoned to materialize—
The holy life, a spiral, hushed and pure,
Complete unto itself—a spiral shell
Is summoned from a substratum of wonder:
And all is well now, hush now, close your eyes,
Around a primal, ragged nucleus
Accumulated layers crystallize:
An embryonic seashell pulls itself
Through being-portals intricately placed
In seas of non-existence; caught; self-caught
In nets of pasts-and-futures synchronized
In present-nows: the Many and the One—
It doesn't matter, really, how it's done,
The how of it; the why; it doesn't know
How atoms in the ancient paradox
Can pass from unseen particles to seen
Or why a chain of atoms interlocks
And manifests in blurry pink and green;
It doesn't matter really, where it's from—
Descended from an ancient nacre-dream,
Self-fabricating through genetic codes
Without an archetype to utilize,
As if the wondrous deed it's summoned to
Were all that ever mattered, seam by seam
Volutions from a nacre-nucleus
Of violet iridescence: being-whorl
With everything in play, and all in play,
And all is well now, hush now, close your eyes—
A shell appears—Fusiturricula—
And uses its inherited clairvoyance
To plot a logarithmic spiral round
An axis of rotation evermore
And evermore-forevermore unseen,
Through pre-existing numbers, one-two-three,
And shyly browsing algae as it ponders
Angular momentum; symmetry;
Successively self-generating curves
Projecting helixes, the axis fixed;
Then tilting on its axis; torsion-tilt;
Compulsion and desire mixed with toil;
An overhanging cusp becomes a spire
By pushing up and forward on the coil:
Irregularly oscillating whorls
Are flaring out in ruffled calcium;
Pure rhythmia;
Slow motion suturings,
With no one there to sew them, perforate
The apex, boring through: a water-vent,
Inhalant and exhalant;
knotted threads
Are pulled to fasten equidistant nodes
Along a helix-rim;
a clockwise twist
And twirling stripes through interrupted bands
Are darkly lit, through brilliant whites and creams,
Like lightning bolts in violet-tinted brown
That zigzag in slow motion, down and down
From node to node to node; a lightning dream
Descending ridge by ridge:
Sensation: Fizz—
Salt water circulating past and through
The ruffled aperture—existence is
A taste of ocean water on a tongue—
And then Fusiturricula, intent
On browsing, sets in motion moving veils
Of sands that long ago and far away
Were magma rocks with twisted veins of ore
From which the sand was ground and empty shells
Like lightning-stricken spires, surface-fused
With used-up bolts of lightning, lie around—
Nacreous, in almost-silence, hushed
Among the lulling engines of the sea—
But hush now, close your eyes now, all is well:
Underwater ink enlarges, blurs,
In violet-brown across a spiral shell:
A record of volutions fills a scroll
With wondrous deeds and great accomplishings,
A record of a summons not refused:
Of logarithms visible and fused
With thoughts in rows of spiral beaded cords
As X goes to infinity; impearled;
Violet; and inviolate; self-endowed;
Itself the writing, and itself the scroll
The writing's written on; and self-aware
With never-ever-to-be-verbalized
Awareness of awareness of awareness,
Instantiation; all in play; a sole
Immaculate example of itself;
And in the aperture, the remnants of
A Heavenly Question, lightly brushed across
With opalescent ore of consciousness:
The universe is where? Is hanging where?
And overhead a water-ceiling sways,
And all is done in play; in heaven above
The ceiling of the sea is drawing streams
Of shining answers through its question-sieves:
Is matter the enchanted lathe? Or mind?
But which one spirals from the other's blade?
And all the waves at the beginning-end
Of all that comes and goes and takes and gives
And all in play and all that dies and lives
Materializes; dematerializes;
Five, and four, and three, and two, and one—
And all is brought to being; all effaced;
And all that could be done has now been done;
And all is well and hush now, never mind;
Fusiturricula slowly withdraws
Its being; self-enfolding; self-enclosed;
And all it toiled for turns out to be
No matter—nothing much—nothing at all—
Merely the realm where "being" was confined
And what was evanescent evanesced;
And then a spiral shell washed by a wave
Is carried forward in a foaming crest;
But that was long ago and far away,
It doesn't matter, really, when it was,
And close your eyes now, hush now, all is well,
And far from here, so very far away,
A wave sets down an empty spiral shell
And draws away, it doesn't matter where,
Among the other waves that come and go,
And other waves appear and disappear
And hush now, all is well, and far from here
All heaven and earth appear; and evanesce;
A self-engulfing spiral, ridge by ridge,
That disappears in waves that come and go
And all that could be done is done; and seven;
And six; and five; and four; and three; and two;
And one...and disappearing...far away...
Enraptured to the end, and all in play,
A spiral slowly turns itself in heaven.
1.) Why did I choose this poem for this category
This poem has a lot of imagery and uses many metaphors that make it so beautiful to me.
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2.) My favorite lines:
"The ceiling of the sea is drawing streams
Of shining answers through its question-sieves:
Is matter the enchanted lathe? Or mind?
But which one spirals from the other's blade?"
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3.) What does this poem make me feel? I felt relaxed after reading the poem, as if I was in a dream and nothing could hurt me.
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Most Inspiring:
79 | |
| by Joachim du Bellay |
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I do not write of love: I am no lover.
I do not write of beauty: I have no woman.
I do not write of gentleness but the human
rudeness I see. And my pleasures are all over,
so I do not try to write of pleasure, but only
misery. Favors? No, I am on my own.
I do not write of riches: I have none.
Or of life at court, when I'm far from it and lonely.
I do not write of health, for I'm often ill.
I cannot write of France from a Roman hill.
Or honor? I see so little of that about.
I cannot write of friendship but only pretence.
I will not write of virtue, here in its absence.
Or knowledge or faith, in ignorance and doubt.
1.) Why did I choose this poem for this category: This poem made me think about all the flaws of the world, and how we can change them. 2.) My favorite lines:
"I cannot write of friendship but only pretence.
I will not write of virtue, here in its absence.
Or knowledge or faith, in ignorance and doubt." |
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3.) What does this poem make me feel? The poet wrote the poem in a negative tone of voice, making me feel sad for the poet. But it also inspires me to want to show him that the things he mentions in the poem do exist.
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Most Humorous:
If the World Was Crazy | |
| by Shel Silverstein |
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If the world was crazy, you know what I'd eat?
A big slice of soup and a whole quart of meat,
A lemonade sandwich, and then I might try
Some roasted ice cream or a bicycle pie,
A nice notebook salad, an underwear roast,
An omelet of hats and some crisp cardboard toast,
A thick malted milk made from pencils and daisies,
And that's what I'd eat if the world was crazy.
If the world was crazy, you know what I'd wear?
A chocolate suit and a tie of eclair,
Some marshmallow earmuffs, some licorice shoes,
And I'd read a paper of peppermint news.
I'd call the boys "Suzy" and I'd call the girls "Harry,"
I'd talk through my ears, and I always would carry
A paper umbrella for when it grew hazy
To keep in the rain, if the world was crazy.
If the world was crazy, you know what I'd do?
I'd walk on the ocean and swim in my shoe,
I'd fly through the ground and I'd skip through the air,
I'd run down the bathtub and bathe on the stair.
When I met somebody I'd say "G'bye, Joe,"
And when I was leaving--then I'd say "Hello."
And the greatest of men would be silly and lazy
So I would be king...if the world was crazy. 1.) Why did I choose this poem for this category? Shel Silverstein always seems to put his thoughts into words in a humorous way that pleases people.
2.) My favorite lines:
"If the world was crazy, you know what I'd wear?
A chocolate suit and a tie of eclair,
Some marshmallow earmuffs, some licorice shoes," |
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3.) What does this poem make me feel? I feel as if I just entered the world of Dr. Seuss, since his books usually involved crazy stuff like this.
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