Poetry Anthology - SEAN THOMAS

I selected the common theme of unconditional love for my anthology. This unconditional love is great but sometimes it can get out of hand. Take Bruno Mars’ song “Grenade” for example. In the play, “Romeo and Juliet” Romeo does a lot of stupid or irrational things for Juliet. First, Romeo sneaks into Juliet’s parents’ property and next: he kills two people!

Bruno Mars and the song Grenade

Easy come, easy go, that's just how you live oh
Take, take, take it all, but you never give
Should have known you was trouble from the first kiss
Had your eyes wide open,
Why were they open?

Gave you all I had and you tossed it in the trash
You tossed it in the trash, you did
To give me all your love is all I ever asked 'cause
What you don't understand is I'd catch a grenade for ya (yeah, yeah)
Throw my head on a blade for ya (yeah, yeah)
I'd jump in front of a train for ya (yeah, yeah)
You know I'd do anything for ya (yeah, yeah)

Oh oh, I would go through all this pain
Take a bullet straight through my brain
Yes, I would die for ya baby
But you won't do the same

No, no, no, no
Black, black, black and blue,
Beat me 'til I'm numb,
Tell the devil I said 'hey' when you get back to where you're from
Mad woman, bad woman
That's just what you are,
Yeah you'll smile in my face then rip the brakes out my car

Gave you all I had and you tossed it in the trash
You tossed it in the trash, yes you did
To give me all your love is all I ever asked
'Cause what you don't understand is

I'd catch a grenade for ya (yeah, yeah)
Throw my head on a blade for ya (yeah, yeah)
I'd jump in front of a train for ya (yeah, yeah)
You know I'd do anything for ya (yeah, yeah)

Oh oh, I would go through all this pain,
Take a bullet straight through my brain,
Yes, I would die for ya baby,
But you won't do the same

If my body was on fire,
Oh you'd watch me burn down in flames
You said you loved me you're a liar 'cause you never,
Ever, ever did baby

But darling I'll still catch a grenade for ya (yeah, yeah)
Throw my head on a blade for ya (yeah, yeah)
I'd jump in front of a train for ya (yeah, yeah)
You know I'd do anything for ya (yeah, yeah)

Oh oh I would go through all this pain
Take a bullet straight through my brain
Yes, I would die for ya baby
But you won't do the same
No, you won't do the same
You wouldn't do the same
Oh, you'll never do the same
No, no, no, no

I'm the song, Bruno Mars talks about his unconditional love by stating all the things he would do for her, like catching a grenade or jumping in front of a train for this girl. Although, that may be exaggerated, it still puts his point across.

And is also a common theme in many poems, including the following:

Mother To Son: Langston Hughes

Well, son, I’ll tell you:

Life for me ain’t been no crystal stair.

It’s had tacks in it,

And splinters,

And boards torn up,

And places with no carpet on the floor—

Bare.

But all the time

I’se been a-climbin’ on,

And reachin’ landin’s,

And turnin’ corners,

And sometimes goin’ in the dark

Where there ain’t been no light.

So boy, don’t you turn back.

Don’t you set down on the steps

’Cause you finds it’s kinder hard.

Don’t you fall now—

For I’se still goin’, honey,

I’se still climbin’,

And life for me ain’t been no crystal stair.

Langston Hughes puts this into perfect perspective. Clearly, this mother loves her son enough to help him through his rough times and helps him through everything everyday. Another note to add is that she “keeps on a-steppin” is for her son, she goes through a lot to make his life a “Crystal Staircase”.

This Is Just to Say by William Carlos Williams

I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox

and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast

Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold

This one is kind of a stretch, but it does fit into a category of love, not for a person or even for a plum. The true unconditional love is defiance. Defiance is an abusive relationship that most people go through at one time or another in their adolescence. Despite that, defiance does wonders, it can change lives, make new meanings to things, or teach lessons you don’t want to be taught too late.

Eating poetry: Mark Strand

Ink runs from the corners of my mouth.
There is no happiness like mine.
I have been eating poetry.

The librarian does not believe what she sees.
Her eyes are sad
and she walks with her hands in her dress.

The poems are gone.
The light is dim.
The dogs are on the basement stairs and coming up.

Their eyeballs roll,
their blond legs burn like brush.
The poor librarian begins to stamp her feet and weep.

She does not understand.
When I get on my knees and lick her hand,
she screams.

I am a new man.
I snarl at her and bark.
I romp with joy in the bookish dark.

Love for books: one of the most unconditional types, and a scary one too. Sometimes you can feel like your writer and see through there eyes, and a lot times that is the point; but it is vivid and if it’s bad, that’s what you’ve got to deal with.

It is amazing how writers can paint pictures in our heads the way they do. Imagery, diction, and other techniques are used to do this. However, many of the pictures painted aren’t seen to be the same, Edgar Allen Poe paints a picture of a cave, so I see Carlsbad Caverns, Taylor swift creates a balcony, I see and apartment. There are so many things that can be sought differently than others and it all depends on perspective. “The Iceberg” is a lot bigger than it seems, so don’t drive your titanic into it just yet, until you see every perspective of this painted picture. A great songwriter once said “A picture is worth a thousand words”, but a few words could put a thousand different pictures together in your head, not to mention everyone else’s perspective. Pulling at one’s heartstrings is also another amazing tactic of the “Picassos” of writing. One might have a problem with love, for instance, and creating a character that is relatable in that sense can have the reader’s heart in the palm of the writer’s hand to paint any mural they want. Writers have a very powerful thing, and that’s why reading is so important in this case.

But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks?

It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.

Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,

Who is already sick and pale with grief,

That thou her maid art far more fair than she:

Be not her maid, since she is envious;

Her vestal livery is but sick and green

And none but fools do wear it; cast it off.

It is my lady, O, it is my love!

O, that she knew she were!

She speaks yet she says nothing: what of that?

Her eye discourses; I will answer it.

I am too bold, 'tis not to me she speaks:

Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven,

Having some business, do entreat her eyes

To twinkle in their spheres till they return.

What if her eyes were there, they in her head?

The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars,

As daylight doth a lamp; her eyes in heaven

Would through the airy region stream so bright

That birds would sing and think it were not night.

See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand!

O, that I were a glove upon that hand,

That I might touch that cheek!

Tech, The. "SCENE II Capulet's Orchard." N.p., n.d. Web.         Audio

Poetry Project

Juliet’s Monologue

Thou know'st the mask of night is on my face,

Else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek

For that which thou hast heard me speak to-night

Fain would I dwell on form, fain, fain deny

What I have spoke: but farewell compliment!

Dost thou love me? I know thou wilt say 'Ay,'

And I will take thy word: yet if thou swear'st,

Thou mayst prove false; at lovers' perjuries

Then say, Jove laughs. O gentle Romeo,

If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully:

Or if thou think'st I am too quickly won,

I'll frown and be perverse an say thee nay,

So thou wilt woo; but else, not for the world.

In truth, fair Montague, I am too fond,

And therefore thou mayst think my 'havior light:

But trust me, gentleman, I'll prove more true

Than those that have more cunning to be strange.

I should have been more strange, I must confess,

But that thou overheard'st, ere I was ware,

My true love's passion: therefore pardon me,

And not impute this yielding to light love,

Which the dark night hath so discovered.

The Song

Love Story by Taylor Swift

Song Writer: Taylor Swift

We were both young when I first saw you.

I close my eyes and the flashback starts:

I'm standing there on a balcony in summer air.

See the lights, see the party, the ball gowns.

See you make your way through the crowd

And say, "Hello."

Little did I know…

   That you were Romeo, you were throwing pebbles,

And my daddy said, "Stay away from Juliet."

And I was crying on the staircase

Begging you, "Please don't go."

And I said...

Romeo, take me somewhere we can be alone.

I'll be waiting; all that's left to do is run.

You'll be the prince and I'll be the princess,

It's a love story, baby, just say "Yes".

        So I sneak out to the garden to see you.

We keep quiet 'cause we're dead if they knew

So close your eyes,

Escape this town for a little while.

Oh, oh.

     'Cause you were Romeo, I was a scarlet letter,

And my daddy said, "Stay away from Juliet."

But you were everything to me,

I was begging you, "Please don't go."

And I said…

      Romeo, take me somewhere we can be alone.

I'll be waiting; all that's left to do is run.

You'll be the prince and I'll be the princess.

It's a love story, baby, just say "Yes".

  Romeo, save me. They're trying to tell me how to feel.

This love is difficult but it's real.

Don't be afraid, we'll make it out of this mess.

It's a love story, baby, just say "Yes".

    Oh, oh, oh.

I got tired of waiting

Wondering if you were ever coming around.

My faith in you was fading

When I met you on the outskirts of town.

And I said…

      Romeo, save me. I've been feeling so alone.

I keep waiting for you, but you never come.

Is this in my head? I don't know what to think.

He knelt to the ground and pulled out a ring and said…

     Marry me, Juliet, you'll never have to be alone.

I love you, and that's all I really know.

I talked to your dad – go pick out a white dress

It's a love story, baby, just say "Yes".

Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh.

  'Cause we were both young when I first saw you

I DIED for beauty, but was scarce
Adjusted in the tomb,
When one who died for truth was lain
In an adjoining room.
He questioned softly why I failed?	5
“For beauty,” I replied.
“And I for truth,—the two are one;
We brethren are,” he said.
And so, as kinsmen met a night,
We talked between the rooms,	10
Until the moss had reached our lips,
And covered up our names.

Deer Hit

Jon Loomis

You’re seventeen and tunnel-vision drunk,
swerving your father’s Fairlane wagon home

at 3:00 a.m. Two-lane road, all curves
and dips—dark woods, a stream, a patchy acre

of teazle and grass. You don’t see the deer
till they turn their heads—road full of eyeballs,

small moons glowing. You crank the wheel,
stamp both feet on the brake, skid and jolt

into the ditch. Glitter and crunch of broken glass
in your lap, deer hair drifting like dust. Your chin

and shirt are soaked—one eye half-obscured
by the cocked bridge of your nose. The car

still running, its lights angled up at the trees.
You get out. The deer lies on its side.

A doe, spinning itself around
in a frantic circle, front legs scrambling,

back legs paralyzed, dead. Making a sound—
again and again this terrible bleat.

You watch for a while. It tires, lies still.
And here’s what you do: pick the deer up

like a bride. Wrestle it into the back of the car—
the seat folded down. Somehow, you steer

the wagon out of the ditch and head home,
night rushing in through the broken window,

headlight dangling, side-mirror gone.
Your nose throbs, something stabs

in your side. The deer breathing behind you,
shallow and fast. A stoplight, you’re almost home

and the deer scrambles to life, its long head
appears like a ghost in the rearview mirror

and bites you, its teeth clamp down on your shoulder
and maybe you scream, you struggle and flail

till the deer, exhausted, lets go and lies down.

2
Your father’s waiting up, watching tv.
He’s had a few drinks and he’s angry.

Christ, he says, when you let yourself in.
It’s Night of the Living Dead. You tell him

some of what happened: the dark road,
the deer you couldn’t avoid. Outside, he circles

the car. Jesus, he says. A long silence.
Son of a bitch, looking in. He opens the tailgate,

drags the quivering deer out by a leg.
What can you tell him—you weren’t thinking,

you’d injured your head? You wanted to fix
what you’d broken—restore the beautiful body,

color of wet straw, color of oak leaves in winter?
The deer shudders and bleats in the driveway.

Your father walks to the toolshed,
comes back lugging a concrete block.

Some things stay with you. Dumping the body
deep in the woods, like a gangster. The dent

in your nose. All your life, the trail of ruin you leave.

Eating Poetry

Mark Strand, 1934 - 2014

Ink runs from the corners of my mouth.
There is no happiness like mine.
I have been eating poetry.

The librarian does not believe what she sees.
Her eyes are sad
and she walks with her hands in her dress.

The poems are gone.
The light is dim.
The dogs are on the basement stairs and coming up.

Their eyeballs roll,
their blond legs burn like brush.
The poor librarian begins to stamp her feet and weep.

She does not understand.
When I get on my knees and lick her hand,
she screams.

I am a new man.
I snarl at her and bark.
I romp with joy in the bookish dark.

Deer Hit

Jon Loomis

You’re seventeen and tunnel-vision drunk,
swerving your father’s Fairlane wagon home

at 3:00 a.m. Two-lane road, all curves
and dips—dark woods, a stream, a patchy acre

of teazle and grass. You don’t see the deer
till they turn their heads—road full of eyeballs,

small moons glowing. You crank the wheel,
stamp both feet on the brake, skid and jolt

into the ditch. Glitter and crunch of broken glass
in your lap, deer hair drifting like dust. Your chin

and shirt are soaked
one eye half-obscured
by the cocked bridge of your nose.
still running, its lights angled up at the trees.
You get out. The deer lies on its side.

A doe, spinning itself around
in a frantic circle, front legs scrambling,

back legs paralyzed, dead. Making a sound—
again and again this terrible bleat.

You watch for a while. It tires, lies still.
And here’s what you do: pick the deer up

like a bride. Wrestle it into the back of the car—
the seat folded down. Somehow, you steer

the wagon out of the ditch and head home,
night rushing in through the broken window,

headlight dangling, side-mirror gone.
Your nose throbs, something stabs

in your side. The deer breathing behind you,
shallow and fast. A stoplight, you’re almost home

and the deer scrambles to life, its long head
appears like a ghost in the rearview mirror

and bites you, its teeth clamp down on your shoulder
and maybe you scream, you struggle and flail
till the deer, exhausted, lets go and lies down.

2
Your father’s waiting up, watching tv.
He’s had a few drinks and he’s angry.

Christ, he says, when you let yourself in.
It’s Night of the Living Dead. You tell him

some of what happened: the dark road,
the deer you couldn’t avoid. Outside, he circles

the car. Jesus, he says. A long silence.
Son of a bitch, looking in. He opens the tailgate,

drags the quivering deer out by a leg.
What can you tell him—you weren’t thinking,

you’d injured your head? You wanted to fix
what you’d broken—restore the beautiful body,

color of wet straw, color of oak leaves in winter?
The deer shudders and bleats in the driveway.

Your father walks to the toolshed,
comes back lugging a concrete block.

Some things stay with you. Dumping the body
deep in the woods, like a gangster. The dent

in your nose. All your life, the trail of ruin you leave.

“Eating Poetry”

Ink runs from my heart

There is no unhappiness like mine

I have become poetry

The librarian can’t believe it

Her eyes are happy

She walks with pep in her step

The poems are in me

The lights are bright

The dogs are coming around

They stare hard

There fur looks like fire

The old librarian begins to laugh

She understands

When i kneel and beg for mercy

She screams

I am reborn

I look at her and sigh

I walk away  in the new dark

5. The Rap

6. “Largo” by Symphony No.5

7. Poets can turn words into pictures by just the simple use of diction. While the author writes his poem, we read it as if a movie is playing in our head. The poet uses imagery, a type of figurative language. The definition of imagery is visually descriptive or figurative language, especially in a literary work. The author uses a broader word choice to provide more depth. Along with the author providing his part of creating an advanced poem, the reader becomes engaged. For the reader to become engaged, the poem has something that the reader can connect to. Once the reader is connected, the reader understands the poem more. The heart and mind likes the poem because through the mind the reader connects visually and then through the heart the reader enjoys the poem.

Authors note:

All of the poems and selections in this poem project are connected due to their minor and major ties with love and death. In the soliloquy or monologue portion of my project I choose Juliet's monologue. Juliet's monologue she speaks about her undying love for Romeo. In the song ‘love story’ by Taylor Swift the theme is forbidden love. Taylor takes on the role of Juliet and speaks of her love for Romeo although her dad will not allow it. At the end of the song Taylor speaks of how her dad came to his senses and allowed for the two to be together. In contrast the poem’s eating poetry and Deer hit , speak of sadness and death, these poems mirror the sadness lying within Romeo and Juliet's love story.

The poem eating poetry, describes a man ‘eating poetry’.By eating poetry I think the author is trying to describe a man who has just fallen in love with poetry, but it comes to a almost sad end when the librarian becomes upset. The poem ‘Deer hit’ describes a boy who hit a deer while driving drunk. When the author describes how life slowly left the sad animal, the boy does not know how to handle the situation. This poem contrast the sad death of Romeo and Juliet in the end of the original story.

All of theses poems contrast each other in love and death. The sadness described in one selection is mirrored in another with hints of love. Also the poems Deer hit and Eating poetry both show sadness and loss because both illustrate loss. In Eating poetry the character in the poem, seems to be losing his personality and character to the words of poetry on the page. In addition in the poem Deer hit the character watches as a animal losses life.

All of the poems in our project, have a theme of sadness, loss and love. All of these poems have sadness because they all see death or want something they cannot have. They all contain loss because of the loss of life and character within the poem. Also the all have love, because of the deep love for poetry, life and the people around you.

Finally I choose these poems because the words of love and loss touch my heart and make me understand the feelings of the author. These poems have taught me that love is a powerful force of nature that is more powerful than any other force.

My favorite part of this project was the idea of reading and analyzing poetry, but I disliked how unclear the instructions were.

Emme contributed to the project by making it organized and creative. The project has all the information in the correct order and changed the fonts/ colors/size. With each part of the project looking neat, I also helped pick out one of the three poems. I also did 2,6,7, and 8 of the tasks. In task 2, I had to take a quote and make the background a picture that represented it which was the easiest task. Next was task 6. In task 6, I had to listen to different classic music pieces and match it with our theme, love. Task 7 was the hardest of all. 1000 characters may not seem like a lot, but it did take awhile to type the SAQ. And finally, task 8 was simple as well. Finding abstract art that represented love was pretty easy. I think without my contributions the project wouldn’t have been as organized and look good.

Work Citing

Juliet’s Monologue http://www.shakespeare-monologues.org/plays/35

First Poemhttp://www.bartleby.com/113/4010.html

Deer Hit https://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/deer-hit

Eating Poetry https://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/eating-poetry