poetrylessonfour

     ON READING POEMS TO A SENIOR CLASS AT SOUTH HIGH

                              Before
                              I opened my mouth
                              I noticed them sitting there
                              as orderly as frozen fish
                              in a package.

                              Slowly water began to fill the room
                              though I did not notice it
                              till it reached
                              my ears

                              and then I heard the sounds
                              of fish in an aquarium

                              and I knew that though I had
                              tried to drown them
                              with my words
                              that they had only opened up
                              like gills for them
                              and let them in.

                              Together we swam around the room
                              like thirty tails whacking words
                              till the bell rang
                              puncturing
                              a hole in the door

                              where we all leaked out.

                              They went to another class
                              I suppose and I home

                              Where Queen Elizabeth
                               my cat met me
                              and licked my fins
                              till they were hands again.

                                                                D. C. Berry (b. 1847)

BECAUSE I COULD NOT STOP FOR DEATH

Because I could not stop for Death,
He kindly stopped for me;
The carriage held but just ourselves
And Immortality.

We slowly drove; he knew no haste,
And I had put away
My labor and my leisure too,
For his civility.

We passed the school, where children strove,
At recess, in the ring,
We passed the fields of gazing grain,
We passed the setting sun.

Or rather, he passed us;
The dews drew quivering and chill;
For only gossamer, my gown;
My tippet, only tulle.

We paused before a house that seemed
A swelling of the ground;
The roof was scarcely visible.
The cornice, in the ground.

Since then, 'tis centuries, and yet
Feels shorter than the day
I first surmised the horses' heads
Were toward eternity.

                                           Emily Dickinson (1830 - 1886)

                         A NOISELESS PATIENT SPIDER

A noiseless patient spider,
I marked where on a little promontory it stood isolated,
Marked how to explore the vacant vast surrounding,
It launched forth filament, filament, filament, out of itself,
Ever unreeling them, ever tirelessly speeding them.

And you O my soul where you stand,
Surrounded, detached, in measureless oceans of space,
Ceaselessly musing, venturing, throwing, seeking the sphere to connect them,
Till the bridge you will need be formed, till the ductile anchor hold,
Till the gossamer thread you fling catch somewhere, O my soul.

       Walt Whitman (1819-1892)