My Thanksgiving Poem :)

Pie Oh My

Kileen Willis

My Mom is a cherry pie, full of delicious taste and fruitful wisdom.

My Dad is a sturdy pecan pie, he is strong on the outside but also is filled with a gooey inside.

Kelsie is a fluffy lemon meringue pie full of sweetness and goodness.

Dana is a rich chocolate mousse pie, bold and daring.

Jenna is a banana creme pie, filled with a delicious sweetness.

God is the whipped creme, brings us all together and is the most important part.

Without it, pie would just be... pie.

Even if you weren't my father...

I am sorry that I didn't write the poem on my blog, but I'm not feeling too good so I am trying my best to get at least a few words out about the poem I read. Even if you weren't my father was a beautiful touching poem, what makes it so beautiful is that it is about a person in every ones life that is of utter importance.. a father. When Sbarbaro writes in lines 1 through 3," Father, even if you weren't my father, were you an utter stranger, for your own self I'd still love you." I would hope that all of us could relate to that, because a fathers love for his child is so unfathomable that we are unable to even imagine until the point to which men become fathers. A mothers love is unknowing as-well, but they are very different.

Sbarbaro tries to give the readers a look into the triumphs and faults of her father, that he may lose his temper but the love for his child brought him back to earth. He could recognize the fear in her eyes and wanted to rid her of that, so with loving arms he held her against him so she could hear the strong beat of his heart and feel safe. I read a book called captivating last year and it is a beautiful uplifting book about the importance of the Father in a daughters life, the author was trying to also encourage the importance of the relationship with our Heavenly Father, the reminder of this book came about because through the actions of our Fathers- we as daughters - learn so many characteristics that will substantially make who we become. Daddy's are always there to comfort and bring safety, and they give that occasional "you look beautiful"remark that gives us a feeling that we are beautiful- but for reasons only the soul can show.
Even if you weren't my father is a wonderful poem because it isn't complex to understand, it is rather simple, and everyone (I would hope) can relate to this poem in one way or another.

Ethics

Ethics

Linda Pastan

In ethics class so many years ago

our teacher asked this question every fall:

if there were a fire in a museum

which would you save, a Rembrandt painting

or an old woman who hadn't many

years left anyhow?

 Restless on hard chairs caring little for pictures or old age

we'd opt one year for life, the next for art

and always half-heartedly. Sometimes

the woman borrowed my grandmother's face

leaving her usual kitchen to wander

some drafty, half- imagined museum.

One year, feeling clever, I replied

why not let the woman decide herself?

Linda, the teacher would report, eschews

the burden of responsibility.

This fall in a real museum I stand

 before a real Rembrandt, old woman,

or nearly so, myself. The colors

within this frame are darker than autumn

darker even than winter- the browns of the earth,

though earth's most radiant elements burn

 through the canvas. I know now that woman

and painting and season are almost one

and all beyond saving by children.

I find it very ironic that I happened to pick this poem to not only do my blog, but also to teach about being that it is the same author as the last poem I blogged about. Linda Pastan is a Jewish American poet, she obviously wrote unveiling and tends to write about very "dark" or seemingly dark subjects.

This poem "Ethics" seems to be surrounded by the simple question "what would you do?", she strives to answer one of the most difficult ethical questions. The beginning of the poem seems as if she is merely telling a story, then at the 10th line is where it transforms into a poetic style. The deep metaphors of "colors within this frame are darker than autumn even darker than winter..." seem to generate an over all "shadow" like feeling.

A guilty conscience seems to go with us where ever we are, and with that guilt comes an over sense of darkness that envelopes us. The ethical question of whether to save an old woman or a valuable painting seems to not have a right answer for people, those who choose a side may come to regret it, and that is where guilt comes into play. This poem is surrounding the question of, "what would you do?", but also adds to the idea that there will be a consequence for either action the person chooses. Pastan's writing rides on an edge of sadness, but with that brings a light of understanding within the poem itself.

Unveiling.

Unveiling

Linda Pastan

In the cemetery

a mile away

from where we used to live

my aunts and mother,

my father and uncles lie

in two long rows almost the way

they used to sit around

the long planked table

at family dinners,

and walking beside

the graves today, down

one straight path

and up the next,

I don't feel sad

for them,just left out a bit

as if they kept

from me the kind

of grown-up secret

they used to share

back then, something

I'm not quite ready yet

to learn.

As children we all had a view of the world, that it was almost perfect. Our brains were like sponges soaking in all the information that we could possibly handle. The 3rd to last line in the poem was the climactic point, by that I mean; "something I'm not quite ready yet to learn", it is so climactic because of the perspective I am looking at towards the poem. There is a song written by the Christian band "Mercy Me" called Homesick, it is all about how we are hungry to go home- but to our Heavenly home. When Pastan states, "I don't feel sad for them, just left out a bit as if they kept from me the kind of grown- up secret they used to share back then...", I took that as being the greatest secret of humanity- the secret beyond the grave. We at times feel so homesick for our heavenly home we remove the sadness from our life completely, we may miss them, but the truth of the matter is we strive to be where they are. The structure of the poem is set in a longated column which could symbolize the "long planked table" which in turn could very well be a symbol for the earthly way in which is still very much living in.

The title of the poem is always something I really like to analyze, mostly because many times after reading a poem that is when we fully understand the title of the poem itself- the title gives the poem an even HIGHER meaning. Unveiling could be taken as the unveiling of- death? life? heartache? or even earthly desires. Either way the unveiling is exposing something...

Poetry at 7:43 A.M.

The Coming of Wisdom with Time

William Butler Yeats

though leaves are many, the root is one;

Through all the lying days of my youth

I swayed my leaves and flowers in the sun;

Now I may wither into the truth.

The understanding of this poem is primarily in the title, let me explain; I realize that normally a poem is understood when reading the poem ITSELF. This poem had the opposite effect on me I feel that I could have read the title and been fine! The poem confused me because of the structure of it, it seems that this is an unfinished thought. The only explination I have is that Yeats did this for the purpose that expands on this idea of "wisdom coming with time".

New quarter. New words.

Acquainted with the Night

Robert Frost

(1874-1963)

I have been one acquainted with the night.

I have walked out in rain - and back in rain.

I have outwalked the furthest city light.

I have looked down the saddest city lane.

I have passed by the watchman on his beat

and dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.

I have stood still and stopped the sounds of feet

when far away an interrupted cry

came over houses from another street,

But not to call me back or say good-bye;

and further still at an unearthly height

one luminary clock against the sky

Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right.

I have been one acquainted with the night.

There is so much truth that is lying beneath the poem, in its ambiguity. The vague-ness of the poem allows the reader to interpret the night and it symbolism for that person specifically. I found that the night is exactly what it is, a lifetime of darkness- a depression if you will. "I have been one acquainted with the night" is strong in the repetitive factor and with the fact that everyone can relate to a time where they have been found in accordance with darkness. In the line, I have passed by the watchmen on his beat...", that reminds me of a story that the AP language class had to read relating to a watchmen . The watchmen was constantly hovering over making sure that the person could feel his gaze. The watchmen was merely the fears, struggles, and other feelings that kept us bottled up from our dreams. When I read that line I automatically thought of that story especially because it adds to the darkness that is encompassed within that certain imagery.

Overall, I really liked this poem! It was a good start to the 2nd quarter!

Goodbye 1st quarter :)

Still Memory

Mary Karr

The dream was so deep

the bed came unroped from its moorings,

drifted upstream till it found my old notch

in the house i grew up in,

then it locked in place.

A light in the hall-

my father in the doorway, not dead,

just got home from the graveyard shift

smelling of crude oil and solvent.

In the kitchen, Mother rummages through silver

while the boiled water poured

in the battered old drip pot

unleashes coffee's smoky odor.

Outside,the mimosa fronds, closed all night,

poen their narrow valleys for dew.

Around us, the town is just growing animate,

its pulleys and levers set in motion.

My house starts to throb in its old socket.

My twelve-year old sister steps fast

because the bathroom tiles

are cold and we have no heat other

than that what our bodies can carry.

My parents are not yet born each

into a small urn of ash.

My ten-year old hand reaches

for a pen to record it all

as would become long habit.

There are some memories that people will NEVER forget, and I could imagine that for Mary Karr she would never forget her journey through writing. At the end of the poem when she says, "My ten-year old hand reaches for a pen to record it all as would become long habit", I would imagine that this was one of those "Kodak memories" that can never be erased. Parts of the poem were a little dark for my liking. She tends to talk about her parents using cold words like "dead", I guess why i think those are cold is because growing up my parents always had us use the saying "passing away" because it sounds less abrupt.

This poem was a direct look into the life of Karr, with all the details even to the little things like dew that most of us wouldn't notice. Memories are those final looks into a past time, whether they are good or bad, those memories seem to stick with us for our lifetime. The first time I picked up a microphone or sang would be the equivalent (I feel) to her way of writing. While peoples passions are different, we all have the availability to let that passion come through... and what better way than through rummaging through our memories!