Send the link below via email or IMCopy
Present to your audienceStart remote presentation
- Invited audience members will follow you as you navigate and present
- People invited to a presentation do not need a Prezi account
- This link expires 10 minutes after you close the presentation
- A maximum of 30 users can follow your presentation
- Learn more about this feature in our knowledge base article
Transcript of Poetry Anthology
Published Wednesday, April 10th
Woodinville, Washington Living Life Thanks to Anna and Gina,
for always pushing me to live
life to the fullest. Cynthia Huntington was born in Meadville, Pennsylvania and graduated from Middlebury College. She is now a professor of English and creative writing at Dartmouth. Cynthia writes most of her poems from personal memories, wanting to expose both the threat and respite with her words. She doesn’t believe that poems should all be uplifting with the darkness on Earth untouched. “...stairs go both up and down without ever moving” (Cynthia Huntington). She uses her words to delve into the bare mind, examining the pure thoughts without the sugar coating. Donald Hall describes Cynthia’s work as “poetry of the intellect laid out in a brawny unpredictable style”. Her poems don’t leave any corner of human nature untouched. Ghost
At first you didn’t know me.
I was a shape moving rapidly, nervous
at the edge of your vision. A flat, high voice,
dark slash of hair across my cheekbone.
I made myself present, though never distinct.
Things I said that he repeated, a tone
you could hear, but never trace, in his voice.
Silence—followed by talk of other things.
When you would sit at your desk, I would creep
near you like a question. A thought would scurry
across the front of your mind. I’d be there,
ducking out of sight. You must have felt me
watching you, my small eyes fixed on your face,
the smile you wondered at, on the lips only.
The voice on the phone, quick and full of business.
All that you saw and heard and could not find
the center of, those days growing into years,
growing inside of you, out of reach, now with you
forever, in your house, in your garden, in corridors
of dream where I finally tell you my name.
BY CYNTHIA HUNTINGTON The Only Exception
I know somewhere
deep in my soul
that love never lasts.
And we’ve got to find other ways
to make it alone.
Or keep a straight face.
And I’ve always lived like this
keeping a comfortable distance.
And up until now I’ve sworn to myself
that I’m content with loneliness.
Because none of it was ever worth the risk.
Well you are the only exception
You are the only exception.
I’ve got a tight grip on reality,
but I can’t let go of what’s in front of me here.
I know you’re leaving in the morning
when you wake up
Leave me some kind of proof it’s not a dream.
You are the only exception
BY Hayley Williams Nothing Left to Say
Who knows how long
I've been awake now?
The shadows on my wall don't sleep
They keep calling me
Who knows what's right?
The lines keep getting thinner
My age has never made me wise
But I keep pushing on and on and on and on
There's nothing left to say now...
I'm giving up, giving up, hey hey, giving up now...
There's nothing left to say now...
I'm giving up, giving up, hey hey, giving up now...
Below my soul
I feel an engine
Collapsing as it sees the pain
If I could only shut it out
I've come too far
To see the end now
Even if my way is wrong
I keep pushing on and on and on and on
BY Dan Reynolds Dr. Maya Angelou was born on April 4th, 1928 in St. Louis Missouri. her childhood was greatly influenced by the values of African-American community and culture, but also grew up facing racial discrimination. Even as a young girl Maya loved the arts. Her poems come from her experiences as a civil-rights activist, historian, and her travels around the world. Her poems are known for their rhythm, elegance and the sheer beauty of her words. The Secret
Two girls discover
the secret of life
in a sudden line of
I who don't know the
the line. They
(through a third person)
they had found it
but not what it was
what line it was. No doubt
by now, more than a week
later, they have forgotten
the line, the name of
the poem. I love them
for finding what
I can't find, What the Living Do
Johnny, the kitchen sink has been clogged for days, some utensil probably fell down there.
And the Drano won't work but smells dangerous, and the crusty dishes have piled up
waiting for the plumber I still haven't called. This is the everyday we spoke of.
It's winter again: the sky's a deep, headstrong blue, and the sunlight pours through
the open living-room windows because the heat's on too high in here and I can't turn it off.
For weeks now, driving, or dropping a bag of groceries in the street, the bag breaking,
I've been thinking: This is what the living do. And yesterday, hurrying along those
wobbly bricks in the Cambridge sidewalk, spilling my coffee down my wrist and sleeve,
I thought it again, and again later, when buying a hairbrush: This is it.
Parking. Slamming the car door shut in the cold. What you called that yearning.
What you finally gave up. We want the spring to come and the winter to pass. We want
whoever to call or not call, a letter, a kiss—we want more and more and then more of it.
But there are moments, walking, when I catch a glimpse of myself in the window glass,
say, the window of the corner video store, and I'm gripped by a cherishing so deep
for my own blowing hair, chapped face, and unbuttoned coat that I'm speechless:
I am living. I remember you.
BY MARIE HOWE Life is full of challenges. Some may turn into
failures, but many will become successes. I wanted to show that life has many ups and downs. I have collected and written poems that have captured the essence of living life to the fullest, and not letting fear stop you from doing it.
Paige Grover Featured Poem Featured Poem Still I Rise
You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.
Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.
Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise.
Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops,
Weakened by my soulful cries?
Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don't you take it awful hard
'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
Diggin' in my own backyard.
You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I'll rise.
Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I've got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?
Out of the huts of history's shame
Up from a past that's rooted in pain
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
BY MAYA ANGELOU Nazim Hikmet was born in 1902 in Salonika which later became Thessalonikl, Greece. He was exposed to arts at an early age by his artist mother and poet grandfather. He wrote poetry throughout his entire life, even though he was in and out of jail because of his strong beliefs. In Turkey, he sought to develop new forms of poetry that would allow his personal style to show. Hikmet is celebrated for his unique diction and innovative style that set his work truly apart from others. On Living
Let's say we're seriously ill, need surgery--
which is to say we might not get up
from the white table.
Even though it's impossible not to feel sad
about going a little too soon,
we'll still laugh at the jokes being told,
we'll look out the window to see if it's raining,
or still wait anxiously
for the latest newscast. . .
Let's say we're at the front--
for something worth fighting for, say.
There, in the first offensive, on that very day,
we might fall on our face, dead.
We'll know this with a curious anger,
but we'll still worry ourselves to death
about the outcome of the war, which could last years.
Let's say we're in prison
and close to fifty,
and we have eighteen more years, say,
before the iron doors will open.
We'll still live with the outside,
with its people and animals, struggle and wind--
I mean with the outside beyond the walls.
I mean, however and wherever we are,
we must live as if we will never die.
BY NAZIM HIKMET Featured Poem and for loving me
for the line I wrote,
and for forgetting it
a thousand times, till death
finds them, they may
discover it again, in other
happenings. And for
wanting to know it,
assuming there is
such a secret, yes,
most of all.
BY DENISE LEVERTOV Hold Your Head Up
Hold your head up, there's a light in the sky.
I know you're fed up, but you must try to survive.
Each moment's precious, don't let life pass you by-
Keep focused, keep your eyes on the prize.
A friend of mine once told me,
We have many paths in this journey.
They act in different directions
So when you question don't be worried,
It's not a wrong one-
Beauty can be found in all of them.
You'll meet people whose paths intersect
But you don't know how long you'll walk with them,
Cause' the truth is, and it's so hard, but you'll never know
How long we'll continue with our loved ones down this rugged road.
The path veers and it's clear that we must steer alone.
I've learned if you can't hold on to that moment that exists-
Let it go.
Cause' freedom is god.
Freedom is acknowledging the mask you have on
And possessing the strength to take it off.
Freedom is accepting every step of the path
And when it's hard having faith in the ability to embrace that
That's where you are,
And this is it.
The same that we work towards,
But go against in the same sense.
BY MACKLEMORE Blood Honey
These numbered days
have a concentrated sweetness
that’s pressed from us,
the dying man most of all.
Today we eat brunch at Chester’s,
poached egg on toast,
orange juice foaming in frosted glasses.
He remembers the summer he packed blood oranges,
stripped to the waist,
drinking the fresh-squeezed juice in the factory
straight from the tap.
He cups his left hand under his chin
as if to a faucet, laughing.
He is scooping sweetness from the belly of death
—honey from the lion’s carcass.
We sit with our friend
and brood on the riddle he sets before us:
What is it, this blood honey?
A shadow is eating the sun.
It can blind you
but he’s looking right at it,
he won't turn away.
Already his gaze is marked
by such hard looking,
though just now he asked,
plaintive as a child,
Why won’t it go away?
Day after day breaks
and gives him
back to us
Soon the husk of his knowing
won’t know even that.
* A man lies alone in his body in a world
he can still desire.
Another slice of pie? he asks.
As long as he’s hungry
he’s still one of us.
Oh Lord, not yet.
He drums out a jazz beat on the bedrail
with his one good hand
when the words stumble.
See? he says. I can trick the tumor.
He can still taste and see.
The world is good.
He hauls himself up in bed,
squinting his one good eye at the kingdom
through a keyhole
that keeps getting smaller
It is good. It is very good.
BY CHANA BLOCH You may see me struggle
but you won't see me fall.
Regardless if I'm weak or not I'm going to stand tall.
Everyone says life is easy
but truly living it is not.
times get hard,
and constantly get put on the spot.
I'm going to wear the biggest smile
even though I want to cry.
I'm going to fight to live
even though I'm destined to die.
and even though it's hard and I may struggle through it all.
you see me struggle...you will NEVER see me fall. Never See Me Fall life is not just waking up one morning and saying ok I want this to happen,
it's about getting out there and going for it. . . .
life is full of surprises,
here, there and everywhere,
you never know where you will end up,
or who you will end up with,
you just have to trust
never let people bring you down,
they will do anything to watch you fall,
so keep your head up and your heart strong,
and then my dear you can never go wrong. Go Get It Sometimes we see things that aren't meant to be seen.
Sometimes things aren’t always as they seem.
Sometimes we need someone to call our own,
Especially when we’re alone.
Sometimes people just can’t understand,
Why things get out of hand.
Sometimes life just isn’t fair,
Especially when people just don’t care.
And sometimes it's hard to say,
Why things have to be this way.
Sometimes it’s all you can do to get by,
Especially when dreams continue to die.
Sometimes it’s nice to sit in the rain.
Even to just relieve the pain.
And when we’ve had a really bad day,
Sometimes we just need to get away.
Sometimes the hardest thing and the right thing are the same.
Sometimes you just don’t want to play the game
Even the strongest ones may need comfort
To let go of the hurt Sometimes Life is unfair, sometimes the misery we can't bear..
This was a feeling I could never share...
I am strong, strong enough to move on from this pain,
I won't feel the shame, my life is not a game,
tired of these tears and my fears...
I will cherish my inspirations...
I will find my dream, I promise, that's what I will achieve..
I will find a way to leave..
I'm not who you will deceive..
I won't fall, I may be lost but I will be found...
No boundaries, free my mind of all the pressure, leaving here will be my pleasure..
I want so much to be free, so much I want to see...
I want to reach the sky, I want so bad to fly...
I have made mistakes but I won’t let my self break..
It is time to stop struggling Time to Stop Struggling In that one moment
I was Infinite
I had forgotten the sound
of my feet pounding on the pavement
of my ragged breath
breaking the silence
Ceased to feel
the rain pelting my face, my back
the wind cutting through my skin
seeping into my bones
Ignored the fact that
the minute I opened my eyes again
her words would come screaming back to me
his hard face would be the first thing I saw
On the edge
I was completely me,
nothing else existed.
there was nothing else to be
In the moment before the free fall
I was Infinite One Moment Here I am, a rabbit hearted girl frozen in the headlights
I start spinning, slipping out of time
Instead of rushing towards the skyline
I wish that I could just be brave
Will it ever be enough? It's not enough.
It seems I've made the final sacrifice
No matter how fast I run
No matter how far I fade into the background
I am still surrounded
suffocated by the fear
if escaping is not an option
what do i have left
But to turn,
and fight Turn and Fight Games are meant to be played with risks
Trust requires blind leaps of faith
We are supposed to love
even with the threat of heartbreak looming over our heads
if we are crippled with doubts about taking chances
What is there to live for
Stripped of all meaning
We are puppets on a lonely string
letting others control us
I have to let go of fear and
Seize the moment Games In the eye of the tiger
most will fade
melt into the background and
be swallowed by darkness
but there are some
who would stand in defiance
not to be controlled by the possibility
of not surviving
it is to them that we owe
respect Eye of the Tiger Thank You! Table of Contents: 1) Dedication
3) 6 poems
4) 3 featured poems with biographical sketches
5) 9 original poems
6) Bibliography * Academy of American Poets, ed. Poets.org. Academy of American Poets, 1997. Web. 21 Apr. 2013. <http://www.poets.org/>.
* Angelou, Maya, ed. Maya Angelou: Global Renaissance Woman. Maya Angelou, n.d. Web. 21 Apr. 2013. <http://mayaangelou.com/>.
* Marie, Jade, ed. A-Z Lyrics. N.p., 2000. Web. 21 Apr. 2013. <http://www.azlyrics.com/>. Bibliography Keep Moving Forward
You break my bones
You got me on my knees
Just to watch me bleed
I can't stand the way you are smiling
Like you have the key
But I know that it is up to me
You tried to leave me crouched in a corner
But I was sprinting ahead
leaving you with nothing but an idea
I am the master of my fate
not you who doesn't even know me
and lies to make up for mistakes
I will keep moving forward
through the sun and the rain
and if you follow you will see
How none of it matters, if you keep moving forward