Anne Bradstreet

Another awesome female poet! Anne Bradstreet was way before her time.

The Author To Her Book

Thou ill-formed offspring of my feeble brain,
Who after birth did’st by my side remain,
Till snatcht from thence by friends, less wise than true,
Who thee abroad exposed to public view,
Made thee in rags, halting to th’ press to trudge,
Where errors were not lessened (all may judge).
At thy return my blushing was not small,
My rambling brat (in print) should mother call.
I cast thee by as one unfit for light,
The visage was so irksome in my sight,
Yet being mine own, at length affection would
Thy blemishes amend, if so I could.
I washed thy face, but more defects I saw,
And rubbing off a spot, still made a flaw.
I stretcht thy joints to make thee even feet,
Yet still thou run’st more hobbling than is meet.
In better dress to trim thee was my mind,
But nought save home-spun cloth, i’ th’ house I find.
In this array, ‘mongst vulgars may’st thou roam.
In critic’s hands, beware thou dost not come,
And take thy way where yet thou art not known.
If for thy father askt, say, thou hadst none;
And for thy mother, she alas is poor,
Which caused her thus to send thee out of door. 

Eloise Greenfield

Who would have thought I would actually find some good poetry at the library? Haha Whowouldathunkit?

I had a customer check out this awesome book called Honey, I Love and other poems by Eloise Greenfield. I couldn’t help, but take a look inside when I saw it. There are awesome sketches inside as well as awesome poetry. The customer talked to me for a minute about the book and let me kind of read through it. I found this awesome poem:

Way Down in the Music

I get way down in the music
Down inside the music
I let it wake me
take me
Spin me around and make me
Uh-get down

Inside the sound of the Jackson Five
Into the tune of Earth, Wind and Fire
Down in the bass where the beat comes from
Down in the horn and down in the drum
I get down
I get down

I get way down in the music
Down inside the music
I let it wake me
take me
Spin me around and shake me
I get down, down
I get down

The beat is awesome!! Reminds me of Langston Hughes poetry and how he would recite his work with jazz in the background. Love it!!

C.S. Lewis

What can be better tan C.S. Lewis and a poem about Ireland? NOTHING! Hope you enjoy!

Irish Nocturne

Now the grey mist comes creeping up

From the waste ocean’s weedy strand

And fills the valley, as a cup

If filled of evil drink in a wizard’s hand;

And the trees fade out of sight,

Like dreary ghosts unhealthily,

Into the damp, pale night,

Till you almost think that a clearer eye could see

Some shape come up of a demon seeking apart

His meat, as Grendel sought in Harte

The thanes that sat by the wintry log—

Grendel or the shadowy mass

Of Balor, or the man with the face of clay,

The grey, grey walker who used to pass

Over the rock-arch nightly to his prey.

But here at the dumb, slow stream where the willows hang,

With never a wind to blow the mists apart,

Bitter and bitter it is for thee. O my heart,

Looking upon this land, where poets sang,

Thus with the dreary shroud

Unwholesome, over it spread,

And knowing the fog and the cloud

In her people’s heart and head

Even as it lies for ever upon her coasts

Making them dim and dreamy lest her sons should ever arise

And remember all their boasts;

For I know that the colourless skies

And the blurred horizons breed

Lonely desire and many words and brooding and never a deed.



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