mAtCh tHe eXcErPt to the POEM&&&&AUTHOR !

How many roads must a man walk downBefore you call him a man?How many seas must a white dove sailBefore she sleeps in the sand?Yes, 'n' how many times must the cannon balls flyBefore they're forever banned?The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the windThe answer is blowin' in the wind

Blowin in the wind bob Dylan

Yes, 'n' how many years can a mountain existBefore it's washed to the sea?Yes, 'n' how many years can some people existBefore they're allowed to be free?Yes, 'n' how many times can a man turn his headAnd pretend that he just doesn't see?

Blowin in the wind bob dylan

Half a league, half a league, Half a league onward, All in the valley of Death Rode the six hundred. "Forward, the Light Brigade! Charge for the guns!" he said. Into the valley of Death Rode the six hundred.

Charge of the light brigade Alfred, lord Tennyson

Flashed all their sabres bare, Flashed as they turned in air Sabring the gunners there, Charging an army, while All the world wondered. Plunged in the battery-smoke Right through the line they broke; Cossack and Russian Reeled from the sabre stroke Shattered and sundered. Then they rode back, but not Not the six hundred.

Charge of the light brigade alfred, lord Tennyson

I hurt myself todayTo see if I still feelI focus on the painThe only thing that's real The needle tears a holeThe old familiar stingTry to kill it all awayBut I remember everything What have I becomeMy sweetest friend?Everyone I knowGoes away in the end

Hurt johnny cash

And you could have it allMy empire of dirtI will let you downI will make you hurt I wear this crown of thornsUpon my liar's chairFull of broken thoughtsI cannot repair Beneath the stains of timeThe feelings disappearYou are someone elseI am still right here

Hurt johnny cash

I saw pale kings and princes too, Pale warriors, death-pale were they all; They cried—'La Belle Dame sans Merci Thee hath in thrall!' I saw their starved lips in the gloam, With horrid warning gapèd wide, And I awoke and found me here, On the cold hill's side.

La belle dame sans merci

O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms, Alone and palely loitering? The sedge has withered from the lake, And no birds sing. O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms, So haggard and so woe-begone? The squirrel's granary is full, And the harvest's done.

La belle dame sans merci john Keats

She took me to her Elfin grot, And there she wept and sighed full sore, And there I shut her wild wild eyes With kisses four. And there she lullèd me asleep, And there I dreamed—Ah! woe betide!— The latest dream I ever dreamt On the cold hill side.

La belle dame sans merci john Keats

I lock you in an American sonnet that is part prison, Part panic closet, a little room in a house set aflame. I lock you in a form that is part music box, part meat Grinder to separate the song of the bird from the bone. I lock your persona in a dream-inducing sleeper hold While your better selves watch from the bleachers. I make you both gym & crow here. As the crow You undergo a beautiful catharsis trapped one night In the shadows of the gym. As the gym, the feel of crow- Shit dropping to your floors is not unlike the stars Falling from the pep rally posters on your walls. I make you a box of darkness with a bird in its heart. Voltas of acoustics, instinct & metaphor. It is not enough To love you. It is not enough to want you destroyed.

american sonnet for my past and future assassin terrance hayes

Nice to meet you, where you been?I could show you incredible thingsMagic, madness, heaven sinSaw you there and I thoughtOh my God, look at that faceYou look like my next mistakeLove's a game, want to play?New money, suit and tieI can read you like a magazineAin't it funny, rumors, lieAnd I know you heard about meSo hey, let's be friendsI'm dying to see how this one endsGrab your passport and my hand I can make the bad guys good for a weekend

blank space TSWIZZLe

'Cause we're young and we're recklessWe'll take this way too farIt'll leave you breathlessOr with a nasty scarGot a long list of ex-loversThey'll tell you I'm insane (Insane)But I've got a blank space babyAnd I'll write your name Boys only want love if it's tortureDon't say I didn't say I didn't warn yaBoys only want love if it's tortureDon't say I didn't say I didn't warn ya

blank space tswizzle

Cherry lips, crystal skiesI could show you incredible thingsStolen kisses, pretty liesYou're the king baby I'm your QueenFind out what you wantBe that girl for a monthWait the worst is yet to come, oh noScreaming, crying, perfect stormI can make all the tables turnRose gardens filled with thornsKeep you second guessing like"Oh my God, who is she?"I get drunk on jealousyBut you'll come back each time you leave'Cause darling I'm a nightmare dressed like a daydream

blank space tswizzle

So it's gonna be foreverOr it's gonna go down in flamesYou can tell me when it's overIf the high was worth the painGot a long list of ex-loversThey'll tell you I'm insane'Cause you know I love the playersAnd you love the game

blank space tswizzle

I want to leave something behind like the maid who cracked one night the length of her heart, who crept shaking down the staircase to where the service shone on the dresser, plates pale as a row of moons.

bone china esther morgan

She stacked them in her arms -a weight greater than all she owned -bore their white tower to the kitchen garden where she stood between the soft fruit beds and smashed each one against the wall with a planetary anger.

bone china esther morgan

That dawn she walked out of her story forever, though her flavour salted the servants' tongues for months, and clearing the ground a hundred years later of this self-seeded scrub of ashI can still piece bits of her together - white and sharp -as if the earth were teething.

bone china esther morgan

I am too weary of this long bright calm;always the same blue sky, always the seathe same blue perfect likeness of the sky,one rose to match the other that has waned,to-morrow's dawn the twin of yesterday's;and every night the ceaseless crickets chirpthe same long joy and the late strain of birdsrepeats their strain of all the even month;and changelessly the petty plashing surfsbubble their chiming burden round the stones;dusk after dusk brings the same languid tranceupon the shadowy hills, and in the fieldsthe waves of fireflies come and go the same,making the very flash of light and stirvex one like dronings of the spinning wheel.

circe augusta webster

Lo, lo! the shivering blueness darting forthon half the heavens, and the forked thin firestrikes to the sea: and hark, the sudden voicethat rushes through the trees before the storm,and shuddering of the branches. Yet the skyis blue against them still, and early starsglimmer above the pine-tops; and the airclings faint and motionless around me here.Another burst of flame--and the black speckshows in the glare, lashed onwards. It were wellI bade make ready for our guests to-night.

circe augusta webster

The sun drops luridly into the west;darkness has raised her arms to draw him downbefore the time, not waiting as of wonttill he has come to her behind the sea;and the smooth waves grow sullen in the gloomand wear their threatening purple; more and morethe plain of waters sways and seems to riseconvexly from its level of the shores;and low dull thunder rolls along the beach:there will be storm at last, storm, glorious storm.

circe augusta webster

Where is my love? Does some one cry for me,not knowing whom he calls? does his soul cryfor mine to grow beside it, grow in it?does he beseech the gods to give him me,the one unknown rare woman by whose sideno other woman, thrice as beautiful,should once seem fair to him; to whose voice heardin any common tones no sweetest soundof love made melody on silver lutes,or singing like Apollo's when the godsgrow pale with happy listening, might be peeredfor making music to him; whom once foundthere will be no more seeking anything?

circe augusta webster

Do not go gentle into that good night,Old age should burn and rave at close of day;Rage, rage against the dying of the light.Though wise men at their end know dark is right,Because their words had forked no lightning theyDo not go gentle into that good night.Good men, the last wave by, crying how brightTheir frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

do not go gentle into that good night dylan thomas

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,Do not go gentle into that good night.Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sightBlind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,Rage, rage against the dying of the light.And you, my father, there on the sad height,Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.Do not go gentle into that good night.Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

do not go gentle into that good night dylan thomas

Ah, love, let us be true To one another! for the world, which seems To lie before us like a land of dreams, So various, so beautiful, so new, Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light, Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain; And we are here as on a darkling plain Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight, Where ignorant armies clash by night.

dover beach matthew arnold

Only, from the long line of spray Where the sea meets the moon-blanched land, Listen! you hear the grating roar Of pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling, At their return, up the high strand, Begin, and cease, and then again begin, With tremulous cadence slow, and bring The eternal note of sadness in.

dover beach matthew arnold

Sophocles long ago Heard it on the Ægean, and it brought Into his mind the turbid ebb and flow Of human misery; we Find also in the sound a thought, Hearing it by this distant northern sea.

dover beach matthew arnold

The Sea of Faith Was once, too, at the full, and round earth's shore Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furled. But now I only hear Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar, Retreating, to the breath Of the night-wind, down the vast edges drear And naked shingles of the world.

dover beach matthew arnold

The sea is calm tonight. The tide is full, the moon lies fair Upon the straits; on the French coast the light Gleams and is gone; the cliffs of England stand, Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay. Come to the window, sweet is the night-air!

dover beach matthew arnold

Batter my heart, three-person'd God, for you As yet but knock, breathe, shine, and seek to mend; That I may rise and stand, o'erthrow me, and bend Your force to break, blow, burn, and make me new. I, like an usurp'd town to another due, Labor to admit you, but oh, to no end; Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend, But is captiv'd, and proves weak or untrue. Yet dearly I love you, and would be lov'd fain, But am betroth'd unto your enemy; Divorce me, untie or break that knot again, Take me to you, imprison me, for I, Except you enthrall me, never shall be free, Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.

holy sonnets #14 john donne

I am a fourteen-year-old girl with bad spelling and a messy room. If it helps any, I will tell you I have always felt funny using chopsticks and my favorite food is hot dogs. My best friend is a white girl named Denise -- we look at boys together. She sat in front of me all through grade school because of our names: O'Connor, Ozawa. I know the back of Denise's head very well. I tell her she's going bald. She tells me I copy on tests. We're best friends.

in resonse to executive order 9066 dwight okita

Dear Sirs: Of course I'll come. I've packed my galoshes and three packets of tomato seeds. Denise calls them love apples. My father says where we're going they won't grow.

in response to executive order 9066 dwight okita

I saw Denise today in Geography class. She was sitting on the other side of the room. "You're trying to start a war," she said, "giving secrets away to the Enemy. Why can't you keep your big mouth shut?" I didn't know what to say. I gave her a packet of tomato seeds and asked her to plant them for me, told her when the first tomato ripened she'd miss me.

in response to executive order 9066 dwight okita

My grandmother kisses as if bombs are bursting in the backyard, where mint and jasmine lace their perfumes through the kitchen window,as if somewhere, a body is falling apart and flames are making their way back through the intricacies of a young boy's thigh, as if to walk out the door, your torso would dance from exit wounds.

kissing in vietnamese ocean vuong

Strangers like you that pictured countenance, The depth and passion of its earnest glance, But to myself they turned (since none puts by The curtain I have drawn for you, but I) And seemed as they would ask me, if they durst, How such a glance came there; so, not the first Are you to turn and ask thus.

my last duchess robert browning

The Count your master's known munificence Is ample warrant that no just pretense Of mine for dowry will be disallowed; Though his fair daughter's self, as I avowed At starting, is my object. Nay, we'll go Together down, sir. Notice Neptune, though, Taming a sea-horse, thought a rarity, Which Claus of Innsbruck cast in bronze for me!

my last duchess robert browning

Would draw from her alike the approving speech, Or blush, at least. She thanked men—good! but thanked Somehow—I know not how—as if she ranked My gift of a nine-hundred-years-old name With anybody's gift. Who'd stoop to blame This sort of trifling? Even had you skill In speech—which I have not—to make your will Quite clear to such an one, and say, "Just this Or that in you disgusts me; here you miss, Or there exceed the mark"—and if she let Herself be lessoned so, nor plainly set Her wits to yours, forsooth, and made excuse— E'en then would be some stooping; and I choose Never to stoop.

my last duchess robert browning

I met a traveller from an antique land, Who said—"Two vast and trunkless legs of stone Stand in the desert. . . . Near them, on the sand, Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown, And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command, Tell that its sculptor well those passions read Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things, The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed; And on the pedestal, these words appear: My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings; Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair! Nothing beside remains. Round the decay Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare The lone and level sands stretch far away."

ozymandias percy bysshe shelley

A thing to do, and all her hair In one long yellow string I wound Three times her little throat around, And strangled her. No pain felt she; I am quite sure she felt no pain. As a shut bud that holds a bee, I warily oped her lids: again Laughed the blue eyes without a stain.

porphyria's lover robert browning

So glad it has its utmost will, That all it scorned at once is fled, And I, its love, am gained instead! Porphyria's love: she guessed not how Her darling one wish would be heard. And thus we sit together now, And all night long we have not stirred, And yet God has not said a word!

porphyria's lover robert browning

The rain set early in to-night, The sullen wind was soon awake, It tore the elm-tops down for spite, And did its worst to vex the lake: I listened with heart fit to break. When glided in Porphyria; straight She shut the cold out and the storm, And kneeled and made the cheerless grate Blaze up, and all the cottage warm; Which done, she rose, and from her form

porphyria's lover robert browning

Withdrew the dripping cloak and shawl, And laid her soiled gloves by, untied Her hat and let the damp hair fall, And, last, she sat down by my side And called me. When no voice replied, She put my arm about her waist, And made her smooth white shoulder bare, And all her yellow hair displaced, And, stooping, made my cheek lie there, And spread, o'er all, her yellow hair,

porphyria's lover robert browning

I thought once how Theocritus had sung Of the sweet years, the dear and wished for years, Who each one in a gracious hand appears To bear a gift for mortals, old or young: And, as I mused it in his antique tongue, I saw, in gradual vision through my tears, The sweet, sad years, the melancholy years, Those of my own life, who by turns had flung A shadow across me. Straightway I was 'ware, So weeping, how a mystic Shape did move Behind me, and drew me backward by the hair, And a voice said in mastery, while I strove, ... Guess now who holds thee?'—Death,' I said. But there, The silver answer rang ... Not Death, but Love.'

sonnets from the portuguese #1 elizabeth barrett browning

As Lightning to the Children eased With explanation kind The Truth must dazzle gradually Or every man be blind —

tell all the truth but tell it slant emily dickinson

"You heard a shot?" Policeman said. Shots I hear and Shots I hear. I never see the Dead. The Shot that killed him yes I heard as I heard the Thousand shots before; careening tinnily down the nights across my years and arteries. Policeman pounded on my door. "Who is it?" "POLICE!" Policeman yelled. "A Boy was dying in your alley. A Boy is dead, and in your alley. And have you known this Boy before?"

the boy died in my alley gwendolen brooks

I have known this Boy before. I have known this boy before, who ornaments my alley. I never saw his face at all. I never saw his futurefall. But I have known this Boy. I have always heard him deal with death. I have always heard the shout, the volley. I have closed my heart-ears late and early. And I have killed him ever.

the boy died in my alley gwendolen brooks

I joined the Wild and killed him with knowledgeable unknowing. I saw where he was going. I saw him Crossed. And seeing, I did not take him down. He cried not only "Father!" but "Mother! Sister! Brother." The cry climbed up the alley. It went up to the wind. It hung upon the heaven for a long stretch-strain of Moment. The red floor of my alley is a special speech to me.

the boy died in my alley gwendolen brooks

Salute her, with long fingers - Caress her freezing hair - Sip, Goblin, from the very lips The Lover - hovered - o'er - Unworthy, that a thought so mean Accost a Theme - so - fair - The soul has moments of escape - When bursting all the doors - She dances like a Bomb, abroad, And swings opon the Hours,

the soul has bandaged moments emily dickinson

The Soul's retaken moments - When, Felon led along, With shackles on the plumed feet, And staples, in the song, The Horror welcomes her, again, These, are not brayed of Tongue -

the soul has bandaged moments emily dickinson

Look how I'm geekin' out (hey)I'm so fitted (I'm so fitted, woo)I'm on Gucci (I'm on Gucci)I'm so pretty (yeah, yeah)I'm gon' get it (ayy, I'm gon' get it)Watch me move (blaow)This a celly (ha)That's a tool (yeah)On my Kodak (woo, Black)Ooh, know that (yeah, know that, hold on)Get it (get it, get it)Ooh, work it (21)Hunnid bands, hunnid bands, hunnid bands (hunnid bands)Contraband, contraband, contraband (contraband)I got the plug on Oaxaca (woah)They gonna find you like blocka (blaow)

this is america childish gambino

Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh, tell somebodyYou go tell somebodyGrandma told meGet your money, black man (get your money)Get your money, black man (get your money)Get your money, black man (get your, black man)Get your money, black man (get your, black man)Black man

this is america childish gambino

We just wanna partyParty just for youWe just want the moneyMoney just for youI know you wanna party (yeah)Party just for freeGirl, you got me dancin' (girl, you got me dancin')Dance and shake the frameWe just wanna party (yeah)Party just for you (yeah)We just want the money (yeah)Money just for you (ooh)I know you wanna party (yeah)Party just for free (yeah)Girl, you got me dancin' (girl, you got me dancin')Dance and shake the frame (ooh)

this is america childish gambino

You just a black man in this worldYou just a barcode, ayyYou just a black man in this worldDrivin' expensive foreigns, ayyYou just a big dawg, yeahI kenneled him in the backyardNo proper life to a dogFor a big dog

this is america childish gambino

But at my back I always hear Time's wingèd chariot hurrying near; And yonder all before us lie Deserts of vast eternity. Thy beauty shall no more be found; Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound My echoing song; then worms shall try That long-preserved virginity, And your quaint honour turn to dust, And into ashes all my lust; The grave's a fine and private place, But none, I think, do there embrace.

to his coy mistress andrew marvell

Had we but world enough and time, This coyness, lady, were no crime. We would sit down, and think which way To walk, and pass our long love's day. Thou by the Indian Ganges' side Shouldst rubies find; I by the tide Of Humber would complain. I would Love you ten years before the flood, And you should, if you please, refuse Till the conversion of the Jews.

to his coy mistress andrew marvell

Now therefore, while the youthful hue Sits on thy skin like morning dew, And while thy willing soul transpires At every pore with instant fires, Now let us sport us while we may, And now, like amorous birds of prey, Rather at once our time devour Than languish in his slow-chapped power. Let us roll all our strength and all Our sweetness up into one ball, And tear our pleasures with rough strife Through the iron gates of life: Thus, though we cannot make our sun Stand still, yet we will make him run.

to his coy mistress andrew marvell