Poetry Analysis Project

4 Poems

Our 4 poems all tie into one the theme and that is death. The bold lettering is parts we thought were important.

Oh Nothing

Perhaps our lives were meant to be

Masterpieces of mediocrity

And all the time we question why

Our collective voice an anguished cry

Is time much better spent on chores

On mending fences, washing floors

There's food to cook and bills to pay

A million things to fill each day

Why do we search for meaning when

That nasty squeak needs oil again

Just now we should remind ourselves

To sweep that porch and dust those shelves

Toiling to get that bed to flower

Is all that's meant to fill this hour


Le Maudit By Richard Aldington

Women’s tears are but water;

The tears of men are blood.

He sits alone in the firelight

And on either side drifts by

Sleep, like a torrent whirling,

Profound, wrinkled and dumb.


Circuitously, stealthily,

Dawn occupies the city;

As if the seasons knew of his grief

Spring has suddenly changed into snow


Disaster and sorrow

Have made him their pet;

He cannot escape their accursed embraces.

For all his dodgings

Memory will lacerate him.


What good does it do to wander

Nights hours through city streets?

Only that in poor places

He can be with common men

And receive their unspoken

Instinctive sympathy.


What has life done for him?

He stands alone in the darkness

Like a sentry never relieved,

Looking over a barren space,

Awaiting the tardy finish


Monsters I’ve Met

Nov3

I met a ghost, but he didn’t want my head,

He only wanted to know the way to Denver.

I met a devil, but he didn’t want my soul,

He only wanted to borrow my bike awhile.

I met a vampire, but he didn’t want my blood,

He only wanted two nickles for a dime.

I keep meeting all the right people—

At all the wrong times.

~Shel Silverstein




Frustration

If I had a shiny gun,

I could have a world of fun

Speeding bullets through the brains

Of the folk who give me pains;

Or had I some poison gas,

I could make the moments pass

Bumping off a number of

People whom I do not love.

But I have no lethal weapon --

Thus does Fate our pleasure step on

So they still are quick and well

Who should be, by rights, in hell.

By: Dorothy Park

Poetry Analysis

Is the process of investigating a poem's form, content, and history in an informed way, with the aim of heightening one's own and others' understanding and appreciation of the work.

Landry Thompson and Morgan Rohr

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