About Poetry and Poems
Poetry: Its Definition
Poetry itself is an art of literature. The word does not have any formal definition, since poetry and poems can express tons, even millions of meanings of life. Its primary purpose is to show elaborate, imaginary, meaningful, and emotional thoughts towards the readers or listeners.
5 Things I like about Poetry
- The poems I like are easy to understand
- They are sometimes profound in meaning of life and death
- They are shorter than stories and require less time to read
- Creating good poems is much easier than creating good stories (there are no specified forms of poems, except haiku)
- My childhood teachers used to tell me tons of poems
5 Things I do not like about Poetry
- Analyzing poems is sometimes hard and, indeed, annoying
- Poems are not as entertaining as stories
- Some poems set lines differently, making it sometimes difficult to read
- Hidden meanings in poems is extremely common (Iceberg Theory); one might get wrong ideas from them
- Most poems written by famous authors contain difficult words and phrases
Poetry itself is an art of literature. The word does not have any formal definition, since poetry and poems can express tons, even millions of meanings of life. Its primary purpose is to show elaborate, imaginary, meaningful, and emotional thoughts towards the readers or listeners.
5 Things I like about Poetry
- The poems I like are easy to understand
- They are sometimes profound in meaning of life and death
- They are shorter than stories and require less time to read
- Creating good poems is much easier than creating good stories (there are no specified forms of poems, except haiku)
- My childhood teachers used to tell me tons of poems
5 Things I do not like about Poetry
- Analyzing poems is sometimes hard and, indeed, annoying
- Poems are not as entertaining as stories
- Some poems set lines differently, making it sometimes difficult to read
- Hidden meanings in poems is extremely common (Iceberg Theory); one might get wrong ideas from them
- Most poems written by famous authors contain difficult words and phrases
3 Poems
A Dream Within A Dream (by Edgar Allan Poe)
Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow--
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.
I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand--
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep--while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow--
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.
I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand--
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep--while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?
A Soldier (by Robert Frost)
He is that fallen lance that lies as hurled,
That lies unlifted now, come dew, come rust,
But still lies pointed as it plowed the dust.
If we who sight along it round the world,
See nothing worthy to have been its mark,
It is because like men we look too near,
Forgetting that as fitted to the sphere,
Our missiles always make too short an arc.
They fall, they rip the grass, they intersect
The curve of earth, and striking, break their own;
They make us cringe for metal-point on stone.
But this we know, the obstacle that checked
And tripped the body, shot the spirit on
Further than target ever showed or shone.
That lies unlifted now, come dew, come rust,
But still lies pointed as it plowed the dust.
If we who sight along it round the world,
See nothing worthy to have been its mark,
It is because like men we look too near,
Forgetting that as fitted to the sphere,
Our missiles always make too short an arc.
They fall, they rip the grass, they intersect
The curve of earth, and striking, break their own;
They make us cringe for metal-point on stone.
But this we know, the obstacle that checked
And tripped the body, shot the spirit on
Further than target ever showed or shone.
Messy Room (by Shel Silverstein)
Whosever room this is should be ashamed!
His underwear is hanging on the lamp.
His raincoat is there in the overstuffed chair,
And the chair is becoming quite mucky and damp.
His workbook is wedged in the window,
His sweater's been thrown on the floor.
His scarf and one ski are beneath the TV,
And his pants have been carelessly hung on the door.
His books are all jammed in the closet,
His vest has been left in the hall.
A lizard named Ed is asleep in his bed,
And his smelly old sock has been stuck to the wall.
Whosever room this is should be ashamed!
Donald or Robert or Willie or--
Huh? You say it's mine? Oh, dear,
I knew it looked familiar!
His underwear is hanging on the lamp.
His raincoat is there in the overstuffed chair,
And the chair is becoming quite mucky and damp.
His workbook is wedged in the window,
His sweater's been thrown on the floor.
His scarf and one ski are beneath the TV,
And his pants have been carelessly hung on the door.
His books are all jammed in the closet,
His vest has been left in the hall.
A lizard named Ed is asleep in his bed,
And his smelly old sock has been stuck to the wall.
Whosever room this is should be ashamed!
Donald or Robert or Willie or--
Huh? You say it's mine? Oh, dear,
I knew it looked familiar!