Lyrical Poetry

The song "Staple it Together" by Jack Johnson is a poetry song because it is full of symolism.  The song talks about trying to "staple" back together the life you have messed up.  He says he "he became a prisoner of his own past, he stabbed the moment in the back with a round thumbtack."  This is saying that the guy messed up his own life by making bad decisions in his past and now hes trying to fix it but its too late. 

Staple it Together
Its really
Too bad
He became a prisoner of his own past
He stabbed the moment in the back
With the round thumbtack
That held up the list of things he gotta do
Its really,
No good
He's moving on before he understood
He shot the future in the foot with every step he took
From the places that he's been cause he forgot to look

Better staple it together and call it bad weather
Staple it together and call it bad weather X3
Mm hmm

Well I guess you could say
That he dont even know where to begin
Cause he looked both ways but he was so afraid
Digging deep into the ditch
With every chance he missed
And the mess he made
Cause hate is such a strong word
And every brick he laid
A mistake they say
That his walls are getting taller
His world is getting smaller

Better staple it together and call it bad weather
Staple it together and call it bad weather X3
Mm hmm
Whoo

Its really
Too bad
He became a prisoner of his own past
He stabbed a moment in the back
With the round thumbtack
That held up the list of things he gotta do
Its really,
No good
Hes moving on before he understood
He shot the future in the foot with every step he took
From the places that he's been cause he forgot to look

Better staple it together and call it bad weather
Staple it together and call it bad weather X3

If the weather is better
We should get together
Spend a little time and we can do whatever
And if we get together we'll be twice as clever

So, staple it together and call it bad weather, mm hmmm

Spring Poem

The poem I picked is called A Country Path in Late Spring by Mark R Slaughter.  This poem caught my eye because of the vivid imagery that is given about the country path.  I like how the speaker describes the trees with great detail. 

A Country Path in Late Spring

The path of mossy ground nestled
In between maternal hedgerows,
That overgrew atop, dimming down
The brilliance of the day.
Embosomed, a calm-cool vision –
Abstract takes of nature, in
Leaf-spattered green shades;
Stem-speckled brown hues;
Shards of sunlight percolating
Through the random flaws to
Up glittering sprites upon the leaves.

And avian chatter bounced along the burrow,
Smattered by the crosstalk
Of busybody insects;
But outside the green comfort zone,
Other worlds of other sounds of other life
Otherwise gave a hint of
Other dozy goings on.

Hawthorn filled the air,
Filled the nose,
Filled the head –
Pungency had overpowered all –
Gave the late-spring-early-summer haze.

Here and there a break of colour:
Odd bluebells – escapees from nearby woods –
Blue-blushing bell faces glancing down,
Aware of their erectness in the stem;
The flaming wing of red admirals
Broke through a hedge hole to
Break up the calm backdrop,
While flitting blue tits gave
To greater-bodied animation.

Nature’s warm narration –
The undertones of life.

Pablo Neruda Poem

Ode to Things

I have a crazy,
crazy love of things.
I like pliers,
and scissors.
I love
cups,
rings,
and bowls –
not to speak, of course,
of hats.
I love all things,
not just the grandest,
also the infinite-
ly
small –
thimbles,
spurs,
plates,
and flower vases.

Oh yes,
the planet
is sublime!
It’s full of
pipes
weaving
hand-held
through tobacco smoke,
and keys
and salt shakers –
everything,
I mean,
that is made
by the hand of man, every little thing:
shapely shoes,
and fabric,
and each new
bloodless birth
of gold,
eyeglasses,
carpenter’s nails,
brushes,
clocks, compasses,
coins, and the so-soft
softness of chairs.

Mankind has
built
oh so many
perfect
things!
Built them of wool
and of wood,
of glass and
of rope:
remarkable
tables,
ships, and stairways.

I love
all
things,
not because they are
passionate
or sweet-smelling
but because,
I don’t know,
because
this ocean is yours,
and mine:
these buttons
and wheels
and little
forgotten
treasures,
fans upon
whose feathers
love has scattered
its blossoms,
glasses, knives and
scissors –
all bear
the trace
of someone’s fingers
on their handle or surface,
the trace of a distant hand
lost
in the depths of forgetfulness.

I pause in houses,
streets and
elevators,
touching things,
identifying objects
that I secretly covet:
this one because it rings,
that one because
it’s as soft
as the softness of a woman’s hip,
that one there for its deep-sea color,
and that one for its velvet feel.

O irrevocable
river
of things:
no one can say
that I loved
only
fish,
or the plants of the jungle and the field,
that I loved
only
those things that leap and climb, desire, and survive.
It’s not true:
many things conspired
to tell me the whole story.
Not only did they touch me,
or my hand touched them:
they were
so close
that they were a part
of my being,
they were so alive with me
that they lived half my life
and will die half my death.

My favorite poem by Pablo Neruda is Ode to Things.  I enjoy this poem because I also love to collect things like shells, stickers, and rocks.

Robert Frost Poem

Stars
HOW countlessly they congregate
O'er our tumultuous snow,
Which flows in shapes as tall as trees
When wintry winds do blow!—    
As if with keenness for our fate,
Our faltering few steps on
To white rest, and a place of rest
Invisible at dawn,—    
And yet with neither love nor hate,
Those stars like some snow-white
Minerva's snow-white marble eyes
Without the gift of sight.

I chose the poem Stars by Robert Frost because I love the stars and being outside at night just staring up at them makes me feel like I'm in a whole other world.  I like the natural beauty they give when you look at them and the many different stories that constellations can tell.  One literary device that Frost uses in this poem is simile.  He writes "Which flows in shapes as tall as tress." This means that the stars are so far away they are tall like trees.