Cornelia+Zangerl

"Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words." -Robert Frost (1874-1963)

Raised by lessons

I was raised by the grass tall and green wandering through it's fields picking it's seeds as my food

I was raised by the streets exploring the lands by bike learning the dangers on a skate board feeling speed and adrenaline on the dark gravel

I was raised by him forced to grow learn about life and how to live it

I was raised by the ocean so far and wide taken by it's wise waves and deep blue intelignece so soothing and rushing, yet taking it's time

I was raised by the old hut stripped of liveliness repainted and furnished inhabited and grown into a home

I was raised by nature by it's many components all incounters forcing me to grow to start my own ilfe become independent.

Sonnet Be Gone

I get this sheet so black and white, with no help what-so-ever to write on, but then shone a light so bright. I knew exactly what to do, words were drawn, now maybe this is way incorrect, but to me that doesn't matter at all, so let's raise a glass of classic sekt, and head over to some random ass ball, to celebrate this assignment complete, I slaved away for half an hour, to get a grade sufficient to meet, the requirements that later in-power, this is the second to last line now done, all this time wasted I could have had fun.

Honestly

So vivid, clear, so simple yet sincere, so unforgettable and dear, yet hardly every here.

Waves roar, loud so you can't remember, can't think sound or right, don't realize the wrong.

Guilt pushes through, numb, painful, edgy, stops the words as they come, spits out lies there from, where the truth is now hidden, for only you to know, but never to show.

Honestly is there, in everyone within, yet it's rarely every found, covered up, like some useless thing.

Couplet

This is my fourth and final poem, and I wrote the whole thing on my own.


 * A statement about your own poetry -** When writing poems, I tend to think of a topic and right about it in a way not many people think about. I try to be creative with subjects and base poems on real and realistic topics. I like rhyming but without a rhyme scheme. Usually my poems come out as a free verse poem rather then a structured one. My poems come from the heart and I don’t try to force it together. I prefer to write what comes to mind and later make small edits to make it more appealing.

Poems

//Poet: T.S. Elliot//

**Hysteria** As she laughed I was aware of becoming involved in her laughter and being part of it, until her teeth were only accidental stars with a talent for squad-drill. I was drawn in by short gasps, inhaled at each momentary recovery, lost finally in the dark caverns of her throat, bruised by the ripple of unseen muscles. An elderly waiter with trembling hands was hurriedly spreading a pink and white checked cloth over the rusty green iron table, saying: "If the lady and gentleman wish to take their tea in the garden, if the lady and gentleman wish to take their tea in the garden..." I decided that if the shaking of her breasts could be stopped, some of the fragments of the afternoon might be collected, and I concentrated my attention with careful subtlety to this end.

 Incorporating a story into a poem makes it easier to picture and follow. This poem is written in the form of a paragraph. It gives the feel of telling a story. It describes everything that is happening clearly, from the laughter of the woman to the trembling hands of the old man. The use of dialect gives the impression of being in the story. The language is sophisticated and descriptive. “Until her teeth were only accidental stars with a talent for squad-drill.” The language makes you a part of the story, allows you to see past just the color of her teeth into what they are in essence.

 The tone changes through out the poem. It begins annoyed and ends with acceptance as the poet comes to the realization that the day can improve “I decided if the shaking of her breasts could be stopped, some of the fragments of the afternoon might be collected”. The run-off sentences add to the descriptive appeal and turn it into a lyrical story that is pleasant to read and sound out.

**Rhapsody on a Windy Night** Along the reaches of the street Held in a lunar synthesis, Whispering lunar incantations Dissolve the floors of memory And all its clear relations, Its divisions and precisions. Every street lamp that I pass Beats like a fatalistic drum, And through the spaces of the dark Midnight shakes the memory As a madman shakes a dead geranium. Half-past one, The street-lamp sputtered, The street-lamp muttered, The street-lamp said, "Regard that woman Who hesitates toward you in the light of the door  Which opens on her like a grin.  You see the border of her dress  Is torn and stained with sand,  And you see the corner of her eye  Twists like a crooked pin." The memory throws up high and dry A crowd of twisted things; A twisted branch upon the beach Eaten smooth, and polished As if the world gave up The secret of its skeleton, Stiff and white. A broken spring in a factory yard, Rust that clings to the form that the strength has left Hard and curled and ready to snap. Half-past two, The street-lamp said, "Remark the cat which flattens itself in the gutter, Slips out its tongue  And devours a morsel of rancid butter." So the hand of the child, automatic, Slipped out and pocketed a toy that was running along the quay. I could see nothing behind that child's eye. I have seen eyes in the street Trying to peer through lighted shutters, And a crab one afternoon in a pool, An old crab with barnacles on his back, Gripped the end of a stick which I held him. Half-past three, The lamp sputtered, The lamp muttered in the dark. The lamp hummed: "Regard the moon, La lune ne garde aucune rancune,  She winks a feeble eye,  She smiles into corners.  She smooths the hair of the grass.  The moon has lost her memory.  A washed-out smallpox cracks her face,  Her hand twists a paper rose,  That smells of dust and eau de Cologne,  She is alone  With all the old nocturnal smells  That cross and cross across her brain." The reminiscence comes Of sunless dry geraniums And dust in crevices, Smells of chestnuts in the streets, And female smells in shuttered rooms, And cigarettes in corridors And cocktail smells in bars. The lamp said, "Four o'clock, Here is the number on the door.  Memory!  You have the key,  The little lamp spreads a ring on the stair.  Mount.  The bed is open; the tooth-brush hangs on the wall,  Put your shoes at the door, sleep, prepare for life."

Incorporating personification and detail into a poem gives the reader the feeling of experiencing it. This poem makes great use of personification, incorporating objects and their doings into many of the events that occur. It’s written in stanzas with many shorter lines that rhyme but without a particular rhyme scheme. It gives the poem a unique flow that goes together smoothly and gently, giving it the appearance of pattern. The use of french to describing the light of the moon added an elegant touch. The imagery of the poem was also very intense, it gave clear descriptions of everything that was going on. Not only visually but also audio wise; It’s possible can hear everything that is going on, as well as smell it. It feels as though the reader is present, witnessing the many scenes.

**Cousin Nancy** Strode across the hills and broke them, Rode across the hills and broke them— The barren New England hills— Riding to hounds Over the cow-pasture. Miss Nancy Ellicott smoked And danced all the modern dances; And her aunts were not quite sure how they felt about it, But they knew that it was modern. Upon the glazen shelves kept watch Matthew and Waldo, guardians of the faith, The army of unalterable law

** Using punctuation wisely makes a short and simple poem much more interesting. This poem is structured in short sentences in smaller stanzas. It uses dashes, commas and periods wisely to give the poem a rhythmic and rhyming flow even though the words don’t necessarily rhyme. It puts great emphasis on the hill metaphor, using it as a comparison to the ‘modern’ things cousin Nancy does compared to the more traditional outlook the people had. The first verse also uses great imagery as a way to introduce the setting. **