Poems

The poems I used for reference are the following;
Balloons, by Sylvia Plath- Contemporary
A prayer in Spring, by Robert Frost- Modern Age
"Hope" is the thing with feathers, by Emily Dickinson- 19th Century
It is Dangerous to Read Newspapers, by Margret Atwood
Sunflowers, by Mary Oliver

To Be Thankful

To be Thankful

Oh, let us indulge in the warm air to-day,
And give us happy thoughts,
To push the bad ones farther away.

Oh, let us indulge in the cool water,
Like together in the day, like apart by night;
And make us thankful for the life we are given,
The people trying to hurt us,
Die off,
Like a vicious weed.

And make us thankful for the little things,
A sunny day,
A beautifully gloomy night,
All of the sudden lightning strikes,
The trees begin to blow dangerously.

But we are thankful for the storm,
For our God will protect us and feed the flowers with his rain,
So we can go outside tomorrow,
And be thankful for the day.

"Love" is the thing that hurts

"Love" is the thing that hurts

"Love" is the thing that hurts--
That grasps the heart and holds it--
And squeezes tighter without letting go--
And never stops-- at all--

And your eyes only see the sweet things--
This is just the calm before the storm--
That the person you love--
Wants to show their affection--

I've heard from love stories long ago--
That things like this don't end well--
Yet, I never want you to let go--
You are my serenity.

Antiques

Antiques

Since I was born they have lived with us,
Dusty and old of age,
Angels and children,
Taking up far too much space,
Always staying,
Aging.

The unlucky ones show cracks in the ceramic,
Glue marks all about,
When they fall they give a scream,
But my parents always put them back,
Piece by piece,
Good as new,
Never knowing quite what to do.

They've lost their value,
They are broken,
But the love for them still grows,
Over the years,
For their cracks tell a story,
Either old or new.

My brother holds the oldest of them all,
For he is only two,
He thinks it is a toy,
And throws it,
Across the room.

As my parents sit,
Filled with anger and sadness,
They hold that little angel in their hands,
And try to piece it back together again.

My Mother's Poems....

Balloons

Since Christmas they have lived with us,
Guileless and clear,
Oval soul-animals,
Taking up half the space,
Moving and rubbing on the silk

Invisible air drifts,
Giving a shriek and pop
When attacked, then scooting to rest, barely trembling.
Yellow cathead, blue fish--------
Such queer moons we live with

Instead of dead furniture!
Straw mats, white walls
And these traveling
Globes of thin air, red, green,
Delighting

The heart like wishes or free
Peacocks blessing
Old ground with a feather
Beaten in starry metals.
Your small

Brother is making
His balloon squeak like a cat.
Seeming to see
A funny pink world he might eat on the other side of it,
He bites,

Then sits
Back, fat jug
Contemplating a world clear as water.
A red
Shred in his little fist.
5 February 1963

Sylvia Plath

The Garden

The Garden

Come with me
into the mysterious garden.
Their bodies are smooth and calm,
pastels rush up the vines,
the leaves are a neon green,
many squint their eyes,
lay all day aging beautifully
in the warmth of the sun.
Come with me
to visit the garden,
they are bold,
yet subtle,
they invite you in.
They want to share their knowledge,
they are overflowing with thoughts,
of their surroundings,
themselves, how they got there.
Don't be afraid
to indulge yourself!
Their silk-like bodies,
which flow in the wind,
and hide in this place,
invite you in
to join them.
Though they are gorgeous,
they are lonely. Come.

and let us converse with their courageous souls,
their simplicity is what makes them unique,
their roots burrow deep into the ground,
and they grow with great confidence. 

War

People are dying every day
Effecless this all may seem
Air planes filled with danger fly above
Cries of children fill the air
Everyone is afraid for their life

Children all Around the World

As I wake up in the morning to brush my teeth,

thinking nothing of it,

many children are waking up around the world,

not even knowing what a toothbrush is

as I go downstairs to eat my breakfast,

freshly made and warm,

children all over the world wake up hungry, 

but will find nothing to satisfy their needs

as I eat my food, not thinking of much,

maybe talking to family or watching TV,

children all over the world feel deprived,

they are begging for a small bowl of rice to eat

as I get out of the car at school, 

I tell my mother goodbye, 

but children all over the world, 

having no school to grow and learn from,

walk to the farms, where they produce the food,

they will never get to eat

as I donate a dollar to a good cause,

to try and help the hungry children,

all over the world, 

the children all over the world are grateful,

but they know it will never be enough,

for they go to sleep hungry that night.