AFTER CUMMINGS POEMS
These are poems I wrote after the poems of e. e. cummings...
teacher
by michael r. burch, age 16-17
teacher, take a look at my life,
for it has just begun
and u think that i am “misinformed”
merely because i'm young;
but the truth is often hidden
(what lies lurk behind ur eyes?)
and maybe Puff can tell u
where the Dragon flies.
teacher, take a look at my life:
urs is a dull-edged knife
(the white-hot blade long blunted).
now ur as cold as ice.
still, when u come to class,
act like u know it all,
for if u show insecurity,
surely wee will folderol.
I wrote "teacher" in either 10th or 11th grade after hearing the song "Old Man" by Neil Young. "Wee" is a pun, not a typo.
don’t forget
by michael r. burch
for Beth
don’t forget to remember
that Space is curved
(like your Heart)
and that even Light is bent
by your Gravity.
The opening lines of my poem were inspired by a famous love poem by e. e. cummings.
Keywords/Tags: e. e. cummings, teacher, teach, teaching, teachers' day, student, school, class, eduction, space, curved, gravity, heart, love
Death Poems
Death, where is thy sting?
The way, the truth, and the life.
Jesus Christ, my Lord.
Step one, be tired.
Step two, focus on yourself.
Step three, cover up.
He died on the cross.
By faith, I choose to follow.
Life gained from his loss.
I did something, bad.
Pssst, can you keep a secret?
Hide from mom and dad.
Honor your parents.
So it says in the Bible.
Oh! What do they know!?
Ambulance... red... blue...
Lights flash at the neighbor's door.
Good friends, I once knew.
Pride, I hold so dear.
Loss of love is lost I choose.
Alone, and confused.
No sound, and no sight.
No touch, no smell, and no taste.
Aware, yet, alone.
I will choose, free will.
Fly by night, away from here.
Run! Cygnus X-1!
Gifts from God, visible!
In life, much for us to see!
Just open your eyes!
by Martin Braun
Neil Peart, was a drummer, a husband, a father, and an inspiration. His music, lyrics, and depth of understanding delivered with the gifts of God, brought together many minds and many tribes. The legend lives on. May he have everlasting life, through the Glory of Jesus Christ.
There once was an old hamster named Neil
Who, when he ate too large of a meal
Would rise from the table
And say he was able
But then he’d fall asleep at the wheel
I love you, Mrs Risdon;
I hear your voice, and I see your
Loving face everytime
I hear your favorite:
Neil Diamond.
You helped me know
Who "I am, 'I cried.'"
Laughter in the rain
was our last song together.
Waking up is hard to do,
forty winks away.
Oh Carol, calender girl,
love in the shadows for now.
I’m riding shotgun in her car
as we drive through the night
neath Neil Armstrong’s moon
radio plays that Animal’s song
but San Francisco's almost as
far from this humid Oklahoma
night as Neil Armstrong’s cold
moon yet maybe I’ll get
past second base tonight.
Neil Armstrong in nineteen-sixty-nine
Moonwalked on the moon, the first in line.
There have now been twelve
Humans, no elve.
Don’t you think this is mighty fine?
*And when you'd almost bet
You could hear yourself sweat,
He walks in.* -Neil Diamond
I approached the cherry cherry
fire bush in my garden.
“Who are you?” I asked,
“I Am, I Said” answered
the conflagrant shrub
in a guttural gravel croon
“Neil, is that you?” I exclaimed.
“Why are you here?”
“Holly Holy…I happened to Be
in the neighborhood this Hot August Night
and thought I would reach out.”
“Reach out?” I retorted.” No…wait
let me guess…Touching Me”?
“Well, yes…touching you…
You’ve seen our ceiling
in the Sistine Chapel, haven’t you?
The one of Me and you,
Doing the holy Digit?”
“Well…sure”, I responded glibly,
“So good…So Good…
wouldn’t You say?”
“Well, yes …old Mikey
had a knack, for the oils,
But not so good, for you,
My Solitary Man,”
Is that because I don’t
Bring you flowers anymore?
“Well, Yes, and you might want to ask
Cracklin’ Rosie a little more about that;
You’ll find her down yonder deep
in the barbie pit grilling her liver,
.....If you know what I mean.”
A man from Ohio called Neil *
Was known for his calm nerves of steel.
So when, out in space,
Darth Vader gave chase,
He said 'Cool it, guys,no big deal!'
18.07.19
* Neil Armstrong was born in Wapakoneta, Ohio and was renowned for keeping cool under pressure.
* Darth Vader for non Star Wars fans is an iconic villain
I listen to Neil Hilborn on Spotify
Because I like to feel like a self-entitled hipster
But can’t afford a record player.
The breathy shouts of slam poets
Sound a lot like falling in love-
If love was a sledgehammer
Smashing repeatedly into my sternum.
I’m attracted to emotional self-mutilation.
What teenage poet isn’t?
After all, happy people don’t write good poetry.
Happy people write sappy bull about
“Eyes like summer storms”
And call it art.
Depressed poets write about dead people
And the boy who swore he loved me when I was fifteen
And all the stars I’ve felt blink out inside of me.
Poetry is to suicide
What nicotine gum is to cigarettes:
It never quite dulls the craving,
And I’m still not allowed to indulge at work.
neil diamond
sings to
sweet caroline
posted on June 13, 2018
You had to know Lucille
Every morning nothing but oatmeal
She never skipped a meal
Her favourite colour was teal
And loved to wear soft chenille
Her pet was a beautiful cockatiel
And every night drank chamomile
Out of crystal cut pinwheel
She believed life had handed her a misdeal
And stopped pretending to feel
Lucille liked things to be even keel
How things changed when she met charming Neil
Propelling his sporty automobile
Until all four tires would squeal
Somehow it was instant undeniable appeal
They were an item and a big deal
And soon became ‘Neil and Lucille’
They got to know each other piecemeal
Both actively fought to save the endangered seal
(But both love to eat fish, chicken and veal)
Both had been through their own ordeal
But that now seemed somewhat unreal
And much preferred to dawdle in the surreal
With their hearts doing somersaults and cartwheels
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
Posted on March 17, 2018
Holly was the captain of TeamGB,
In 2016 at the European Champs,
In Grosseto in the centre of Italy,
Where she did rock with amps.
She collected a bronze medal,
To forward the team a bit more,
She suffers from Dwarfism’s dial,
And used to ride horses galore.
Her horse was injured, and,
No money in the kitty did mean,
A change to field events grand,
To discus and to shot put lean.
At the World events in Lyon,
Holly did well and came third,
In 2013 when she did jettison,
The discus 21.54m - the word.
Holly’s “ultimate goal,” her words,
Was Rio, and when she received,
The call, she just gave her cards:
“Are you sure?” - am I deceived??
Neil is a para-cyclist who has often paired up with,
One of two people, either Sarah Storey’s husband,
Or Craig MacLean to pedal to gold, it’s his smith,
Having been a track sprinter, built up his hand.
Barney Storey has Type 1 diabetes from childhood,
And the pair took gold in the World Championships,
In 2009, both in the kilo and the sprint, both good,
At the kilo where they set a new WR, took strips.
Then in 2011 in the Italian Para-Cycling Track Worlds,
Him and Craig won gold in both events, new WR,
Then in LA with Barney again he won silver cords,
And in London they won gold with another new WR.
In 2014 Neil teamed up with Pete Mitchell in Mexico,
Where they won gold in the 1 km tandem time trial,
But he reunited with Craig for the games in Glasgow,
Where they won gold for sprint and time trial, double.
Neil is an MBE from 2013 and comes from Aberdeen,
Was born with an eye condition, retinitis pigmentosa,
He studied physics at the University of Aberdeen, lean,
And was born on the 12th of March in 1984, a goer.
We begin at the beginning: a clove of garlic, too hard-headed
for its own good, combined with two large onions, their first denuding
revealing fallow gold: the second layer, a pale green puberty,
then, the heartless blade of the knife slices into the virginal white
purity of a cumulus cloud, which the shape-shifter processor
reduces to odiferous pearly drifts, destined tor the fry pan's
oil of olive from sunny Southern hillsides. This bounty blends
with the underpraised, but indispensable tomato, staple
in the kitchens of Italy and Spain, then Crimini mushrooms,
sliced within an inch of their lives and browned in a skillet to bring
odor of earthiness to this angelic mix. Six buttery ovals
afloat in their embryonic bath offer elixir of egg to the whir
of the beaters. With infusion of feta, and one of mozzarella, it
marries with the mushrooms, and in lieu of vestal virgins, lies down
with the pasta. We go now to oven. Heat does its homage, then
with souls of the missing, we come to table, a chair placed
for Neil: napkin, plate, and fork, until he welcomes us
Home. Hosts us once more.
for Neil Irvin Gray, 1918-2014
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