by Sylvia Plath I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions. Whatever I see I swallow immediately Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike. I am not cruel, only truthful, The eye of a little god, four-cornered. Most of the time I meditate on the opposite wall. It is pink, with speckles.
by William Blake I travelled through a land of men, A land of men and women too, And heard and saw such dreadful things As cold earth wanderers never knew. For there the babe is born in joy That was begotten in dire woe, Just as we reap in joy the fruit Which we
Faun by Sylvia Plath Haunched like a faun, he hooed From grove of moon-glint and fen-frost Until all owls in the twigged forest Flapped black to look and brood On the call this man made. No sound but a drunken coot Lurching home along river bank. Stars hung water-sunk, so a rank Of double star-eyes
Her Kind By Anne Sexton I have gone out, a possessed witch, haunting the black air, braver at night; dreaming evil, I have done my hitch over the plain houses, light by light: lonely thing, twelve-fingered, out of mind. A woman like that is not a woman, quite. I have been her kind. I have
A short reflection based on the reading of the poem Cradle Song written by Alfred Lord Tennyson:
why, in our youth are we so eager to leave our mothers, to leave the nest, to grow? With exceptions, most of the dangers in life are beyond the safety of our homes and yet we seem to have this drive to run toward them as fast as we can. Then as adults it seems reverse our drives and we become afraid of the change that the world brings. Sometimes we are so afraid to leave the nest, we are caught by it, trapped there and stagnant. What is the happy middle ground? Do you know your nest? Are you able to leave?
Drowning is not so pitiful As the attempt to rise. Three times, ‘t is said, a sinking man Comes up to face the skies, And then declines forever To that abhorred abode Where hope and he part company,— For he is grasped of God. The Maker’s cordial visage, However good to see, Is shunned, we
Her Anxiety by William Butler Yeats Earth in beauty dressed Awaits returning spring. All true love must die, Alter at the best Into some lesser thing. Prove that I lie. Such body lovers have, Such exacting breath, That they touch or sigh. Every touch they give, Love is nearer death. Prove that I lie.
What is Progress to Flight? Progress is to move forward or onward in space or time. Flight is the action or process of flying through the air. Progress is imperative in flight, it is the very movement of flight. What is Diligence to Magic? Diligence is a careful and persistent work or effort. Magic is the