National Poetry Month Day 11 & 12

Okay, bookworms, this time my delayed post was TOTALLY not my fault. My shitty campus internet connection failed on me and wouldn’t let me back on until this morning. I’m trying to be angry about this, but today is just too fantastic to be angry! The weather is wonderful (a bit windy, but that’s what I get for choosing this location), my 8am class was cancelled, I only had one class today that ended at 10:45 AND got let out early, I’m going to town later with some friends to buy some second hand books, and my girlfriend is visiting this weekend for my birthday (TOMORROW!). Everything is just right. Well, besides the fact that I’m STILL reading The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet’s Nest while my friend has already finished it. :c Boo! I’m really competitive and I hate losing…even if there was never a game to lose. Whatever. So, poetry. Right.

Day 11’s poem is really important to me for a couple reasons.

1. My dad read it to me, and he made me recite it to him until I could say it by heart.

2. Dead Poets Society. No further explanation necessary.

3. Probably a mix of 1 and 2, but the first line just carries so much weight. It empowers me and motivates me whenever I hear it.

Day 11’s poem:

O Captain! My Captain!, by Walt Whitman

O CAPTAIN! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;
The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won;
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up–for you the flag is flung–for you the bugle trills; 10
For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths–for you the shores a-crowding;
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head;
It is some dream that on the deck,
You’ve fallen cold and dead.

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won; 20
Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!
But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

 

Today’s poem is equally inspiring. The poet is such a great role model and the poem itself is just wonderful. I don’t really know what else to say about this, so here it is:

I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, by Maya Angelou

The free bird leaps
on the back of the win
and floats downstream
till the current ends
and dips his wings
in the orange sun rays
and dares to claim the sky.

But a bird that stalks
down his narrow cage
can seldom see through
his bars of rage
his wings are clipped and
his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings
with fearful trill
of the things unknown
but longed for still
and is tune is heard
on the distant hillfor the caged bird
sings of freedom

The free bird thinks of another breeze
an the trade winds soft through the sighing trees
and the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright lawn
and he names the sky his own.

But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams
his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing

The caged bird sings
with a fearful trill
of things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom.

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