It's not easy to write a poem about a poem.

I'm making a listI'm making a list of things I must sayFor politeness,And goodness and kindness and gentlenessSweetness and rightness:HelloPardon meHow are you?Excuse meBless youMay I?Thank youGoodbyeIf you know some that I've forgot,Please stick them in you eye!

True storyThis morning I jumped on my horseAnd went for a ride,And some wild outlaws chased meAnd shot me in the side.So I crawled into a wildcats caveTo find a place to hideBut some pirates found me sleeping thereAnd soon they had me tiedTo a pole and built a fireUnder me---I almost criedTill a mermaid came and cut me looseAnd begged to be my brideSo I said id come back WednesdayBut I must admit I lied.Then I ran into a jungle swampBut I forgot my guide And I stepped into some quicksandAnd no matter how hard I triedI couldn't get out, until I metA watersnake named ClydeWho pulled me to some cannibalsWho planned to have me friedBut an eagle came and swooped me upAnd through the air we fliedBut he dropped me in a boiling lakeA thousand miles wideAnd you'll never guess what I did then---I DIED

Light is more important than the lantern,The poem more important than the notebook

I think that I shall never seeA poem lovely as a tree.A tree whose hungry mouth is pressedAgainst the earth's sweet flowing breast;A tree that looks at God all dayAnd lifts her leafy arms to pray;A tree that may in summer wearA nest of robins in her hair;Upon whose bosom snow has lain;Who intimately lives with rain.Poems are made by fools like me,But only God can make a tree.

be it peace or happinesslet it enfold you

What do you think has become of the young and old men? And what do you think has become of the women and children? They are alive and well somewhere, The smallest sprout shows there is really no death, And if ever there was it led forward life, and does not wait at the end to arrest it, And ceas'd the moment life appear'd. All goes onward and outward, nothing collapses, And to die is different from what any one supposed, and luckier.

EARLY BIRDOh, if you're a bird, be an early birdAnd catch the worm for your breakfast plate.If you're a bird, be an early early bird--But if you're a worm, sleep late.

There's a race of men that don't fit in, A race that can't sit still;So they break the hearts of kith and kin, And they roam the world at will.They range the field and rove the flood, And they climb the mountain's crest; Their's is the curse of the gypsy blood, And they don't know how to rest.

Can you remember who you were, before the world told you who you should be?

When Great Trees FallWhen great trees fall,rocks on distant hills shudder,lions hunker downin tall grasses,and even elephantslumber after safety.When great trees fallin forests,small things recoil into silence,their senseseroded beyond fear.When great souls die,the air around us becomeslight, rare, sterile.We breathe, briefly.Our eyes, briefly,see witha hurtful clarity.Our memory, suddenly sharpened,examines,gnaws on kind wordsunsaid,promised walksnever taken.Great souls die andour reality, bound tothem, takes leave of us.Our souls,dependent upon theirnurture,now shrink, wizened.Our minds, formedand informed by theirradiance,fall away.We are not so much maddenedas reduced to the unutterable ignoranceof dark, coldcaves.And when great souls die,after a period peace blooms,slowly and alwaysirregularly. Spaces fillwith a kind ofsoothing electric vibration.Our senses, restored, neverto be the same, whisper to us.They existed. They existed.We can be. Be and bebetter. For they existed.

The only sea I saw Was the seesaw sea With you riding on it. Lie down, lie easy. Let me shipwreck in your thighs.

He drew a circle that shut me out-Heretic , rebel, a thing to flout.But love and I had the wit to win:We drew a circle and took him In !From the poem Outwitted

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.I love thee to the depth and breadth and heightMy soul can reach, when feeling out of sightFor the ends of being and ideal grace.I love thee to the level of every day'sMost quiet need, by sun and candle-light.I love thee freely, as men strive for right.I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.I love thee with the passion put to useIn my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.I love thee with a love I seemed to loseWith my lost saints. I love thee with the breath,Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,I shall but love thee better after death.

Feel the kiss of ocean breeze,Hear the song of dancing waveLet your soul fly away with seagullsTo fill the heart with the joy of life.

Oh the beauty of nature! Oh the magical heart touching flower.My heart wants to bloom like you with love, joy, and laughter.

Dance with the waves of sea and sing with the sky,touch the sands with love and let your mind fly high.

Peace is a road to happiness and the future.War is a road to destruction and death.

A beautiful poem is nothing but a mirror of philosophy through which we can see life's pure beauty.

So beautiful but so bountiful.So delicate but so fresh.So magical but so simple.So much to say but yet so silent.So loving and so pleasant.Oh, flowers of charming love,You are life's joy and present.