this is what i think of when i hear the word poetry (read it aloud - it makes a difference - really it does, even if you don't understand what it's saying the words are still beautiful.).
Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimmed,
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature's changing course untrimmed:
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st,
Nor shall death brag thou wand'rest in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st,
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
That is Sonnet 18 by Shakespeare.
I love the way they read, the language is beautiful. Its easy to understand why his work is still read everyday 418 years later.
This is not what we are studying in class. The poems we are reading are dark and dreary - a lot about death. They do not rhyme, they have no rhythm.
I can't understand why they are actually poems. They don't seem like poems except that they do happen to be the shape of poems...oh well.
I have to write one. By Sunday.
I need inspiration and concentration. Where do you go to find those?
Suggestions?
Wish me luck.