Song of Myself

Walt Whitman once wrote a poem called "Song of Myself". It's a beautiful poem, and we were asked to write an imitation. This is mine

I change myself, and create myself
And when I dance you shall laugh
For every ambiance there is a me as good as you

I laugh and gather myselves
We have spent the years in mythology,
Joining the creatures of fiction,
Crowing in simplistic revelries.

Myselves, I form from words and song and laugh
Born of contentment and anger, love and frustration
I, now becoming whole in being,
Combine myselves at the end of juvenality

Math and magic are passing
I rest my mind from strain of their thought, but not yet unloved
I create and combine, for better or worse,
The many facets of my mortality.

The Dangers of Proposals and Red Roses by Silvana Boyden

Since I've started this blog, I might as well start posting things I've written to see what people think of them. I'm too nervous to show it to friends and family so if anyone is reading this, let me know what you think.

He handled the rose with savage delicacy as he stood on the stoop, awaiting the maid’s arrival. The door had been knocked upon and an old woman had answered and now the only step left was to ask. He wore his best suit, having come straight from church, and pulled nervously at the awkward collar. Perspiration stung his darting eyes as he glanced over his surroundings for piercing and perceiving observers.

She was suddenly standing there in her simple style. Her head cocked a little to the side and her billowy, golden hair draped across her shoulder. She stared at him with an ambiguous, lifeless look and maintained her patience with difficulty.

He fumbled for words and tripped over his tongue. He handed over the rose like it was something bad he’d done. He avoided her mystic gray eyes as he struggled with his mind over elocution. The whole proposal through her only movement was to transfer her hand to one hip in a condescending manner. He knew before he was done what the answer would be, finishing in silent murmurs. There was no reply only a moment of pious silence. The door received her, as her eyes told him the truth, and then unbelievably snapped shut.

He hung his head in shame and regret, and trudged his way down the last few steps. He stood on the sidewalk outside her door for a moment or two, when he heard the window of the second floor room open out to the street. She leaned daintily out with the rose in her hand. She flashed him a smile and his hopes flooded back. She snarled in disgust and threw the rose out, slamming the window with a decisive gust.

Realizing his mistake he picked up the crumpled red rose and started down the road. The day seemed to mock him in its pleasantries of an infinite blue sky and orderly green trees. His life was finite and disordered and now he didn’t know what to live for. His love had been everything and now it was crushed just like his rose. But such are the dangers of proposals and red roses.

Favorite poems

I think I must have a morbid streak in me because my favorite poems are Plath and Poe. I just love the way they sound.

Annabel Lee by Edgar Allen Poe

It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of Annabel Lee;-
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Thank to love and be loved by me.

She was a child and I was a child,
In this kingdom by the seas,
But we loved with a love that was more than love-
I and my Annabel Lee-
With a love that the winged seraphs of Heaven
Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud by night
Chilling my Annabel Lee;
So that her high-born kinsmen came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulcher
In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels not half so happy in Heaven,
Went envying her and me;
Yes! That is the reason (as all me know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud, chilling
And killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we-
Of many far wiser than we-
And neither the angels in Heaven above
Nor the demons down under the sea
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee:--

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise but I see the bring eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling, my darling, my life and bride
In her sepulcher there by the sea-
In her tomb by the sounding sea.



Mad Girl's Love Song by Sylvia Plath

"I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)"

Great Expectations

I don't know what possessed me to start this blog, but I can almost promise whoever is reading this that it will soon end. I guess you could say that my expectations for myself and for anyone actually taking the time to stop and read this are far from great, but why not put my voice out there anyway?