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Is This A Good Poem/excerpt Help

Is this a good poem? Please help!?

Title: My Throat Aches
--------------------------------------...

My throat aches like a knife
That has stabbed me over
And over
And over again.
As I stare out the window,
Watching the rain plunge to the ground
My dirty public seat goes up
and down
with me.
I try to ignore your voice,
Talking to others during the ride.
Finally. It’s my stop.
I get up, tripping like an unstable buffoon.
You watch me,
You stare at me,
Your eyes pour through me.
As if we’re friends,
As if you’re about to say goodbye.
I get off, walking towards the crowd of people waiting,
People who are
Waiting for their transportation
to arrive.
I turn around.
You glance at me through the window
Staring, expressionless.
Your eyes, fixed on mine.
I breathe in a gulp of cold winter air.
My throat aches.
The bus moves.
Finally.
You’re gone.

What poem is this excerpt from and who wrote it?

, Carl, while you are not safe I am not safe, and now you're really in the total animal soup of time--

and who therefore ran through the icy streets obsessed with a sudden flash of the alchemy of the use of the ellipse the catalog the meter & the vibrating plane,

who dreamt and made incarnate gaps in Time & Space through images juxtaposed, and trapped the archangel of the soul between 2 visual images and joined the elemental verbs and set the noun and dash of consciousness together jumping with sensation of Pater Omnipotens Aeterna Deus

to recreate the syntax and measure of poor human prose and stand before you speechless and intelligent and shaking with shame, rejected yet confessing out the soul to conform to the rhythm of thought in his naked and endless head,

the madman bum and angel beat in Time, unknown, yet putting down here what might be left to say in time come after death,

and rose reincarnate in the ghostly clothes of jazz in the goldhorn shadow of the band and blew the suffering of America's naked mind for love into an eli eli lamma lamma sabacthani saxophone cry that shivered the cities down to the last radio

with the absolute heart of the poem of life butchered out of their own bodies good to eat a thousand years.

Is this a good poem please help!!!?

if you lengthen it a bit, it would be a lot better! I mean, I do like it now, but still =)

I need an excerpt from a poem for...?

Can find something in here that hopefully you will like. It is one of my favs.

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
Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea;
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, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her highborn kinsman came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
Went envying her and me-
Yes!- that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
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 feel the bright 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 my bride,
In the sepulchre there by the sea,
In her tomb by the sounding sea.

Is this a good Poem? Help please.?

Its a found poem on the short story: Montreal 1962 by Shauna singh Baldwin

In the dark at night,
you came close,
you could have the job
if you take off your turban
and cut your hair short.
You must be reborn
white-skinned
to survive.
As you searched for work,
I waited for the bathtubs to fill,
in our grey basement apartment.
With pallid walls,
and windows unnaturally high,
to wash your turbans.
Scarlet,
navy,
saffron,
mauve,
bright parrot green.
All sinking slowly,
softly,
into the warm soapy water.
I massaged them free,
of alien water,
and new colours swelled.
I lift them as I would lift children.
I took your red turban
and pinned the free end to the peak
and I tucked it up,
just as you do.
The face beneath the jaunty turban,
began to smile.
Our children will speak for us,
and our turbans.
And then, we will have taught Canadians,
What it truly takes to wear a turban

Poems aren't really good or bad, the question should be is this a successful poem and what works in it and what doesn't work? Taking it line by line, why are you standing and where are you standing awaiting what kind of phone call? That line is too vague.If rain is pouring all around you then you must be outside. Where is the phone? Do tears really fall of one's face? Where does "the glimpse" of light come from? Why is it recurring? How does one peak through a glimpse of light? Is it night? Why is it dark where the narrator stands outside in the rain waiting for a phone call?I won't go through the whole poem but you get my point. Since this seems to be more of a realistic poem describing an event, more so than a metaphor or allegory, it's not magical realism so it should make logical sense and have more detail and images to paint a picture in the reader's eye. It reads more like a rough draft with the kernels of the makings of a strong poem by it's not there quite yet. What is its point and rising action? What's at stake here? Most of the work of poems is done in the revise. Good work, but i would consider reworking this poem. Keep writing.

Is this a good poem ??? please help?

this is a poem we have to write for school about where we are from so tell me what you think and if i can fix it or make it better thanx :) btw im in 8th grade
Where I’m From Poem
I am from city streets, from city lights and speedy cars.
I’m from burning concrete. (Hard and hot, it stung my skin.)I am from the mango tree whose branches I
used to climb, whose succulent fruit I did steal.

I am from churros and rice, from Latin spices and noxious gasoline fumes. I’m from the lingo and the
sass, from sunny beach days to dark creepy nights. I’m from the teletubbies poster in my pink room.

I’m from Chico’s and benny’s, Mofongo and soothing Cuban coffee. From my first funeral, the cookies
me and grandma didn’t get to bake. In the yard the two small dogs played. Wet drool on baby hands, a
torn Barbie doll. I am from my memories, the very beginning. Miami is where my life began.

Thank you for the A2A.This poem seems a bit underdeveloped for me. That does not make in other than good, but it does create problems for me when I read it. I follow it pretty well, I think, until “the caster himself concealed.” Up to this point, I have been relying on what I know of octopuses (octopi). Octopuses do not cast themselves or things, even when pouncing on prey. Because octopuses use concealment in their normal activities, I do not see how that could be a result of this octopus’ capture.Then the reference to mirth confuses me. Who’s mirth? It could be the mirth of imagining the scene the reader is asked to imagine. It could be the mirth that the octopus experi3nced before the tables turned and it became the prey it used to attack mirthfully. I think this is the mirth meant and then that mirth is extended to mankind and the octopus becomes a large, expansive metaphor for sneaky, predatory people. I feel that the push to this encompassing of a metaphor so quickly—without more development—is jarring and is asking a lot from the reader. But, perhaps, not too much.Not a bad poem. It got me thinking. Not a very accessible poem, though.

This is part of a good love poem. It's by a guy named Shakespeare:My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun;Coral is far more red than her lips’ red;If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head....     And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare     As any she belied with false compare.The poet explains that, although his beloved is not conventionally beautiful, boy oh boy, does he love her.This is part of a good love song, lyric by Lorenz Hart:You're my funny valentine,Sweet comic valentine,You make me smile with my heart.Your looks are laughable, Unphotographable,Yet you're my favorite work of art....But don't change a hair for me.Not if you care for me.Stay little valentine, stay!Each day is Valentine's DayNotice Hart's idea is exactly the same as Shakespeare's? The singer explains that, although her beloved Valentine is not conventionally handsome, boy oh boy, does she love him.But Hart's approach is not the same as Shakespeare's. He uses his own imagery, his own rhymes, his own tone.I wager that if you were to collate all the world's opinions, and gather what everyone thinks are the best love songs and poems in one place, they'd share this quality: expressing a feeling people recognise, in a fresh way. And if you're trying to write a good love song or poem, that's a great challenge to set yourself: what passionate, genuine feeling can I explore, in a way I haven't heard done before?That doesn't mean you have to be complex or quirky. I greatly admire this straightforward love song lyric. It's so direct; I could never have written it:You are so beautifulTo meYou are so beautifulTo meCan't you see?You're everything I hoped forYou're everything I needYou are so beautifulTo me

Is this a good Poem????

Hi My Friends,
Do You Think It is a good Poem Like I do.. Here gos:



























For All The One's I have Loved and Lost

Donot stand at My Grave and Weep.
I am not there,I donot Sleep.
I am Thousand Winds that Blow.
I am The Diamond glint on The Snow.
I am The Sunlight on ripened Gain.
I am The Gentle Autumn Rain.

When You Wake in The Morning Hush.
I am The Swift uplifting Rush.
Of Quiet Birds in Circling Flight.
I am The Soft Starlight at Night.

I am The Song that will Never End.
I am The Love Of Family & Friends.
I am Child Who has come to Rest.
In The Arms of The Father Who Knows Him Best.

When You see The Sunset Fair.
I am The Scented Evening Air.
I am Joy of a Task Well Done.
I am The Glow Of The Setting Sun.

Donot Stand at My Grave and WEEP.
I am Not There,I donot Sleep

Author Unknown.. This person Lost Their Loving Pet their dog.
Awesome I think!!