John+Derry

Poetry is the silent voice that is heard everywhere inside of us...

Ode to the Sky So hard to find, to see, A place to hide my hopes and reams, A way for me to be lost and never be found Somewhere to think of what could've and should've been. I'm always to reach, and come O' so close but it seems as though with each step i take i fall two steps back and the worst part is I haven't even started yet.

Praise Poem

Silence, peace, no stress. R & R, rest and resurrection. The temptation of falling into the dark complexion. Stuck in the irony of a beautiful ballerina's tyranny.

Riff -the line that i took was "i say though hate were why men breathe" from e.e. cummings-(my father moved through dooms of love)

"i say though hate were why men breathe" the same reason these stains are filled with disdain. why birds won't sing they said theres always something greener, but forgot to mention she was my everything.

As an anxiety and angst, molds my mediocracy. itching my skin, for the next intermission, to get a glimpse of the shooting star of pain I wonder what will we ever gain besides postponed attraction and unsatisfaction.

using words such as L-o-v-e bright, blinding, blazing, lights from the end of the tunnel never came within our reach, appetites of affection, were instruments that could never be instilled in our hearts.

Sonnit
 * Affair of the heart**

My brains says yes please, but my heart says for heaven sake no. the aroma of her hair,the alour of her eyes, it's all just a tease to bring me to my kness. for me to say forgive me of the sins i commited, awaking with the suns rise, believing that i could hypnotized with all your lies from your smile always making think i could go through another trial of the judgement of my heart. i'm done, finished,cuppit this is the last name you'll ever hear me say goodbye, im taking the key to my soul, so i can become whole.

code 34
 * my father moved through dooms of love ||||  ||
 * by [|E. E. Cummings] ||

my father moved through dooms of love through sames of am through haves of give, singing each morning out of each night my father moved through depths of height

this motionless forgetful where turned at his glance to shining here; that if(so timid air is firm) under his eyes would stir and squirm

newly as from unburied which floats the first who,his april touch drove sleeping selves to swarm their fates woke dreamers to their ghostly roots

and should some why completely weep my father's fingers brought her sleep: vainly no smallest voice might cry for he could feel the mountains grow.

Lifting the valleys of the sea my father moved through griefs of joy; praising a forehead called the moon singing desire into begin

joy was his song and joy so pure a heart of star by him could steer and pure so now and now so yes the wrists of twilight would rejoice

keen as midsummer's keen beyond conceiving mind of sun will stand, so strictly(over utmost him so hugely) stood my father's dream

his flesh was flesh his blood was blood: no hungry man but wished him food; no cripple wouldn't creep one mile uphill to only see him smile.

Scorning the Pomp of must and shall my father moved through dooms of feel; his anger was as right as rain his pity was as green as grain

septembering arms of year extend yes humbly wealth to foe and friend than he to foolish and to wise offered immeasurable is

proudly and(by octobering flame beckoned)as earth will downward climb, so naked for immortal work his shoulders marched against the dark

his sorrow was as true as bread: no liar looked him in the head; if every friend became his foe he'd laugh and build a world with snow.

My father moved through theys of we, singing each new leaf out of each tree (and every child was sure that spring danced when she heard my father sing)

then let men kill which cannot share, let blood and flesh be mud and mire, scheming imagine,passion willed, freedom a drug that's bought and sold

giving to steal and cruel kind, a heart to fear,to doubt a mind, to differ a disease of same, conform the pinnacle of am

though dull were all we taste as bright, bitter all utterly things sweet, maggoty minus and dumb death all we inherit,all bequeath

and nothing quite so least as truth --i say though hate were why men breathe-- because my Father lived his soul love is the whole and more than all

code|| the Cambridge ladies who live in furnished souls ||||  || code the Cambridge ladies who live in furnished souls are unbeautiful and have comfortable minds (also, with the church's protestant blessings daughters, unscented shapeless spirited) they believe in Christ and Longfellow,both dead, are invariably interested in so many things- at the present writing one still finds delighted fingers knitting for the is it Poles? perhaps. While permanent faces coyly bandy scandal of Mrs. N and Professor D ....the Cambridge ladies do not care,above Cambridge if sometimes in its box of sky lavender and cornerless, the moon rattles like a fragment of angry candy code || code code || code why must itself up every of a park anus stick some quote statue unquote to prove that a hero equals any jerk who was afraid to dare to answer "no"? quote citizens unquote might otherwise forget(to err is human;to forgive divine)that if the quote state unquote says "kill" killing is an act of christian love. "Nothing" in 1944 AD "can stand against the argument of mil itary necessity"(generalissimo e) and echo answers "there is no appeal from reason"(freud)--you pays your money and you doesn't take your choice. Ain't freedom grand code ||
 * by [|E. E. Cummings] ||
 * why must itself up every of a park ||||  ||
 * by [|E. E. Cummings] ||


 * Describing E.E. Cummings**

E.E. Cummings is a great poet. Most of his poetry, if not all is about love. Love seems like was a major part of his life. It was in his family, and a lot of his surroundings. For example in the poem My father moved through dooms of love, throughout the whole poem he speaks about how his father has gone through many trials of love. A couple lines that suck out to me were, 9-12. He spoke as if he was combining to realties. He was speaking as though his father was awake, but towards line 12 the poem shows he is awake. I thought it showed great creativity, to try to show two things at once, when many try to just focus at one thing at a time. Cummings didn’t have the same rules as other poets when it came to writing poetry. He didn’t always capitalize his letters when they needed to be. He rarely used punctuation. I think he purposely did these things. So, that his poetry would always stand out and be remembered. May people would remember his work just because they would think how weird is that he uses a different punctuation and grammar. It’s almost as if he sucks you in with his imperfections, then teaches you a story when you read his poems. He uses worldly issues. During Cummings time period love was major role of many persons lives. While, he had many run -ns with love, he could relate that to others in his poems. I think he is a genius for combing his life and work. Then being able to make poetry where you have to decipher what he is saying makes his poetry still and always is great.


 * Describing my poetry**

My poetry is like an open book. How I am feeling at the moment that's what I'll write about. If I'm looking up at the sky, I will write about the sky. If I'm feeling sad I will describe my sadness. Sometimes if i don't finish my poetry in the same day, I might have a different emotion the next day. Sometimes this gives my poems a creative flare, while others it feels like I am ruining a masterpiece. I like to write about love. Love is i can't describe, but it's just a drug I'm addicted to. So, E.E. Cummings was the perfect poet for me. When reading his work he inspired me to write more. To write about love but to include other things, such as my surroundings,family, my environment, anything that could better describe my feelings. I feel as though after reading a couple of poems and writing some of my own I've found a new love for poetry.


 * Picture that describes my poetry/poets**