My Favorite 5 in-depth Poets
“I cannot go to school today” said little
Peggy Ann McKay. “I have the measles and
the mumps, a gash a rash and purple bumps.
My mouth is wet my throat is dry, and I’m
going blind in my right eye. My tonsils are as
big as rocks, I’ve counted 16 chicken pox,
and there’s one more, that’s 17, and don’t you
think my face looks green? My leg is cut, my
eyes are blue, It might be instamatic flu. I
cough and sneeze and gasp and choke, I
think that my left leg is broke. My hip hurts
when I move my chin, my belly button’s
caving in. My back is wrenched, my ankle
sprained, my ‘pendix pains each time it rains.
Born September 25th, 1932
My nose is cold, my toes are numb, I have a in Chicago, Illinois, Sheldon
sliver in my thumb, my neck is stiff, my voice Allan Silverstein.
is weak, I hardly whisper when I speak. My Cartoonist, composer,
tongue is filling up my mouth, I think my hair
lyricist, and folk singer.
is falling out. My elbow’s bent, my spine ain’t
straight, my temperature is 108. My brain is Was in military forces in
shrunk, I cannot hear, there is a hole inside Japan and Korea in the
my ear. I have a hangnail, and my hearing is- 1950’s. Died when 66 years
what? What’s that you say? You say today is old from a heart attack on
Saturday. G’bye, I’m going out to play!
May 10th, 1999. Male.
“If You Come Softly
If you come softly
As the wind within the trees
You may hear what I hear
See what sorrow sees.
If you come lightly
As threading dew
I will take you gladly
Nor ask more of you.
You may sit beside me
Silent as a breath
Only those who stay dead Born February 18th, 1924 in Harlem. Audre Geraldine
Lorde. Novelist, poet, and essayist. Started writing at 12
Shall remember death. or 13. Attended and graduated from Hunter College.
And if you come I will be silent There she received a B.A. in literature and philosophy in
Nor speak harsh words to you 1959. In 1960 she got her M.L.S. from Columbia
University. Worked as a librarian in Mount Vernon & New
I will not ask you why now
York. Married Edward Rollins in 1962. Had two children
Or how, or what you do. and divorced in 1970. Died November 17th, 1992. Female.
We shall sit here softly
Beneath two different years
And the rich between us
Shall drink all our tears.
“Still I Rise
You may write me down in history with your bitter, twisted lies.
You may trod me in the very dirt, but still like dust, I rise.
Does my sassiness upset you? Why are you beset with gloom?
‘Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells, pumping in my living room.
Just like moons and like suns, with certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high, still, I will Rise
Did you want to see me broken? Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like tear drops, weakened by my soulful cries.
Does my haugtiness offend you? Don’t you take it awful hard.
‘Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines, diggin’ in my backyard.
You may shoot me with you words, you may cut me with your eyes.
You may kill me with your hatefulness, but still like air I rise.
I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide, welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear I rise.
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave,
I rise, I rise, I rise.
Born March 26th, 1874 in San Francisco. One of America’s leading 20th century
poets. Won the Pulitzer Prize four different times. A Poet. Robert Lee Frost. Died
in Boston on January 29th, 1963.
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood and sorry I could not travel both,
And be one traveler, long I stood and looked down as far as I could.
To where in bent in the undergrowth then took the other just as fair,
And having perhaps better claim, because it was grassy and wanted wear.
Though as for that the passing there, had worn them really about the same
And both that morning equally lay in leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day! Yet, knowing how way leads on the way,
I doubted if I should ever come back. I shall be telling this with a sigh,
Somewhere ages and ages hence. Two roads diverged in wood, and I-
I took the one less traveled by, and that’s made all the difference.
Books fall open,
You fall in,
Delighted where you’ve never been;
Born December 15th,
Hear voices not once heard before,
1897. He wrote more
Reach world on world through door on door,
than 40 books.
Find unexpected keys to things
Lived in New York.
Locked up behind imaginings
What might you be, perhaps become
Because one book is somewhere?
Some wise delver into wisdom, wit and
wherewithal has written it.
Died April 13th,
True books will venture, dare you out,
Whisper secrets, maybe shout across the gloom
to you in need who hanker for a book to read.