Thursday
September 18, 2014

Homework Help: help me pick the best poem?

Posted by mikki on Sunday, January 16, 2011 at 2:09am.

which poem is the best?
can you guys help me pick the best poem to analyze and present to class?
What would be your second pick as well?

1. <Ozymandias>

I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: "Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown
And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear:
`My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings:
Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!'
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level sands stretch far away".

2. <Mid-Term Break> by Seamus Heaney
I sat all morning in the college sick bay
Counting bells knelling classes to a close.
At two o'clock our neighbors drove me home.

In the porch I met my father crying--
He had always taken funerals in his stride--
And Big Jim Evans saying it was a hard blow.

The baby cooed and laughed and rocked the pram
When I came in, and I was embarrassed
By old men standing up to shake my hand

And tell me they were "sorry for my trouble,"
Whispers informed strangers I was the eldest,
Away at school, as my mother held my hand

In hers and coughed out angry tearless sighs.
At ten o'clock the ambulance arrived
With the corpse, stanched and bandaged by the nurses.

Next morning I went up into the room. Snowdrops
And candles soothed the bedside; I saw him
For the first time in six weeks. Paler now,

Wearing a poppy bruise on his left temple,
He lay in the four foot box as in his cot.
No gaudy scars, the bumper knocked him clear.

A four foot box, a foot for every year.


3. <Hanging Fire>
By Audre Lorde

I am fourteen
and my skin has betrayed me
the boy I cannot live without
still sucks his thumb
in secret
how come my knees are
always so ashy
what if I die
before morning
and momma's in the bedroom
with the door closed.

I have to learn how to dance
in time for the next party
my room is too small for me
suppose I die before graduation
they will sing sad melodies
but finally
tell the truth about me
There is nothing I want to do
and too much
that has to be done
and momma's in the bedroom
with the door closed.

Nobody even stops to think
about my side of it
I should have been on Math Team
my marks were better than his
why do I have to be
the one
wearing braces
I have nothing to wear tomorrow
will I live long enough
to grow up
and momma's in the bedroom
with the door closed.

4.<First they came for the Jews> by Pastor Martin

First they came for the Jews
and I did not speak out - because I was not a Jew.

Then they came for the communists
and I did not speak out - because I was not a communist.

Then they came for the trade unionists
and I did not speak out - because I was not a trade unionist.

Then they came for me -
and by then there was no one left to speak out for me.


5. <WE WILL NEVER FORGET - AUSCHWITZ>

by Alexander Kimel - Holocaust Survivor

We will never forget the selections at Auschwitz,
Where Black Jackals condemned millions to gas,
Right - death, left - life, right death... death ...death.
The black finger, surrounded with barking dogs,
Works like the Angel of Death, creating living hell.

Children are torn apart from the tender embrace
Of mothers, clinging to their treasures.
Babies wailing from hunger,
Parents parting tearfully with their children.
Fathers shaken with helpless rage.
The condemned form a column of trembling fear.

Soon the mass of fainting humanity
Is lead to the clean foyer of death.
Disrobe quickly, take a shower and you will be fed.
Food! Food! The hungry mass of disoriented humanity
Awakens runs and fights to get into the chamber of gas.

The heavy door closes and the cyclone dropped.
Soon the parents choke and turn blue,
Later the children turn rigid with death
The people become a twisted load,
Of intertwined limps and heads glued with blood.

When the human pulp is ready for the works,
Sondercommando quickly pull,
The bodies apart, peel the gold from the mouths.
And the remains are taken to the open pit,
Where the bones are cleaned with fire,
And the fat drained for human soap.

Six days a week the Jackals drink beer,
And rejoice doing the Devil's work.
Sunday is the day of rest, the day
When the Jackals ride to the Church, to praise God
And assure the Salvation of their pious souls.

Deutschland, Deutschland Uber Alles!
In this Kingdom of Evil,
There is no peace for the Righteous.
It is the wicked that inherited
This tortured World, engulfed
In the red, milky, cry-absorbing fog,
Guarding the wilted conscience of man.

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