Michael+Dea

Poetry Portfolio

"Poetry is either something that lives like fire inside you-like music to the musician or Marxism to the Communist-or else it is nothing..." -F. Scott Firzgerald

A Chilling Memory :

The gaunt face of Death stared at me, As a loved one soon slipped away. The stale air that accompanied that demon Filled the room in which I sat.

My tongue was tormented by the cold dread, That stood hand in hand with Death himself, And the musty, earthen fumes that danced off the bodies of that cold Angel Stung my eyes and burned my nostrils.

As Death ate away at the one I cared so deeply about, I was forced to remain idle, to do nothing, And allow it to occur, Waiting for the sweet release that he offered to those who suffer so.

Waiting for this release to at last come, The world was so quiet, painfully so, As though it were alive, trying to smother all life about it, And bring more victims to its feared master.

After it was all over, And Death finally left me be, I was left locked inside myself, For Death stole the key from beneath my very nose before he left.

So now I sit, day to day Forced to wear a mask of indifference, of peace and tranquility, While inside, what Death left behind gnaws and rips What’s left of me inside the walls of my heart.

Ode to You :

What is this feeling that is coming over me? An illness, a disease or, perhaps…a blessing? What magic has been laid upon me? Keeping my mind solely upon you?

Whenever I look into those two sapphires, those pools of the clearest water, While some may see a girl solely of beauty, I see the truth. I see the girl that stands ready to fight, Ready to tear down the world that stands in opposition to her.

I see in those clear blue orbs, The beauty and cruelty of the sea, The beautiful surface hiding the dangers just below, And the rage hiding within those graceful rolling waves.

I see conflicts in those clear waters, Grace and anger, frailty and strength. I see a girl who has had to grow up long before her time, And has done so with a grace and dignity far beyond the capability of mortals.

I know that you will draw lines, thin and frail into my heart, As many as there are stars in the sky, So many that, when you are through, the glass that was once my being will rain down upon my soul and shred it, But I don’t care about that. So long as you need me, I’ll be here.

I Want to Be with You :

For years I've wandered this cold, lonely Earth, Traveling along on the seven seas, But despite all I've seen upon this Earth, You are the one with whom I want to be.

You with a smile like the moon at night On a face full of care, so soft and sweet, It shines on the world, turning the night, bright. You who loves to dance, and ne'er missed a beat.

Who even Shakespeare would admit as fair. You with eyes like the clearest sapphires And hair with which not even night could compare A spirit like the hottest of fires.

To you my heart forever more belongs With you, for another I'll never long.

 My poetry is a brand of free verse that does not adhere to any sort of rhyme scheme. In essence, it is a little bit like the paragraphs of an essay. My compositions have a stronger connection to poetry through a sentence structure that resembles those used in older dialects of English rather than more modern dialects than through a specific rhyme scheme structure. The majority of the poems I compose are about love, though I have composed poems on other topics. Mainly, I focus on metaphors and similes in these poems to help describe the person about whom I am writing. This results in a semi-emphasis on nature as well. This style I developed more or less on my own. I started out just writing stories and adding a heavy amount of description to it through the use of metaphors, similes and other literary tools. After reading some Shakespeare, I adopted some of the kind of language that he used and I try to incorporate that, as well as some other poets that I have read over the years. When I compose, the kind of vocabulary I try to incorporate tends to depend on the mood I am in when I write it. Due to this, what I compose at a given time tends to be a heavy reflection of what I'm feeling at that given time.

Poet: T.S Eliot

THE LOVE SONG OF J. ALFRED PRUFROCK **//by: T.S. Eliot (1888-1965)

Let us go then, you and I, When the evening is spread out against the sky Like a patient etherized upon a table; Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets, The muttering retreats Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells: Streets that follow like a tedious argument Of insidious intent To lead you to an overwhelming question ... Oh, do not ask, "What is it?"

Let us go and make our visit. In the room the women come and go Talking of Michelangelo.

The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes, The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes, Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening, Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains, Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys, Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap, And seeing that it was a soft October night, Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.

And indeed there will be time For the yellow smoke that slides along the street, Rubbing its back upon the window-panes; There will be time, there will be time To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet; There will be time to murder and create, And time for all the works and days of hands That lift and drop a question on your plate; Time for you and time for me, And time yet for a hundred indecisions, And for a hundred visions and revisions, Before the taking of a toast and tea.

In the room the women come and go Talking of Michelangelo.

And indeed there will be time To wonder, "Do I dare?" and, "Do I dare?" Time to turn back and descend the stair, With a bald spot in the middle of my hair-- (They will say: 'How his hair is growing thin!") My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin, My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin-- (They will say: "But how his arms and legs are thin!") Do I dare Disturb the universe? In a minute there is time For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.

For I have known them all already, known them all: Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons, I have measured out my life with coffee spoons; I know the voices dying with a dying fall Beneath the music from a farther room. So how should I presume?

And I have known the eyes already, known them all-- The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase, And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin, When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall, Then how should I begin To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways? And how should I presume?

And I have known the arms already, known them all-- Arms that are braceleted and white and bare (But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!) Is it perfume from a dress That makes me so digress? Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl. And should I then presume? And how should I begin?

Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows? ...

I should have been a pair of ragged claws Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.

_ _ _

And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully! Smoothed by long fingers, Asleep ... tired ... or it malingers, Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me. Should I, after tea and cakes and ices, Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis? But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed, Though I have seen my head (grown slightly bald) brought in upon a platter, I am no prophet--and here's no great matter; I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker, And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker, And in short, I was afraid.

And would it have been worth it, after all, After the cups, the marmalade, the tea, Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me, Would it have been worth while, To have bitten off the matter with a smile, To have squeezed the universe into a ball To roll it towards some overwhelming question, To say: "I am Lazarus, come from the dead, Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all"-- If one, settling a pillow by her head Should say: "That is not what I meant at all; That is not it, at all."

And would it have been worth it, after all, Would it have been worth while, After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets, After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor-- And this, and so much more?-- It is impossible to say just what I mean! But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen: Would it have been worth while If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl, And turning toward the window, should say: "That is not it at all, That is not what I meant, at all."

No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be; Am an attendant lord, one that will do To swell a progress, start a scene or two, Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool, Deferential, glad to be of use, Politic, cautious, and meticulous; Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse; At times, indeed, almost ridiculous-- Almost, at times, the Fool.

I grow old ... I grow old ... I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach? I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach. I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.

I do not think that they will sing to me.

I have seen them riding seaward on the waves Combing the white hair of the waves blown back When the wind blows the water white and black. We have lingered in the chambers of the sea By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown Till human voices wake us, and we drown.

//**  In T.S Eliot's poem, The Love Song of Alfred J. Prufrock, he describes things that occur as people age. He also hints at the feelings two people have for one another when in love. T.S Eliot does this in such a way that he makes even ordinary things seem extraordinary. Even how he describes waves, it seems as though they're things out of the ordinary: "//I have seen them (mermaids) riding seaward on the waves/Combing the white hair of the waves blown back/When the wind blows the water white and black//." T.S Eliot displays his usage of imagism in poetry. T.S Eliot describes the waves of the ocean in such a way that it is possible to visualize what he writes. He does this throughout the majority of his poetry. Especially in The Love Song of Alfred J. Prufrock, T.S Eliot integrates the principles of imagism into his writing so heavily that the entire poem can actually be visualized by the reader given some effort on his/her part. He constructs his stanzas in such a manner, choosing words and phrases so as to "paint" a picture on the page with words. 

HYSTERIA by: T.S. Eliot (1888-1965)

AS she laughed I was aware of becoming involved in her laughter and being part of it, until her teeth were only accidental stars with a talent for squad-drill. I was drawn in by short gasps,inhaled at each momentary recovery, lost finally in the dark caverns of her throat, bruised by the ripple of unseen muscles. An elderly waiter with trembling hands was hurriedly spreading a pink and white checked cloth over the rusty green iron table, saying: "If the lady and gentleman wish to take their tea in the garden,if the lady and gentleman wish to take their tea in the garden ..." I decided that if the shaking of her breasts could be stopped, some of the fragments of the afternoon might be collected,and I concentrated my attention with careful subtlety to this end.

In this poem, T.S Eliot is describing an event that occurred during an afternoon he spent with who is presumably a friend. T.S Eliot describes in metaphorical description throughout this poem a woman and, in a sense, being "consumed" by her. T.S Eliot talks about how "//I was drawn in by short gasps, inhaled at each momentary recovery, lost finally in the dark caverns of her throat, bruised by the ripple of unseen muscles.//" (T.S Eliot). This is another example of how T.S Eliot uses imagism. This quote exemplifies the use of imagism because it is a highly detailed description of being breathed in and going down the throat of this woman. He does this in such a way that the visualization of such an adventure would be a task that is not all that difficult. T.S Eliot writes this quote so that it is clear what the reader is supposed to see, creating a mental image for the reader to see as they read the poem.

SWEENEY AMONG THE NIGHTINGALES **//by: T.S. Eliot (1888-1965)

APENECK Sweeney spreads his knees Letting his arms hang down to laugh, The zebra stripes along his jaw Swelling to maculate giraffe.

The circles of the stormy moon Slide westward toward the River Plate, Death and the Raven drift above And Sweeney guards the horned gate.

Gloomy Orion and the Dog Are veiled; and hushed the shrunken seas; The person in the Spanish cape Tries to sit on Sweeney's knees

Slips and pulls the table cloth Overturns a coffee-cup, Reorganized upon the floor She yawns and draws a stocking up;

The silent man in mocha brown Sprawls at the window-sill and gapes; The waiter brings in oranges Bananas figs and hothouse grapes;

The silent vertebrate in brown Contracts and concentrates, withdraws; Rachel née Rabinovitch Tears at the grapes with murderous paws;

She and the lady in the cape Are suspect, thought to be in league; Therefore the man with heavy eyes Declines the gambit, shows fatigue,

Leaves the room and reappears Outside the window, leaning in, Branches of wistaria Circumscribe a golden grin;

The host with someone indistinct Converses at the door apart, The nightingales are singing near The Convent of the Sacred Heart,

And sang within the bloody wood When Agamemnon cried aloud, And let their liquid droppings fall To stain the stiff dishonoured shroud. //** In this poem, T.S Eliot is telling a kind of story while at the same time, describing looking at the night sky. He describes many different constellations, but describes them doing more than just appearing in the stars. He adds a kind of life to the stars, portraying them doing things that they are not portrayed as doing as mere constellations. One such constellation is "Old Orion" and "the Dog" (presumably talking about Canis Major): " **//Gloomy Orion and the Dog/Are veiled; and hushed the shrunken seas;/The person in the Spanish cape/Tries to sit on Sweeney's knees " (T.S Eliot). Once again, T.S Eliot has shown his love of the ideals that make up imagism. In these lines alone, T.S Eliot "shows" the reader, in a way, a scene where someone by the sea is kind of in a dreamy state, thinking about the night sky that is presumably enshrouded in clouds (considering "Gloomy Orion and the Dog Are veiled). Throughout the remainder of this poem, T.S Eliot describes different things, from nightingales to people, to the sea in such clarity that the reader is able to picture the scenes in detail. These are fundamental ideals of imagism. In this poem alone, imagism is used as an integral part of the composition. As in most of T.S Eliot's work, a reader is able to picture a scene in his/her head without much difficulty. //**