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Grade 10 Poems & Songs English Poetry Unit

Poems:Song Lyrics 7 - Café Davis · Edwin Brock “Five Ways to Kill a Man” Word Count: 248 There are many cumbersome ways to kill a man. You can make him carry a plank of wood

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Grade 10 Poems & Songs

English Poetry Unit

Stephen Crane“War Is Kind” Word Count: 167

Do not weep, maiden, for war is kind. Because your lover threw wild hands toward the sky And the affrighted steed ran on alone, Do not weep.

War is Kind.

Hoarse, booming drums of the regiment, Little souls who thirst for fight, These men were born to drill and die. The unexplained glory flies above them, Great is the battle-god, great, and his kingdom -- A field where a thousand corpses lie.

Do not weep, babe, for war is kind. Because your father tumbled in the yellow trenches, Raged at his breast, gulped and died, Do not weep. War is kind.

Swift blazing flag of the regiment, Eagle with crest of red and gold, These men were born to drill and die. Point for them the virtue of slaughter, Make plain to them the excellence of killing And a field where a thousand corpses lie.

Mother whose heart hung humble as a button On the bright splendid shroud of your son, Do not weep. War is kind.

Alfred Edward Houseman“To an Athlete Dying Young” Word Count: 178

The time you won your town the raceWe chaired you through the market-place;Man and boy stood cheering by,And home we brought you shoulder-high.

To-day, the road all runners come,Shoulder-high we bring you home,And set you at your threshold down,Townsman of a stiller town.

Smart lad, to slip betimes awayFrom fields where glory does not stayAnd early though the laurel growsIt withers quicker than the rose.

Eyes the shady night has shutCannot see the record cut,And silence sounds no worse than cheersAfter earth has stopped the ears:

Now you will not swell the routOf lads that wore their honours out,Runners whom renown outranAnd the name died before the man.

So set, before its echoes fade,The fleet foot on the sill of shade,And hold to the low lintel upThe still-defended challenge-cup.

And round that early-laurelled headWill flock to gaze the strengthless dead,And find unwithered on its curlsThe garland briefer than a girl's.

John Keats“To Autumn” Word Count: 267

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,         Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;     Conspiring with him how to load and bless         With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;     To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees,         And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;             To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells     With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,         And still more, later flowers for the bees,         Until they think warm days will never cease,             For Summer has o’er-brimm’d their clammy cells.

    Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?         Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find     Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,         Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;     Or on a half-reap’d furrow sound asleep,         Drows’d with the fume of poppies, while thy hook             Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:     And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep         Steady thy laden head across a brook;         Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,             Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.

    Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?         Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,—     While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,         And touch the stubble plains with rosy hue;     Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn         Among the river sallows, borne aloft             Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;     And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;         Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft         The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;            And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

Yusef Komunyakaa“Slamdunk” Word Count: 188

Fast breaks. Lay ups. With Mercury’sInsignia on our sneakers,We outmaneuvered the footworkOf bad angels. Nothing but a hotSwish of strings like silkTen feet out. In the roundhouseLabyrinth our bodiesCreated, we could almostLast forever, poised in midairLike storybook sea monsters.A high note hung thereA long second. OffThe rim. We’d corkscrewUp & dunk balls that explodedThe skullcap of hope & goodIntention. Bug-eyed, lanky,All hands & feet…sprung rhythm.We were metaphysical when girlsCheered on the sidelines.Tangled up in a falling,Muscles were a bright motorDouble-flashing to the metal hoopNailed to our oak.When Sonny Boy’s mama diedHe played nonstop all day, so hardOur backboard splintered.Glistening with sweat, we jibed& rolled the ball off ourFingertips. TroubleWas there slapping a blackjackAgainst an open palm.Dribble, drive to the inside, feint,& glide like a sparrow hawk.Lay ups. Fast breaks.We had moves we didn’t knowWe had. Our bodies spunOn swivels of bone & faith,Through a lyric slipknotOf joy, & we knew we wereBeautiful & dangerous.

Edwin Brock“Five Ways to Kill a Man” Word Count: 248

There are many cumbersome ways to kill a man.You can make him carry a plank of woodto the top of a hill and nail him to it.To do this properly you require a crowd of peoplewearing sandals, a cock that crows, a cloakto dissect, a sponge, some vinegar and oneman to hammer the nails home.

Or you can take a length of steel,shaped and chased in a traditional way,and attempt to pierce the metal cage he wears.But for this you need white horses,English trees, men with bows and arrows,at least two flags, a prince, and acastle to hold your banquet in.

Dispensing with nobility, you may, if the windallows, blow gas at him. But then you needa mile of mud sliced through with ditches,not to mention black boots, bomb craters,more mud, a plague of rats, a dozen songsand some round hats made of steel.

In an age of aeroplanes, you may flymiles above your victim and dispose of him bypressing one small switch. All you thenrequire is an ocean to separate you, twosystems of government, a nation's scientists,several factories, a psychopath andland that no-one needs for several years.

These are, as I began, cumbersome ways to kill a man.Simpler, direct, and much more neat is to seethat he is living somewhere in the middleof the twentieth century, and leave him there.

Eric Clapton“Tears in Heaven” Word Count: 163

Would you know my name If I saw you in heaven Will it be the same If I saw you in heaven I must be strong, and carry on Cause I know I don't belong Here in heaven

Would you hold my hand If I saw you in heaven Would you help me stand If I saw you in heaven I'll find my way, through night and day Cause I know I just can't stay Here in heaven

Time can bring you down Time can bend your knee Time can break your heart Have you begging please Begging please

Beyond the door There's peace I'm sure. And I know there'll be no more... Tears in heaven

Would you know my name If I saw you in heaven Will it be the same If I saw you in heaven I must be strong, and carry on Cause I know I don't belong Here in heaven

Cause I know I don't belong Here in heaven

Tupac Shakur“Dear Mama” Word Count: 647

You are appreciated

When I was young me and my mama had beefSeventeen years old kicked out on the streetsThough back at the time, I never thought I'd see her faceAin't a woman alive that could take my mama's placeSuspended from school; and scared to go home, I was a foolwith the big boys, breakin all the rulesI shed tears with my baby sisterOver the years we was poorer than the other little kidsAnd even though we had different daddy's, the same dramaWhen things went wrong we'd blame mamaI reminice on the stress I caused, it was hellHuggin on my mama from a jail cellAnd who'd think in elementary?Heeey! I see the penitentiary, one dayAnd runnin from the police, that's rightMama catch me, put a whoopin to my backsideAnd even as a crack fiend, mamaYou always was a black queen, mamaI finally understandfor a woman it ain't easy tryin to raise a manYou always was committedA poor single mother on welfare, tell me how ya did itThere's no way I can pay you backBut the plan is to show you that I understandYou are appreciated

Lady... Don't cha know we love ya? Sweet ladyDear mamaPlace no one above ya, sweet ladyYou are appreciatedDon't cha know we love ya?

Now ain't nobody tell us it was fairNo love from my daddy cause the coward wasn't thereHe passed away and I didn't cry, cause my angerwouldn't let me feel for a strangerThey say I'm wrong and I'm heartless, but all alongI was lookin for a father he was goneI hung around with the Thugs, and even though they sold drugsThey showed a young brother loveI moved out and started really hangin

I needed money of my own so I started slanginI ain't guilty cause, even though I sell rocksIt feels good puttin money in your mailboxI love payin rent when the rent's dueI hope ya got the diamond necklace that I sent to youCause when I was low you was there for meAnd never left me alone because you cared for meAnd I could see you comin home after work lateYou're in the kitchen tryin to fix us a hot plateYa just workin with the scraps you was givenAnd mama made miracles every ThanksgivinBut now the road got rough, you're aloneYou're tryin to raise two bad kids on your ownAnd there's no way I can pay you backBut my plan is to show you that I understandYou are appreciated

[Chorus]

Pour out some liquor and I reminsce, cause through the dramaI can always depend on my mamaAnd when it seems that I'm hopelessYou say the words that can get me back in focusWhen I was sick as a little kidTo keep me happy there's no limit to the things you didAnd all my childhood memoriesAre full of all the sweet things you did for meAnd even though I act craaazyI gotta thank the Lord that you made meThere are no words that can express how I feelYou never kept a secret, always stayed realAnd I appreciate, how you raised meAnd all the extra love that you gave meI wish I could take the pain awayIf you can make it through the night there's a brighter dayEverything will be alright if ya hold onIt's a struggle everyday, gotta roll onAnd there's no way I can pay you backBut my plan is to show you that I understandYou are appreciated[Chorus]Sweet ladyAnd dear mamaDear mamaLady [3X]

Don Mclean“American Pie” Word Count: 722

A long, long time ago...I can still rememberHow that music used to make me smile.And I knew if I had my chanceThat I could make those people danceAnd, maybe, they’d be happy for a while.

But february made me shiverWith every paper I’d deliver.Bad news on the doorstep;I couldn’t take one more step.

I can’t remember if I criedWhen I read about his widowed bride,But something touched me deep insideThe day the music died.

Chorus:So bye-bye, miss american pie.Drove my chevy to the levee,But the levee was dry.And them good old boys were drinkin’ whiskey and ryeSingin’, "this’ll be the day that I die."this’ll be the day that I die."

Did you write the book of love,And do you have faith in God above,If the Bible tells you so? Do you believe in rock ’n roll,Can music save your mortal soul,And can you teach me how to dance real slow?

Well, I know that you’re in love with him`cause I saw you dancin’ in the gym.You both kicked off your shoes.Man, I dig those rhythm and blues.

I was a lonely teenage broncin’ buckWith a pink carnation and a pickup truck,But I knew I was out of luckThe day the music died.

I started singin’,"bye-bye, miss american pie."Drove my chevy to the levee,But the levee was dry.Them good old boys were drinkin’ whiskey and ryeAnd singin’, "this’ll be the day that I die."this’ll be the day that I die."

Now for ten years we’ve been on our ownAnd moss grows fat on a rollin’ stone,But that’s not how it used to be.When the jester sang for the king and queen,In a coat he borrowed from james deanAnd a voice that came from you and me,

Oh, and while the king was looking down,The jester stole his thorny crown.The courtroom was adjourned;No verdict was returned.And while lennon read a book of marx,The quartet practiced in the park,And we sang dirges in the darkThe day the music died.

We were singing,"bye-bye, miss american pie."Drove my chevy to the levee,But the levee was dry.Them good old boys were drinkin’ whiskey and ryeAnd singin’, "this’ll be the day that I die."this’ll be the day that I die."

Helter skelter in a summer swelter.The birds flew off with a fallout shelter,Eight miles high and falling fast.It landed foul on the grass.The players tried for a forward pass,With the jester on the sidelines in a cast.

Now the half-time air was sweet perfumeWhile the sergeants played a marching tune.We all got up to dance,Oh, but we never got the chance!`cause the players tried to take the field;The marching band refused to yield.Do you recall what was revealedThe day the music died?

We started singing,[chorus]

Oh, and there we were all in one place,A generation lost in spaceWith no time left to start again.So come on: jack be nimble, jack be quick!Jack flash sat on a candlestickCause fire is the devil’s only friend.

Oh, and as I watched him on the stageMy hands were clenched in fists of rage.No angel born in hellCould break that satan’s spell.And as the flames climbed high into the nightTo light the sacrificial rite,I saw satan laughing with delightThe day the music died

He was singing,[chorus]

I met a girl who sang the bluesAnd I asked her for some happy news,But she just smiled and turned away.I went down to the sacred storeWhere I’d heard the music years before,But the man there said the music wouldn’t play.

And in the streets: the children screamed,The lovers cried, and the poets dreamed.But not a word was spoken;The church bells all were broken.And the three men I admire most:The father, son, and the holy ghost,They caught the last train for the coastThe day the music died.

And they were singing,[chorus] x2

Michael Jackson“Gone Too Soon” Word Count: 101

Like A CometBlazing 'Cross The Evening Sky Gone Too Soon

Like A RainbowFading In The Twinkling Of An EyeGone Too Soon

Shiny And SparklyAnd Splendidly BrightHere One DayGone One Night

Like The Loss Of SunlightOn A Cloudy AfternoonGone Too Soon

Like A CastleBuilt Upon A Sandy BeachGone Too Soon

Like A Perfect FlowerThat Is Just Beyond Your ReachGone Too Soon

Born To Amuse, To Inspire, To DelightHere One DayGone One Night

Like A SunsetDying With The Rising Of The MoonGone Too Soon

Gone Too Soon

P. Diddy“I’ll Be Missing You” Word Count: 525

Every day I wake up I hope I'm dreaming I can't believe this shit Cant believe you ain't here Sometimes it's just hard for a nigga to wake up Its hard to just keep going Its like I feel empty inside without you being here I would do anything man, to bring you back Id give all this shit, shit the whole knot I saw your son today He look just like you You was the greatest You'll always be the greatest I miss you B.I.G. Cant wait till that day, when I see your face again I can't wait till that day, when I see your face again...

Yeah... this right here Goes out, to everyone, that has lost someone That they truly loved

Seems like yesterday we used to rock the show I laced the track, you locked the flow So far from hanging on the block for dough Notorious, they got to know that Life ain't always what it seem to be Words can't express what you mean to me Even though you're gone, we still a team Through your family, I'll fulfill your dream In the future, can't wait to see If you open up the gates for me Reminisce some time, the night they took my friend Try to black it out, but it plays again When it's real, feelings hard to conceal Cant imagine all the pain I feel Give anything to hear half your breath I know you still living your life, after death

Chorus:Every step I take, every move I make Every single day, every time I pray Ill be missing you Thinking of the day, when you went away What a life to take, what a bond to break Ill be missing you

I miss you B.I.G.

Its kinda hard with you not aroundKnow you in heaven smiling down Watching us while we pray for you Every day we pray for you Till the day we meet again In my heart is where I'll keep you friend Memories give me the strength I need to proceed Strength I need to believe My thoughts B.I.G. I just can't define Wish I could turn back the hands of time Us in the 6, shop for new clothes and kicks You and me taking flicks Making hits, stages they receive you on I still can't believe you're goneGive anything to hear half your breath I know you still living you're life, after death

Chorus

Somebody tell me why

Interlude: On that morning When this life is over I know Ill see your face

Every night I pray, every step I take Every move I make, every single day Every night I pray, every step I take

every day that passes Every move I make, every single day

is a day that I get closer to seeing you again

Every night I pray, every step I take we miss you B.I.G.... and we wont stop

Every move I make, every single daycause we can't stop... that's right

Every night I pray, every step I take Every move I make, every single day we miss you B.I.G.

Pablo Neruda“Ode to a Large Tuna in the Market” Word Count: 184

Among the market greens,a bulletfrom the oceandepths,a swimming projectile, I saw you,dead.

All around youwere lettuces,sea foamof the earth,carrots,grapes,butof the oceantruth,of the unknown,of theunfathomableshadow, the depthsof the sea,the abyss,only you had survived,a pitch-black, varnishedwitnessto deepest night.

Only you, well-aimeddark bulletfrom the abyss,mangledat one tip,but constantlyreborn,at anchor in the current,winged finswindmillingin the swiftflightof themarineshadow,a mourning arrow,dart of the sea,olive, oily fish.I saw you dead,a deceased kingof my own ocean,greenassault, silversubmarine fir,seedof seaquakes,nowonly dead remains,yetin all the marketyourswas the only purposeful formamid the bewildering routof nature;amid the fragile greensyou were a solitary ship,armedamong the vegetablesfin and prow black and oiled,as if you were stillthe vessel of the wind,the one and onlypure oceanmachine:unflawed, navigatingthe waters of death.

Pablo Neruda“Ode to a Naked Beauty” Word Count: 257

With chaste heart, and pureeyesI celebrate you, my beauty,restraining my bloodso that the linesurges and followsyour contour,and you bed yourself in my verse,as in woodland, or wave-spume:earth's perfume,sea's music.

Nakedly beautiful,whether it is your feet, archingat a primal touchof sound or breeze,or your ears,tiny spiral shellsfrom the splendour of America's oceans.Your breasts also,of equal fullness, overflowingwith the living lightand, yes,wingedyour eyelids of silken cornthat discloseor enclosethe deep twin landscapes of your eyes.

The line of your backseparating youfalls away into paler regionsthen surgesto the smooth hemispheresof an apple,and goes splittingyour lovelinessinto two pillarsof burnt gold, pure alabaster,to be lost in the twin clusters of your feet,from which, once more, lifts and takes firethe double tree of your symmetry:flower of fire, open circle of candles,swollen fruit raisedover the meeting of earth and ocean.

Your body - from what substancesagate, quartz, ears of wheat,did it flow, was it gathered,rising like breadin the warmth,and signalling hillssilvered,valleys of a single petal, sweetnessesof velvet depth,until the pure, fine, form of womanthickenedand rested there?

It is not so much light that fallsover the worldextended by your bodyits suffocating snow,as brightness, pouring itself out of you, as if you wereburning inside.

Under your skin the moon is alive

Pablo Neruda“Ode to Bird Watching” Word Count: 317

Now Let's look for birds! The tall iron branches in the forest, The dense fertility on the ground. The world is wet. A dewdrop or raindrop shines, a diminutive star among the leaves. The morning time mother earth is cool. The air is like a river which shakes the silence. It smells of rosemary, of space and roots. Overhead, a crazy song. It's a bird. How out of its throat smaller than a finger can there fall the waters of its song? Luminous ease! Invisible power torrent of music in the leaves. Sacred conversations! Clean and fresh washed is this day resounding like a green dulcimer. I bury my shoes in the mud, jump over rivulets. A thorn bites me and a gust of air like a crystal wave splits up inside my chest.

Where are the birds? Maybe it was that rustling in the foliage or that fleeting pellet of brown velvet or that displaced perfume? That leaf that let loose cinnamon smell - was that a bird? That dust from an irritated magnolia or that fruit which fell with a thump - was that a flight? Oh, invisible little critters birds of the devil with their ringing with their useless feathers. I only want to caress them, to see them resplendent. I don't want to see under glass the embalmed lightning. I want to see them living. I want to touch their gloves of real hide, which they never forget in the branches and to converse with them sitting on my shoulders although they may leave me like certain statues undeservedly whitewashed. Impossible. You can't touch them. You can hear them like a heavenly rustle or movement. They converse with precision. They repeat their observations. They brag of how much they do. They comment on everything that exists. They learn certain sciences like hydrography. and by a sure science they know where there are harvests of grain

Pablo Neruda“Ode to Broken Things” Word Count: 289

Things get broken at home like they were pushed by an invisible, deliberate smasher. It's not my hands or yours It wasn't the girls with their hard fingernails or the motion of the planet. It wasn't anything or anybody It wasn't the wind It wasn't the orange-colored noontime Or night over the earth It wasn't even the nose or the elbow Or the hips getting bigger or the ankle or the air. The plate broke, the lamp fell All the flower pots tumbled over one by one. That pot which overflowed with scarlet in the middle of October, it got tired from all the violets and another empty one rolled round and round and round all through winter until it was only the powder of a flowerpot, a broken memory, shining dust.

And that clock whose sound was the voice of our lives, the secret thread of our weeks, which released one by one, so many hours for honey and silence for so many births and jobs, that clock also fell and its delicate blue guts vibrated among the broken glass its wide heart unsprung.

Life goes on grinding up glass, wearing out clothes making fragments breaking down forms and what lasts through time is like an island on a ship in the sea, perishable surrounded by dangerous fragility by merciless waters and threats.

Let's put all our treasures together -- the clocks, plates, cups cracked by the cold -- into a sack and carry them to the sea and let our possessions sink into one alarming breaker that sounds like a river. May whatever breaks be reconstructed by the sea with the long labor of its tides. So many useless things which nobody broke but which got broken anyway

Pablo Neruda“Ode to Clothes” Word Count: 252

Every morning you wait,clothes, over a chair,to fill yourself withmy vanity, my love,my hope, my body.Barelyrisen from sleep,I relinquish the water,enter your sleeves,my legs look forthe hollows of your legs,and so embracedby your indefatigable faithfulnessI rise, to tread the grass,enter poetry,consider through the windows,the things,the men, the women,the deeds and the fightsgo on forming me,go on making me face thingsworking my hands,opening my eyes,using my mouth,and so,clothes,I too go forming you,extending your elbows,snapping your threads,and so your life expandsin the image of my life.In the windyou billow and snapas if you were my soul,at bad timesyou clingto my bones,vacant, for the night,darkness, sleeppopulate with their phantomsyour wings and mine.

I wonderif one daya bulletfrom the enemywill leave you stained with my bloodand thenyou will die with meor one daynot quiteso dramaticbut simple,you will fall ill,clothes,with me,grow oldwith me, with my bodyand joinedwe will enterthe earth.Because of thiseach dayI greet youwith reverence and thenyou embrace me and I forget you,because we are oneand we will go onfacing the wind, in the night,the streets or the fight,a single body,one day, one day, some day, still

Pablo Neruda“Ode to Maize” Word Count: 281

America, from a grainof maize you grewto crownwith spacious landsthe ocean foam.A grain of maize was your geography.From the graina green lance rose,was covered with gold,to grace the heightsof Peru with its yellow tassels.

But, poet, lethistory rest in its shroud;praise with your lyrethe grain in its granaries:sing to the simple maize in the kitchen.

First, a fine beardfluttered in the fieldabove the tender teethof the young ear.Then the husks partedand fruitfulness burst its veilsof pale papyrusthat grains of laughtermight fall upon the earth.To the stone,in your journey,you returned.Not to the terrible stone,the bloodytriangle of Mexican death,but to the grinding stone,sacredstone of your kitchens.There, milk and matter,strength-giving, nutritiouscornmeal pulp,you were worked and pattedby the wondrous handsof dark-skinned women.

Wherever you fall, maize,whether into thesplendid pot of partridge, or amongcountry beans, you light upthe meal and lend ityour virginal flavor.

Oh, to bite intothe steaming ear beside the seaof distant song and deepest waltz.To boil youas your aromaspreads throughblue sierras.

But is thereno endto your treasure?

In chalky, barren landsborderedby the sea, alongthe rocky Chilean coast,at timesonly your radiancereaches the emptytable of the miner.

Your light, your cornmeal, your hopepervades America's solitudes,and to hungeryour lancesare enemy legions.

Within your husks,like gentle kernels,our sober provincialchildren's hearts were nurtured,until life beganto shuck us from the ear.

Pablo Neruda“Ode to My Socks” Word Count: 216

Mara Mori brought mea pair of sockswhich she knitted herselfwith her sheepherder's hands,two socks as soft as rabbits.I slipped my feet into themas if they were two casesknitted with threads of twilight and goatskin,Violent socks,my feet were two fish made of wool,two long sharkssea blue, shot throughby one golden thread,two immense blackbirds,two cannons,my feet were honored in this wayby these heavenly socks.They were so handsome for the first timemy feet seemed to me unacceptablelike two decrepit firemen,firemen unworthy of that woven fire,of those glowing socks.

Nevertheless, I resisted the sharp temptationto save them somewhere as schoolboyskeep fireflies,as learned men collectsacred texts,I resisted the mad impulse to put themin a golden cage and each day give thembirdseed and pieces of pink melon.Like explorers in the junglewho hand over the very rare green deerto the spit and eat it with remorse,I stretched out my feet and pulled onthe magnificent socks and then my shoes.

The moral of my ode is this:beauty is twice beautyand what is good is doubly goodwhen it is a matter of two socksmade of wool in winter.

Pablo Neruda“Ode to Sadness” Word Count: 127

Sadness, scarabwith seven crippled feet,spiderweb egg,scramble-brained rat,bitch's skeleton:No entry here.Don't come in.Go away.Go backsouth with your umbrella,go backnorth with your serpent's teeth.A poet lives here.No sadness maycross this threshold.Through these windowscomes the breath of the world,fresh red roses,flags embroidered withthe victories of the people.No.No entry.Flapyour bat's wings,I will trample the feathersthat fall from your mantle,I will sweep the bits and piecesof your carcass tothe four corners of the wind,I will wring your neck,I will stitch your eyelids shut,I will sew your shroud,sadness, and bury your rodent bonesbeneath the springtime of an apple tree.

Pablo Neruda“Ode to Salt” Word Count: 170

This saltin the salt cellarI once saw in the salt mines.I knowyou won'tbelieve mebutit singssalt sings, the skinof the salt minessingswith a mouth smotheredby the earth.I shivered in thosesolitudeswhen I heardthe voiceofthe salt in the desert.Near Antofagastathe nitrouspamparesounds:abrokenvoice,a mournfulsong.

In its cavesthe salt moans, mountainof buried light,translucent cathedral,crystal of the sea, oblivionof the waves.And then on every tablein the world,salt,we see your piquantpowdersprinklingvital lightuponour food. Preserverof the ancientholds of ships,discovereronthe high seas,earliestsailorof the unknown, shiftingbyways of the foam.Dust of the sea, in youthe tongue receives a kissfrom ocean night:taste imparts to every seasoneddish your ocean essence;the smallest,miniaturewave from the saltcellarreveals to usmore than domestic whiteness;in it, we taste finitude.

Pablo Neruda“Ode to the Artichoke” Word Count: 254

The artichoke With a tender heart Dressed up like a warrior, Standing at attention, it built A small helmet Under its scales It remained Unshakeable, By its side The crazy vegetables Uncurled Their tendrills and leaf-crowns, Throbbing bulbs, In the sub-soil The carrot With its red mustaches Was sleeping, The grapevine Hung out to dry its branches Through which the wine will rise, The cabbage Dedicated itself To trying on skirts, The oregano To perfuming the world, And the sweet Artichoke There in the garden, Dressed like a warrior, Burnished Like a proud Pomegrante. And one day Side by side In big wicker baskets Walking through the market To realize their dream The artichoke army In formation. Never was it so military Like on parade. The men In their white shirts Among the vegetables Were The Marshals Of the artichokes Lines in close order Command voices, And the bang Of a falling box.

But Then Maria Comes With her basket She chooses An artichoke, She's not afraid of it. She examines it, she observes it Up against the light like it was an egg, She buys it, She mixes it up In her handbag With a pair of shoes With a cabbage head and a Bottle Of vinegar Until She enters the kitchen And submerges it in a pot.

Thus ends In peace This career Of the armed vegetable Which is called an artichoke, Then Scale by scale, We strip off The delicacy And eat The peaceful mush Of its green heart.

Pablo Neruda“Ode to the Book” Word Count: 295

When I close a bookI open life.I hearfaltering criesamong harbours.Copper ignotsslide down sand-pitsto Tocopilla.Night time.Among the islandsour oceanthrobs with fish,touches the feet, the thighs,the chalk ribsof my country.The whole of nightclings to its shores, by dawnit wakes up singingas if it had excited a guitar.

The ocean's surge is calling.The windcalls meand Rodriguez calls,and Jose Antonio--I got a telegramfrom the "Mine" Unionand the one I love(whose name I won't let out)expects me in Bucalemu.

No book has been ableto wrap me in paper,to fill me upwith typography,with heavenly imprintsor was ever ableto bind my eyes,I come out of books to people orchardswith the hoarse family of my song,to work the burning metalsor to eat smoked beefby mountain firesides.I love adventurousbooks,books of forest or snow,depth or skybut hatethe spider book in which thoughthas laid poisonous wiresto trap the juvenileand circling fly.Book, let me go.I won't go clothedin volumes,I don't come outof collected works,my poemshave not eaten poems--they devourexciting happenings,feed on rough weather,and dig their foodout of earth and men.I'm on my waywith dust in my shoesfree of mythology:send books back to their shelves,I'm going down into the streets.I learned about lifefrom life itself,love I learned in a single kissand could teach no one anythingexcept that I have livedwith something in common among men,when fighting with them,when saying all their say in my song.

Pablo Neruda“Ode to Tomatoes” Word Count: 178

The streetfilled with tomatoesmidday,summer,light ishalvedlikeatomato,its juicerunsthrough the streets.In December,unabated,the tomatoinvadesthe kitchen,it enters at lunchtime,takesits easeon countertops,among glasses,butter dishes,blue saltcellars.It shedsits own light,benign majesty.Unfortunately, we mustmurder it:the knifesinksinto living flesh,redviscera,a coolsun,profound,inexhaustible,populates the saladsof Chile,happily, it is wedto the clear onion,and to celebrate the unionwepouroil,essentialchild of the olive,onto its halved hemispheres,

pepperaddsits fragrance,salt, its magnetism;it is the weddingof the day,parsleyhoistsits flag,potatoesbubble vigorously,the aromaof the roastknocksat the door,it's time!come on!and, onthe table, at the midpointof summer,the tomato,star of earth,recurrentand fertilestar,displaysits convolutions,its canals,its remarkable amplitudeand abundance,no pit,no husk,no leaves or thorns,the tomato offersits giftof fiery colorand cool completeness.

Pablo Neruda“Ode to Wine” Word Count: 323

Day-colored wine,night-colored wine,wine with purple feetor wine with topaz blood,wine,starry childof earth,wine, smoothas a golden sword,softas lascivious velvet,wine, spiral-seashelledand full of wonder,amorous,marine;never has one goblet contained you,one song, one man,you are choral, gregarious,at the least, you must be shared.At timesyou feed on mortalmemories;your wave carries usfrom tomb to tomb,stonecutter of icy sepulchers,and we weeptransitory tears;yourgloriousspring dressis different,blood rises through the shoots,wind incites the day,nothing is leftof your immutable soul.Winestirs the spring, happinessbursts through the earth like a plant,walls crumble,and rocky cliffs,chasms close,as song is born.A jug of wine, and thou beside mein the wilderness,sang the ancient poet.Let the wine pitcheradd to the kiss of love its own.

My darling, suddenlythe line of your hipbecomes the brimming curveof the wine goblet,your breast is the grape cluster,your nipples are the grapes,the gleam of spirits lights your hair,and your navel is a chaste sealstamped on the vessel of your belly,your love an inexhaustiblecascade of wine,light that illuminates my senses,the earthly splendor of life.

But you are more than love,the fiery kiss,the heat of fire,more than the wine of life;you arethe community of man,translucency,chorus of discipline,abundance of flowers.I like on the table,when we're speaking,the light of a bottleof intelligent wine.Drink it,and remember in everydrop of gold,in every topaz glass,in every purple ladle,that autumn laboredto fill the vessel with wine;and in the ritual of his office,let the simple man rememberto think of the soil and of his duty,to propagate the canticle of the wine.