1. Phenomenal Woman by Maya Angelou Pretty women wonder where
my secret lies. I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's
size But when I start to tell them, They think I'm telling lies. I
say, It's in the reach of my arms The span of my hips, The stride
of my step, The curl of my lips. I'm a woman Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman, That's me. I walk into a room Just as cool as you
please, And to a man, The fellows stand or Fall down on their
knees. Then they swarm around me, A hive of honey bees. I say, It's
the fire in my eyes, And the flash of my teeth, The swing in my
waist, And the joy in my feet. I'm a woman Phenomenally. Phenomenal
woman, That's me. Men themselves have wondered What they see in me.
They try so much But they can't touch My inner mystery. When I try
to show them They say they still can't see. I say, It's in the arch
of my back, The sun of my smile, The ride of my breasts, The grace
of my style. I'm a woman Phenomenally. Phenomenal woman, That's me.
Now you understand Just why my head's not bowed. I don't shout or
jump about Or have to talk real loud. When you see me passing It
ought to make you proud. I say, It's in the click of my heels, The
bend of my hair, the palm of my hand, The need of my care, 'Cause
I'm a woman Phenomenally. Phenomenal woman, That's me.
2. SirenSong by Margaret Atwood This is the one song everyone
would like to learn: the song that is irresistible: the song that
forces men to leap overboard in squadrons even though they see the
beached skulls the song nobody knows because anyonewho has heard it
is dead, and the others can't remember. Shall I tell you the secret
and if I do, will you get me out of this bird suit? I dont enjoy it
here squatting on this island looking picturesqueand mythical with
these two feathery maniacs, I don't enjoy singing this trio, fatal
and valuable. I will tell the secret to you, to you, only to you.
Come closer. This song is a cry for help: Help me! Only you, only
you can, you are unique at last. Alas it is a boring song but it
works every time.
3. Fragment by Anne Bronte 'Maiden, thou wert thoughtless once
Of beauty or of grace, Simple and homely in attire Careless of form
and face. Then whence this change, and why so oft Dost smooth thy
hazel hair? And wherefore deck thy youthful form With such
unwearied care? 'Tell us - and cease to tire our ears With yonder
hackneyed strain - Why wilt thou play those simple tunes So often
o'er again?' 'Nay, gentle friends, I can but say That childhood's
thoughts are gone. Each year its own new feelings brings And years
move swiftly on, And for these little simple airs, I love to play
them o'er - So much I dare not promise now To play them never
more.' I answered and it was enough; They turned them to depart;
They could not read my secret thoughts Nor see my throbbing heart.
I've noticed many a youthful form Upon whose changeful face The
inmost workings of the soul The gazer's eye might trace. The
speaking eye, the changing lip, The ready blushing cheek, The
smiling or beclouded brow Their different feelings speak. But,
thank God! you might gaze on mine For hours and never know The
secret changes of my soul From joy to bitter woe. Last night, as we
sat round the fire Conversing merrily, We heard without approaching
steps Of one well known to me. There was no trembling in my voice,
No blush upon my cheek, No lustrous sparkle in my eyes, Of hope or
joy to speak; But O my spirit burned within, My heart beat thick
and fast. He came not nigh - he went away And then my joy was past.
And yet my comrades marked it not, My voice was still the same;
They saw me smile, and o'er my face - No signs of sadness came;
They little knew my hidden thoughts And they will never know The
anguish of my drooping heart, The bitter aching woe!
4. Life by Charlotte Bronte LIFE, believe, is not a dream So
dark as sages say; Oft a little morning rain Foretells a pleasant
day. Sometimes there are clouds of gloom, But these are transient
all; If the shower will make the roses bloom, O why lament its fall
? Rapidly, merrily, Life's sunny hours flit by, Gratefully,
cheerily, Enjoy them as they fly ! What though Death at times steps
in And calls our Best away ? What though sorrow seems to win, O'er
hope, a heavy sway ? Yet hope again elastic springs, Unconquered,
though she fell; Still buoyant are her golden wings, Still strong
to bear us well. Manfully, fearlessly, The day of trial bear, For
gloriously, victoriously, Can courage quell despair !
5. Remembrance by Emily Bronte Cold in the earthand the deep
snow piled above thee, Far, far removed, cold in the dreary grave!
Have I forgot,my only Love, to love thee, Severed at last by Time's
all-severing wave? Now, when alone, do my thoughts no longer hover
Over the mountains, on that northern shore, Resting their wings
where heath and fern-leaves cover That noble heart forever, ever
more? Cold in the earth, and fifteenwild Decembers From those brown
hills have melted into spring: Faithful indeed is the spirit that
remembers After such years of change and suffering! Sweet Love of
youth, forgive if I forget thee, While the world's tide is bearing
me along: Sterner desires and other hopes beset me, Hopes which
obscure, but cannot do thee wrong! No later light has lightened up
my heaven; No second morn has ever shone forme: All my life's bliss
from thy dear life was given, All my life's bliss is in the grave
with thee. But when the days of golden dreams had perished, And
even Despair was powerless to destroy, Then did I learn how
existence could be cherished, Strengthened, and fed without the aid
of joy; Then did I check the tears of useless passion, Weaned my
young soul from yearning afterthine; Sternly denied its burning
wish to hasten Down to that tomb already more than mine. And even
yet I dare not let it languish, Dare not indulge in Memory's
rapturous pain; Once drinking deep of that divinest anguish, How
could I seek the empty world again?
6. Sonnet 43 by Elizabeth Barrett Browning How do I love thee?
Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and
height My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight For the ends of
Being and ideal Grace. I love thee to the level of everyday's Most
quiet need, by sun and candle-light. I love thee freely, as men
strive for Right; I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise. I
love thee with the passion put to use In my old griefs, and with my
childhood's faith. I love thee with a love I seemed to lose With my
lost saints,I love thee with the breath, Smiles, tears, of all my
life!and, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after
death.
7. I Made A Mistake by Charles Bukowski I reached up into the
top of the closet and took out a pair of blue panties and showed
them to her and asked "are these yours?" and she looked and said,
"no, those belong to a dog." she left after that and I haven't seen
her since. she's not at her place. I keep going there, leaving
notes stuck into the door. I go back and the notes are still there.
I take the Maltese cross cut it down from my car mirror, tie it to
her doorknob with a shoelace, leave a book of poems. when I go back
the next night everything is still there. I keep searching the
streets for that blood-wine battleship she drives with a weak
battery, and the doors hanging from broken hinges. I drive around
the streets an inch away from weeping, ashamed of my sentimentality
and possible love. a confused old man driving in the rain wondering
where the good luck went.
8. Fast rode the knight by Stephen Crane Fast rode the knight
With spurs, hot and reeking, Ever waving an eager sword, "To save
my lady!" Fast rode the knIght, And leaped from saddle to war. Men
of steel flickered and gleamed Like riot of silver lights, And the
gold of the knight's good banner Still waved on a castle wall. . .
. . . A horse, Blowing, staggering, bloody thing, Forgotten at foot
of castle wall. A horse Dead at foot of castle wall.
9. [i carry your heart with me(i carry it in] By e. e. cummings
i carry your heart with me(i carry it in my heart)i am never
without it(anywhere i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done by
only me is your doing,my darling) i fear no fate(for you are my
fate,my sweet)i want no world(for beautiful you are my world,my
true) and its you are whatever a moon has always meant and whatever
a sun will always sing is you here is the deepest secret nobody
knows (here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud and the
sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows higher than soul
can hope or mind can hide) and this is the wonder that's keeping
the stars apart i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)
10. There is another sky by Emily Dickinson There is another
sky, Ever serene and fair, And there is another sunshine, Though it
be darkness there; Never mind faded forests, Austin, Never mind
silent fields - Here is a little forest, Whose leaf is ever green;
Here is a brighter garden, Where not a frost has been; In its
unfading flowers I hear the bright bee hum: Prithee, my brother,
Into my garden come!
11. The Naming Of Cats by T. S. Eliot The Naming of Cats is a
difficult matter, It isn't just one of your holiday games; You may
think at first I'm as mad as a hatter When I tell you, a cat must
have THREE DIFFERENT NAMES. First of all, there's the name that the
family use daily, Such as Peter, Augustus, Alonzo or James, Such as
Victor or Jonathan, George or Bill Bailey-- All of them sensible
everyday names. There are fancier names if you think they sound
sweeter, Some for the gentlemen, some for the dames: Such as Plato,
Admetus, Electra, Demeter-- But all of them sensible everyday
names. But I tell you, a cat needs a name that's particular, A name
that's peculiar, and more dignified, Else how can he keep up his
tail perpendicular, Or spread out his whiskers, or cherish his
pride? Of names of this kind, I can give you a quorum, Such as
Munkustrap, Quaxo, or Coricopat, Such as Bombalurina, or else
Jellylorum- Names that never belong to more than one cat. But above
and beyond there's still one name left over, And that is the name
that you never will guess; The name that no human research can
discover-- But THE CAT HIMSELF KNOWS, and will never confess. When
you notice a cat in profound meditation, The reason, I tell you, is
always the same: His mind is engaged in a rapt contemplation Of the
thought, of the thought, of the thought of his name: His ineffable
effable Effanineffable Deep and inscrutable singular Name.
12. The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost Two roads diverged in a
yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler,
long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent
in the undergrowth; Then took the other, as just as fair, And
having perhaps the 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 to 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 a wood, and I- I took the one less
traveled by, And that has made all the difference.
13. I, Too, Sing America by Langston Hughes I, too, sing
America. I am the darker brother. They send me to eat in the
kitchen When company comes, But I laugh, And eat well, And grow
strong. Tomorrow, I'll be at the table When company comes.
Nobody'll dare Say to me, "Eat in the kitchen," Then. Besides,
They'll see how beautiful I am And be ashamed-- I, too, am
America.
14. The Prodigal Son by Rudyard Kipling Here come I to my own
again, Fed, forgiven and known again, Claimed by bone of my bone
again And cheered by flesh of my flesh. The fatted calf is dressed
for me, But the husks havegreater zestfor me, I think my pigs will
be bestfor me, So I'moff to the Yards afresh. I never was very
refined, you see, (And it weighs on my brother's mind, you see) But
there's no reproach among swine, d'you see, For being a bit of a
swine. So I'moff with wallet and staff to eat The bread that is
three parts chaff to wheat, But glory be! - there's a laugh to it,
Which isn't the case when we dine. My father glooms and advises me,
My brother sulks and despises me, And Mother catechises me Till I
want to go out and swear. And, in spite of the butler's gravity, I
know that the servants haveit I Am a monster of moral depravity,
And I'mdamned if I think it's fair! I wasted my substance, I know I
did, On riotous living, so I did, But there's nothing on record to
show I did Worsethan my betters have done. They talk of the money I
spent out there - They hint at the pace that I went out there - But
they all forget I was sentout there Alone as a rich man's son. So I
was a mark for plunder at once, And lost my cash (can you wonder?)
at once, But I didn't give up and knock under at once, I worked in
the Yards, for a spell, Where I spentmy nights and my days with
hogs. And shared their milk and maize with hogs, Till, I guess, I
havelearned what pays with hogs And - I havethat knowledgeto sell!
So back I go to my job again, Not so easy to rob again, Or quite so
ready to sob again On any neck that's around. I'mleaving, Pater.
Good-byeto you! God bless you, Mater! I'll write to you! I
wouldn'tbe impolite to you, But, Brother, you are a hound !
15. The Rainy Day by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow The day is
cold, and dark, and dreary It rains, and the wind is never weary;
The vine still clings to the mouldering wall, But at every gust the
dead leaves fall, And the day is dark and dreary. My life is cold,
and dark, and dreary; It rains, and the wind is never weary; My
thoughts still cling to the mouldering Past, But the hopes of youth
fall thick in the blast, And the days are dark and dreary. Be
still, sad heart! and cease repining; Behind the clouds is the sun
still shining; Thy fate is the common fate of all, Into each life
some rain must fall, Some days must be dark and dreary.
16. If You Forget Me by Pablo Neruda I want you to know one
thing. You know how this is: if I look at the crystal moon, at the
red branch of the slow autumn at my window, if I touch near the
fire the impalpable ash or the wrinkled body of the log, everything
carries me to you, as if everything that exists, aromas, light,
metals, were little boats that sail toward those isles of yours
that wait for me. Well, now, if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little. If suddenly you forget me
do not look for me, for I shall already have forgotten you. If you
think it long and mad, the wind of banners that passes through my
life, and you decide to leave me at the shore of the heart where I
have roots, remember that on that day, at that hour, I shall lift
my arms and my roots will set off to seek another land. But if each
day, each hour, you feel that you are destined for me with
implacable sweetness, if each day a flower climbs up to your lips
to seek me, ah my love, ah my own, in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten, my love feeds on your
love, beloved, and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine
17. A Dream Within A Dream by Edgar Allan Poe Take this kiss
upon the brow! And, in parting from you now, Thus much let me
avow-- You are not wrong, who deem That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away In a night, or in a day, In a vision, or
in none, Is it therefore the less gone? All that we see or seem Is
but a dream within a dream. I stand amid the roar Of a
surf-tormented shore, And I hold within my hand Grains of the
golden sand-- How few! yet how they creep Through my fingers to the
deep, While I weep--while I weep! O God! can I not grasp Them with
a tighter clasp? O God! can I not save One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem But a dream within a dream?
18. A Girl by Ezra Pound The tree has entered my hands, The sap
has ascended my arms, The tree has grown in my breast- Downward,
The branches grow out of me, like arms. Tree you are, Moss you are,
You are violets with wind above them. A child - so high - you are,
And all this is folly to the world.
19. As Soon as Fred Gets Out of Bed by Jack Prelutsky As soon
as Fred gets out of bed, his underwear goes on his head. His mother
laughs, "Don't put it there, a head's no place for underwear!" But
near his ears, above his brains, is where Fred's underwear remains.
At night when Fred goes back to bed, he deftly plucks it off his
head. His mother switches off the light and softly croons, "Good
night! Good night!" And then, for reasons no one knows, Fred's
underwear goes on his toes.
20. Chicago by Carl Sandburg Hog Butcher for the World, Tool
Maker, Stacker of Wheat, Player with Railroads and the Nation's
Freight Handler; Stormy, husky, brawling, City of the Big
Shoulders; They tell me you are wicked and I believe them, for I
have seen your painted women under the gas lamps luring the
farmboys. And they tell me you are crooked and I answer: Yes, it is
true I have seen the gunman kill and go free to kill again. And
they tell me you are brutal and my reply is: On the faces of women
and children I haveseen the marks of wanton hunger. And having
answered so I turn once more to thosewho sneer at this my city, and
I give them back the sneer and say to them: Come and show me
another city with lifted head singing so proud to be alive and
coarseand strong and cunning. Flinging magnetic curses amid the
toil of piling job on job, here is a tall bold slugger set vivid
againstthe little softcities; Fierce as a dog with tongue lapping
for action, cunning as a savagepitted against the wilderness,
Bareheaded, Shoveling, Wrecking, Planning, Bulding, breaking,
rebuilding, Under the smoke, dustall over his mouth, laughing with
white teeth, Under the terrible burden of destiny laughing as a
young man laughs, Laughing even as an ignorantfighter laughs who
has never lost a battle, Bragging and laughing that under his
wristis the pulse, and under his ribs the heart of the people,
Laughing! Laughing the stormy, husky, brawling laughter of Youth,
half-naked, sweating, pround to be Hog Butcher, Tool Maker, Stacker
of Wheat, Player with Railroads and Freight Handler to the
Nation.
21. All the World's a Stage by William Shakespeare All the
world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players; They
have their exits and their entrances, And one man in his time plays
many parts, His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms. Then the whining schoolboy,
with his satchel And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover, Sighing like furnace,
with a woeful ballad Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard, Jealous in honor,
sudden and quick in quarrel, Seeking the bubble reputation Even in
the cannon's mouth. And then the justice, In fair round belly with
good capon lined, With eyes severe and beard of formal cut, Full of
wise saws and modern instances; And so he plays his part. The sixth
age shifts Into the lean and slippered pantaloon, With spectacles
on nose and pouch on side; His youthful hose, well saved, a world
too wide For his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice, Turning
again toward childish treble, pipes And whistles in his sound. Last
scene of all, That ends this strange eventful history, Is second
childishness and mere oblivion, Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste,
sans everything.
22. Where the Sidewalk Ends by Shel Silverstein There is a
place where the sidewalk ends And before the street begins, And
there the grass grows soft and white, And there the sun burns
crimson bright, And there the moon-bird rests from his flight To
cool in the peppermint wind. Let us leave this place where the
smoke blows black And the dark street winds and bends. Past the
pits where the asphalt flowers grow We shall walk with a walk that
is measured and slow, And watch where the chalk-white arrows go To
the place where the sidewalk ends. Yes we'll walk with a walk that
is measured and slow, And we'll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
For the children, they mark, and the children, they know The place
where the sidewalk ends.
23. A Good Boy by Robert Louis Stevenson I woke before the
morning, I was happy all the day, I never said an ugly word, but
smiled and stuck to play. And now at last the sun is going down
behind the wood, And I am very happy, for I know that I've been
good. My bed is waiting cool and fresh, with linen smooth and fair,
And I must be off to sleepsin-by, and not forget my prayer. I know
that, till to-morrow I shall see the sun arise, No ugly dream shall
fright my mind, no ugly sight my eyes. But slumber hold me tightly
till I waken in the dawn, And hear the thrushes singing in the
lilacs round the lawn.
24. O Captain! My Captain! by Walt Whitman 1 O CAPTAIN! my
Captain! our fearful trip is done; The ship has weather'd every
rack, the prize we sought is won; The port is near, the bells I
hear, the people all exulting, While follow eyes the steady keel,
the vessel grim and daring: But O heart! heart! heart! O the
bleeding drops of red, Where on the deck my Captain lies, Fallen
cold and dead. 2 O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up-for you the flag is flung-for you the bugle trills; For you
bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths-for you the shores a-crowding; For
you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning; Here
Captain! dear father! This arm beneath your head; It is some dream
that on the deck, You've fallen cold and dead. 3 My Captain does
not answer, his lips are pale and still; My father does not feel my
arm, he has no pulse nor will; The ship is anchor'd safe and sound,
its voyage closed and done; From fearful trip, the victor ship,
comes in with object won; Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells! But
I, with mournful tread, Walk the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold
and dead.
25. To My Wife - With A Copy Of My Poems by Oscar Wilde I can
write no stately proem As a prelude to my lay; From a poet to a
poem I would dare to say. For if of these fallen petals One to you
seem fair, Love will waft it till it settles On your hair. And when
wind and winter harden All the loveless land, It will whisper of
the garden, You will understand.
26. I Wandered Lonely As A Cloud by William Wordsworth I
wandered lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vales and
hills, When all at once I saw a crowd, A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees, Fluttering and dancing in the
breeze. Continuous as the stars that shine And twinkle on the milky
way, They stretched in never-ending line Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance, Tossing their heads in sprightly
dance. The waves beside them danced, but they Out-did the sparkling
leaves in glee; A poet could not be but gay, In such a jocund
company! I gazedand gazedbut little thought What wealth the show to
me had brought: For oft, when on my couch I lie In vacant or in
pensive mood, They flash upon that inward eye Which is the bliss of
solitude; And then my heart with pleasure fills, And dances with
the daffodils.
27. Brown Penny by William Butler Yeats I whispered, 'I am too
young,' And then, 'I am old enough'; Wherefore I threw a penny To
find out if I might love. 'Go and love, go and love, young man, If
the lady be young and fair.' Ah, penny, brown penny, brown penny, I
am looped in the loops of her hair. O love is the crooked thing,
There is nobody wise enough To find out all that is in it, For he
would be thinking of love Till the stars had run away And the
shadows eaten the moon. Ah, penny, brown penny, brown penny, One
cannot begin it too soon.