The End of National Poetry Month

To celebrate the end of National Poetry Month, I am posting poems by others that I have enjoyed. Two are from classic poets that you may recognize. Oddly, the poetry follows the theme of life or death. The poem, Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep, was a poem I actually had to memorize for sophomore English in high school. Enjoy!

Untitled

If I’ve been around the block so many times,

how come I keep getting lost?

Then I stopped right where I was

And realized in that moment

That’s where I was supposed to be….

-Helen Cernigliaro

 

Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep

Do not stand there at my grave and weep I am not there. I do not sleep. I am a thousand winds that blow. I am the diamond glints on snow. I am the sunlight on ripened grain. I am the gentle autumn rain. When you awaken in the morning’s hush I am the swift uplifting rush Of quiet birds in circled flight. I am the soft stars that shine at night. Do not stand at my grave and cry; I am not there. I did not die.

-Mary Elizabeth Frye via Poemhunter.org

 

The Road Not Taken

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.

-Robert Frost from The Poetry of Robert Frost via Poets.org

 

The Daffodils

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 waves in glee: A Poet could not but be gay,    In such a jocund company: I gazed—and gazed—but 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.

-William Wordsworth via Poets.org