Poetry Portfolio

O sweet spontaneous
earth how often have
fingers of
purient philosophers pinched
,has the naughty thumb
of science prodded
beauty        .how
oftn have religions taken
thee upon their scraggy knees
squeezing and
buffeting thee that thou mightest conceive
to the incomparable
couch of death thy
thou answerest
them only with
spring) - "O Sweet Spontaneous" by E.E. Cummings

I choose the poem "O Sweet Spontaneous" by E.E. Cummings as the poem by a poet we have already read. I like this poem because it's about how people will use Earth for their self and try to figure it out but Earth will continue to go on giving us it's different seasons.

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
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
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

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
Phenomenal woman,
That's me. - "Phenomenal Woman" by Maya Angelou

This poem is by Maya Angelou, a poet we haven't read in class. She is a contemporary poet. I like this poem because she shows that she isn't the stereotypical beautiful woman but she is still confident and successful.

I have no idea what priests
dream of on Christmas Eve, what prayer
a crippled dog might whine before the shotgun.
I have no more sense of what is sacred
than a monk might have, sweeping the temple
floor, slow gestures of honor to the left,
the right. Maybe the leaf of grass tells us
what is worthwhile. Maybe it tells us nothing.
Perhaps a sacred moment is a photograph
you look at over and over again, the one
of you and her, hands lightly clasped like you
did before prayer became necessary, the one
with the sinking cathedral in Mexico City rising up
behind you and a limping man frozen in time
to the right of you, the moment when she touched
your bare arm for the first time, her fingers
like cool flashes of heaven. -"What is Sacred" by Lee Herrick

This poem is under the category of a poem on a topic that matters to you. This Poem is about how little things in life can be just as sacred as things that people honor and worship . I really like this poem because I think special moments in life are really important.

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