Favorite+Poems

I had forgotten to mention I was a published poet. I was a grand prize winner, and had this poem published in Modern Ferret magazine more than ten years ago. Now that is not quite as "grand" as it sounds--Modern Ferret magazine (now defunct) would pretty much publish //anything// you sent in, and the grand prize wasn't two tickets to a Tahitian getaway--it was a box full of ferret stuff (shampoo, food, etc.). But I was pleased nonetheless. I had always loved Poe's "The Raven," and got the idea to write a parody of it featuring my pet ferret, Buster. It turned out to be harder to do than I thought (I now have a new appreciation for "Weird" Al Yankovic). Two things: "dook" is the way a ferret noise is described (although I find it closer to a "cluck"), and ferrets LOVE raisins.

The Ferret

by Kathy Cook (with apologies to Edgar Allan Poe) Once upon a twilit evening, I lay resting, nearly sleeping, Recovering from the workday toil of the hours before. Into slumber I was falling--suddenly there came a clawing As of something fiercely pawing, pawing at its cage's door. "'Tis the ferret," I mumbled, "clawing at his cage's door." "Only this and nothing more."

Fighting waking, turning, groaning, "Please be quiet," I was moaning. This exasperating creature I decided to ignore. When next there came the sound of shredding, a rending, tearing of his bedding. Then the sound that I was dreading, teeth upon his wire door. "All right, beast, you win," I grumbled, opening his cage's door. And out he leapt upon the floor.

Then there came a soft paw reaching, dark eyes quietly beseeching As if he were gently pleading, then off to another room he tore. Resignedly I followed after ('twas plain which of us was master), As he scurried ever faster, scrambling 'cross the kitchen floor, Contriving to avoid disaster, sliding 'cross the kitchen floor, Stopping at the pantry door.

Frantically he started scratching (while my breath I still was catching). Hurriedly I began unlatching the clasp upon the cupboard door. Could this creature be so brazen, so boldly to demand a raisin? Raptly was the ferret gazing--at, deep within, the hidden store. And so to satisfy his craving, I dropped a tidbit to the floor. Only one and nothing more.

This he rapidly devoured, then turned to me and almost glowered. And feeling, clearly, quite empowered, he bit my toes 'til they were sore*, Thus rend'ring an opinion weaselly, of being fed a treat so measly. Then he disappeared quite breezily (beneath the sofa, I was sure). I searched uneasily, then I cried, "Won't you forgive me, I implore." But just a "dook" quoth he--and nothing more.


 * Buster never, ever bit—I used “poe”tic license.

An appropriate poem I found on this site and sent to all of the staff in my school. Kathy []

What's A Poem?

A whisper, a shout, thoughts turned inside out.

A laugh, a sigh, an echo passing by.

A rhythm, a rhyme, a moment caught in time.

A moon, a star, a glimpse of who you are.

--Charles Ghigna

A favorite funny poem of Mrs. Marzano

__The New Kid on the Block by Jack Prelutsky__

There's a new kid on the block, and boy, that kid is tough, that new kid punches hard, that new kid plays real rough, that new kid's big and strong, with muscles everywhere, that new kid tweaked my arm, that new kid pulled my hair.

That new kid likes to fight, and picks on all the guys, that new kid scares me some, (that new kid's twice my size), that new kid stomped my toes, that new kid swiped my ball, that new kid's really bad, I don't care for **her** at all.
 * LaVerne Motley's favorite poem:**

**i thank You God for this most amazing... by e.e. cummings** i thank You God for this most amazing day: for the leaping greenly spirits of trees and a true blue dream of sky;and for everything which is natural which is infinite which is yes

(i who have died am alive again today, and this is the sun's birthday;this is the birth day of life and love and wings:and of the gay great happening illimitably earth)

how should tasting touching hearing seeing breathing any--lifted from the no of all nothing -- human merely being doubt of unimaginable You?

(now the ears of my ears awake and now the eyes of my eyes are opened)


 * One of Kathy Cook's favorite poems (coincidentally also by e.e. cummings, although not nearly as uplifting!):**

Buffalo Bill's Buffalo Bill's defunct who used to ride a watersmooth-silver stallion and break onetwothreefourfive pigeonsjustlikethat Jesus he was a handsome man and what i want to know is how do you like your blueeyed boy Mister Death

e.e. cummings
 * Winnie's choice:

THE LAKE ISLE OF INNISFREE** By William Butler Yeats

I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree, And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made; Nine bean rows will I have there, a hive for the honeybee, And live alone in the bee-loud glade. And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow, Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings; There midnight's all a-glimmer, and noon a purple glow, And evening full of the linnet's wings.

I will arise and go now, for always night and day I hear the water lapping with low sounds by the shore; While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements gray, I hear it in the deep heart's core.


 * 1892

Another one from Kathy (I also like Yeats, but again, seem to have a taste for the macabre). Stephen King used this poem effectively in his novel, __The Stand__.**

**THE SECOND COMING ** by William Butler Yeats

Turning and turning in the widening gyre The falcon cannot hear the falconer; Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold; Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world, The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere The ceremony of innocence is drowned; The best lack all conviction, while the worst Are full of passionate intensity. Surely some revelation is at hand; Surely the Second Coming is at hand. The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi Troubles my sight: a waste of desert sand; A shape with lion body and the head of a man, A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun, Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it Wind shadows of the indignant desert birds. The darkness drops again but now I know That twenty centuries of stony sleep Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle, And what rough beast, its hour come round at last, Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born? === From Jackie ... Recently, I've been reading the poetry of Naomi Shihab Nye, an Arab-American writer. In addition to her poems about the Middle East, she has a terrific book entitled, //A Maze Me: Poems For Girls.// Here's one that took me back to my Junior High School days, when I had a crush on a boy who didn't know I existed ... ===

Your face makes me feel like a lighthouse beaming across waves. We don't even know one another, yet each day I am looking for your face. Walking slowly among tables, I balance my tray, glancing to the side. You're not here today. Are you sick? Why are you absent? And why, among all these faces, is there only one I want to see? Whatever the reason your absence is not excused by me.
 * In the School Cafeteria**