When You Are Old by William Butler Yeats

When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim Soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.
~William Butler Yeats

William Butler Yeats lived from 1865 to 1939, and was famous for being an Irish poet and dramatist. He's also considered to be one of the foremost figures of 20th century literature. He also helped found the Abbey Theatre along with Lady Gregory and Edward Martyn. Yeats was also a driving force behind the Irish Literary Revival.

I believe Yeats may be true in this poem about old age - he himself was old when he had written it, so he'd have a good understanding of what being old felt like. What was really interesting was how he capitalized the first letter in the word "love" the third verse, so that it came out as an important word or a real person. You can also see this in the Declaration of Independence, where Thomas Jefferson had capitalized many words that he possibly considered of high importance in their message to the King. Yeats may have been trying to say that love, or the feeling of love, had left the old person and gone away in that the person didn't feel love anymore. By doing this Yeats created an important theme in the poem, and was therefore not just about having problems when you become old but also how your emotions and personality is changed as well.

The Perfect Friend by Shannen Wrass

Today I found a friend
who knew everything I felt
she knew my weakness
and the problems I've dealt with.
She understood my wonders
and listened to my dreams,
she listened to how I felt about life and love
and knew what it all means.
Not once did she interrupt me
or tell me I was wrong
she understood what I was going through
and promised she'd stay long.
I reached out to this friend,
to show her that I care
to pull her close and let her know
how much I need her there.
I went to hold her hand
to pull her a bit nearer
and I realized this perfect friend I found
was nothing but a mirror.
~Shannen Wrass

I can't find much about Shannen Wrass on the Internet - not even Wikipedia had information about her. All that I can say is that she's a poet, and had written this poem called The Perfect Friend. I can find many poems by her other than this one, as well.

What I liked about this poem was how it made you think that she was talking about someone else before ending with "I realized this perfect friend I found/ was nothing but a mirror." It's a little surprising 'cause most people would start thinking that she was talking about an actual person but it makes sense as well - a person's best friend, and the only person that can completely understand them at all times, is themself. Not everyone goes through everything you've gone through, and if they had they'd might have different views on what happened. I love my friends, of course, but if I can't be my own friend then that may not be enough in the long run.

Granny by Spike Milligan

Through every nook and every cranny
The wind blew in on poor old Granny
Around her knees, into each ear
(And up nose as well, I fear)

All through the night the wind grew worse
It nearly made the vicar curse
The top had fallen off the steeple
Just missing him (and other people)

It blew on man, it blew on beast
It blew on nun, it blew on priest
It blew the wig off Auntie Fanny-
But most of all, it blew on Granny!
~Spike Milligan

Spike Milligan is formerly known as Terrence Alan Patrick Sean Milligan, and lived from April 1918 to February 2002. Along with being a poet, he was also a comedian, actor and playwright musician and writer. He is well-known for being the co-creator, main writer and a principal cast member of The Goon Show in which he performed a number of roles, and also his books Puckoon and his six-volume autobiographical account of his time serving during the Second World War, beginning with the book Adolf Hitler: My Part in his Downfall.

This poem is very interesting in my point of view in that it focuses both on the Granny and the wind trying to make her fall down. The poem itself shows the destructiveness the wind seems to have, and its previous "victims." By doing this Milligan seems to be attempting to create a sense of pity for the Granny, who is probably unable to remain standing much longer, which is something I believe many readers - including myself - am able to notice.

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 streets 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.
~Shel Silverstein

I be;ieve I've read this poem in one of Silverstein's poem books once, so it caught my eye when I saw it online. Silverstein is, once again, using his descriptive words to convey his message, which is basically that beyond the man-made things, polution and pot holes there's a more beautiful place where there's no need for rushing or running around.

Without naming specific places you can see the difference between the haven Silverstein describes beyond "where the sidewalk ends" and the area before it ends: the haven is clean and pure whereas the other place is dark, black and bending. His line, "with a walk that is measured and slow," he shows that in this haven there's no need to rush anywhere and a person can take the place to slow down and relax - no troubles, no problems, no worries.

A Christmas Wish by Philippe Brisebois

I heard a knock on my door one Christmas Eve,

As I looked out my window a man I could see,

he was cold and seemed so lonely and upon a bended knee

he asked can you spare anything for me to eat....

I opened up the door and as I helped him in,

he looked up at me with such a peacful grin,

As he drank down some coffee and had a bite to eat,

I put more wood by the fireplace he warmed his tired hands,

I wonder where did he come from, this quiet white haired man,

but I wasn't at all afriad of his peaceful ways you see,

this man dressed in poor, almost as poor as me...

As he left he turned and thanked me for all I had done,

but he forgot to take his gloves, so out the door I run,

He was gones in the blizzard and I couldn't hardly see,

so I took his old glove's back to the house with me...

Just a little after midnight I awoke in the dark,

there wasn't a bit of fire just glowing cinders in the dark,

and where I'd placed his gloves by my little christmas tree,

there laid a brand new pair, and a Christmas Card for me....

and it read...

You gave me shelter and food to keep me warm,

you even tried to bring me my gloves in the storm,

so here's you a new pair,... the finest ever seen...

as an angel of the Lord

I'll be sure to tell the King.... Merry Christmas....

~Billy M. Smallwood

I chose this poem to write about because I was watching the movie National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation while I was trying to decide which kind of poem to find. A little silly to be showing a Christmas movie on television during the summer, but I'm not complaining; Christmas is one of the best holidays of the year. But, of course, everyday is Christmas if you believe in it (sappy, I know, I think I got it from a Christmas movie).

I think this poem should be renamed "The Meaning of Christmas" or "The True Meaning of Christmas" because this poem focuses more on what Christmas is really about than anything else. Smallwood's poem creates the sense that Christmas is about helping others out, no matter how old they are, what they look like, how they're dressed or if they're poor or rich. The main character in this poem took Santa in when he was dressed as an old, poor man and was rewarded with special gloves, "the finest ever seen." I enjoyed reading this poem; it really gets someone into the Christmas/giving mood.

Death Snips Proud Men by Carl Sandburg

DEATH is stronger than all the governments because the governments are men
and men die and then death laughs: Now you see 'em, now you don't.


Death is stronger than all proud men and so death snips proud men on the nose,
throws a pair of dice and and says: Read 'em and weep.


Death sends a radiogram every day: When I want you I'll drop in - and then one
day he comes with a master-key and lets himself in and says: We'll go now.


Death is a nurse mother with big arms: 'Twon't hurt you at all; it's your time now;
you just need a long sleep, child; what have you had anyhow better than sleep?
~Carl Sandburg

Carl Sandburg was a poet from Illinois who had earned three Pultizer prizes throughout his lifetime, two for his poetry and one for his biography on Abraham Lincoln. He died in 1967 at the age of 89. This poem is obviously about the nature of death, its power and how much power it holds over living things. Even if humans try to become "masters of their destiny" they are all still met with the fate of passing. "Death" can kill you no matter who you are, where you are, your ranking, wealth or education; it doesn't matter about nothing else than doing its job - and its very good at it.

I decided to do a response on a poem about death mainly because my aunt passed away at the age of 54 due to cancer on July 7th, and death seems to be a subject most people don't like to talk about. They know about it, certainly, but it's one of those uncomfortable things that they don't want to acknowledge while they are alive. I've often read that death comes as a complete surprise to those that are close to dying, as they haven't given much thought to it as they went along with their daily lives. I'm usually not overly scared or excited about things (my mother was more excited about prom than I was) and I have thought of death now and then and while thinking about my own death I haven't been as scared, worried or nervous as one migt expect themselves to be; perhaps it is because the real threat of it isn't around, so in the back of my mind I know that I don't need to worry about it just yet. But when thinking about the death of those I care about, especially my friends and favorite family members, I become very depressed and sometimes even cry, depending on who it is. Although I had not cried when I heard my aunt had passed away, or even when my great-grandmother had passed while I was still in middle school, it saddens me to think that I may potentially lose my favorite grandfather or friend without a moments notice.

Low-Anchored Cloud by Henry David Thoreau

Low-anchored cloud,
Newfoundland air,
Fountain-head and source of rivers,
Dew-cloth, dream-drapery,
And napkin spread by fays;
Drifting meadow of the air,
Where bloom the daisied banks and violets,
And in whose fenny labyrinth
The bittern booms and heron wades;
Spirit of lakes and seas and rivers,
Bear only perfumes and the scent
Of healing herbs to just men's fields!
~Henry David Thoreau

Henry David Thoreau is one of the most well-known American poets in U.S. history. While attending Harvard University in the 1800s he read books by his Concord neighbor Ralph Waldo Emerson and never stopped looking into nature for the "ultimate Truth." One could say that this poem was one way he viewed nature as it was while he lived.

Thoreau's poem, while descriptive and interesting, took a little while for me to fully understand - and I don't believe that I believe its mean to the fullest even know. Thoreau is apparently describing the scenery of an area, with low clouds anchored above lakes and seas and rivers with air that bears the perfumes and scents of healing herbs to just men's fields. "Just" in this context might mean "truthful" or "worthy" as in perhaps the men are worthy enough to know where the healing herbs are, which is probably a meadow. The poem as a whole sounds like a description for an area that has been untouched by man and still holds the beauty that nature has before its taken away by the need for more housing and construction.