I'm 'Bout To Change My Vibe Today The Blindfold's Off My Eyes....
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[20 Nov 2006|09:22pm]


Monica Hairston

English 12

The History Of Poetry

Poetry has been around for centuries, it can be words to express anger, or maybe to give to a loved one that expresses emotions you feel for them. The Odyssey (between 700-500 B.C) was even written in poetic form to aid memorization and oral transmission, in prehistoric and ancient societies. It has been said that poetry is one of the earliest forms of literature written. The oldest surviving poem found: is written on a clay tablet, now known as Istanbul #2461.

Usually when people think of poetry they imagine “roses are red, violets are blue.” Even people of the highest position wrote poems of love, battle, anxieties, and power. A good example of a powerful early poet was: Queen Elizabeth I. She wrote:

When I was fair and young then favour graced me;

Of many was I sought their mistress for to be.

But I did scorn them all, and answered them therefore,

Go, go, go, seek some other where,

Importune me no more.

How many weeping eyes I made to pine in woe;

How many sighing hearts I have no skill to show;

Yet I the prouder grew, and answered them therefore,

Go, go, go, seek some other where,

Importune me no more.

Then spake fair Venus' son, that proud victorious boy,

And said, you dainty dame, since that you be so coy,

I will so pluck your plumes that you shall say no more

Go, go, go, seek some other where,

Importune me no more.

When he had spake these words such change grew in my breast,

That neither night nor day I could take any rest.

Then, lo ! I did repent, that I had said before

Go, go, go, seek some other where,

Importune me no more. (Queen Elizabeth I)

There’s all different ways to write poems, you can write them in short stories, or maybe a haiku, which is a

Japanese lyric type poem. William Shakespeare, better known poet has had his work turned into plays shown

for centuries, and more than likely can be seen at high school plays around the world. An Example of his work follows:

From fairest creatures we desire increase,

That thereby beauty's rose might never die,

But as the riper should by time decease,

His tender heir might bear his memory;

But thou, contracted to thine own bright eyes,

Feed'st thy light's flame with self-substantial fuel,

Making a famine where abundance lies,

Thyself thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel.

Thout that are now the world's fresh ornament

And only herald to the gaudy spring,

Within thine own bud buriest thy content

And, tender churl, mak'st waste in niggarding.

Pity the world, or else this glutton be,

To eat the world's due, by the grave and thee. (William Shakespeare)

Stated before poems can be written in short story form, poet Nikki Giovanni. She has written her share of short stories like: Love Poems, Grandmothers, The Genie In The Jar. Personally I have been influenced by poetry, and it comes up in my everyday life. I wrote a poem that is in short story form titled Wonderland, I believe it is one of my best poems yet, and is definitely so one of my favorites.

"It's only a stupid old man, who would care for a old man like him? I couldn't handle another day with his grin so grim, and eyes gray like a stormy day. One more day with this man will drive me to place myself beyond the mountains, too far away from this kingdom; where village people can't see a king" a young lost man trailed down a long path with his bay.

'Clink-clicka-clicka' the sound of the brownish red bay's gallop made a off beat with the man's own pace.

The man hadn't seen the bright light shinning from the sun for days. He didn't feel like people adoring him, and seeing them cry from his touch. He had found a lost trial to walk upon where no one could find him, where he could think; and find his piece of mind, just by luck.

His eyes traveled much that day, especially when a woman just his own father's fancy stopped to gaze at the handsome display.

"Excuse me young man but I'd have to say," the woman with age paused, "For a lad as fine as you, why must your face stretch longer than your companion?"

"You fool! Do you know who's grounds you creep upon? Do you know who keeps your cold willowed hands warm in the frigid winter? For I am Prince Fredricks soon to be ruler of the kingdom Victorian. If guards would spot you speaking to me here don't you know you would be killed?"

"Your father, aaah yes he's a number one gentle men, but you never seem to treat him so. I tell you what, grab my hand I'll take you to a wonderland, and don't grow a fright." she ignored his threat and gave him a cool smirk.

The young man's thoughts got jumbled and jammed, he thought about what would happen if she took him to her "wonderland". The woman's eyes glittered with golden sparkles, just that appeared to shine from the sun. Then she started to speak with a gush of joy, "I know of this place young man. With clouds so white, and the sun so bright. Who will you take with you on this lovely flight tonight?"

He stood there erect and still, with his chin held high.

"I will go alone, and if I do not return , my people in the village will emerge. With the passion in their hearts for my return. No one will rest until they find me, the special one."


His eyes widened when she took charge with full force, no one person had done that to him before of course. He opened his eyes he knew it would be a miracle to see again.

But for not even a blind man would want to regain vision to see what he saw, it was too much to handle. Even the most rugged man as himself would be bought to tears. He couldn't let the image go through to his brain, was this big plain stretch of land his kingdom? Burning trees, torn down buildings, and friends he saw with eyes staring blank in their heads.

"I order you to take me back now! This is not where I come from, are you blind? Do you see what kind of place this is?"

"No you see, this is your home. But just wait and see, the worst is yet to come, you don't have to believe me."

The young man jumped back and screamed with begging plea, when a old man took hold of his shirt. This man wasn't easy on the eyes, he appeared to be holding his life by a strand of thread. Appearing to be skin and bones, the words finally slipped from between his parched lips. 'W-wish to be free, wish to be home…I beg of you son please!"



Just like that everything was gone. He seemed to be back where he was all along. He looked around the room he stayed in to rest his head; he was home. With golden walls, and glass swans to display.

"I have to go to my father, and show him my love." the prince had a new look on life, his whole persona seemed to be altered.

He raced to the right wing of the palace filled with joy in his spirits, only for his feelings to be all torn away all in one day.

He had entered his father’s room, only to see a dreadful sight.

The King of Victorian was now dead.

Prince Fredricks gripped his fathers lifeless hands, and tried to think of words, "What a brilliant man you were, and how you raised me to be that that man. I wish you could see."

He looked from his father's stiff body with warm tears running down his face.

Not knowing how to put his feelings all in one place.

Suddenly the former King's keeper came running to see what the big talk around the kingdom was; she simply wanted to see.

If what the kingdom was talking of was true, was the king really deceased?

She held her mouth open, and looked back in shock. She didn't know what to say, she didn't think what everyone was saying actually would be true.

"Oh dear prince, you can't see this! Let me help you!"

"No, come no nearer this is my place. I will stay with my father until other men come to take him. Why don't you go down with the townspeople, you have no position here."

"My goodness dear prince. Didn't I teach you, not all things are as they appear?"

The prince looked up at her, ready to scold her for being too forward. But she didn't do as all servants did; she looked him directly in the eyes without hesitation. With golden sparkles in her eyes, it looked as if he were looking directly into the sun.

Why did this appear so familiar to him? He must have seen her before.

'Oh, my lord' he thought, he knew who she was. She somehow reminded him of the old shriveled woman that took him on that trip, that he would never forget.

Before he could speak, she tore her body away from the door she once leaded on,. She walked towards him, then closer beside the golden frames of the windows; she looked to see if the townspeople were still waiting out to hear the news. She went back beside him,

She whispered in his ear,

"A wonderland, with clouds so white, and sun so bright. Tree's so tall, and exotic animals galore. Please keep this place the beautiful wonderland it is now…instead of what you had saw once before."    (Monica Hairston)

Poetry has been around for thousands of years; even though the format may be diverse all the meanings are the same. Poetry is a written way of expression. Picture men riding on chariots proposing their written literature for the love of their lives. Or page letters from soldiers in the World War, written to their wives; not knowing if they’ll ever see each other again. Even a teenage boy, climbing on a window ledge speaking his verses of love to his girlfriend. Poems don’t have to be written about love, maybe sometimes anger, or depression. What is expression?

ex‧pres‧sion :

the power of expressing in words: joy beyond expression. Such as anger, rage, happy, sad.
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[19 Jun 2006|02:06pm]

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