Michael+Cov

Fire and Ice
 * Favorite Poem created by Author

BY ROBERT FROST

Some say the world will end in fire, Some say in ice. From what I’ve tasted of desire I hold with those who favor fire. But if it had to perish twice, I think I know enough of hate To say that for destruction ice Is also great And would suffice.

Favorite Poem created by Us... My Main Dream

  ** My main dream is, to play professional soccer and to play professional soccer I must be successful To play professional soccer there is a lot of bumps and turns.  I must be inspired. There is a lot of bumps and turns, who knows where I will go? I must be inspired to do better and be great. Who knows where I will go to play professional soccer? <span style="font-family: "Bell MT","serif";">To do better and to be great <span style="font-family: "Bell MT","serif";">is my main dream.<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 11px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 17px;"> I, TOO BY LANGSTON HUGHES <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif;"> I, too, sing America. I am the darker brother. They send me to eat in the kitchen When company comes, But I laugh, And eat well, And grow strong.

Tomorrow, I’ll be at the table When company comes. Nobody’ll dareSay to me, “Eat in the kitchen,” Then.

Besides, They’ll see how beautiful I am And be ashamed—

I, too, am America.

Pumpernickel

Monday mornings Grandma rose an hour early to make rye, onion & challah, but it was pumpernickel she broke her hands for, pumpernickel that demanded cornmeal, ripe caraway, mashed potatoes & several Old Testament stories about patience & fortitude & for which she cursed in five languages if it didn’t pop out fat as an apple-cheeked peasant bride. But bread, after all, is only bread & who has time to fuss all day & end up with a dead heart if it flops? Why bother? I’ll tell you why. For the moment when the steam curls off the black crust like a strip of pure sunlight & the hard oily flesh breaks open like a poem pulling out of its own stubborn complexity a single glistening truth & who can help but wonder at the mystery of the human heart when you hold a slice up to the light in all its absurd splendor & I tell you we must risk everything for the raw recipe of our passion.

by Philip Schultz


 * <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif;">My Papa’s Waltz **<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif;">

The whiskey on your breath Could make a small boy dizzy; But I hung on like death: Such waltzing was not easy.

We romped until the pans Slid from the kitchen shelf; My mother’s countenance Could not unfrown itself.

The hand that held my wrist Was battered on one knuckle; At every step you missed My right ear scraped a buckle.

You beat time on my head With a palm caked hard by dirt, Then waltzed me off to bed Still clinging to your shirt.

by Theodore Roethke

The whiskey on your breath could make a small boy dizzy, but I hung on like death. Such waltzing was not easy. We romped until the pans, slid from the kitchen shelf; my mother’s countenance could not unfrown itself. The hand that held my wrist was battered on one knuckle. At every step you missed my right ear scraped a buckle. You beat time on my head with a palm caked hard by dirt, Then waltzed me off to bed still clinging to your shirt.