Why nobody pets the lion at the zoo. By: John Ciardi
The morning that the world began
The Lion growled a growl at Man.
And I suspect the Lion might
(If he’d been closer) have tried a bite.
I think that’s as it ought to be
And not as it was taught to me.
I think the Lion has a right
To growl a growl and bite a bite.
And if the Lion bothered Adam,
He should have growled right back at ’im.
The way to treat a Lion right
Is growl for growl and bite for bite.
True, the Lion is better fit
For biting than for being bit.
But if you look him in the eye
You’ll find the Lion’s rather shy.
He really wants someone to pet him.
The trouble is: his teeth won’t let him.
He has a heart of gold beneath
But the Lion just can’t trust his teeth.
Why did you select this poem for this category?
To me this poem is clever, funny, and downright just makes you think its alright to pet a lion. Once I read this poem it made me laugh at my seat. It's great. It's how humor should be; good hearted and clever. I just loved it.
What do you feel or imagine when you read this poem?
When I read this poem, the first thing to come to mind is my cat Norman. He's always had lion characteristics to him. I think that's why I find this poem so humorous, because I pet Norman all the time.
What are your favorite lines?
"But if you look him in the eye
You’ll find the Lion’s rather shy.
He really wants someone to pet him.
The trouble is: his teeth won’t let him" Most shocking
Dust By: Sydney King Russel
Agatha Morley
All her life
Grumbled at dust
Like a good wife.
All her life
Grumbled at dust
Like a good wife.
Dust on a table,
Dust on a chair,
Dust on a mantel
She couldn’t bear.
Dust on a chair,
Dust on a mantel
She couldn’t bear.
She forgave faults
In man and child
But a dusty shelf
Would set her wild.
In man and child
But a dusty shelf
Would set her wild.
She bore with sin Too Blue
Without protest,
But dust thoughts preyed
Upon her rest.
Without protest,
But dust thoughts preyed
Upon her rest.
Agatha Morley
Is sleeping sound
Six feet under
The mouldy ground.
Is sleeping sound
Six feet under
The mouldy ground.
Six feet under
The earth she lies
With dust at her feet
And dust in her eyes.
The earth she lies
With dust at her feet
And dust in her eyes.
Why did you select this poem for this category?
All her life Agatha Morley despised nothing more than dust, and now 6 feet under, the only thing that remains with her is dust. The poem shifts from talking about her life, to what comes after it. It just had me pleasantly shocked when i was finished.
What do you feel or imagine when you read this poem?
I feel dust in between my toes and crusted onto the tip of my eye lashes.
What are your favorite lines?
"Dust on a table,
Dust on a chair,
Dust on a mantel
She couldn’t bear.
Dust on a chair,
Dust on a mantel
She couldn’t bear.
She forgave faults
In man and child
But a dusty shelf
Would set her wild."
In man and child
But a dusty shelf
Would set her wild."
Most Beautiful
The Pheasant By Robert P. Tristram Coffin
A pheasant cock sprang into view,
A living jewel, up he flew.
His wings laid hold on empty space,
Scorn bulged his eyeballs out with grace.
He was a hymn from tail to beak
With not a tender note or meek.
Then the gun let out its thunder,
The bird descended struck with wonder.
He ran a little, then, amazed,
Settled with his head upraised.
The fierceness flowed out of his eyes
And left them meek and large and wise.
Gentleness relaxed his head,
He lay in jeweled feathers, dead.
What do you feel or imagine When you read this poem?
At the beginning of the poem I imagine a field with tall grass and a pheasant hiding within the blades of yellow. Then i see it flying, with nice long flaps. Suddenly I imagine a gun go off and the bird descend but not die yet. I imagine it kind of fight for life, running around, but then finally die. Its a beautiful poem though.
What are your favorite lines?
Then the gun let out its thunder,
The bird descended struck with wonder.
He ran a little, then, amazed,
Settled with his head upraised.
The fierceness flowed out of his eyes
And left them meek and large and wise.
Most thought Provoking
Loneliness By Brooks Jenkins
I was about to go, and said so;
And I had almost started for the door.
But he was all alone in the sugar-house,
And more lonely than he'd ever been before.
We'd talked for half an hour, almost,
About the price of sugar, and how I like my school,
And he had made me drink some syrup hot,
Telling me it was better that way than when cool.
And I agreed, and thanked him for it,
And said good-bye, and was about to go.
Want to see where I was born?
He asked me quickly. How to say no?
The sugar-house looked over miles of valley.
He pointed with a sticky finger to a patch of snow
Where he was born. The house, he said, was gone.
I can understand these people better, now I know.
Why did you select this poem?
This poem just seems weird. Weird things seem to just make people think. Why did he go into the sugar house in the first place? What is a sugar house? Is the character a boy or girl? Why was he in such a hurry? Something about this poem is just eerie too.
What do you feel or imagine?
I personally don't feel loneliness. Instead i feel weirded out. I imagine a psycho planning to kill the person in such a hurry.
What are your favorite lines?
I was about to go, and said so;
And I had almost started for the door.
But he was all alone in the sugar-house,
And more lonely than he'd ever been before
A living jewel, up he flew.
His wings laid hold on empty space,
Scorn bulged his eyeballs out with grace.
He was a hymn from tail to beak
With not a tender note or meek.
Then the gun let out its thunder,
The bird descended struck with wonder.
He ran a little, then, amazed,
Settled with his head upraised.
The fierceness flowed out of his eyes
And left them meek and large and wise.
Gentleness relaxed his head,
He lay in jeweled feathers, dead.
Why did you select this poem for this category.
There's nothing really spectacular about a pheasant. Its just a game bird. The way Robert Coffin describes it though makes it sound beautiful. "A flying Jewel, up he flew." What I really thought was beautiful was the way the poet made a low dragged out death beautiful and I guess just death in general something beautiful.What do you feel or imagine When you read this poem?
At the beginning of the poem I imagine a field with tall grass and a pheasant hiding within the blades of yellow. Then i see it flying, with nice long flaps. Suddenly I imagine a gun go off and the bird descend but not die yet. I imagine it kind of fight for life, running around, but then finally die. Its a beautiful poem though.
What are your favorite lines?
Then the gun let out its thunder,
The bird descended struck with wonder.
He ran a little, then, amazed,
Settled with his head upraised.
The fierceness flowed out of his eyes
And left them meek and large and wise.
Most thought Provoking
Loneliness By Brooks Jenkins
And I had almost started for the door.
But he was all alone in the sugar-house,
And more lonely than he'd ever been before.
We'd talked for half an hour, almost,
About the price of sugar, and how I like my school,
And he had made me drink some syrup hot,
Telling me it was better that way than when cool.
And I agreed, and thanked him for it,
And said good-bye, and was about to go.
Want to see where I was born?
He asked me quickly. How to say no?
The sugar-house looked over miles of valley.
He pointed with a sticky finger to a patch of snow
Where he was born. The house, he said, was gone.
I can understand these people better, now I know.
Why did you select this poem?
This poem just seems weird. Weird things seem to just make people think. Why did he go into the sugar house in the first place? What is a sugar house? Is the character a boy or girl? Why was he in such a hurry? Something about this poem is just eerie too.
What do you feel or imagine?
I personally don't feel loneliness. Instead i feel weirded out. I imagine a psycho planning to kill the person in such a hurry.
What are your favorite lines?
I was about to go, and said so;
And I had almost started for the door.
But he was all alone in the sugar-house,
And more lonely than he'd ever been before
Most Interesting Stylistically
November Day By Eleanor Averitt
Old haggard wind has
plucked the trees
like pheasants, held
between her knees.
In rows she hangs them,
bare and neat,
their brilliant plumage at
her feet.
Why Did you select this poem?
To me this poem reads weird. Its short and only takes about 10 seconds to read, but is filled with beautiful imagery. The first 3 lines are enjambed, while the rest of the poem is like the trees, "Bare and neat."
What do you feel or Imagine?
I see a parade of brown and orange leaves pouring down from a tree, leaving behind a bare tree.
What are your favorite lines?
"In rows she hangs them,
bare and neat,
their brilliant plumage at
her feet."
Most Musical
Swift Things Are Beautiful By Elizabeth Coatsworth
Swift things are beautiful:
Swallows and deer,
And lightening that falls
Bright-veined and clear,
Rivers and meteors,
Wind in the wheat,
The strong-withered horse,
The runner's sure feet.
And slow things are beautiful:
The closing of day,
The pause of the wave
That curves downward to spray,
The ember that crumbles,
The opening flower,
And the ox that moves on
Swallows and deer,
And lightening that falls
Bright-veined and clear,
Rivers and meteors,
Wind in the wheat,
The strong-withered horse,
The runner's sure feet.
And slow things are beautiful:
The closing of day,
The pause of the wave
That curves downward to spray,
The ember that crumbles,
The opening flower,
And the ox that moves on
In the quiet of power.
Why Did you select this poem?
When i first read this poem I read it like a song. The placement of punctuation and rhyming on and off made it sound like a song in my head.
What do you imagine or feel?
One of the top reasons I really like this poems is how it transitions from fast things to short. It reminds me of a race. During the race you're booking it, but when you finish you just die out and kind of just embrace the ground. Overall I just imagine a race.
What are your favorite lines?
The strong-withered horse,
The runner's sure feet.
Most Emotive
The Little Boy and Little Old man By Shel Silverstein
Don't be polite.
Bite in.
Pick it up with your fingers and lick the juice that
may run down your chin.
It is ready and ripe now, whenever you are. You do not need a knife or fork or spoon
or plate or napkin or tablecloth.
For there is no core
or stem
or rind
or pit
or seed
or skin
to throw away.
What do you imagine or feel?
One of the top reasons I really like this poems is how it transitions from fast things to short. It reminds me of a race. During the race you're booking it, but when you finish you just die out and kind of just embrace the ground. Overall I just imagine a race.
What are your favorite lines?
The strong-withered horse,
The runner's sure feet.
Most Emotive
The Little Boy and Little Old man By Shel Silverstein
Said the little boy, “Sometimes I drop my spoon.”
Said the old man, “I do that too.”
The little boy whispered, “I wet my pants.”
“I do that too,” laughed the little old man.
Said the little boy, “I often cry.”
The old man nodded, “So do I.”
“But worst of all,” said the boy, “it seems
Grown-ups don’t pay attention to me.”
And he felt the warmth of a wrinkled old hand.
“I know what you mean,” said the little old man.
Said the old man, “I do that too.”
The little boy whispered, “I wet my pants.”
“I do that too,” laughed the little old man.
Said the little boy, “I often cry.”
The old man nodded, “So do I.”
“But worst of all,” said the boy, “it seems
Grown-ups don’t pay attention to me.”
And he felt the warmth of a wrinkled old hand.
“I know what you mean,” said the little old man.
Why did you select this poem?
Its sad that ,in a way, all our society runs on are people during their late teens to early 40's. No one cares about the extremes, Young kids and old people. In the poem it just kinda says we're all gonna come back to what we came from. It's just sad how we struggle when we're young, live loosely when we're in between, and then struggle again before we die. And no one cares haha.
What do you feel or imagine.
I imagine a young boy and old man talking over a bowl of cereal.
What are your favorite lines?
Said the little boy, “I often cry.”
The old man nodded, “So do I.”
The old man nodded, “So do I.”
Most inspiring
How to Eat a Poem By Eve Mirriam
Bite in.
Pick it up with your fingers and lick the juice that
may run down your chin.
It is ready and ripe now, whenever you are. You do not need a knife or fork or spoon
or plate or napkin or tablecloth.
For there is no core
or stem
or rind
or pit
or seed
or skin
to throw away.
Why did you select this poem?
This is just not about poetry, its about life. It's like opening a bag and taking control over your life by accepting any opportunities presented to you. Its just inspiring.
What do you feel or imagine?
I imagine an eager small child biting into an apple. In a way life dulls us down. When we're young we're up for anything, and as we grow up the world around us makes us cynical.
What are your favorite lines?
Pick it up with your fingers and lick the juice that
may run down your chin.
It is ready and ripe now, whenever you are.
may run down your chin.
It is ready and ripe now, whenever you are.
