In a million meters marveling upwards
Lies a little lazy laughing girl
She sings such silly songs all day
And laughs like lemurs while she plays

She has her brown brown button eyes
And lovely long lustrous blond curls
She's dressed in perfectly petaled pink
That flows and twinkles when she twirls

Pretty perfect Polly doesn't seem so well today
Her heart begins to break when the daytime goes away

Honestly, the inspiration from this poem came from a youtube video a friend had sent me that showed lemurs "laughing." Of course they're not really laughing, but it sounded like it, and to be honest it sounds kind of creepy. Everything about writing poetry was difficult for me. It is not something that I can do within limitations or set to any strict boundaries. It was writing a specific kind where I struggled, however since I chose free verse for this, it was easier.

It seems to me that my list of favorite poets seems to contain those who have long since passed away. I am a sucker for Whitman, a fan of Tennyson, and love Longfellow from childhood thanks to my grandmother reading his poetry to me. "The Children's Hour" is still my favorite poem by Longfellow. I find Longfellow to be a very talented poet so it is him that I am choosing to write about and share with everyone. I had never heard his poem's read aloud by anyone other than my grandmother, so upon searching for audio and the like I was interested to hear how others read his work.

I was kind of surprised by the amount of tragedy that occurred in his own life. He was married twice and lost both of his wives. His first wife died from complications in a miscarriage and the other died from burns in an accidental fire. Longfellow had five children, three daughters and two sons.

A brief biography can be read about him here on poets.org.

Youtube - A Psalm of Life

Youtube - The Children's Hour
This is a poem Longfellow wrote in dedication to his three daughters.

Youtube - Famous Authors Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
A silent, educational film about H.W. Longfellow.


The Children's Hour by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Between the dark and the daylight,
  When the night is beginning to lower,
Comes a pause in the day's occupations,
  That is known as the Children's Hour.

I hear in the chamber above me
  The patter of little feet,
The sound of a door that is opened,
  And voices soft and sweet.

From my study I see in the lamplight,
  Descending the broad hall stair,
Grave Alice, and laughing Allegra,
  And Edith with golden hair.

A whisper, and then a silence:
  Yet I know by their merry eyes
They are plotting and planning together
  To take me by surprise.

A sudden rush from the stairway,
  A sudden raid from the hall!
By three doors left unguarded
  They enter my castle wall!

They climb up into my turret
  O'er the arms and back of my chair;
If I try to escape, they surround me;
  They seem to be everywhere.

They almost devour me with kisses,
  Their arms about me entwine,
Till I think of the Bishop of Bingen
  In his Mouse-Tower on the Rhine!

Do you think, O blue-eyed banditti,
  Because you have scaled the wall,
Such an old mustache as I am
  Is not a match for you all!

I have you fast in my fortress,
  And will not let you depart,
But put you down into the dungeon
  In the round-tower of my heart.

And there will I keep you forever,
  Yes, forever and a day,
Till the walls shall crumble to ruin,
  And moulder in dust away!

Hymn to the Night by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

I heard the trailing garments of the Night
    Sweep through her marble halls!
I saw her sable skirts all fringed with light
    From the celestial walls!

I felt her presence, by its spell of might,
    Stoop o'er me from above;
The calm, majestic presence of the Night,
    As of the one I love.

I heard the sounds of sorrow and delight,
    The manifold, soft chimes,
That fill the haunted chambers of the Night,
    Like some old poet's rhymes.

From the cool cisterns of the midnight air
    My spirit drank repose;
The fountain of perpetual peace flows there,--
    From those deep cisterns flows.

O holy Night! from thee I learn to bear
    What man has borne before!
Thou layest thy finger on the lips of Care
    And they complain no more.

Peace! Peace! Orestes-like I breathe this prayer!
    Descend with broad-winged flight,
The welcome, the thrice-prayed for, the most fair,
    The best-beloved Night!

I find that a lot of Longfellow's writing has a sad or haunting undertone, there are several that are written about death (such as "The Cross of Snow" or "Haunted Houses"), but in consideration to the loss of his wives it seems appropriate. "The Children's Hour" still remains my favorite, maybe because it's just the ideas and words from a man who loved his children and looked forward to fond, simple moments together with them. I think that's inspiring, especially in a world when many parents are willing to abandon that time with their children.

To read more works by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, please see the link bellow:
http://www.hwlongfellow.org

Four Freedoms Poem

Right to practice, right to preach,
Right to hope, and right to free
Tear the binds and break the chains
Walk the line that makes us the same

No need for sick, no need for poor
No need for racism, no need for war
Stand up and let your voice be heard
Don't turn your back on the suffering strange

As a nation, as a world
As a boy or as a girl
If you want to see a change
Then you have to start within
If you want to face the strain
Then you never can give in

You have to be the change.

The poem that I wrote relates to President Roosevelt's speech on the “Four Freedoms” in that it's addressing the problems that the world is still facing this very moment. Sure, these “freedoms” are our human rights, but there isn't a place in the world where all of it exists. So many individuals are far too selfish to see outside their lines and extend their hand. People are willing to say “peace” or “stop world hunger,” but yet they do nothing to aid it. It's almost as if it's become a trend, similar to buying items that say “go green!” yet the item itself is just a marketing ploy. I believe that to create change, you must start change, and that change comes from within. I am far from an exemplary individual, but I still try. If we want these four freedoms to exist, we have to start by making the change in ourselves and spreading that message.

Miracles by Walt Whitman

Why, who makes much of a miracle?
As to me I know of nothing else but miracles,
Whether I walk the streets of Manhattan,
Or dart my sight over the roofs of houses toward the sky,
Or wade with naked feet along the beach just in the edge of the water,
Or stand under trees in the woods,
Or talk by day with any one I love, or sleep in the bed at night
     with any one I love,
Or sit at table at dinner with the rest,
Or look at strangers opposite me riding in the car,
Or watch honey-bees busy around the hive of a summer forenoon,
Or animals feeding in the fields,
Or birds, or the wonderfulness of insects in the air,
Or the wonderfulness of the sundown, or of stars shining so quiet
     and bright,
Or the exquisite delicate thin curve of the new moon in spring;
These with the rest, one and all, are to me miracles,
The whole referring, yet each distinct and in its place.

This particular poem stands out to me, I think, simply because I am a fan of Walt Whitman's writing. Back when I was a freshman in high school my father gave me a copy of Whitman's book Leaves of Grass. Because I didn't see my father often, and because he had given it to me, it became an instant favorite. This particular poem for me seems to discuss the beauty and miraculous events and occurrences that happen in everyday life that we often take for granted or don't even notice. We're often consumed and busy with our own lives that we forget to watch what nature is doing around us, clearly this is the case or global warming wouldn't have reached the severity that it is today. I actually believe that selfishness is a part of human nature, maybe the instinct to look out for yourself, but in much of the western world self obsession is often front and center. As I read this poem I felt as though Whitman was saying "stop, look around you, because what is happening on it's own, every minute and second of the day, is a miracle in itself."

Other poems I chose were:
Tears, Idle Tears by Lord Alfred Tennyson
The Children's Hour by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
The Good-Morrow by John Donne