The Language of Poetry

This week in class, we’ve been focusing a lot on poetry lately. My initial thoughts about poetry was that it wasn’t good and I didn’t like it at all. But after reading In Flanders Fields, I remembered how deep and mind-boggling poetry was. We also analyzed and discussed poetry and came to a conclusion that no one really HATES poetry, if you like music, then you like poetry because music IS poetry.

We’re surrounded by poetry constantly yet we never bring to our attention that we actually like it. Poetry and themes are like paradoxes, and we are like living paradoxes. We always contradict ourselves and yet we seem to make excuses that what we’re doing is politically, socially, physically, and emotionally correct.

But anyways back to poetry, poetry isn’t something you read for facts, you read poetry to keep your mind running- constantly active. Everything about poetry felt so familiar and I finally realized why; I was a huge poetry back in elementary school believe it or not. The poetry i read was simple yet abstract- and no it wasn’t Dr. Seuss- it was Shel Silverstein. Who doesn’t like Silverstein potery?! Even the titles of his books were enticing- Falling Up, A Light in the Attic, The Missing Piece, Runny Babbit, and my personal favorite- Where the Sidewalk Ends. I wanted to share a poem from the Where the Sidewalk Ends to show you how great poetry is and to encourage you to read some more poetry!! So I want you to re-evaluate your emotions towards poetry, pick up a poetry book, get a nice drink and relax and you’ll definitely change your mind about poetry, and once you do leave a comment! (:

Where the Sidewalk Ends

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 street 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