Two Poems by Richard Wilbur

"The House"

Sometimes, on waking, she would close her eyes
For a last look at that white house she knew
In sleep alone, and held no title to,
And had not entered yet, for all her sighs.
What did she tell me of that house of hers?
White gatepost; terrace; fanlight of the door;
A widow’s walk above the bouldered shore;
Salt winds that ruffle the surrounding firs.
Is she now there, wherever there may be?
Only a foolish man would hope to find
That haven fashioned by her dreaming mind.
Night after night, my love, I put to sea.


"A Measuring Worm"

This yellow striped green
Caterpillar, climbing up
The steep window screen,

Constantly (for lack
Of a full set of legs) keeps
Humping up his back.

It’s as if he sent
By a sort of semaphore
Dark omegas meant

To warn of Last Things.
Although he doesn’t know it,
He will soon have wings,

And I, too, don’t know
Toward what undreamt condition
Inch by inch I go.

"Out, Out-" by Robert Frost

(This is the poem I analyzed for my last paper.)

The buzz saw snarled and rattled in the yard
And made dust and dropped stove-length sticks of wood,
Sweet-scented stuff when the breeze drew across it.
And from there those that lifted eyes could count
Five mountain ranges one behing the other
Under the sunset far into Vermont.
And the saw snarled and rattled, snarled and rattled,
As it ran light, or had to bear a load.
And nothing happened: day was all but done.
Call it a day, I wish they might have said
To please the boy by giving him the half hour
That a boy counts so much when saved from work.
His sister stood beside him in her apron
To tell them "Supper." At the word, the saw,
As if it meant to prove saws know what supper meant,
Leaped out at the boy's hand, or seemed to leap -
He must have given the hand. However it was,
Neither refused the meeting. But the hand!
The boy's first outcry was a rueful laugh,
As he swung toward them holding up the hand
Half in appeal, but half as if to keep
The life from spilling. Then the boy saw all -
Since he was old enough to know, big boy
Doing a man's work, though a child at heart -
He saw all was spoiled. "Don't let him cut my hand off -
The doctor, when he comes. Don't let him, sister!"
So. The hand was gone already.
The doctor put him in the dark of ether.
He lay and puffed his lips out with his breath.
And then - the watcher at his pulse took a fright.
No one believed. They listened to his heart.
Little - less - nothing! - and that ended it.
No more to build on there. And they, since they
Were not the one dead, turned to their affairs.

nothing I write ever makes me feel like this makes me feel

"Disease"
by Conor Meehan

When it happened, I didn’t understand why.
She’d been perfectly healthy yesterday.
Now there were all sorts of appointments and
doctors, and I didn’t want to be bothered.
I was just a kid on my summer break.
But at the same time this was my mother⎯
The woman who had given me my life.
She did not want me to be affected
By it, but how could I not be? I had
To stand there and lie; tell her I was fine.
I wasn’t. The fear of losing my mother
Ate at my insides. I hid it on the
Outside and put a smile on my face.
I guess I was trying to shield myself
From the pain. But there were times I wondered
If I really cared. I had to have cared,
Right? What kind of a son would I have been?
I went on living amidst everything
Even though I knew what was at stake. Would
I cry at the funeral or keep smiling?

some poems make me feel like an asshole (or: a jock poem in two stanzas)

Fall
by Conor Meehan

It was a cool, crisp November morning
when he went away.
The goodbye was short.
I had school.
I didn’t know how.
Part of me wanted to believe
he’d still be there when I got home.
Part of me also knew better.

I scurried off the yellow school bus,
anxious to get home.
Maybe he’d be there.
He wasn’t.
I swam through the sea of
family that had gathered in the dining room.
Finally making it to my room upstairs,
I wept.
Lifting my head from the tear stained pillow,
I peered out the window.
His car was in the driveway.
He wasn’t.

I Love This Poem

The Candy Man

I strolled by the factory
and all my eyes could see
was a bountiful sea of milk chocolate candies

My mouth opened wide
as I peeked inside,
and tears of Almond Joy came pouring out my eyes.

I went around back,
broke open the door latch,
and ran about the factory ready for an eating attack.

I heard a Milk Dud not far away,
deciding to go on my Milky Way,
until a guard stopped me and said: “It’s just not your day.”

I Snickered at the guard,
called him a big, fat lard,
and told him he’d never put me in the prison yard.

His backup came soon enough.
They slapped me with the cuffs,
and my heart broke into Reeses Pieces⎯Man, I was crushed!

The bail was 100 Grand.
My mom came to lend a hand,
and I showered her with Hershey Kisses to show how thankful I am.

-Conor Meehan

"The Rape of the Facebook Friend Request: a Heroi-Comical Parody of Pope's 'The Rape of the Lock' " by Tom the DJ (from my English class)

What lustful pining spurs this awkward scene,
Sing out Muse! of things lewd and obscene.
A classic case of boy meets girl I tell.
Well, initially things were going well…
And now I should commence my little tale
Of love’s first spark ‘twixt plastic cups of ale:
In polo shirt and wearing cheap cologne,
Our hero yelled out above the drone.
His words received by yonder beauteous belle:
Step one of ten until his yen be quelled.
A line of poesy made the stars align;
He spoke to her his lovely pick-up line:
“Oh damsel there with tiny ping-pong ball,
You sink my cups! You sink them one and all!”
But always ‘tis the fate of lonely men,
That every party soon must meet its end.
Unable now this nymph’s sweet heart to seize,
He travelled back, but feeling ill-at-ease.
Returning home that fateful weekend night,
He leapt in bounds with all his foolish might,
But on arriving safely at his dorm,
His anxious feelings took insidious form.
What madness crept into his lustful mind
Bestruck by arrows of a shooter blind!
How calm composure amorous motive trumps,
‘Love-drunk’ was he upon her lovely lumps.
As passion from our hero now unfurled;
He cast his love into the cyber world.
A twitter tweet to her would sweetly coo;
While Facebook pokes replaced the billet-doux.
Continuing on this romantic quest,
He sent the girl a Facebook friend request.
What happened next our friend cannot recall
–Just distant memories of her Facebook wall.
In feelings tangled were his actions mixed,
So sent he her a bunch of naked pics.
His naughty words could not now be erased,
As they were etched for good in cyberspace. —Thomas Anderson