Hello. Welcome readers to this certain part of our lives that makes us think about our past and future. The Anthology of time is sections of poetry that come together in our modern society. Not to mention it gives readers the vision of tears. Life seems to feel like it goes around in a circle and comes back with good news or bad news. That is how teardrops work. We cry when something hurts us or we laugh so hard from a job. These pieces of poetry describe life situations and how many have overcome it. Many authors write how they feel and use their writing as a way to deal with the pain. In these poems readers should understand that they are not alone.
These poems come from the heart of the writers and writing their work displays their view upon society as well as what their eyes can see.
The poetry that I have been reviewing has the themes that I have been looking for. Each little poem expresses the idea that I want readers to understand. Tear Drops are more than specks of water falling down from people’s faces. Tear Drops is what we let go and have a past of us that grows stronger.
Tear Drops then creates individuals to ponder about life and whether or not it was good or bad. One of the authors in Tear Drops is Edgar Allan Poe. He is one of my favorite poetry writers because he expresses what we feel and how the words can fool with our emotions. It's seems that every end of a sentence words rhyme but not for the joy however but for the deeper meaning. Other poems that I have entered are ones that I wrote and are available online as well in books. Tear Drops are like a little piece of my own poetry book called The Hourglass. These poems however are actually pieces of memories fading away just like parts of the body.
When writing these poems a reader might not understand what is going on. However, when they close their eyes images begin to appear. Those images may bring good memories or tearful ones. In the end we do tend to cry just to overcome our obstacles.
Each section is split up between the stages of grief and a lost piece of their heart. Cemetery represents a place to move on and let go of what is hurting them from the inside. Tear drops are the theme of these collections. It reflects upon what we cry about and how we then begin to wipe away the tears. However inside all of us the tear drops are locked away in a tomb deep inside our hearts. Walking by a cemetery it will display how we all come and go but our tears will never fade away.
At certain times when we cry we want to let go of the pain for a sense of relief. Most people want to move on or use that pain for strength it is hard to know what is right and what is wrong. Other authors that I have looked at made me rethink the reason why we cry.
Poems
R.S Thomas is a writer that is hard to find. His work brings out emotions that we eventually give in to. I can imagine myself actually at a coffin saying these words. What this poem is like tears. The imagery of the tears falling on someone face is because we just have to move on and let things go which ends up hurting us. I felt kind of sad that I couldn’t find this poem because it just a lot of … there is just no words to explain this.
The Cry
Don’t think it was all hate
That grew there; love grew there, too,
Climbing by small tendrils where
The warmth fell from the eyes’ blue
Flame. Don’t think even the dirt
And the brute ugliness reigned
Unchallenged. Among fields
Sometimes the spirit, enchained
So long by the gross flesh, raised
Suddenly there it wild note of praise.
By R.S Thomas * no link*
The second poem was like being a detective. This is because the actual author of this poem is anonymous. This poem has been traveled out throughout the ages. It has been read and passed along. I kind of think of this like the telephone game and also another poem I wrote called Whisper. What I understand from this poem is that when the end comes near do not think of it as an end point. A death comes within every family and between us all. It’s not that we are dying it is that we are being relived again. I understand that we can become a stronger person and like take avenge of the death. For example, “Don’t worry (name of deceased person), I will finish school or I won’t let you down”. Do not cry at someone’s cry just tell them that you won’t let them down and stay strong.
Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
Mary E. Frye http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/do-not-stand-at-my-grave-and-weep/
She seems to be really like a past life encounter but also plays part in a cemetery. Can’t you imagine the last words to your lover? Can’t you still feel the bond that made you stay together and love each other? When a tragic event comes, it’s like a wave and what we have to do is stand and let us be drown by the ocean’s tears. No matter how long time may fly we know that we have angels following us and guiding us for that we do not let us become a sculpture.
She
I think the dead are tender. Shall we kiss? --
My lady laughs, delighting in what is.
If she but sighs, a bird puts out its tongue.
She makes space lonely with a lovely song.
She lilts a low soft language, and I hear
Down long sea-chambers of the inner ear.
We sing together; we sing mouth to mouth.
The garden is a river flowing south.
She cries out loud the soul's own secret joy;
She dances, and the ground bears her away.
She knows the speech of light, and makes it plain
A lively thing can come to life again.
I feel her presence in the common day,
In that slow dark that widens every eye.
She moves as water moves, and comes to me,
Stayed by what was, and pulled by what would be.
Theodore Roethke http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/she/
Advice to a Discarded Lover really speaks out to me. It is also describes a depressing moment in time. The bird in this poem was like a person flying for their dreams but dies in the process. It also expresses that once seem like family goes away and not acre for their own loved one. The quote birds of a feather flock together is symbolizing a family bond. But tears do not seem to fall. It’s so powerful that this can actually bring pain. If you don’t care for someone will you even share a tear for remorse?
Advice to a Discarded Lover
Think, now: if you have found a dead bird,
not only dead, not only fallen,
but full of maggots: what do you feel -
more pity or more revulsion?
Pity is for the moment of death,
and the moments after. It changes
when decay comes, with the creeping stench
and the wriggling, munching scavengers.
Returning later, though, you will see
a shape of clean bone, a few feathers,
an inoffensive symbol of what
once lived. Nothing to make you shudder.
It is clear then. But perhaps you find
the analogy I have chosen
for our dead affair rather gruesome -
too unpleasant a comparison.
It is not accidental. In you
I see maggots close to the surface.
You are eaten up by self-pity,
crawling with unlovable pathos.
If I were to touch you I should feel
Do not ask me for charity now:
go away until your bones are clean.
FLEUR ADCOCK
http://www.arlindo-correia.com/080305.html
Alden’s poem is quite amusing. It has detailed information about things in the past. In fact this poem took place in 1932. Poetry can be living in the past and experiencing what someone saw in their eyes and how they express their feelings. Tear Drops in here is domestic violence that never got resolve. The struggle that they went through can still be seen anywhere a person travels.
It's Good To Be Here
I'm in trouble, she said
to him. That was the first
time in history that anyone
had ever spoken of me.
It was 1932 when she
was just fourteen years old
and men like him
worked all day for
one stinking dollar.
There's quinine, she said.
That's bullshit, he told her.
Then she cried and then
for a long time neither of them
said anything at all and then
their voices kept rising until
and then there was a another long silence and then
they began to talk very quietly and at last he said
well, I guess we'll just have to make the best of it.
While I lay curled up,
my heart beating,
in the darkness inside her.
Alden Nowlan
http://www.everypoet.org/pffa//showthread.php?
The following three poems come from one of my favorite authors. Let us welcome Mr. Edgar Allan Poe. The writer that makes us shudders and run for fear. He comes out in this collection of poetry because he gets right into the point of no return. Tear Drops in this stage has falling into the coffin and is being placed deep within the ground. The dirt may have been soaked up by what is left behind is a journey to either two sides of the road. The side of relief and integrity or the side of bitter sorrow.
The Valley of the unrest
Once it smiled a silent dell
Where the people did not dwell;
They had gone unto the wars,
Trusting to the mild-eyed stars,
Nightly, from their azure towers,
To keep watch above the flowers,
In the midst of which all day
The red sunlight lazily lay.
Now each visitor shall confess
The sad valley's restlessness.
Nothing there is motionless-
Nothing save the airs that brood
Over the magic solitude.
Ah, by no wind are stirred those trees
That palpitate like the chill seas
Around the misty Hebrides!
Ah, by no wind those clouds are driven
That rustle through the unquiet Heaven
Uneasily, from morn till even,
Over the violets there that lie
In myriad types of the human eye-
Over the lilies there that wave
And weep above a nameless grave!
They wave:- from out their fragrant tops
Eternal dews come down in drops.
They weep:- from off their delicate stems
Perennial tears descend in gems. Edgar Allan Poe
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/valley-of-unrest-the/
To--
The bowers whereat, in dreams, I see
The want to nest singing birds,
e lips- and all thy melody
Of lip-begotten words-
Thine eyes, in Heaven of heart enshrined,
Then desolately fall,
O God! on my funereal mind
Like starlight on a pall-
Thy heart- thy heart!- I wake and sigh,
And sleep to dream till day
Of the truth that gold can never buy-
Of the baubles that it may.
Edgar Allan Poe
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to/
Spirits of the Dead
Thy soul shall find itself alone
'Mid dark thoughts of the grey tomb-stone;
Not one, of all the crowd, to pry
Into thine hour of secrecy.
Be silent in that solitude,
Which is not loneliness- for then
The spirits of the dead, who stood
In life before thee, are again
In death around thee, and their will
Shall overshadow thee; be still.
The night, though clear, shall frown,
And the stars shall not look down
From their high thrones in the Heaven
With light like hope to mortals given,
But their red orbs, without beam,
To thy weariness shall seem
As a burning and a fever
Which would cling to thee for ever.
Now are thoughts thou shalt not banish,
Now are visions ne'er to vanish;
From thy spirit shall they pass
No more, like dew-drop from the grass.
The breeze, the breath of God, is still,
And the mist upon the hill
Shadowy, shadowy, yet unbroken,
Is a symbol and a token.
How it hangs upon the trees,
A mystery of mysteries!
Edgar Allan Poe
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/spirits-of-the-dead/
The rebirth of Poe is within me. Well he has inspired me to become a better author. Will the apprentice surpass the master? I’ll let you be the judge. I’m sharing you one of my own poems. Fighting Flames is a tearful event that happens in my own life. I wrote this after being in High School. I understand that grief about a death can hurt to the bone. I am expressing my own tear drops and what a small tear can represent. Another tear drop I shed was being known. Not for fame but for support. Don’t we lose that within the years?
Fighting Flames
It has been 10 years since that awful day.
My family couldn't pay this kind of price.
I could still see the images of my nightmare.
If only my mother would care.
Each day and night my siblings would always fight.
So it is hard
go to bed.
Now before I pray,
I see the future of mine up in flames.
I might not be alive anymore.
So why can't I just lay and wait for death.
My heart is wealth but the rest is just
dirt.
http://www.poetry.com/poems/fighting-flames/1278983/
Forgotten Soul
Each mourning I wake up with stabs on my back.
Each one falling to my broken heart.
I think "Why am I still Here?!"
Haven’t I suffered enough already?
Am I being tested for a task? or
Am I being watch for amusement for others?
As I look in the mirror of my bathroom,
I see a shadow fading toward the light.
A new chapter is being written and yet
I do not understand why I haven’t read it yet.
The shadow is my soul and now it is being forgotten
by those who used to care about me.
Will I be remembered?
Or will I be another Book on the shelves of an abandon library?
http://www.poetry.com/poems/forgotten-soul/6621769/
The next following poems I search for. Some reasons are because it shows the lighter side of tears drop. Well if you can called it the light side of the road. One of these sides is love and separation of relationships. I may not know much about these authors but they really speak out to me. You do not have to be an expert to write a poem that comes from your heart. “You tell me not to cry” is a line that goes locked up. You cannot just say you can’t cry. A person has to cry. That pain or any emotion you have will make you to become a better person.
Last Goodbye, Lost Love Poems
Last Goodbye
© Dorsa Saa
I sit here waiting waiting for you to see that time is running outcome on and save me It's not your fault I'm crying so don't you think that at all don't feel guilty for something you didn't do just hug me and don't let me fall Your arms are so soft and cozy The look in your eyes, I can't forget I wish you didn't have to leave but I know the date is set I let the tears fall down my face But you tell me not to cry And that everything will be fine I know it's all a lie I know you can't stand it either That we'll be so far apart And sleep all alone each night Yet I know we'll still be together in the heart You give me one last kiss and hug And wipe a single tear Wish me luck and say goodbye For its the last one I'll hear Source: Last Goodbye, Lost Love Poems http://www.familyfriendpoems.com/sad_love/poetry.asp?poem=21082#ixzz0vbQfXmU2
Good-bye is another way to end this section of tear drops. You have to start off somewhere and end with a mark. On that not just saying sorry will not work out. Love is more like a roller coaster and show are Tear drops. “The day came when he left my side, It was a cold and gloomy night,”. Tear drops are not warm they are bitter cold.
Knight In Shining Armor, Goodbye Love Poems
Knight In Shining Armor
© Margery Wang
We were once the youngest of toddlers, Playing recklessly without concern, But how the tides have changed, What I had is now what I yearn. We were the best of friends, I loved him to no end, But as the days passed by, It was getting harder and harder to pretend. The truth was I was in love, With the charming boy next door, Our friendship was unique, But it grew to be so much more. We dated for a few, It was the happiest years of my life, We gave everything to each other, And he even asked for me to be his wife. You see, it was everything that I wanted, It seemed too good to be true, He made me believe in love, Amid all the struggles we went through. He was a special man, He stood out from all the rest, He was so selfless at times, And that’s why he was truly the best. But as we inevitably grew older, We left our youth behind, It was time to let go of the past, There was no use in being blind. The truth was I was deeply in love, With the fragile man next door, No matter how much I denied his fate, I knew it was time for his spirit to soar. The day came when he left my side, It was a cold and gloomy night, I still remember that day so clearly, I held onto him with all my might. It was the last I saw of him, The last study of his face, But it doesn’t really matter because Our memories cannot be erased. My heart bruises easily, As I sit alone late at night, But I often reassure myself, Because I know that I’ll be all right. Nothing has really changed, Nothing that I can see, Even though he’s not here right now, I still feel his presence next to me. The story of our love, Is an endless story never to be lost, I don’t know if I will ever see him again, But I always keep my fingers crossed. My heart is slowly adjusting, To continue life without that charmer, But I know that I will never be alone because He will always be my knight in shining armor. Source: Knight In Shining Armor, Goodbye Love Poems http://www.familyfriendpoems.com/sad_love/poetry.asp?poem=27511#ixzz0vbN2imZ9
Another author that is well know that I want to add in this collection is Emily Dickenson. While reading about her biography she was turning ill after losing the love of her life. That is when most historians believe that her work became bitter sad. She also lived in isolation and I can understand how that feels. You once desire something that you cannot have and give up. She is one of the writers I can relate to because she has taught me many meanings of life. I bet we all might not like reading poetry but for those who believe that you must understand we do not like the things that you do to. Just because you might consider poetry writers more pathetic than your own self can make you guess that is just a wrong thing to say. It’s an insult. We can say that you are a living person. Probably more like preachers of a stupid trend. More information about her can be found in the link below.
http://www.poets.org/poet.php/prmPID/155
I'm Nobody! Who are you? (260)
by Emily Dickinson
I'm Nobody! Who are you?
Are you – Nobody – too?
Then there's a pair of us?
Don't tell! they'd advertise – you know!
How dreary – to be – Somebody!
How public – like a Frog –
To tell one's name – the livelong June –
To an admiring Bog!
http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15392
Because I could not stop for Death (712)
by Emily Dickinson
Because I could not stop for Death –
He kindly stopped for me –
The Carriage held but just Ourselves –
And Immortality.
We slowly drove – He knew no haste
And I had put away
My labor and my leisure too,
For His Civility –
We passed the School, where Children strove
At Recess – in the Ring –
We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain –
We passed the Setting Sun –
Or rather – He passed us –
The Dews drew quivering and chill –
For only Gossamer, my Gown –
My Tippet – only Tulle –
We paused before a House that seemed
A Swelling of the Ground –
The Roof was scarcely visible –
The Cornice – in the Ground –
Since then – 'tis Centuries – and yet
Feels shorter than the Day
I first surmised the Horses' Heads
Were toward Eternity –
http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15395
I cannot live with You (640)
by Emily Dickinson
I cannot live with You –
It would be Life –
And Life is over there –
Behind the Shelf
The Sexton keeps the Key to –
Putting up
Our Life – His Porcelain –
Like a Cup –
Discarded of the Housewife –
Quaint – or Broke –
A newer Sevres pleases –
Old Ones crack –
I could not die – with You –
For One must wait
To shut the Other's Gaze down –
You – could not –
And I – could I stand by
And see You – freeze –
Without my Right of Frost –
Death's privilege?
Nor could I rise – with You –
Because Your Face
Would put out Jesus' –
That New Grace
Glow plain – and foreign
On my homesick Eye –
Except that You than He
Shone closer by –
They'd judge Us – How –
For You – served Heaven – You know,
Or sought to –
I could not –
Because You saturated Sight –
And I had no more Eyes
For sordid excellence
As Paradise
And were You lost, I would be –
Though My Name
Rang loudest
On the Heavenly fame –
And were You – saved –
And I – condemned to be
Where You were not –
That self – were Hell to Me –
So We must meet apart –
You there – I – here –
That Oceans are – and Prayer –
And that White Sustenance –
Despair –
http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15802
We never know how high we are (1176)
By Emily Dickinson
We never know how high we are
Till we are called to rise;
And then, if we are true to plan,
Our statures touch the skies—
The Heroism we recite
Would be a daily thing,
Did not ourselves the Cubits warp
For fear to be a King—
http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/19370
The Soul unto itself (683)
by Emily Dickinson
The Soul unto itself
Is an imperial friend –
Or the most agonizing Spy –
An Enemy – could send –
Secure against its own –
treason it can fear –
Itself – its Sovereign – of itself
The Soul should stand in Awe –
http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15879
The Soul selects her own Society (303)
by Emily Dickinson
The Soul selects her own Society —
Then — shuts the Door —
To her divine Majority —
Present no more —
Unmoved — she notes the Chariots — pausing —
At her low Gate —
Unmoved — an Emperor be kneeling
Upon her Mat —
I've known her — from an ample nation —
Choose One —
Then — close the Valves of her attention —
Like Stone —
http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/20283
My life closed twice before its close (96)
by Emily Dickinson
My life closed twice before its close—
It yet remains to see
If Immortality unveil
A third event to me
So huge, so hopeless to conceive
As these that twice befell.
Parting is all we know of heaven,
And all we need of hell.
http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/20250
Sorrows
By Lucille Clifton
who would believe them winged
beautiful who would believe
they could fall so in love with mortals
that they would attach themselves
sometimes we hear them in our dreams
rattling their skulls clicking
their bony fingers
they have heard me beseeching
as i whispered into my own
cupped hands enough not me again
but who can distinguish
one human voice
amid such choruses
of desire
http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/20588
Over all I want to finish off this last statement with my own poems. This and my own poems are in my poetry book called The Hourglass. I’ll leave you with this and hope that your own tears will help you to be re live again.
Whisper
It’s soft but cannot be heard
It’s like talking to a bird
When the mouth is open no words are spoken
So with a new person it was awoken but, all meanings are broken.
Luisa Sanluis * no link but in The HourGlass*
