Devon+Thomas

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__//**A poem is a spider web Spun with words of wonder, Woven lace held in place By whispers made of thunder. --Charles Ghigna**//__

An Original Ghazal.
If looks could kill love Oh how they will love

Darling she hates you. Honey he loves you. They are out on the hill love.

Fighting, Arguing, nothing obscene Her screams are out of the ordinary, ever so shrill love.

You toss and you turn trying to sleep Thinking of the day before, should you have taken that pill love?

Oh my how could this have happened. He had no brain yet he had the skill love.

He chose to cheat and lie and steal. He chose the drugs instead of the mille love.

These things make me who I am Devon Nikkole. Love has new meaning no longer good or new but only bad, or ill. LOVE.

An Original Ode.
Music is like when you see a guy on the street. he comes over to you and stares straight into your eyes you become breathless and forget anything that you thought about before he came over.

Music is lyrical helpful words that keep you calm overly ecstatic worthy of being there.

Music is Life.

 An Original Sonnet
She doesn't think she's strong enough so she Hides behind the lies that she created But does he think she is worthy to be She thinks his love was traded or faded

Could something be done to make things better? was one thing done to end them forever? She wants him back so badly but does he? was this thing called love so beautiful or was it some thing that could end up fatal

There is someone new who may help her up he is her savior from all of this pain She is falling fast all over again He likes her as well but will it total? Will she get hurt again or will it work?

Artist's Statement
Above this statement are all of the poems that I wrote this quarter. I really like my Ghazal a lot it was my favorite poem for school that I wrote. My Ghazal reflects back to the time I wrote it when I was hit in the head with Tajh’s elbow. Hence the line “If looks could kill love.” Going off of that I took an argument that I have with myself a lot and placed it into the poem. . I write some poetry in my free time but they just reflect off of my mood and don’t ever get much deeper than that. My poetry is usually hateful and unhappy because those are some of the only times I have ever written poetry other than school. I never write with “rules” and writing the sonnet was torture for me. It is in iambic pentameter and 14 lines 10 syllables each. For a person used to “not following the rules” It was horrible. I hope you liked my poems Check out Ralph Waldo Emerson underneath this message.

The Poet I chose is **Ralph Waldo Emerson.** Here are three of his poems.

Give All To Love
Give all to love; Obey thy heart; Friends, kindred, days, Estate, good fame, Plans, credit, and the muse; Nothing refuse.

'Tis a brave master, Let it have scope, Follow it utterly, Hope beyond hope; High and more high, It dives into noon, With wing unspent, Untold intent; But 'tis a god, Knows its own path, And the outlets of the sky. 'Tis not for the mean, It requireth courage stout, Souls above doubt, Valor unbending; Such 'twill reward, They shall return More than they were, And ever ascending.

Leave all for love;— Yet, hear me, yet, One word more thy heart behoved, One pulse more of firm endeavor, Keep thee to-day, To-morrow, for ever, Free as an Arab Of thy beloved. Cling with life to the maid; But when the surprise, Vague shadow of surmise, Flits across her bosom young Of a joy apart from thee, Free be she, fancy-free, Do not thou detain a hem, Nor the palest rose she flung From her summer diadem.

Though thou loved her as thyself, As a self of purer clay, Tho' her parting dims the day, Stealing grace from all alive, Heartily know, When half-gods go, The gods arrive.

Good-by
Good-by, proud world, I'm going home, Thou'rt not my friend, and I'm not thine; Long through thy weary crowds I roam; A river-ark on the ocean brine, Long I've been tossed like the driven foam, But now, proud world, I'm going home.

Good-by to Flattery's fawning face, To Grandeur, with his wise grimace, To upstart Wealth's averted eye, To supple Office low and high, To crowded halls, to court, and street, To frozen hearts, and hasting feet, To those who go, and those who come, Good-by, proud world, I'm going home.

I'm going to my own hearth-stone Bosomed in yon green hills, alone, A secret nook in a pleasant land, Whose groves the frolic fairies planned; Where arches green the livelong day Echo the blackbird's roundelay, And vulgar feet have never trod A spot that is sacred to thought and God.

Oh, when I am safe in my sylvan home, I tread on the pride of Greece and Rome; And when I am stretched beneath the pines Where the evening star so holy shines, I laugh at the lore and the pride of man, At the sophist schools, and the learned clan; For what are they all in their high conceit, When man in the bush with God may meet.

Dæmonic Love
Man was made of social earth, Child and brother from his birth; Tethered by a liquid cord Of blood through veins of kindred poured, Next his heart the fireside band Of mother, father, sister, stand; Names from awful childhood heard, Throbs of a wild religion stirred, Their good was heaven, their harm was vice, Till Beauty came to snap all ties, The maid, abolishing the past, With lotus-wine obliterates Dear memory's stone-incarved traits, And by herself supplants alone Friends year by year more inly known. When her calm eyes opened bright, All were foreign in their light. It was ever the self-same tale, The old experience will not fail,— Only two in the garden walked, And with snake and seraph talked.

But God said; I will have a purer gift, There is smoke in the flame; New flowerets bring, new prayers uplift, And love without a name. Fond children, ye desire To please each other well; Another round, a higher, Ye shall climb on the heavenly stair, And selfish preference forbear; And in right deserving, And without a swerving Each from your proper state, Weave roses for your mate.

Deep, deep are loving eyes, Flowed with naphtha fiery sweet, And the point is Paradise Where their glances meet: Their reach shall yet be more profound, And a vision without bound: The axis of those eyes sun-clear Be the axis of the sphere; Then shall the lights ye pour amain Go without check or intervals, Through from the empyrean walls, Unto the same again.

Close, close to men, Like undulating layer of air, Right above their heads, The potent plain of Dæmons spreads. Stands to each human soul its own, For watch, and ward, and furtherance In the snares of nature's dance; And the lustre and the grace Which fascinate each human heart, Beaming from another part, Translucent through the mortal covers, Is the Dæmon's form and face. To and fro the Genius hies, A gleam which plays and hovers Over the maiden's head, And dips sometimes as low as to her eyes.

Unknown, — albeit lying near, — To men the path to the Dæmon sphere, And they that swiftly come and go, Leave no track on the heavenly snow. Sometimes the airy synod bends, And the mighty choir descends, And the brains of men thenceforth, In crowded and in still resorts, Teem with unwonted thoughts. As when a shower of meteors Cross the orbit of the earth, And, lit by fringent air, Blaze near and far. Mortals deem the planets bright Have slipped their sacred bars, And the lone seaman all the night Sails astonished amid stars.

Beauty of a richer vein, Graces of a subtler strain, Unto men these moon-men lend, And our shrinking sky extend. So is man's narrow path By strength and terror skirted, Also (from the song the wrath Of the Genii be averted! The Muse the truth uncolored speaking), The Dæmons are self-seeking; Their fierce and limitary will Draws men to their likeness still.

The erring painter made Love blind, Highest Love who shines on all; Him radiant, sharpest-sighted god None can bewilder; Whose eyes pierce The Universe, Path-finder, road-builder, Mediator, royal giver, Rightly-seeing, rightly-seen, Of joyful and transparent mien. 'Tis a sparkle passing From each to each, from me to thee, Perpetually, Sharing all, daring all, Levelling, misplacing Each obstruction, it unites Equals remote, and seeming opposites. And ever and forever Love Delights to build a road; Unheeded Danger near him strides, Love laughs, and on a lion rides. But Cupid wears another face Born into Dæmons less divine, His roses bleach apace, His nectar smacks of wine. The Dæmon ever builds a wall, Himself incloses and includes, Solitude in solitudes: In like sort his love doth fall. He is an oligarch, He prizes wonder, fame, and mark, He loveth crowns, He scorneth drones; He doth elect The beautiful and fortunate, And the sons of intellect, And the souls of ample fate, Who the Future's gates unbar, Minions of the Morning Star. In his prowess he exults, And the multitude insults. His impatient looks devour Oft the humble and the poor, And, seeing his eye glare, They drop their few pale flowers Gathered with hope to please Along the mountain towers, Lose courage, and despair. He will never be gainsaid, Pitiless, will not be stayed. His hot tyranny Burns up every other tie; Therefore comes an hour from Jove Which his ruthless will defies, And the dogs of Fate unties. Shiver the palaces of glass, Shrivel the rainbow-colored walls Where in bright art each god and sibyl dwelt Secure as in the Zodiack's belt; And the galleries and halls Wherein every Siren sung, Like a meteor pass. For this fortune wanted root In the core of God's abysm, Was a weed of self and schism: And ever the Dæmonic Love Is the ancestor of wars, And the parent of remorse.

Analysis
In the poem "Dæmonic Love" Ralph Waldo Emerson wrote "Man was made of social earth, Child and brother from his birth; Tethered by a liquid cord Of blood through veins of kindred poured, Next his heart the fireside band Of mother, father, sister, stand; Names from awful childhood heard, Throbs of a wild religion stirred," To the reader this says that people care so much about social status that people who are not part of the family don't want to talk to them unless they are of the same status.

From reading Ralph Waldo Emerson's poems I noticed that they all have something to say about the earth whether socially, romantically, physically, or just referring to it. He uses family in a lot of his poems as well. I can tell from the year that he was born that he would be a very religious man as were many people in the 1800s but he used some of those things sparingly in his poetry or he made is less knowing that, that is what is in the poem. His poetry reflects his beliefs more than his emotions in such a way that you can’t really tell which is which unless you analyze the poem itself. He usually does not follow a strict rule as to what type of poem he writes, they do flow and rhyme though.