Megan+Doe

“But all they want to do is tie the poem to a chair with rope and torture a confession out of it. “
 * - Billy Collins**

=Poems by Megan Doe:=

Summer smell makes me smile The crisp air fills my lungs and it's reassuring; no school tomorrow The birds chirping remind me of the previous year on my grandparents patio My smooth tan darkens as the bright sun kisses my skin Short clothes lets everyone's bodies glow It's the season for fun; everything's outdoors Bright towels and salty water Clear skies and cold summer nights Roasting smore's by the fire
 * Ode to summer**

My dog is just a simple little thing He fur is usually tangled but soft She is an animal when the bell rings She barks viciously when you want to doff She has a soft little smelly pink tongue Maddie has big brown eyes that love to stare The only think I don’t like is her dung I love to watch her snuggle on the chair Takes care of me when I’m sick, she is kind A poochie like her would never attack I wonder what goes on in her mind When I leave company is what she lacks A dog like her always gets what she wants Won’t eat dog food, but what the humans do
 * Sonnet 1**

I’m his, with a label one me, is that wrong cause I’m young I am know as his girl, but I want my own name cause I’m young
 * Ghazal**

Forever is long time, I know we will stay together But it’s cool if I change my mind because I’m young

Why do you smother me, I need time alone I want space because I’m young

It’s not that big of a deal I want to go to the party No I’m not going to cheat on you I just want to go out while I’m young

You have stolen my youth I am not what I was before I just wish I could do what I wanted while I’m young

Another sleep over tonight, haven’t you got enough of me? I wish I could still have simple sleepover with my girlfriends like everyone else does while I’m young

Your mother died and I regret not loving you I shouldn’t have to deal with this guilt while I’m young

Our relationship is growing old, and I think I’m getting bored I think I might end it, so I’ll be happy while I’m young

I’ve had enough I am unhappy I need to be without you now; it’s just the best while I’m young

Maybe in the future we could work again But right now I am Megan without a boys label cause I’m young =**Analysis:**= code The name of the author is the first to go followed obediently by the title, the plot, the heartbreaking conclusion, the entire novel which suddenly becomes one you have never read, never even heard of,
 * Forgetfulness**

as if, one by one, the memories you used to harbor decided to retire to the southern hemisphere of the brain, to a little fishing village where there are no phones.

Long ago you kissed the names of the nine Muses goodbye and watched the quadratic equation pack its bag, and even now as you memorize the order of the planets,

something else is slipping away, a state flower perhaps, the address of an uncle, the capital of Paraguay.

Whatever it is you are struggling to remember it is not poised on the tip of your tongue, not even lurking in some obscure corner of your spleen.

It has floated away down a dark mythological river whose name begins with an L as far as you can recall, well on your own way to oblivion where you will join those who have even forgotten how to swim and how to ride a bicycle.

No wonder you rise in the middle of the night to look up the date of a famous battle in a book on war. No wonder the moon in the window seems to have drifted out of a love poem that you used to know by heart.

code Billy Collin's, the author of “Forgetfulness” describes the sensation of people struggle with memory. He is known to share what he has discovered simply through he’s work. He describes the sensation of forgetfulness as followed: "as if, one by one, the memories you used to harbor decided to retire to the southern hemisphere of the brain, to a little fishing village where there are no phones." Billy Collin connects the poem to the sensation of knowing something but not being able to grasp it inside of yourself, and not being able to force it out of your mouth. He continues to explain " No wonder you rise in the middle of the night to look up the date of a famous battle in a book on war." An often situation that people come across was placed beautifully into his work.

code I have never been fishing on the Susquehanna or on any river for that matter to be perfectly honest.
 * Fishing on the Susquehanna in July**

Not in July or any month have I had the pleasure--if it is a pleasure-- of fishing on the Susquehanna.

I am more likely to be found in a quiet room like this one-- a painting of a woman on the wall,

a bowl of tangerines on the table-- trying to manufacture the sensation of fishing on the Susquehanna.

There is little doubt that others have been fishing on the Susquehanna,

rowing upstream in a wooden boat, sliding the oars under the water then raising them to drip in the light.

But the nearest I have ever come to fishing on the Susquehanna was one afternoon in a museum in Philadelphia

when I balanced a little egg of time in front of a painting in which that river curled around a bend

under a blue cloud-ruffled sky, dense trees along the banks, and a fellow with a red bandanna

sitting in a small, green flat-bottom boat holding the thin whip of a pole.

That is something I am unlikely ever to do, I remember saying to myself and the person next to me.

Then I blinked and moved on to other American scenes of haystacks, water whitening over rocks,

even one of a brown hare who seemed so wired with alertness I imagined him springing right out of the frame. code “Fishing on the Susquehanna in July” by Billy Collins is a creative piece that explains the imagination one holds. Through out this poem, it took the reader through a imaginary story about the journey in a man’s mind. This line described the transition from reality to the dreams in which the man’s unrealistic hopes come true, “when I balanced a little egg of time in front of a painting in which that river curled around a bend”. Billy Collins is great at walking one through a story in which they can connect to and having a sentimental feeling towards.

code Some days I put the people in their places at the table, bend their legs at the knees, if they come with that feature, and fix them into the tiny wooden chairs.
 * Some Days**

All afternoon they face one another, the man in the brown suit, the woman in the blue dress, perfectly motionless, perfectly behaved.

But other days, I am the one who is lifted up by the ribs, then lowered into the dining room of a dollhouse to sit with the others at the long table.

Very funny, but how would you like it if you never knew from one day to the next if you were going to spend it

striding around like a vivid god, your shoulders in the clouds, or sitting down there amidst the wallpaper, staring straight ahead with your little plastic face?

code “Some Days” is a beautifully written poem by Billy Collins. The message it brings is straightforward and well thought out. It explains how people live from day to day acting as a “vivid god” who is in control of what they want to do, or a dull passive doll that is “lifted up by the ribs” and easy to manipulate. He states “very funny, but how would you like it if you never knew from one day to the next if you were going to spend it striding around like a vivid god, your shoulders in the clouds, or sitting down there amidst the wallpaper, staring straight ahead with your little plastic face?” This quote is eye opening. A lot of the time people do let other’s take control, or go with the flow of everyone else because life seems like an on going cycle in which everyday is a new start.

=**Author’s Statement:**= Honestly, I am not a poetic person at all. I think of the simplest things to write about when creating poetry. Summer, my dog, and the social life of a teenager are things I can easily spit on paper, mix around a little bit and turn into work. Often, I think I am not poetic because I over analyze things. I work to hard to get to the exact answer, which a lot of the time I don’t get from poetry. When I am writing it, I feel like I am suppose to be hiding some secret code in the lines. As I read the work of poets, I try to hard to find that nonexistent embedded secret code somewhere in the lines. Billy Collins captured me with his “Introduction to Poetry.” I feel exactly like the people he explains in his poetry that tortures poetry until it gives a confession of what is it truly suppose to mean. Hopefully, my over analyzing personality and my bad skills in poetry are not presented in my work.