Poetry and creative writing can be an excellent way to express yourself
and honor certain aspects of life. In certain cases, no picture or television program can ever give you the
true vivid imagery of a good poem or short story. For this list, I have collected 10 of my favorite sports and
wildlife works, along with a few other outstanding children and life poems and writings. I looked for
the use of imagery, originality, interest, and feeling.
You fill up my senses like a night in the forest like the
mountains in springtime, like a walk in the rain like a storm in the desert, like a sleepy blue ocean you fill up my senses, come fill me again.
Come let me love you, let me give my life to you let me drown in your laughter, let me die in your arms let me lay down beside you, let me always be with
you come let me love you, come love me again.
You fill up my senses like a night in the forest
like the mountains in springtime, like a walk in the rain like
a storm in the desert, like a sleepy blue ocean you fill up my senses, come fill me again.
I would like to watch you sleeping, which may not happen. I would like
to watch you, sleeping. I would like to sleep with you, to enter your sleep as its smooth dark wave slides
over my head
and walk with you through that lucent wavering forest of bluegreen leaves with its watery
sun & three moons towards the cave where you must descend, towards your worst fear
I would like to
give you the silver branch, the small white flower, the one word that will protect you from the grief at the
center of your dream, from the grief at the center I would like to follow you up the long stairway again
& become the boat that would row you back carefully, a flame in two cupped hands to where your body
lies beside me, and as you enter it as easily as breathing in
I would like to be the air that inhabits
you for a moment only. I would like to be that unnoticed & that necessary.
Said a blade of grass to an autumn leaf, "You make such a noise falling!
You scatter all my winter dreams."
Said the leaf indignant, "Low-born and low-dwelling! Songless, peevish thing! You live not in the upper air and you cannot tell the sound of singing."
Then the autumn
leaf lay down upon the earth and slept. And when spring came she waked again--and she was a blade of grass.
And when it was autumn and her winter sleep was upon her, and above her through all the air the leaves were falling,
she muttered to herself, "O these autumn leaves! They make such noise! They scatter all my winter dreams."
Whosever room this is should be ashamed! His underwear is hanging on the
lamp. His raincoat is there in the overstuffed chair, And the chair is becoming quite mucky and damp. His workbook
is wedged in the window, His sweater's been thrown on the floor. His scarf and one ski are beneath the TV, And his pants have been carelessly hung on the door. His books are all jammed in the closet, His vest has been
left in the hall. A lizard named Ed is asleep in his bed, And his smelly old sock has been stuck to the wall. Whosever room this is should be ashamed! Donald or Robert or Willie or-- Huh? You say it's mine? Oh, dear, I knew it looked familiar!
3. Happiness by Raymond Carver
So early it's still almost dark out. I'm near the window with coffee, and the usual early morning stuff that passes for thought.
When I see the boy and his friend walking
up the road to deliver the newspaper.
They wear caps and sweaters, and one boy has a bag over his shoulder. They are so happy they aren't saying anything, these boys.
I think if they could, they would take each other's arm. It's early in the morning, and they are doing this thing together.
on, slowly. The sky is taking on light, though the moon still hangs pale over the water.
that for a minute death and ambition, even love, doesn't enter into this.
Happiness. It comes on unexpectedly. And goes beyond, really, any early morning talk about it.
It was taken some time ago. At first it seems to be a smeared print:
blurred lines and grey flecks blended with the paper;
then, as you scan it, you see in the left-hand
corner a thing that is like a branch: part of a tree (balsam or spruce) emerging and, to the right, halfway
up what ought to be a gentle slope, a small frame house.
In the background there is a lake, and
beyond that, some low hills.
The photograph was taken the day after I drowned.
I am in the lake,
in the center of the picture, just under the surface.
It is difficult to say where precisely, or to say how large or small I am: the effect of water on light is a distortion
but if you look long enough, eventually you will be able to see me.
1. The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth
Then took the other as just as fair And having perhaps the better claim Because it was grassy and wanted
wear Though as for that, the passing there Had worn them really about the same
And both that morning
equally lay In leaves no step had trodden black Oh, I kept the first for another day! Yet, knowing how way
leads onto way I doubted if I should ever come back
I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages
and ages hence Two roads diverged in a wood And I took the one less traveled by And that has made all the difference.
Copyright The List Blog - Top 10, All Rights Reserved, Posted August 10, 2009