I Hate Poetry

The title is pretty self explanatory. More accurately, I guess I hate analyzing poetry. You know, when the great poets of the past wrote their poems, I doubt they wanted them to be analyzed to death. I wonder how many of them even had a "deeper" meaning.

I am bringing up this subject of poetry because that is what we are going over in my English class. In fact, we had to do this project where we pick three poets, write a biography on each, and analyze a poem from each. Then, we have to write one imitation poem. Holy cows. Also, we have to write an essay on the book we were supposed to have read.

My essay is on Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoyevsky, and the plot and such actually isn't that bad. But the names are...different. Like the main character is Raskolnikov, his friend is Razumikhin, and his mother is Pulcheria Alexandrovna. Needless to say, it's hard to get the hang of their names. Also, pretty much the only thing Raskolnikov eats during the whole book (at least, as far as I've read, which is almost the whole thing) is soup and tea.

Back to poetry. I felt I should post my imitation poem for you guys to comment on, to see if it's any good or needs improvement of some sort. I'll post the real one too though. Here goes:

Psalm of Life
By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Tell me not in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream!
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.

Life is real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not it's goal;
Dust thou are, to dust thou returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul.

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each tomorrow
Find us farther than today.

Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
Funeral marches to the grave.

In the world's broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
Be a hero in the strife!

Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant!
Let the dead Past bury its dead!
Act, - act in the living Present!
Heart within, and God o'erhead!

Lives of great men all remind us
We can make ourselves sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints in the sand of time;

Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o'er life's solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.

Let us then be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labor and to wait.

Yay. Here's my imitation.

Psalm of Beauty
An imitation poem by RoENinaE

Tell me not in perfect depictions,
Beauty is a physical state!
For those who have mirror addictions,
Are like marked and chalky slate.

Beauty is within! Beauty is pure!
And an image is not its goal;
Only when the soul is sure,
Will one shine as a whole.

Not appeal, and not slenderness,
Is our demanded shape or form;
But to act with motions of tenderness,
To brave life's constant storm.

Media is long, and Pressure is lasting,
And our hearts, weather good or bad,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
To the drum that will drive us mad.

In the world's pressing photo camera,
In the midst of lightning flashes,
Be not like the wonted chimera!
Be an angel amongst the ashes!

Trust no physicality, however attractive!
Let the beauty queens march their own parade!
Shine, - shine and let your light be active!
Because your inner beauty will never fade!

Lives of great ones all remind us
Beauty is in the mind and heart.
We can fix the lens to see us,
And how we are all a work of art.

Art that is unique in many ways,
Different in shape, color, and size;
Each one is a candle fit to blaze,
And ready to cast out the ludicrous lies.

Let us then be setting the stage
With kindness for generations to come,
Knowing that it shouldn't be an image
That decides what we become.

Tada! The end. Thanks much if you read it all the way through. Please let me know if you come up with improvements for it. Bye!