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https://docs.google.com/presentation/d/1T4Aq3AlYeczRZkbG8yaYJOHmZdt8TKmu3X4NTUkdXTw/edit#slide=id.g76f7a4d9b3_0_0

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by William Saphier

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my ancient, despised Hebrew priest,
warped by the hot Arabian sun,
inflicted his heart-scorching sermon;
burnishing with impatient feet
a whisper of duty in my heart,
commanding, beseeching,
that I offer on his altar.
And a strong white-hot wind blew
my brothers' woes into my viens.

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my ancient, despised Hebrew priest, warped by the hot Arabian sun, inflicted his heart-scorching sermon; burnishing with impatient feet a whisper of duty in my heart, commanding, beseeching, that I offer on his altar. And a strong white-hot wind blew my brothers' woes into my viens.

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by Jean Toomer

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My body is opaque to the soul.

Driven of the spirit, long have I sought to temper it unto the

But my mind, too, is opaque to the soul.

A closed lid is my soul's flesh-eye.

O Spirits of whom my soul is but a little finger,

Direct it to the lid of its flesh-eye.

I am weak with much giving.

I am weak with the desire to give more.

(How strong a thing is the little finger!)

So weak that I have confused the body with the soul,

And the body with the little finger.

(How frail is the little finger.)

My voice could not carry to you did you dwell in stars,

O Spirits of whom my soul is but a little finger . . .

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My body is opaque to the soul. Driven of the spirit, long have I sought to temper it unto the But my mind, too, is opaque to the soul. A closed lid is my soul's flesh-eye. O Spirits of whom my soul is but a little finger, Direct it to the lid of its flesh-eye.

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Now the flowers are all folded
And the dark is going by.
The evening is arising…
It is time to rest.
When I am sleeping
I find my pillow full of dreams.
They are all new dreams:
No one told them to me
Before I came through the cloud.
They remember the sky, my little dreams,
They have wings, they are quick, they are sweet.
Help me tell my dreams
To the other children, So that their bread may taste whiter,
So that the milk they drink
May make them think of meadows
In the sky of stars.
Help me give bread to the other children
So that their dreams may come back:
So they will remember what they knew
Before they came through the cloud.
Let me hold their little hands in the dark,
The lonely children,
The babies that have no mothers any more.
Dear God, let me hold up my silver cup
For them to drink,
And tell them the sweetness
Of my dreams.

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So wonderful

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By Robert Ostrom

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What you said I shattered was the window
but we both know what you meant. I can't

recall a single meadow that didn't slow my pulse.
Though you are far you are on my wing: you

are the sight of an apple in the bathroom
or oils unintended for a wood floor. A fence

ran the length of a field, between two trees
so that, in snow, it looked like stitches

or a fallen rope ladder. Did you know
that three hundred years ago the heart was

a furnace? At this point what else can I do
but follow the precedent I've established?

Choose one of the following: at Monticello,
the turnips gave me a toothache, or at Red

Hook, the red bees. Will you laugh if I say, I
beat my heart into a red caul of sentences?

Near the pond I lifted a rock and found life
under it crowded with so many urges. To see

if it's possible to dig a grave, today I took
a shovel to the field. It is possible and surprisingly

easy to dig a grave! Over coffee, on the phone,
I said to you, it took trillions to prop up

the markets, but what I wanted to say was, I have
beaten my heart into a red caul of sentences.

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What you said I shattered was the windowbut we both know what you meant. I can't recall a single meadow that didn't slow my pulse.Though you are far you are on my wing: you are the sight of an apple in the bathroomor oils unintended for a wood floor.

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By Langston Hughes

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By William Wordsworth

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William Wordsworth's daffodils poem (I wandered lonely as a cloud)