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When I Heard The Learn'd Astronomer
When I Heard The Learn'd Astronomer
Walt Whitman

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Fill one out for each poem BEFORE discussion. Keep them, as they'll be turned in for a quiz grade half way through the smackdown (do not fall behind).

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Full Bracket for AP LANG POETRY SMACKDOWN

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Full Bracket for AP LANG POETRY SMACKDOWN

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Poetry Smackdown bracket (AP Lang--Am Lit '15-'16) 32 poems-no seeds

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'pity this busy monster, manunkind' - E. E. Cummings

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'pity this busy monster, manunkind' - E. E. Cummings

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'pity this busy monster, manunkind' - E. E. Cummings

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pity this busy monster, manunkind, not. Progress is a comfortable disease: your victim (death and life safely beyond) plays with the bigness of his littleness --- electrons deify one razorblade into a mountainrange; lenses extend unwish through curving wherewhen till unwish returns on its unself.

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The Meadow Mouse Poem by Theodore Roethke - Poem Hunter

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The Meadow Mouse Poem by Theodore Roethke - Poem Hunter

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1

In a shoe box stuffed in an old nylon stocking
Sleeps the baby mouse I found in the meadow,
Where he trembled and shook beneath a stick
Till I caught him up by the tail and brought him in,
Cradled in my hand,
A little quaker, the whole body of him trembling,
His absurd whiskers sticking out like a cartoon-mouse,
His feet like small leaves,
Little lizard-feet,
Whitish and spread wide when he tried to struggle away,
Wriggling like a minuscule puppy.

Now he's eaten his three kinds of cheese and drunk from his
bottle-cap watering-trough--
So much he just lies in one corner,
His tail curled under him, his belly big
As his head; his bat-like ears
Twitching, tilting toward the least sound.

Do I imagine he no longer trembles
When I come close to him?
He seems no longer to tremble.

2

But this morning the shoe-box house on the back porch is empty.
Where has he gone, my meadow mouse,
My thumb of a child that nuzzled in my palm? --
To run under the hawk's wing,
Under the eye of the great owl watching from the elm-tree,
To live by courtesy of the shrike, the snake, the tom-cat.

I think of the nestling fallen into the deep grass,
The turtle gasping in the dusty rubble of the highway,
The paralytic stunned in the tub, and the water rising,--
All things innocent, hapless, forsaken.

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The Meadow Mouse Poem by Theodore Roethke - Poem Hunter

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1 In a shoe box stuffed in an old nylon stockingSleeps the baby mouse I found in the meadow,Where he trembled and shook beneath a stickTill I caught him up by the tail and brought him in,Cradled in my hand,A little quaker, the whole body of him trembling,His absurd whiskers sticking out like a cartoon-mouse,His feet like small leaves,Little lizard-feet,Whitish and spread wide when he tried to struggle away,Wriggling like a minuscule puppy.

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The Raven by Edgar Allan Poe - Poestories.com

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The Raven by Edgar Allan Poe - Poestories.com

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The Raven by Edgar Allan Poe - Poestories.com

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The full text of The Raven by Edgar Allan Poe, with vocabulary words and definitions.

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A Visit To The Asylum - A poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay - American Poems

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A Visit To The Asylum - A poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay - American Poems

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A Visit To The Asylum - A poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay - American Poems

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A Visit To The Asylum by Edna St. Vincent Millay

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90. Poets to Come. Whitman, Walt. 1900. Leaves of Grass

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90. Poets to Come. Whitman, Walt. 1900. Leaves of Grass

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90. Poets to Come. Whitman, Walt. 1900. Leaves of Grass

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Disillusionment of Ten O'Clock Poem by Wallace Stevens - Poem Hunter

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Disillusionment of Ten O'Clock Poem by Wallace Stevens - Poem Hunter

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The houses are haunted
By white night-gowns.
None are green,
Or purple with green rings,
Or green with yellow rings,
Or yellow with blue rings.
None of them are strange,
With socks of lace
And beaded ceintures.
People are not going
To dream of baboons and periwinkles.
Only, here and there, an old sailor,
Drunk and asleep in his boots,
Catches Tigers
In red weather.

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Disillusionment Of Ten O'Clock Poem by Wallace Stevens - Poem Hunter

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The houses are hauntedBy white night-gowns.None are green,Or purple with green rings,Or green with yellow rings,Or yellow with blue rings.None of them are strange,With socks of laceAnd beaded ceintures.People are not goingTo dream of baboons and periwinkles.Only, here and there, an old sailor,Drunk and asleep in his boots,Catches TigersIn red weather.

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Let America Be America Again | Academy of American Poets

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Let America Be America Again | Academy of American Poets

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Let America Be America Again - Let America be America again.

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EMMA LAZARUS; FAMOUS POEM :"THE NEW COLOSSUS"

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EMMA LAZARUS; FAMOUS POEM :"THE NEW COLOSSUS"

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History of Liberty State Park

The Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island Photos

On the New York Harbor, less than 2,000 feet from the Statue of Liberty, Liberty State Park has served a vital role in the development of New Jersey's metropolitan region and the history of the nation.

During the 19th and early 20th centuries the area that is now Liberty State Park was a major waterfront industrial area with an extensive freight and passenger transportation network. This network became the lifeline of New York City and the harbor area. The heart of this transportation network was the Central Railroad of New Jersey Terminal (CRRNJ), located in the northern portion of the park. The CRRNJ Terminal stands with the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island to unfold one of this nation's most dramatic stories: the immigration of northern, southern, and eastern Europeans into the United States. After being greeted by the Statue of Liberty and processed at Ellis Island, these immigrants purchased tickets and boarded trains, at the CRRNJ Terminal, that took them to their new homes throughout the United States. The Terminal served these immigrants as the gateway to the realization of their hopes and dreams of a new life in America.

Today, Liberty State Park continues to serve a vital role in the New York Harbor area. As the railroads and industry declined, the land was abandoned and became a desolate dump site. With the development of Liberty State Park came a renaissance of the waterfront. Land with decaying buildings, overgrown tracks and piles of debris was transformed into a modern urban state park. The park was formerly opened on Flag Day, June 14, 1976, as New Jersey's bicentennial gift to the nation. Most of this 1,122 acre park is open space with approximately 300 acres developed for public recreation.

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EMMA LAZARUS; FAMOUS POEM :"THE NEW COLOSSUS"

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History of Liberty State Park The Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island Photos On the New York Harbor, less than 2,000 feet from the Statue of Liberty, Liberty State Park has served a vital role in the development of New Jersey's metropolitan region and the history of the nation.

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Harvest Song Poem by Jean Toomer - Poem Hunter

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Harvest Song Poem by Jean Toomer - Poem Hunter

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I am a reaper whose muscles set at sundown. All my oats are cradled.
But I am too chilled, and too fatigued to bind them.
And I hunger.

I crack a grain between my teeth. I do not taste it.
I have been in the fields all day. My throat is dry.
I hunger.

My eyes are caked with dust of oatfields at harvest-time.
I am a blind man who stares across the hills, seeking stack'd fields of other harvesters.

It would be good to see them . . crook'd, split, and iron-ring'd handles of the scythes. It would be good to see them, dust-caked and blind. I hunger.

(Dusk is a strange fear'd sheath their blades are dull'd in.)
My throat is dry. And should I call, a cracked grain like the oats...eoho--

I fear to call. What should they hear me, and offer me their grain, oats, or wheat, or corn? I have been in the fields all day. I fear I could not taste it. I fear knowledge of my hunger.

My ears are caked with dust of oatfields at harvest-time.
I am a deaf man who strains to hear the calls of other harvesters whose throats are also dry.

It would be good to hear their songs . . reapers of the sweet-stalk'd cane, cutters of the corn...even though their throats cracked and the strangeness of their voices deafened me.

I hunger. My throat is dry. Now that the sun has set and I am chilled, I fear to call. (Eoho, my brothers!)

I am a reaper. (Eoho!) All my oats are cradled.
But I am too fatigued to bind them. And I hunger.
I crack a grain. It has no taste to it.
My throat is dry...

O my brothers, I beat my palms, still soft, against the stubble of my harvesting. (You beat your soft palms, too.) My pain is sweet. Sweeter than the oats or wheat or corn. It will not bring me knowledge of my hunger.

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Harvest Song Poem by Jean Toomer - Poem Hunter

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I am a reaper whose muscles set at sundown. All my oats are cradled. But I am too chilled, and too fatigued to bind them. And I hunger. I crack a grain between my teeth. I do not taste it. I have been in the fields all day. My throat is dry.

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Ex-Basketball Player Poem by John Updike - Poem Hunter

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Ex-Basketball Player Poem by John Updike - Poem Hunter

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Pearl Avenue runs past the high-school lot,
Bends with the trolley tracks, and stops, cut off
Before it has a chance to go two blocks,
At Colonel McComsky Plaza. Berth's Garage
Is on the corner facing west, and there,
Most days, you'll find Flick Webb, who helps Berth out.

Flick stands tall among the idiot pumps-
Five on a side, the old bubble-head style,
Their rubber elbows hanging loose and low.
One's nostrils are two S's, and his eyes
An E and O. And one is squat, without
A head at all-more of a football type.

Once Flick played for the high-school team, the Wizards.
He was good: in fact, the best. In '46
He bucketed three hundred ninety points,
A county record still. The ball loved Flick.
I saw him rack up thirty-eight or forty
In one home game. His hands were like wild birds.

He never learned a trade, he just sells gas,
Checks oil, and changes flats. Once in a while,
As a gag, he dribbles an inner tube,
But most of us remember anyway.
His hands are fine and nervous on the lug wrench.
It makes no difference to the lug wrench, though.

Off work, he hangs around Mae's Luncheonette.
Grease-gray and kind of coiled, he plays pinball,
Smokes those thin cigars, nurses lemon phosphates.
Flick seldom says a word to Mae, just nods
Beyond her face toward bright applauding tiers
Of Necco Wafers, Nibs, and Juju Beads.

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Ex-Basketball Player Poem by John Updike - Poem Hunter

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Pearl Avenue runs past the high-school lot,Bends with the trolley tracks, and stops, cut offBefore it has a chance to go two blocks,At Colonel McComsky Plaza. Berth's GarageIs on the corner facing west, and there,Most days, you'll find Flick Webb, who helps Berth out.

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Anne Bradstreet (1612-1672) -- Upon the Burning of Our House

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Anne Bradstreet (1612-1672) -- Upon the Burning of Our House

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Revisit the classic novels you read (or didn't read) in school with reviews, analysis, and study guides of the most acclaimed and beloved books from around the world.

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SLAM, DUNK, & HOOK by Yusef Komunyakaa. | African American Registry

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SLAM, DUNK, & HOOK by Yusef Komunyakaa. | African American Registry

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I, Too, Sing America | Academy of American Poets

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I, Too, Sing America | Academy of American Poets

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Ezra Pound

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T.S. Eliot

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The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock - Let us go then, you and I

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O Me! O life!... of the questions of these recurring; Of the endless trains of the faithless-of cities fill'd with the foolish; Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless?)

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W.H. Auden

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Nothing Gold Can Stay | Academy of American Poets

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Nothing Gold Can Stay | Academy of American Poets

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

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Grass - Pile the bodies high at Austerlitz and Waterloo

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War Is Kind [excerpt] | Academy of American Poets

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War Is Kind [excerpt] | Academy of American Poets

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War Is Kind [excerpt] - Do not weep, maiden, for war is kind.

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The History Teacher by Billy Collins | The Writer's Almanac with Garrison Keillor

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The History Teacher by Billy Collins | The Writer's Almanac with Garrison Keillor

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I Hear America Singing | Academy of American Poets

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I Hear America Singing | Academy of American Poets

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I Hear America Singing - I hear America singing, the varied carols I hear,

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Mending Wall by Robert Frost : The Poetry Foundation

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Mending Wall by Robert Frost : The Poetry Foundation

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Something there is that does love a wall,

That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it,

And spills the upper boulders in the sun;

And makes gaps even two can pass abreast.

The work of hunters is another thing:

I have come after them and made repair

Where they have left not one stone on a stone,

But they would have the rabbit out of hiding,

To please the yelping dogs. The gaps I mean,

No one has seen them made or heard them made,

But at spring mending-time we find them there.

I let my neighbor know beyond the hill;

And on a day we meet to walk the line

And set the wall between us once again.

We keep the wall between us as we go.

To each the boulders that have fallen to each.

And some are loaves and some so nearly balls

We have to use a spell to make them balance:

'Stay where you are until our backs are turned!'

We wear our fingers rough with handling them.

Oh, just another kind of out-door game,

One on a side. It comes to little more:

There where it is we do not need the wall:

He is all pine and I am apple orchard.

My apple trees will never get across

And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him.

He only says, 'Good fences make good neighbors.'

Spring is the mischief in me, and I wonder

If I could put a notion in his head:

'Why do they make good neighbors? Isnt it

Where there are cows? But here there are no cows.

Before I built a wall Id ask to know

What I was walling in or walling out,

And to whom I was like to give offense.

Something there is that doesn't love a wall,

That wants it down.' I could say 'Elves' to him,

But its not elves exactly, and Id rather

He said it for himself. I see him there

Bringing a stone grasped firmly by the top

In each hand, like an old-stone savage armed.

He moves in darkness as it seems to me,

Not of woods only and the shade of trees.

He will not go behind his fathers saying,

And he likes having thought of it so well

He says again, 'Good fences make good neighbors.'

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Mending Wall by Robert Frost | Poetry Foundation

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Something there is that doesn't love a wall,

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Ten Poems to Get You Through Science Class This Year  (JUST EXTRAS, NOT AN ASSIGNMENT). Read for interest if the science poems sparked some thought. 

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Ten Poems to Get You Through Science Class This Year  (JUST EXTRAS, NOT AN ASSIGNMENT). Read for interest if the science poems sparked some thought. 

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1. "Winter Trees" by William Carlos Williams
Deciduous trees, "attiring" and "disattiring," are the main characters in this short poem. Just why do these "wise trees" shed their leaves in the autumn? The poem contains at least the hint of a scientific answer-and a lovely basis for further discussion.

2. "Astronomy Lesson" by Alan Shapiro
While their parents watch TV shows in different rooms, two brothers stand on the front porch, staring at the night sky. The older boy talks about the numberless stars and the black space that goes on forever, a space that may go on in their lives as well. Scientific metaphors include light-years, solar winds, black holes, and the cooling sun. What will happen to these two "sad Ptolemies"-and to all of us-if everything turns cold?

3. "When I Heard the Learn'd Astronomer" by Walt Whitman
In this classic poem, the speaker hears a scientist lecturing, presenting proofs, charts, and diagrams about the stars. Soon the poet grows weary and ventures outside to look up "in perfect silence at the stars." The poem, while valuing scientific knowledge, speaks to the value of direct experience, both in science and in life.

4. "Poker Star" by Richard Brautigan
Everyone learns about the constellations in school, but who first named them? In this whimsical poem, Brautigan makes up his own story about a constellation, imagining a poker game among sheepherders. Students may want to invent their own constellation myths as well!

5. "Information" by David Ignatow
In this prose poem, Ignatow spoofs-and celebrates-the scientific method, as his speaker counts all two million and seventy-five thousand leaves on a single tree, proving that one tree is finite. Is this as meaningful as counting stars, as astronomers do? Why or why not? And should we count the hairs on our heads as well? Bombarded as we are by information, how do we decide which facts are important and which are not?

6. "Who Has Seen the Wind" by Christina Rossetti
No one has seen the wind, the poet says, but we all know it's there. This is a perfect introduction to the ways in which scientists explore the unknown, the seen and the unseen-from wind to atoms and viruses. It also speaks to the different varieties of scientific and sense-related experience. How do we know the wind exists? What about unseen stars or insects?

7. "The Bear" by Susan Mitchell
A choosy female bear dominates this poem, as she wanders from log to log looking for a place to sleep for the winter. She finds it finally, as we find a sweet epiphany-and an introduction to a science lesson on hibernation.

8. "The Blue Booby" by James Tate
Here we get a description of the life and habits of that denizen of the Galapagos, the blue booby. Is Tate's blue booby the same animal as the blue-footed booby? If so, how much of what Tate writes about the bird is true? And how much comes from his imagination? Are his details the sort that scientists actually collect? Ask students to research the blue-footed booby on their own. What do they learn? Do they prefer the basic facts or Tate's version?

9. "Damselfly, Trout, Heron" by John Engels
This beautiful poem, more difficult than the others on this list, explores the food chain, as the damselfly is eaten by the trout, which is in turn eaten by the heron. By the end of the poem, even the heron has died, "beyond reach on the far side of the river." The poem can lead to discussion of natural enemies and the necessity of both predators and prey in our ecosystem.

10. "The Meadow Mouse" by Theodore Roethke
Prey and predators come into focus once again in this moving poem about an orphaned baby mouse rescued from a field. By poem's end, the mouse has escaped from its nursery shoe-box into the wild, where it will live or die, courtesy of the hawk, the great owl, the shrike, the snake, and the cat. Yet a greater predator looms over this poem-humanity itself. How is man affecting the natural world today? And how is nature answering back?

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Ten Poems to Get You Through Science Class This Year by Karen Glenn

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1. "Winter Trees" by William Carlos Williams Deciduous trees, "attiring" and "disattiring," are the main characters in this short poem. Just why do these "wise trees" shed their leaves in the autumn? The poem contains at least the hint of a scientific answer-and a lovely basis for further discussion. 2.

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Marge Piercy

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This girlchild was born as usual
and presented dolls that did pee-pee
and miniature GE stoves and irons
and wee lipsticks the color of cherry candy.
Then in the magic of puberty, a classmate said:
You have a great big nose and fat legs.

She was healthy, tested intelligent,
possessed strong arms and back,
abundant sexual drive and manual dexterity.
She went to and fro apologizing.
Everyone saw a fat nose on thick legs.

She was advised to play coy,
exhorted to come on hearty,
exercise, diet, smile and wheedle.
Her good nature wore out
like a fan belt.
So she cut off her nose and her legs
and offered them up.

In the casket displayed on satin she lay
with the undertaker's cosmetics painted on,
a turned-up putty nose,
dressed in a pink and white nightie.
Doesn't she look pretty? everyone said.
Consummation at last.
To every woman a happy ending.

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Barbie Doll Poem by Marge Piercy - Poem Hunter

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This girlchild was born as usualand presented dolls that did pee-peeand miniature GE stoves and ironsand wee lipsticks the color of cherry candy.Then in the magic of puberty, a classmate said:You have a great big nose and fat legs.

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Paul Lawrence Dunbar

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We Wear the Mask - We wear the mask that grins and lies

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Edgar Allan Poe

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Sonnet-To Science - Science! true daughter of Old Time thou art!

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Walt Whitman

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When I Heard the Learned Astronomer - When I heard the learn'd astronomer,