the poems for final presentation – poetry ii c class filethe poems for final presentation –...

The Poems for Final Presentation – Poetry II C Class

Eko Priyo Handoko

The Snow Man (by: Wallace Steven) One must have a mind of winter To regard the frost and the boughs Of the pine-trees crusted with snow; And have been cold a long time To behold the junipers shagged with ice, The spruces rough in the distant glitter Of the January sun; and not to think Of any misery in the sound of the wind, In the sound of a few leaves, Which is the sound of the land Full of the same wind That is blowing in the same bare place For the listener, who listens in the snow, And, nothing himself, beholds Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.


Ayu Azizhan Laksono

As I Grew Older (By : Langston Hughes )

It was a long time ago.

I have almost forgotten my dream.

But it was there then,

In front of me,

Bright like a sun-

My dream.

And then the wall rose,

Rose slowly,

Slowly,

Between me and my dream.

Rose until it touched the sky-

The wall.

Shadow.

I am black.

I lie down in the shadow.

No longer the light of my dream before me,

Above me.

Only the thick wall.

Only the shadow.

My hands!

My dark hands!

Break through the wall!

Find my dream!

Help me to shatter this darkness,

To smash this night,

To break this shadow

Into a thousand lights of sun,

Into a thousand whirling dreams

Of sun!


Rifki Balya

It is murder (By Sylvia Chidi)

When you take away a life With the aid of a knife

It is murder

While you extinguish the living with a gun

Without being able to recreate what was born

It is murder

If you feed someone dead tablets Later have second acrimonious regrets

It is murder

You are taking away a life It is clinging on to survive

Need I say anymore further It is murder

Murder sprung by a fling

With ropes or a string Your hands only bring

Death around a necks ring

Execution by suffocation Condemned with abomination Deliberate foetus termination

It is murder

Make no mistake,

Be careful Asleep or awake!

Murder is unlawful

If death occurs because of the effects of an evil curse I will say this with my lips pursed

'What a great loss, but this is not murder!


Sarah Widita Putri

How Do I Love Thee? (By Elizabeth Barrett Browning)

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

I love thee to the depth and breadth and height

My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight

For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.

I love thee to the level of every day's

Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight.

I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;

I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.

I love with a passion put to use

In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.

I love thee with a love I seemed to lose

With my lost saints, -- I love thee with the breath,

Smiles, tears, of all my life! -- and, if God choose,

I shall but love thee better after death.


Sendhy Aditya Dharmawan

Addiction( by Clare Nixon)

What have I became

in this false fantasy?

Thriving on something sweet,

submerging into another world.

Without it I tumble

transforming into nothing.

I'm locked in a stalemate

not capable to stir.

Look closely through my eyes,

as deep as the end of sight.

See! My ailment and do

your very best to repair.

Save me from this ogre

I have become, before

I sit in a dark painful void...

lost inside my addiction


Danang Sudibyo

Mother to Son (by Langston Hughes)

Well, son, I'll tell you: Life for me ain't been no crystal stair. It's had tacks in it, And splinters, And boards torn up, And places with no carpet on the floor— Bare. But all the time I'se been a-climbin' on, And reachin' landin's, And turnin' corners, And sometimes goin' in the dark Where there ain't been no light. So, boy, don't you turn back. Don't you set down on the steps. 'Cause you finds it's kinder hard. Don't you fall now— For I'se still goin', honey, I'se still climbin', And life for me ain't been no crystal stair.


Lusi Vera Sastra Phenomenal Woman (by Maya Angelou) Pretty women wonder where my secret lies I'm not cute or built to suit a model's fashion size But when I start to tell them They think I'm telling lies. I say It's in the reach of my arms The span of my hips The stride of my steps The curl of my lips. I'm a woman Phenomenally Phenomenal woman That's me. I walk into a room Just as cool as you please And to a man The fellows stand or Fall down on their knees Then they swarm around me A hive of honey bees. I say It's the fire in my eyes And the flash of my teeth The swing of my waist And the joy in my feet. I'm a woman Phenomenally Phenomenal woman That's me. Men themselves have wondered What they see in me They try so much But they can't touch My inner mystery. When I try to show them They say they still can't see. I say It's in the arch of my back The sun of my smile The ride of my breasts


The grace of my style. I'm a woman Phenomenally Phenomenal woman That's me. Now you understand Just why my head's not bowed I don't shout or jump about Or have to talk real loud When you see me passing It ought to make you proud. I say It's in the click of my heels The bend of my hair The palm of my hand The need for my care. 'Cause I'm a woman Phenomenally Phenomenal woman That's me.


Randu Hedi Pradipta The problem with Tottenham is nobody bothered Until one Sunday in April when, horror of horrors. The Arsenal turned up with the title in sight It was too late to weep – it was too late to fight. And then Tottenham men realised what fools they had been To accept second-best as a club, as a team. Is there light in the tunnel? It’s too early to tell Because Spurs need good players and a good boss as well. They search throughout Europe, they look far and wide To find someone to manage this terrible side. They’ve been over to Italy and seen Trappattoni (Though many insisted their interest was phoney). Giovanni, he listened and, eyes filled with glee, Said: “Manage in London? Next season? Who, me? I’d be highly delighted, It’s right up my street; Three million up front, ninety grand a week. When can I get started? I’m ever so keen I’ve always admired your Arsenal team.” The Spurs men, their faces were creased up with pain: “We’ve not come from Highbury, we’re from White Hart Lane.” The Italian smiled, shook them all by hand And said: “Gentlemen, sorry, I’ve other things planned.” The moral of this story: He’s a wise man, old Trap. Better stick with Arsenal because Tottenham are crap.


Iqbal Febrian P Fire and Ice (by Robert Frost)

Some say the world will end in fire,

Some say in ice.

From what I've tasted of desire

I hold with those who favor fire.

But if it had to perish twice,

I think I know enough of hate

To say that for destruction ice

Is also great

And would suffice.


Arief Nur Rohman H


Siti Nurjanah Solitude (By Ella Wheeler Wilcox)

Laugh, and the world laughs with you; Weep, and you weep alone. For the sad old earth must borrow it's mirth, But has trouble enough of its own. Sing, and the hills will answer; Sigh, it is lost on the air. The echoes bound to a joyful sound, But shrink from voicing care. Rejoice, and men will seek you; Grieve, and they turn and go. They want full measure of all your pleasure, But they do not need your woe. Be glad, and your friends are many; Be sad, and you lose them all. There are none to decline your nectared wine, But alone you must drink life's gall. Feast, and your halls are crowded; Fast, and the world goes by. Succeed and give, and it helps you live, But no man can help you die. There is room in the halls of pleasure For a long and lordly train, But one by one we must all file on Through the narrow aisles of pain.


Ahmad Dwi Ardiansyah I’m not lonely (by Nikki Giovanni)

i’m not lonely

sleeping all alone

you think i’m scared

but i’m a big girl

i don’t cry

or anything

i have a great

big bed

to roll around

in and lots of space

and i don’t dream

bad dreams

like i used

to have you

were leaving me

anymore

now that you’re gone

i don’t dream

and no matter

what you think

i’m not lonely

sleeping

all alone


Renny Fitriya


Arga Brahmaditya This is Just to Say by William Carlos Williams I have eaten the plums that were in the icebox and which you were probably saving for breakfast Forgive me they were delicious so sweet and so cold


Fatih Fahmi

Poison by Melissa Roberts

Words that need to be spoken should not accumulate inside. The hurt, pain or jealousy a person feels can not hide.

Sorrow and anger can be and will be suppressed. But this only leads to a person feeling depressed.

Anger is a deadly toxin in which the body it flows. When it takes over limb by limb, everyone knows.

The body - The mind controls and manipulates. As the poison enters the veins and circulates.

When the poison reaches the heart it's too late. Disastrous emotions take over such as revenge and hate.

The antidote to cure these emotions, is not so hard to find. We must search to learn to control our spirited bodies and minds.


Hamdi Mohamad A Mermaid Questions God by Kelli Russell Agodon As a girl, she hated the grain of anything on her fins. Now she is part fire ant, part centipede. Where dunes stretch into pathways, arteries appear. Her blood pressure is temperature plus wind speed. Where religion is a thousand miles of coastline, she is familiar with moon size, with tide changes. She wears the cream of waves like a vestment, knows undertow is imaginary, not something to pray to. Now her questions involve fairytales, begin in a garden and lead to hands painted on a chapel's ceiling. She wants to hold the ribbon grass, the shadow of angels across the shore. She steals a Bible from the Seashore Inn; she will trust it only if it floats.


Lindiyah Kumayanti

Somewhere I Have Never Travelled,Gladly Beyond

by E. E. Cummings

somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond any experience,your eyes have their silence: in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me, or which i cannot touch because they are too near your slightest look easily will unclose me though i have closed myself as fingers, you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens (touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose or if your wish be to close me, i and my life will shut very beautifully ,suddenly, as when the heart of this flower imagines the snow carefully everywhere descending; nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals the power of your intense fragility:whose texture compels me with the color of its countries, rendering death and forever with each breathing (i do not know what it is about you that closes and opens;only something in me understands the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses) nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands Erlis Taqwaulis Tias


Anne Hathaway by Carol Ann Duffy from The World's Wife 'Item I gyve unto my wife my second best bed ...' (from Shakespeare's will) The bed we loved in was a spinning world of forests, castles, torchlight, clifftops, seas where we would dive for pearls. My lover's words were shooting stars which fell to earth as kisses on these lips; my body now a softer rhyme to his, now echo, assonance; his touch a verb dancing in the centre of a noun. Some nights, I dreamed he'd written me, the bed a page beneath his writer's hands. Romance and drama played by touch, by scent, by taste. In the other bed, the best, our guests dozed on, dribbling their prose. My living laughing love - I hold him in the casket of my widow's head as he held me upon that next best bed. Ernanda Ari Nuriar


the Wasteland By T S Eliot April is the cruelest month, breeding Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing Memory and desire, stirring Dull roots with spring rain. Winter kept us warm, covering Earth in forgetful snow, feeding A little life with dried tubers. Summer surprised us, coming over the Starnbergersee With a shower of rain; we stopped in the colonnade, And went on in sunlight, into the Hofgarten, And drank coffee, and talked for an hour. Daud Firdaus


The Widow's Lament in Springtime

by William Carlos Williams Sorrow is my own yard where the new grass flames as it has flamed often before but not with the cold fire that closes round me this year. Thirtyfive years I lived with my husband. The plumtree is white today with masses of flowers. Masses of flowers load the cherry branches and color some bushes yellow and some red but the grief in my heart is stronger than they for though they were my joy formerly, today I notice them and turn away forgetting. Today my son told me that in the meadows, at the edge of the heavy woods in the distance, he saw trees of white flowers. I feel that I would like to go there and fall into those flowers and sink into the marsh near them. Hesti Wijayanti

http://www.poets.org/poet.php/prmPID/119


Rizkiyah Dwi Hardiastuti


Because I could not stop for death By Emily Dickinson Because I could not stop for Death, He kindly stopped for me; The carriage held but just ourselves And Immortality.

We slowly drove, he knew no haste, And I had put away My labor, and my leisure too, For his civility.

We passed the school, where children strove At recess, in the ring; We passed the fields of gazing grain, We passed the setting sun.

Or rather, he passed us; The dews grew quivering and chill, For only gossamer my gown, My tippet only tulle.

We paused before a house that seemed A swelling of the ground; The roof was scarcely visible, The cornice but a mound.

Since then 'tis centuries, and yet each Feels shorter than the day I first surmised the horses' heads Were toward eternity.

Ragil Dzuryansyah R


The Mask by Wolfgirl

A mask of plastic happiness often covers her sadness Her beliefs hidden from most Afraid of, but willing to face the unknown Wondering where her place is in this life She has come close to sharing herself Never completely revealing anything to anyone Feelings of invisible chains corner her When she dreams, reality shatters before her very eyes Accomplishments she strives for just at hands grasp She feels lost sometimes, not yet finding her notch in this world At times the glimmer in her calm eyes slowly disappears But within her heart a silent flame burns her inside and out She roams day by day, playing roles Strength unknowingly resides in her History repeats itself once again The translucent veil she so proudly wears Little by little answers will come, pushing it aside One day there will be no more mask for her to wear One day her beliefs will be known One day she'll know her place in this life One day she will share herself ONE DAY this mask will be NO MORE Salsabila Nadira


Having a Coke with You by Frank O’hara is even more fun than going to San Sebastian, Irún, Hendaye, Biarritz, Bayonne or being sick to my stomach on the Travesera de Gracia in Barcelona partly because in your orange shirt you look like a better happier St. Sebastian partly because of my love for you, partly because of your love for yoghurt partly because of the fluorescent orange tulips around the birches partly because of the secrecy our smiles take on before people and statuary it is hard to believe when I’m with you that there can be anything as still as solemn as unpleasantly definitive as statuary when right in front of it in the warm New York 4 o’clock light we are drifting back and forth between each other like a tree breathing through its spectacles and the portrait show seems to have no faces in it at all, just paint you suddenly wonder why in the world anyone ever did them I look at you and I would rather look at you than all the portraits in the world except possibly for the Polish Rider occasionally and anyway it’s in the Frick which thank heavens you haven’t gone to yet so we can go together the first time and the fact that you move so beautifully more or less takes care of Futurism just as at home I never think of the Nude Descending a Staircase or at a rehearsal a single drawing of Leonardo or Michelangelo that used to wow me and what good does all the research of the Impressionists do them when they never got the right person to stand near the tree when the sun sank or for that matter Marino Marini when he didn’t pick the rider as carefully as the horse it seems they were all cheated of some marvelous experience which is not going to go wasted on me which is why I am telling you about it Innayatul Istifaiyah


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 on to 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— I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.

Agnis Wahyu Utami

http://www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/robert-frost


Marianne Moor: “What Are Years?”

What is our innocence, what is our guilt? All are naked, none is safe. And whence is courage: the unanswered question, the resolute doubt, - dumbly calling, deafly listening-that in misfortune, even death, encourage others and in its defeat, stirs the soul to be strong? He sees deep and is glad, who accedes to mortality and in his imprisonment rises upon himself as the sea in a chasm, struggling to be free and unable to be, in its surrendering finds its continuing. So he who strongly feels, behaves. The very bird, grown taller as he sings, steels his form straight up. Though he is captive, his mighty singing says, satisfaction is a lowly thing, how pure a thing is joy. This is mortality, this is eternity. Nurul Hidayati


The Storm

By Mary Oliver

Now through the white orchard my little dog

romps, breaking the new snow

with wild feet.

Running here running there, excited,

hardly able to stop, he leaps, he spins

until the white snow is written upon

in large, exuberant letters,

a long sentence, expressing

the pleasures of the body in this world.

Oh, I could not have said it better

Muchammad


Alone

By Edgar Allan Poe

From childhood's hour I have not been As others were; I have not seen As others saw; I could not bring My passions from a common spring. From the same source I have not taken My sorrow; I could not awaken My heart to joy at the same tone; And all I loved, I loved alone. Then- in my childhood, in the dawn Of a most stormy life- was drawn From every depth of good and ill The mystery which binds me still: From the torrent, or the fountain, From the red cliff of the mountain, From the sun that round me rolled In its autumn tint of gold, From the lightning in the sky As it passed me flying by, From the thunder and the storm, And the cloud that took the form (When the rest of Heaven was blue) Of a demon in my view. Cahyo Saddono A Sight to Behold


Reflecting ourselves in the blood of all the beings we slay Misunderstand each other, out of control we remain There is a mystery, we're facing a sight to behold This is what we make of the world, we throw everything away The way we all behave is not understandable It is so sad to see the wealth of our planet fade away We all behave like children, taking off the head of our teddy bear to see what's inside, taking, not giving back We drain the oceans and suck all the blood out of the soil We spend the time we have left fighting and killing each other Lust for comfort, entertainment becomes an obsession And there is so much time to kill The way I see things is so simple The fact I'm walking standing on this land Exhausted is the realm of nature, friends are dying The living creatures on our side The way I see myself so confused so sophisticated I have to stay away from me But I still don't get the point What's worth destroying all the worlds Try not to get it anymore You burn yourself, set fire for good We die eyes closed, dig our own grave now Tossed in the blaze naked on the flame Lost with no pride, drowned in the filth The giant snake is coming down to eat our heads and the flood will kill us, Mantus is rising from under The way I see things is so simple The fact I'm living dying on this land Exhausted is the realm of nature, friends are dying The living creatures on our side The way I see myself so confused so sophisticated Don't have to stay away from me But I still don't get the point What's worth destroying all the worlds Try not to get it anymore Prisma Andrian Wicaksono Fire and Ice


Some say the world will end in fire, Some say in ice. From what I've tasted of desire I hold with those who favor fire. But if it had to perish twice, I think I know enough of hate To say that for destruction ice Is also great And would suffice. Baiq Amalia Sakinah

Life is fine


by Langston Hughes

I went down to the river, I set down on the bank.

I tried to think but couldn't, So I jumped in and sank.

I came up once and hollered!

I came up twice and cried! If that water hadn't a-been so cold

I might've sunk and died.

But it was Cold in that water! It was cold!

I took the elevator Sixteen floors above the ground.

I thought about my baby And thought I would jump down.

I stood there and I hollered!

I stood there and I cried! If it hadn't a-been so high

I might've jumped and died.

But it was High up there! It was high!

So since I'm still here livin', I guess I will live on.

I could've died for love-- But for livin' I was born

Though you may hear me holler,

And you may see me cry-- I'll be dogged, sweet baby, If you gonna see me die.

Life is fine! Fine as wine! Life is fine!

Andre Rheynaldi Immortality (BY LEIGH STEIN)

http://www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/leigh-stein


At the gym, they told me I would not die,

I would only get sexier, and I believed them.

I spent my nights wondering if this was going to turn

into something long-term, if this was what is meant by casual,

or if this was just my annual catastrophic disappointment

because if it wasn’t, then I would have to brace

myself. I took my medication and looked at pictures

of people who were not in love with me. I deleted

their names from my cache, said hello to my cat

over the phone, took more medication. Days

passed. I learned it’s hard to measure your own increasing

sexiness. I enlisted bystanders. I passed mirrors

and pretended they were not mirrors, but clean

windows, and I was not myself, I was

a clean stranger. Some days I was sure

she wanted to come home with me, and

I had to let her down easy, through the window,

like a priest. Once I’d been unleashed

from thoughts of my own death I was free

to be loved in the way I always knew I’d deserved:

reciprocally, in Fiji, our bodies lithe and bronzed

like gods, but at the same time I felt like a vampire,

and none of my friends could relate. They were jealous

of my book deal, my time spent at the ashram

while they were here, suffering another winter,

their unsexiness a flourescent sign that blinks all night.

Zainal Abidin


Devira Koenlan Ga P. Pantuom of the Great Depression (by Donald Justice)


Our lives avoided tragedy Simply by going on and on, Without end and with little apparent meaning. Oh, there were storms and small catastrophes. Simply by going on and on We managed. No need for the heroic. Oh, there were storms and small catastrophes. I don't remember all the particulars. We managed. No need for the heroic. There were the usual celebrations, the usual sorrows. I don't remember all the particulars. Across the fence, the neighbors were our chorus. There were the usual celebrations, the usual sorrows Thank god no one said anything in verse. The neighbors were our only chorus, And if we suffered we kept quiet about it. At no time did anyone say anything in verse. It was the ordinary pities and fears consumed us, And if we suffered we kept quiet about it. No audience would ever know our story. It was the ordinary pities and fears consumed us. We gathered on porches; the moon rose; we were poor. What audience would ever know our story? Beyond our windows shone the actual world. We gathered on porches; the moon rose; we were poor. And time went by, drawn by slow horses. Somewhere beyond our windows shone the actual world. The Great Depression had entered our souls like fog. And time went by, drawn by slow horses. We did not ourselves know what the end was. The Great Depression had entered our souls like fog. We had our flaws, perhaps a few private virtues. But we did not ourselves know what the end was. People like us simply go on. We had our flaws, perhaps a few private virtues, But it is by blind chance only that we escape tragedy. And there is no plot in that; it is devoid of people. Muhammad Havist Mahfush


Alone

By Edgar Allan Poe

From childhood's hour I have not been

As others were; I have not seen

As others saw; I could not bring

My passions from a common spring.

From the same source I have not taken

My sorrow; I could not awaken

My heart to joy at the same tone;

And all I loved, I loved alone.

Then- in my childhood, in the dawn

Of a most stormy life- was drawn

From every depth of good and ill

The mystery which binds me still:

From the torrent, or the fountain,

From the red cliff of the mountain,

From the sun that round me rolled

In its autumn tint of gold,

From the lightning in the sky

As it passed me flying by,

From the thunder and the storm,

And the cloud that took the form

(When the rest of Heaven was blue)

Of a demon in my view.

Arif Himawan Tristanto


Making of a Poem

By William Marr

when his wife's warm gaze turns into an icicle

he knows there's a deep freeze on his own face

but before the bloom

of its first flower the earth must endure

a long long winter

so he once again attains though not without a qualm

a peace of mind and arduously awaits

the clear and crisp sound

ice breaking brows relaxing composedly he spreads out

a sheet of paper and puts down

his first word

Briza H Watraya


There is Another Sky

By Emily Dickinson

There is another sky, Ever serene and fair, And there is another sunshine, Though it be darkness there; Never mind faded forests, Austin, Never mind silent fields— Here is a little forest, Whose leaf is ever green; Here is a brighter garden, Where not a frost has been; In its unfading flowers I hear the bright bee hum: Prithee, my brother, Into my garden come!

the poems for final presentation – poetry ii c class filethe poems for final presentation –...

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