Does anyone have any suggestions on a poem concerning reflecting on life or self? Or maybe something with water or mirror reflections? I'm having a difficult time finding something that suits what I would like to use so any suggestions or ideas are welcome.
This is really a song, but it reads quite well even without music.
Icarus by Ann Lister
I never wanted to fly high
I was too fond of walking
And when you said you'd touch the sky
I thought it was your way of talking
And then you said you'd build some wings
And find out how it could be done
But I was doubtful of everything
I never thought you'd reach the sun
You were so clever with your hands
I'd watch you for hours
With the glue and the rubber bands
Feathers and lace and flowers
And the finished wings they glowed so bright
Like some bird of glory
I began to envy you your flight
Like some old hero's story
You tried to get me to go with you
You tried all ways to dare me
But I looked at the sky so blue
I thought the height would scare me
But I carried your wings for you
Up the path to the cliff face
Kissed you goodbye and watched your eyes
Already bright with sunlight
Oh it was so grand at the start
To watch you soaring higher
There was a pain deep in my heart
The wings seemed tipped with fire
Like a seagull or a lark
Rising up forever
Like some ember or some spark
Rising from earth to heaven
Then I believed you'd touch the sun
I believed all you told me
Do a thing no man has ever done
You'd touch the stars to please me
But then I saw the white wings fail
Then I saw the feathers falter
Watched you drop like a bowl of gold
Into the wide green water
Now some are born to fly high
And some are born to follow
Some are born to touch the sky
While some walk in the hollow
And as I watched your body fall
I knew that really you had won
For your grave was not the earth
But the reflection of the sun
Since I have no idea what it is you want to do, I have no way of knowing if this would be suitable or not.
I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions.
What ever you see I swallow immediately
Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike .
I am not cruel, only truthful---
The eye of a little god, four-cornered.
Most of the time I meditate on the opposite wall.
It is pink, with speckles. I have looked at it so long
I think it is a part of my heart. But it flickers.
Faces and darkness separate us over and over.
Now I am a lake. A woman bends over me,
Searching my reaches for what she really is.
Then she turns to those liars, the candles or the moon.
I see her back, and reflect it faithfully.
She rewards me with tears and an agitation of hands.
I am important to her. She comes and goes.
Each morning it is her face that replaces the darkness.
In me she has drowned a young girl, and in me an old woman
Rises toward her day after day, like a terrible fish.
-- Sylvia Plath
No mirrors in this, but good "reflections":
IF I had my life to live over, I'd try to make more mistakes next time. I would relax. I would limber up. I would be sillier than I have been this trip. I know of very few things I would take seriously. I would be crazier. I would be less hygienic. I would take more chances. I would take more trips. I would climb more mountains, swim more rivers and watch more sunsets. I would burn more gasoline. I would eat more ice cream and fewer beans. I would have more actual problems and fewer imaginary ones. You see, I am one of those people who live prophylactically and sensibly and sanely, hour after hour, day after day. Oh, I have had my moments, and if I had it to do again, I'd have more of them. In fact, I'd have nothing else. Just moments, one after another, instead of living so many years ahead of each day. I have been one of those people who never go anywhere without a thermometer, a hot water bottle, a gargle, a raincoat, and a parachute. If I had it to do over again, I would go places and do things and travel ligher than I have.
IF I had my life to live over, I would start barefoot earlier in the spring and stay that way later in the fall. I would play hooky more. I wouldn't make such good grades except by accident. I would ride on more merry-go-rounds. I'd pick more daisies.
IF you hold your nose to the grindstone rough and hold it down there long enough, you'll soon forget there are such things as brooks that babble and a bird that sings. These three things will your world compose: Just you, and a stone, and your darned old nose!
(anonymous, I think -- found at [www.stmonica.cc] )
A passage from Walt Whitman's LEAVES OF GRASS:
This Day, O Soul
THIS day, O Soul, I give you a wondrous mirror;
Long in the dark, in tarnish and cloud it lay—But the cloud has pass’d, and the tarnish gone;
... Behold, O Soul! it is now a clean and bright mirror,
Faithfully showing you all the things of the world.
from Spoon River Anthology. 1916.
by Edgar Lee Masters (1868–1950)
MY mind was a mirror:
It saw what it saw, it knew what it knew.
In youth my mind was just a mirror
In a rapidly flying car,
Which catches and loses bits of the landscape.
Then in time
Great scratches were made on the mirror,
Letting the outside world come in,
And letting my inner self look out.
For this is the birth of the soul in sorrow,
A birth with gains and losses.
The mind sees the world as a thing apart,
And the soul makes the world at one with itself.
A mirror scratched reflects no image—
And this is the silence of wisdom.
I'd eat more ice cream… if I had my life over… I'd pick more daisies - this poem is most certainly not anonymous.
The earliest version was published in Readers Digest in October 1953, written by Don Herold (1889-1966), American author and humorist. However, the text has been extensively plagiarised and altered, and many different versions exist, attributed to many different authors. For a full discussion on the text and its origins, see Benjamin Rossen, (2000) "Who Would Pick More Daisies; A study of Plagiarism and Foolery on the Internet." Benjamin Rossen's Home Pages on the Internet and e-book of the same title. (http://www.benjaminrossen.com/ indexframesetdaisies.htm).
The following version (taken from Benjamin Rossen's article) is a generic composite. It was adapted in 1999 by Rossen's niece, based on the adaptations by "Nadine Stair" and "Brother Jeremiah". It was made by choosing the most elegant sentence from each of the several versions, with a preference for the Don Herold original, all things being equal.
If I Had My Life Over I'd Pick More Daisies
If I had my life over, I would dare to make more mistakes.
I would relax.
I would limber up.
I would be sillier than I have been on this trip.
I would take fewer things seriously.
I would take more chances.
I would go more places.
I would climb more mountains, swim more rivers, and watch more sunsets.
I would eat more ice cream and fewer beans.
I would have more real troubles and fewer imaginary ones.
You see, I have been one of those people who live prudently and prophylactically, hour after hour, day after day. Oh, I've had my moments; and if I had to do it again I would have more of them; one after another, instead of living so many years ahead of each day.
I have been one of those people who never go anywhere without aspirin, a thermometer, a gargle, a map, a raincoat and a parachute. If I had to do it over, I would travel lighter.
I would start barefoot earlier in the spring and stay that way later in the fall.
I would play hooky more.
I would keep later hours.
I would have more lovers.
I would throw more parties.
I would ride more merry-go-rounds.
I'd pick more daisies.
(Thanks to Ian Baillieu.)
Copyright 1988 L E Lawrence Sr.
Mirror Of Camelot
Each recurring season, in logs glowing ember,
As fonder days of yore stir wonderment of thought,
My mind strokes minion thread seasoning hath wrought;
Searching mid-age back through youth, to it's December
Twilight still flickers 'til June from September.
Though struggle is given in thought ... I still cannot
Kindle the flames my feeble faculty forgot.
Stirring prime ember ... less to have … than to remember,
Bring fortuitously forth your fancies instead.
From obsequious fountainheads of pomp we fled,
Paint a vision surreal to stimulate my own.
Let nostalgic tears bathe clear, such visages shown.
May sweet halls of ivy reflect in yon pool,
Where fancied we an age; beyond that stage of school,
Well done, Tigermonkey!!!
The Girl In The Pond
The girl's imprint runs
in the pond.
Cattails and reeds
shadow the iris.
Her image is lost
in thoughts and deeds.
Like prayers of nuns
spent on the wind,
reckless of needs
and filled with promise;
having no thought of cost,
she sows bright seeds.
dlc Dec 02
The poem that I am looking for starts as follows:
From graceful lilies pure and white, God fashioned lovely skin foget me nots
he chose for eyes then formed your baby chin.
Here you go:
From graceful lilies pure and white,
God fashioned lovely skin,
Forget me nots he chose for eyes,
Then formed your baby chin.
He took a tulip bright and red -
'Twas one that did not fade;
A softer, sweeter little mouth
Before was never made.
Another flower next He used -
A rosebud, pink and fair;
Touched it to your dimpled cheeks
And bade it blossom there.
Then with His magic fingers picked
Two morning glories white;
Curled and shaped your little ears,
Soon they were fastened tight.
That crowning bit of golden down
Will soon become your hair;
He gathered pollen from the flowers,
And sprinkled it with care.
For dainty little fingers dear
And precious, tiny toes,
He used slender daisy frills;
A snowdrop made your nose.
This world and all within it
He created here for man;
But Baby was "God's Masterpiece"
Since time and life began!
~by Dora Dinsmore~
I'm looking for a poem about reflecting on love. I cant remember the words but its about a person who explains thier feelings for someone else and that they never express those fellings. The poem ends with the other person saying that they felt the same way but for some reason it was too late.
going back to tena's original query, one of the most famous and easiest poems with a mirror as a central character is Tennyson's Lady of Shallot
'Personal Helicon' by Seamus Heaney, discussed at length in the Homework Assistance page, would qualify as a poem with water and reflections.