The Sound of the Trees (Robert Frost)

I wonder about the trees.
Why do we wish to bear
Forever the noise of these
More than another noise
So close to our dwelling place?
We suffer them by the day
Till we lose all measure of pace,
And fixity in our joys,
And acquire a listening air.
They are that that talks of going
But never gets away;
And that talks no less for knowing,
As it grows wiser and older,
That now it means to stay.
My feet tug at the floor
And my head sways to my shoulder
Sometimes when I watch trees sway,
From the window or the door.
I shall set forth for somewhere,
I shall make the reckless choice
Some day when they are in voice
And tossing so as to scare
The white clouds over them on.
I shall have less to say,
But I shall be gone.

In this poem, Frost is describing the permanece of trees, but in reality, he is really meaning the permanece of a loved one that is always there. When talking of bearing the noise of these trees, he refers to the advice form a wise person that we take for granted in our lives. As we grow older, we begin listening to them with interest. As time passes, we begin to wish to leave and make our own way and make our own mistakes. As we leave home to enter the real world, the trees are still there, talking and making comments, even though we are not there any longer to hear or listen to it.

A Dream Within A Dream (Edgar Allan Poe)

Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow-
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand-
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep- while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?

This poem is a reflection of Poe's thoughts/delusions that life was nothing more than a dream. The beginning has the feel of a dream and he even says that his days have been a dream. Throughout, he is questioning the reality of life, not knowing what is real and what isn't. Towards the end, he is dreaming of looking forward to the horizon, giving up hope that anything has been real, be it life, love, or anything one could imagine. He wants to keep hold of his dreams, but in the end, he sees that his dreams mean nothing, as they are only within another dream.

Lady Lazarus (Sylvia Plath)

I have done it again.
One year in every ten
I manage it--

A sort of walking miracle, my skin
Bright as a Nazi lampshade,
My right foot

A paperweight,
My face a featureless, fine
Jew linen.

Peel off the napkin
O my enemy.
Do I terrify?--

The nose, the eye pits, the full set of teeth?
The sour breath
Will vanish in a day.

Soon, soon the flesh
The grave cave ate will be
At home on me

And I a smiling woman.
I am only thirty.
And like the cat I have nine times to die.

This is Number Three.
What a trash
To annihilate each decade.

What a million filaments.
The peanut-crunching crowd
Shoves in to see

Them unwrap me hand and foot--
The big strip tease.
Gentlemen, ladies

These are my hands
My knees.
I may be skin and bone,

Nevertheless, I am the same, identical woman.
The first time it happened I was ten.
It was an accident.

The second time I meant
To last it out and not come back at all.
I rocked shut

As a seashell.
They had to call and call
And pick the worms off me like sticky pearls.

Dying
Is an art, like everything else.
I do it exceptionally well.

I do it so it feels like hell.
I do it so it feels real.
I guess you could say I've a call.

It's easy enough to do it in a cell.
It's easy enough to do it and stay put.
It's the theatrical

Comeback in broad day
To the same place, the same face, the same brute
Amused shout:

'A miracle!'
That knocks me out.
There is a charge

For the eyeing of my scars, there is a charge
For the hearing of my heart--
It really goes.

And there is a charge, a very large charge
For a word or a touch
Or a bit of blood

Or a piece of my hair or my clothes.
So, so, Herr Doktor.
So, Herr Enemy.

I am your opus,
I am your valuable,
The pure gold baby

That melts to a shriek.
I turn and burn.
Do not think I underestimate your great concern.

Ash, ash--
You poke and stir.
Flesh, bone, there is nothing there--

A cake of soap,
A wedding ring,
A gold filling.

Herr God, Herr Lucifer
Beware
Beware.

Out of the ash
I rise with my red hair
And I eat men like air.

This poem is almost like a confession by the author. She shows an insight into herself and why she thinks the way she does. Her constant mentioning of Nazi germany and the Jews shows that she has some type of problem with her german and Austrian heritage. For some reason, she does not like it, going as far as comparing herself to a Nazi lampshade, which have been known to be made of the skin of murdered Jews. This shows she for some reason feels insignificant due to an unknown reason. In addition, she is constantly mentioning death and chances, which indicates that she expects to come back from the suicide attempts, which is how she died shortly after writing this poem.

Music: A Way of Expression

To many people, music expresses who they are in a way they simply cannot do simply through words. For the many music listeners out there, the music conveys what they are unable to say themselves. The type of music I listen to ranges from country to rock to rap, depending on my mood and the message sent out from the musicians. This music is the way for me to express my exact mood, be it happy, sad, or angry, without having to say a single word. Only the upbeat songs will played on my iPod when I’m in the best of moods and I’ll sing and dance along to it. When a bad mood comes along, I will only play the slow, sad songs that will do nothing but keep me in that mood. Of all of these things, a person must remember that not only the lyrics, but also the actual music that is the largest part is what can put a person into the best or worst of moods. That is what sets the scene for the lyrics; if the music is slow, the lyrics will also be slow and, most likely, sad. The upbeat tempos make way for faster lyrics and any one of a variety of moods.