The way an oyster does A Fragment by Kay Ryan www.csmonitor.com Her poems, [Kay Ryan] says, don't begin with a simple image or sound, but instead start "the way an oyster does, with an aggravation." An old saw may nudge her repeatedly, such as "It's always darkest before the dawn" or "Why did the chicken cross the road?" "I think, 'What about those chickens?' " she says, "and I start an investigation of what that means. Poets rehabilitate clichés." poetrymeaningcliché
Crown A Poem by Kay Ryan www.poetryfoundation.org Too much rain loosens trees. In the hills giant oaks fall upon their knees. You can touch parts you have no right to— places only birds should fly to. naturetreesmelancholytouch
The Sound Of Silence A Song by Paul Simon & Art Garfunkel www.simonandgarfunkel.com Hello darkness, my old friendThe flash of a neon lightAnd no one daredSilence like a cancer growsThe neon god they made Silence
Hello darkness, my old friend Hello darkness, my old friend I’ve come to talk with you again darknessmelancholy
The flash of a neon light In restless dreams I walked alone Narrow streets of cobblestone Beneath the halo of a streetlamp I turned my collar to the cold and damp When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light That split the night And touched the sound of silence streetsurbanismweather
And no one dared And in the naked light I saw Ten thousand people, maybe more People talking without speaking People hearing without listening People writing songs that voices never shared And no one dared Disturb the sound of silence communicationlistening
Silence like a cancer grows “Fools,” said I, “You do not know Silence like a cancer grows Hear my words that I might teach you Take my arms that I might reach you” But my words like silent raindrops fell And echoed in the wells of silence silencediseaserain