'The Rose that Grew from Concrete'



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9th Grade Literature Poetry Packet

|"The Rose that Grew from Concrete" |"One Art" |

|by Tupac Amaru Shakur |by Elizabeth Bishop |

| | |

|Did u hear about the rose that grew from a crack |The art of losing isn't hard to master; |

|in the concrete |so many things seem filled with the intent |

|Proving nature's law is wrong it learned 2 |to be lost that their loss is no disaster. |

|walk with out having feet | |

|Funny it seems, but by keeping it's dreams, |Lose something every day. Accept the fluster |

|it learned 2 breathe fresh air. |of lost door keys, the hour badly spent. |

|Long live the rose that grew from concrete |The art of losing isn't hard to master. |

|when no one else even cared. | |

| |Then practice losing farther, losing faster: |

| |places, and names, and where it was you meant |

|"In the Event of My Demise" |to travel. None of these will bring disaster. |

|by Tupac Amaru Shakur | |

| |I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or |

|In the event of my Demise |next-to-last, of three loved houses went. |

|when my heart can beat no more |The art of losing isn't hard to master. |

|I Hope I Die For A Principle | |

|or A Belief that I had Lived 4 |I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster, |

|I will die Before My Time |some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent. |

|Because I feel the shadow's Depth |I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster. |

|so much I wanted 2 accomplish | |

|before I reached my Death |---Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture |

|I have come 2 grips with the possibility |I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident |

|and wiped the last tear from My eyes |the art of losing's not too hard to master |

|I Loved All who were Positive |though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster. |

|In the event of my Demise | |

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|"If" |"Maybe Dats Your Pwoblem Too" |

|by Rudyard Kipling |by James W. Hall |

| | |

|If you can keep your head when all about you |All my pwoblems |

|Are losing theirs and blaming it on you, |who knows, maybe evwybody's pwoblems |

|If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you |is due to da fact, due to da awful twuth |

|But make allowance for their doubting too, |dat I am SPIDERMAN. |

|If you can wait and not be tired by waiting, |I know.  I know.  All da dumb jokes: |

|Or being lied about, don't deal in lies, |No flies on you, ha ha, |

|Or being hated, don't give way to hating, |and da ones about what do I do wit all |

|And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise: |doze extwa legs in bed.  Well, dat's funny yeah. |

|If you can dream--and not make dreams your master, |But you twy being |

|If you can think--and not make thoughts your aim; |SPIDERMAN for a month or two.  Go ahead. |

|If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster |You get doze cwazy calls fwom da |

|And treat those two impostors just the same; |Gubbener askin you to twap some booglar who's |

|If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken |only twying to wip off color T.V. sets. |

|Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools, |Now, what do I cawre about T.V. sets? |

|Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken, |But I pull on da suit, da stinkin suit, |

|And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools: |wit da sucker cups on da fingers, |

|If you can make one heap of all your winnings |and get my wopes and wittle bundle of |

|And risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss, |equipment and den I go flying like cwazy |

|And lose, and start again at your beginnings |acwoss da town fwom woof top to woof top. |

|And never breath a word about your loss; |Till der he is.  Some poor dumb color T.V. slob |

|If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew |and I fall on him and we westle a widdle |

|To serve your turn long after they are gone, |until I get him all woped.  So big deal. |

|And so hold on when there is nothing in you |You tink when you SPIDERMAN |

|Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!" |der's sometin big going to happen to you. |

|If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue, |Well, I tell you what.  It don't happen dat way. |

|Or walk with kings--nor lose the common touch, |Nuttin happens.  Gubbener calls, I go. |

|If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you; |Bwing him to powice, Gubbener calls again, |

|If all men count with you, but none too much, |like dat over and over. |

|If you can fill the unforgiving minute |I tink I twy sometin diffunt.  I tink I twy |

|With sixty seconds' worth of distance run, |sometin excitin like wacing cawrs.  Sometin to make |

|Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it, |my heart beat at a difwent wate. |

|And--which is more--you'll be a Man, my son! |But den you just can't quit being sometin like |

|[pic] |SPIDERMAN. |

| |You SPIDERMAN for life.  Fowever.  I can't even |

| |buin my suit.  It won't buin.  It's fwame wesistent. |

| |So maybe dat's youwr pwoblem too, who knows. |

| |Maybe dat's da whole pwoblem wif evwytin. |

| |Nobody can buin der suits, dey all fwame wesistent. |

| |Who knows? |

|"No Scar?" |"The Chameleon" |

|by Amy Carmichael |by Judith Otiz Cofer |

| | |

|Hast thou no scar? |I caught a chameleon |

|No hidden scar on foot, or side, or hand? |in my backyard, |

|I hear thee sung as mighty in the land; |and to amuse myself |

|I hear them hail thy bright, ascendant star. |moved him from a green leaf |

|Hast thou no scar? |to a tree's brown bark, |

| |then to my yellow porch |

|Hast thou no wound? |where he froze as himself |

|Yet I was wounded by the archers; spent, |his eyes on me as if waiting |

|Leaned Me against a tree to die; and rent |for me to change |

|By ravening beasts that compassed Me, I swooned. | |

|Hast thou no wound? |But I stayed the same. |

| | |

|No wound? No scar? |I stayed the same, |

|Yet, as the Master shall the servant be, |and kept him behind a screen |

|And piercèd are the feet that follow Me. |until he had shown me his rainbow, |

|But thine are whole; can he have followed far |until he had given me |

|Who hast no wound or scar? |every color he possessed. |

|  | |

|[pic] |Then I opened the door, |

| |but he wouldn't move. |

| |He just kept his eyes on me |

| |as if waiting for me to change. |

|"The Weary Blues" |"Booker T. and W.E.B." |

|by Langston Hughes |By Dudley Randall |

| | |

|Droning a drowsy syncopated tune, |"It seems to me," said Booker T., |

|Rocking back and forth to a mellow croon, |"It shows a mighty lot of cheek |

|I heard a Negro play. |To study chemistry and Greek |

|Down on Lenox Avenue the other night |When Mister Charlie needs a hand |

|By the pale dull pallor of an old gas light |To hoe the cotton on his land, |

|He did a lazy sway . . . |And when Miss Ann looks for a cook, |

|He did a lazy sway . . . |Why stick your nose inside a book?" |

|To the tune o' those Weary Blues. | |

|With his ebony hands on each ivory key |"I don't agree," said W.E.B. |

|He made that poor piano moan with melody. |"If I should have the drive to seek |

|O Blues! |Knowledge of chemistry or Greek, |

|Swaying to and fro on his rickety stool |I'll do it. Charles and Miss can look |

|He played that sad raggy tune like a musical fool. |Another place for hand or cook, |

|Sweet Blues! |Some men rejoice in skill of hand, |

|Coming from a black man's soul. |And some in cultivating land, |

|O Blues! |But there are others who maintain |

|In a deep song voice with a melancholy tone |The right to cultivate the brain." |

|I heard that Negro sing, that old piano moan-- | |

|"Ain't got nobody in all this world, |"It seems to me," said Booker T., |

|Ain't got nobody but ma self. |"That all you folks have missed the boat |

|I's gwine to quit ma frownin' |Who shout about the right to vote, |

|And put ma troubles on the shelf." |And spend vain days and sleepless nights |

| |In uproar over civil rights. |

|Thump, thump, thump, went his foot on the floor. |Just keep your mouths shut, do not grouse, |

|He played a few chords then he sang some more-- |But work, and save, and buy a house." |

|"I got the Weary Blues | |

|And I can't be satisfied. |"I don't agree," said W.E.B. |

|Got the Weary Blues |"For what can property avail |

|And can't be satisfied-- |If dignity and justice fail? |

|I ain't happy no mo' |Unless you help to make the laws, |

|And I wish that I had died." |They'll steal your house with trumped-up clause. |

|And far into the night he crooned that tune. |A rope's as tight, a fire as hot, |

|The stars went out and so did the moon. |No matter how much cash you've got. |

|The singer stopped playing and went to bed |Speak soft, and try your little plan, |

|While the Weary Blues echoed through his head. |But as for me, I'll be a man." |

|He slept like a rock or a man that's dead. | |

|[pic] |"It seems to me," said Booker T.-- |

| | |

| |"I don't agree," |

| |Said W.E.B. |

|"No, Thank You, John." |so you're hunting for ann well i'm looking for will |

|by Christina Rossetti |by e.e. cummings |

| | |

|I never said I loved you, John: |"so you're hunting for ann well i'm looking for will" |

|Why will you teaze me day by day, |"did you look for him down by the old swimminghole" |

|And wax a weariness to think upon |"i'd be worse than a fool to have never looked there" |

|With always "do" and "pray"? | |

| |"it seems like i just heard your annabel screech |

|You know I never loved you, John; |have you hunted her down by the rasberry patch" |

|No fault of mine made me your toast: |i have hunted her low i have hunted her high |

|Why will you haunt me with a face as wan |and that pretty pink pinafore'd knock out your eye" |

|As shows an hour-old ghost? | |

| |"well maybe she's up to some tricks with my bill |

|I dare say Meg or Moll would take |as long as there's haymows you never can tell" |

|Pity upon you, if you'd ask: |"as long as there's ladies my annie is one |

|And pray don't remain single for my sake |nor she wouldn't be seen with the likes of your son" |

|Who can't perform that task. | |

| |"and who but your daughter i'm asking yes who |

|I have no heart?-Perhaps I have not; |but that sly little bitch could have showed billy how" |

|But then you're mad to take offence |"your bastard boy must have learned what he knows |

|That I don't give you what I have not got: |from his slut of a mother i rather suppose" |

|Use your own common sense. | |

| |"will's dad never gave me one cent in his life |

|Let bygones be bygones: |but he fell for a whore when he married his wife |

|Don't call me false, who owed not to be true: |and here is a riddle for you red says |

|I'd rather answer "No" to fifty Johns |it aint his daughter her father lays" |

|Than answer "Yes" to you. | |

| |"black hell upon you and all filthy men |

|Let's mar our pleasant days no more, |come annabel darling come annie come ann" |

|Song-birds of passage, days of youth: |"she's coming right now in the rasberry patch |

|Catch at today, forget the days before: |and 'twas me that she asked would it hurt too much |

|I'll wink at your untruth. | |

| |and 'twas me that looked up at my willy and you |

|Let us strike hands as hearty friends; |in the newmown hay and he telling you no" |

|No more, no less; and friendship's good: |"then look you down through the old swimminghole |

|Only don't keep in view ulterior ends, |there'll be slime in his eyes and a stone on his soul" |

|And points not understood | |

| |[pic] |

|In open treaty. Rise above | |

|Quibbles and shuffling off and on: | |

|Here's friendship for you if you like; but love,- | |

|No, thank you, John. | |

|"Lone Dog" |"The secretary chant" |

|by Louis Rutherford McLeod |by Marge Piercy |

| | |

|I'm a lean dog, a keen dog, a wild dog, and lone; |My hips are a desk. |

|I'm a rough dog, a tough dog, hunting on my own; |From my ears hang |

|I'm a bad dog, a mad dog, teasing silly sheep; |chains of paper clips. |

|I love to sit and bay the moon, to keep fat souls from sleep. |Rubber bands form my hair. |

| |My breasts are wells of mimeograph ink. |

|I'll never be a lap dog, licking dirty feet, |My feet bear casters. |

|A sleek dog, a meek dog, cringing for my meat, |Buzz. Click. |

|Not for me the fireside, the well-filled plate, |My head |

|But shut door, and sharp stone, and cuff and kick, and hate. |is a badly organized file. |

| |My head is a switchboard |

|Not for me the other dogs, running by my side, |where crossed lines crackle. |

|Some have run a short while, but none of them would bide. |My head is a wastebasket |

|O mine is still the lone trail, the hard trail, the best, |of worn ideas. |

|Wide wind, and wild stars, and hunger of the quest! |Press my fingers |

| |and in my eyes appear |

| |credit and debit. |

| |Zing. Tinkle. |

| |My naval is a reject button. |

| |From my mouth issue canceled reams. |

| |Swollen, heavy, rectangular |

| |I am about to be delivered |

| |of a baby |

|[pic] |xerox machine. |

| |File me under W |

| |because I wonce |

| |was |

| |a woman. |

| | |

"The Raven"

by Edgar Allen Poe

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,

Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,

While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,

As of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.

" 'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door;

Only this, and nothing more."

Ah, distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak December,

And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.

Eagerly I wished the morrow; vainly I had sought to borrow

From my books surcease of sorrow, sorrow for the lost Lenore,.

For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore,

Nameless here forevermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain

Thrilled me---filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;

So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,

" 'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door,

Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door.

This it is, and nothing more."

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,

"Sir," said I, "or madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;

But the fact is, I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,

And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,

That I scarce was sure I heard you." Here I opened wide the door;---

Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into the darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing

Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;

But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,

And the only word there spoken was the whispered word,

Lenore?, This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word,

"Lenore!" Merely this, and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,

Soon again I heard a tapping, something louder than before,

"Surely," said I, "surely, that is something at my window lattice.

Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore.

Let my heart be still a moment, and this mystery explore.

" 'Tis the wind, and nothing more."

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,

In there stepped a stately raven, of the saintly days of yore.

Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;

But with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door.

Perched upon a bust of Pallas, just above my chamber door,

Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,

By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,

"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven thou," I said, "art sure no craven,

Ghastly, grim, and ancient raven, wandering from the nightly shore.

Tell me what the lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore."

Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,

Though its answer little meaning, little relevancy bore;

For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being

Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door,

Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,

With such name as "Nevermore."

But the raven, sitting lonely on that placid bust, spoke only

That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.

Nothing further then he uttered; not a feather then he fluttered;

Till I scarcely more than muttered, "Other friends have flown before;

On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before."

Then the bird said, "Nevermore."

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,

"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store,

Caught from some unhappy master, whom unmerciful disaster

Followed fast and followed faster, till his songs one burden bore,---

Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore

Of "Never---nevermore."

But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,

Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;

Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking

Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore --

What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore

                                       Meant in croaking "Nevermore."

Thus I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing

To the fowl, whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;

This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining

On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o'er,

But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er

She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer

Swung by seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor.

"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee -- by these angels he hath

Sent thee respite---respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!

Quaff, O quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!"

Quoth the raven, "Nevermore!"

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!--prophet still, if bird or devil!

Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,

Desolate, yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted--

On this home by horror haunted--tell me truly, I implore:

Is there--is there balm in Gilead?--tell me--tell me I implore!"

Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil--prophet still, if bird or devil!

By that heaven that bends above us--by that God we both adore--

Tell this soul with sorrow laden, if, within the distant Aidenn,

It shall clasp a sainted maiden, whom the angels name Lenore---

Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels name Lenore?

Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."

"Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!" I shrieked, upstarting--

"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!

Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!

Leave my loneliness unbroken! -- quit the bust above my door!

Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!"

Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."

And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting

On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;

And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming.

And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;

And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor

Shall be lifted---nevermore!

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