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There once was a time...when I longed to read classic poetry, I knew it was out there, but knew close to nothing about the authors. I just knew it was something many admired and studied even as adults, so I knew it held importance. I had always enjoyed poetry from a very young age (gags as this starts to sound like a Lue's life history lesson *sighs*..) I used to favor any book I had with poems or rhymes. Yes even starting out with Mother goose. (admits she memorized every single one of those rhymes..(*starts in with georgie porgy puddin' pie, kissed the girls and made them cry, when the boys went out to play, georgie porgy ran away....should I be worried that I still memorize them..till this day.. *shakes head yes*) anyways mother goose and any other book I could get my hands on with ryhmes consumed my attention. I would think it exciting and a challenge to memorize them..especially really long ones (which would make me think i was so...lil bad a**)  haha and when I really liked them I would turn them into songs, or try to recite them super fast. Yes I was a very odd crazy lil girl. As you have perhaps met the older version  ..
Skips all the unimportant details, and cuts and pastes the almost important ones*
Anyways, I never really sought anything other than what fell into my hands. For I had yet to realize all that was out in the literary world. I do remember writing my first Haiku in fith grade and it was about Winter. I can say, I was happy with what I came up with ..lol.. I really didn't write much at that age.only school assignments (that included a journal)...but for some reason I do remember all the things I did write, for school assignments. Like the essay about time machines, for some reason I landed in dinosuar era. What I remember most was having to describe this special stone, the colors the angles ectect My 5th grade teacher Ms. Hasegawa was an amazing teacher, especially when it came to writing. So my intrest and enthusiasm for writing was bred and reenergized. Even years later in school, I always would think back to what I learned in 5th grade english, go figure. Slowly, I did come to love writing more, but in those coming years I loved reading even more, as it had always been. Reading to me, as a kid and an adult was everything that has it has been labeled : "an escape". Reading got me through so much  *huggles closest book*
* comes back to fininsh entry*
I finally started writing little things here and there... one song when I was 12 after I got into trouble, a sappy friendship poem when I was 13.. ect ect little things. Then finally when I was 15 I finally needed to get out everything I could in the only way I could, by writing. I started writing poetry about random things and essays! I don't know why but I went crazy writing essays (on my own) getting out opinions and such. I had this book that my mom gave me, that she had in college, and I used that as my teaching tool *this was during a summer* and I finally felt like I was accomplishing something. That is were I decided writing was right up there with reading. Of course the more we read the better writers we are *learned/ heard that* By the time I was 17 I was filling out notebooks...and ecstatic to see any movie about writing.. like.I think at that time
my favorite movie was "Dangerous Minds"
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gIjLUKO7bRY with Michelle Pfieffer In fact it is still one of my favorite movies ever, not to mention it has one of the bestest soundtracks! It is actually on youtube too Dangerous Minds : http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cvEtX38Ik9k&feature=related PT1 (Will probably be watching it again soon)
Another movie I really liked was a movie called Annie B. Real (Stars or HBO..*unsure* ) I can;t find the trailer but it was a "Luis Moro Production" -
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XHF8-cM1n2E&feature=related
(ending) *shuuhhhh* - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uTC1uITgZ9k&feature=related
and then of course Freedom writers.. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uTC1uITgZ9k&feature=related and any other movie to do with writerssss stretched to a wide range of genres.
anywaysss.. then
It wasn't until I was..18 I finally got caught up in poems by Rabindranath Tagore, Christina Rossetti, Charlotte Bronte,William Butler Yeats, James Joyce, and a whole bunch of others. Loving everything I was reading, I finally understood why people took such intrest, I also got somthing out of the words they spoke and how they wrote them. The embodied every essence of the word poet..and I felt like I needed to keep reading. At the time I couldn't print my favorites out, (stupid printer) So I instead copied like probably over a hundred into a cloth covered journal I had gotten for my birthday. (Instead of going out to find and buy all the books .. and again I started testing my memorization skills..and I would look up the authors and learn a little about them trying to figure out how they came up with the ideas, thoughts, and images that they relayed in thier writngs. I found little things that stood out, or surprised me, which of course only made my intrest more invested. I guess the secret to the paragraph above was that I was turned on to these poems on accident..*coughtvhunkcough* hahah.. turns out he had a passion for poetry and write it himself, which was just as amazing haha anywaysss ..and since then I hve still been searching and learning of poets. There really are so many....and that's not even including the ones in languages I can't read!  There is so much to read, and so much to discover...*sighs*
Just a few of my Favorites:
Perhaps my favorite line in this, or words really.. are "passion put to use".. It kinda makes me think of how some do in fact have great passions...but..don't make anything of them, and don't follow them.. I think how much greater a person could be or feel if they did.
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.
Elizabeth Barret Browning
every single line and stanza in this poem I find amazingly worded
EVENING SOLACE
~ Charlotte Brontė
The human heart has hidden treasures,
In secret kept, in silence sealed;
The thoughts, the hopes, the dreams, the pleasures,
Whose charms were broken if revealed.
And days may pass in gay confusion,
And nights in rosy riot fly,
While, lost in Fame's or Wealth's illusion,
The memory of the Past may die.
But, there are hours of lonely musing,
Such as in evening silence come,
When, soft as birds their pinions closing,
The heart's best feelings gather home.
Then in our souls there seems to languish
A tender grief that is not woe;
And thoughts that once wrung groans of anguish,
Now cause but some mild tears to flow.
And feelings, once as strong as passions,
Float softly back as faded dream;
Our own sharp griefs and wild sensations,
The tale of others' sufferings seem.
Oh ! when the heart is freshly bleeding,
How longs it for that time to be,
When, through the mist of years receding,
Its woes but live in reverie!
And it can dwell on moonlight glimmer,
On evening shade and loneliness;
And, while the sky grows dim and dimmer,
Feel no untold and strange distress
Only a deeper impulse given
By lonely hour and darkened room,
To solemn thoughts that soar to heaven,
Seeking a life and world to come.
It took me awhile to understand the use of the repetition, and maybe the best line to me is the very last.
ARS POETICA
~ Archibald MacLeish
A poem should be palpable and mute
As a globed fruit
Dumb
As old medallions to the thumb
Silent as the sleeve-worn stone
Of casement ledges where the moss has grown--
A poem should be wordless
As the flight of birds
Apoem should be motionless in time
As the moon climbs
Leaving, as the moon releases
Twig by twig the night-entangled trees,
Leaving, the moon behind the winter leaves,
Memory by memory the mind--
A poem should be motinless in time
As the moon climbs
A poem should be equal to:
Not true
For all the history of grief
An empty doorway and a maple leaf
For love
The leaning grasses and two lights above the sea--
A poem should not mean
But be
I had left this entry...and come back.. so I think I lost alot of what I had been meaning to say...maybe I will come back and reedit if it comes back. 
Annyways I hope at least readers will enjoy the poems! Till the next entry ...bowchicabowwow...hmm... perhaps not the greatest goodbye..umm..till then..smile because you still have teeth?
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Content Rating Notice: Recommended for Readers 18 Years and Older Only
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