Welcome back to Poem For Your Thoughts! I hope you all enjoyed last week’s poem by Thomas Hardy. There were no comments on last week’s edition, but this week the rules change. If you are can correctly identify three literary elements used in my poem and provide a possible meaning in the comment section, you will be in the running for a cash prize! The person with the most accurate or intriguing analysis accompanied by three techniques will be crowned the lucky winner of up to $50.00! Good luck, and remember: “It is not what you look at that matters, it is what you see.” – Henry David Thoreau

Poem One: The Eagle by Alfred Lord Tennyson

He clasps the crag with crooked hands;
Close to the sun in lonely lands,
Ring’d with the azure world, he stands.

The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;
He watches from his mountain walls,
And like a thunderbolt he falls.

Thoughts: Quite the short poem this week, but an intriguing poem nonetheless. Tennyson takes us on the literal flight of an eagle in this poem, using intense imagery in only two short stanzas to show us what the eagle sees. There is a very triumphant and powerful tone that dominates the poem, building up the mighty eagle as he is perched on the mountainside. The very end of the poem is actually the climax, as this divine creature falls like a thunderbolt to soar through the sky. After that, it is up to the reader to decide what the eagle is doing. Is he searching for a nest? Has he spotted some defenseless prey? Let me know what you think in the comment section below!

Poem Two: Pieds en l’Air by D.C.

The inferno of the sky burns with a somber tone.

These hands write until their knuckles stiffen with white.

They furiously travel across the page like a wild stallion.

Fingertips galloping in a field of promiscuous paper.

Words, desperately describe the thoughts which they own.

Her imperfections are the definition of grace.

The call of her voice and gate of her run is the sense of elegance.

Her determined attitude and unrelenting drive defines charm.

Fragile yet ironclad, the goddess for which men ration dreams.

Intricate and diverse, like cream woven lace.

The grass gracefully slithers across my back above the soil.

My feet in the air, the constellations running through them.

My hand raises to pluck one from the ominous night sky.

A flawless gift for an exemplary young woman.

Dark eyes burn bright once more, the chance shall not spoil.

-D.C.

What did you think of Tennyson’s poem? How did my poem speak to you? Please let me know in the comment section below!