Since Valentine’s Day is next week, I thought I’d post a “love” poem this Friday. “Love Poem with Toast” isn’t exactly the typical kind of poem you’d find printed in a card to give your special loved one for the holiday of hearts.Love Poem With Toast
by Miller Williams
by Miller Williams
Some of what we do, we do
to make things happen,
the alarm to wake us up, the coffee to perc,
the car to start.
The rest of what we do, we do
trying to keep something from doing something,
the skin from aging, the hoe from rusting,
the truth from getting out.
With yes and no like the poles of a battery
powering our passage through the days,
we move, as we call it, forward,wanting to be wanted,
wanting not to lose the rain forest,
You can read the rest of the poem here.
At Wild Rose Reader, I have a review of J. Patrick Lewis’s poetry book Freedom Like Sunlight: Praisesongs for Black Americans, a list of several of my favorite picture book biographies of famous African Americans, and a suggestion for a classroom connection.
The Poetry Friday Roundup is at AmoXcalli this week.
At Wild Rose Reader, I have a review of J. Patrick Lewis’s poetry book Freedom Like Sunlight: Praisesongs for Black Americans, a list of several of my favorite picture book biographies of famous African Americans, and a suggestion for a classroom connection.
The Poetry Friday Roundup is at AmoXcalli this week.
8 comments:
This poem is a wonder -- the last stanza really nailed it. Thanks so much!
Jama,
I agree with you about the final stanza. I like the way the poem builds up to the ending.
I found this poem a while back and fell in love with the title, then read it and I just sat down and cried. It's a beautiful, heart wrenching poem that packs a powerful punch. Thank you for re-sharing it with me.
Oh, I really love that. Thanks for sharing.
Oh, this is heartbreaking.
Gina, Erin, Tadmack--
It is a powerful and heartbreaking poem--and yet written with such simple, unaffected language.
This poem is so sad to me... Even in the contrasts there seems little hope. That pretending at the end makes me want to turn away. Maybe I need to go back and read it again.
This poem reminds me of a conversation between my parents. He asked her if there was anything to complain about after 40+ years of marriage. All she could come up with was that he could butter her toast all the way out to the edges instead of just the middle. That story always makes me smile.
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