| |
| |
|
Poetry Information |
|
Biography of Charlotte Bronte
Charlotte Bronte (1816 -1855) Novelist and Poet. Charlotte was the daughter of the Rev. Patrick Bronte,with her sisters Emily and Anne, Charlotte was brought up in a small parsonage in the Yorkshire village of Haworth. Whilst still in her childhood the Bronte sisters lost their mother and as the eldest Charlotte took up the a role of looking out for her sisters Emily and Anne. Charlotte was described as: "the motherly friend and guardian of her younger sisters," The sisters had an unusual upringing in that their house overlooked the village graveyard. To escape from these surroundings and the loss of their mother they would often spend time creating stories of fantasy lands. These fantasy stories were often based on the soldiers of their strict, religious aunt, Elisabeth Branwell. Later in a poem Charlotte wrote: "We wove a web in childhood, / A web of sunny air." After various efforts as schoolmistresses and governesses, the sisters took to literature and published a volume of poems under the names of Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell Unfortunately these early publications were a commercial failure. However this did not deter Charlotte and she continued with her novels such as "The Professor" and "Jane Eyre". Jane Eyre proved to be tremendously popular with the public when it appeared in 1854. The novel has gained status as one of the classic's of English literature for its originality and strength of writing. Charlotte was married to her father's curate, the Rev. A. Nicholls, but after a short though happy married life she died in childbirth in 1855. Quote by Charlotte Bronte "Conventionality is not morality. Self-righteousness is not religion. To attack the first is not to assail the last. To pluck the mask from the face of the Pharisee is not to lift an impious hand to the Crown of Thorns. " Poem by Charlotte Bronte - LIFE Life, believe, is not a dreamSo dark as sages say;Oft a little morning rainForetells a pleasant day.Sometimes there are clouds of gloom,But these are transient all;If the shower will make the roses bloom,O why lament its fall ? Rapidly, merrily,Life's sunny hours flit by,Gratefully, cheerily,Enjoy them as they fly ! What though Death at times steps inAnd calls our Best away ?What though sorrow seems to win,O'er hope, a heavy sway ?Yet hope again elastic springs,Unconquered, though she fell;Still buoyant are her golden wings,Still strong to bear us well.Manfully, fearlessly,The day of trial bear,For gloriously, victoriously,Can courage quell despair ! Written for http://www.poetseers.org For More Female Poets http://www.poetseers.org/the_great_poets/female_poets/ Written by Richard Pettinger http://www.richardpettinger.com/
MORE RESOURCES: Unable to open RSS Feed $XMLfilename with error HTTP ERROR: 404, exiting |
|
|
|
RELATED ARTICLES
Three Love Poems [all wicked] Advance: Mr. Dennis Siluk's poetry can have its fire-hearted twists: as with 'Lovers'. Kens Poem How wonderfully sweet to be a dwellerdwelling on the road of goodbye.Bittersweet tears fall as I thinkof all the places I'll never see,all the faces I'll never know,all the joys I'll never share,as I head for the unknown. My Final Defeat - Fixed Competition She probably can't remember and I know I can never forget.. Its What She Didnt Say When I hear your voice inside my head it makes me think of you every single day as I fight back tears of sadness and wonder if you're okayMy life is empty without you I wish time would take away the pain but the ache in my heart persists and my simple hopes seem in vainI realize how much I hurt you and now I know it's too late to tell you how sorry I am and expect you not to hateI don't deserve a second chance to show you how much I care when you needed me the most I know I failed to be thereNow your trust in me is gone forever and I will never have the chance to say I really hope your dreams come true and happiness finds you every dayI would give almost anything in life if I could go back to that day and erase everything I said and did to make your heartache go awayWhat hurts the most is this is what you didn't say and the absence of these words haunt me each and every day.. Two Poems, with Figurative Language Says Mr. Dennis Siluk, when asked to review his poetry somewhat, for he hesitates all the time when I ask him to so; I can tell you. The Exit Poems [Iron and Fire & No Heroes] The Exit Poems [And Socrates]Iron and FireIron can be soften by fire-grows hard in the cold;and all the gates thereinare, as it was, closed again.So, often are those misled?by luxury and pride,who push humility aside-:thus, redemption their vanityand perfection their virtue?and in the end, they all collided. Rocks Take some time to stop and look at nature. Pick up a rock or two and think about where it might have started out and what it might have gone through to end up where you found it. I Hate The Wait (Weight) I get up in the morningAnd want to stay in bedOh, so nice and warmLike fresh from the oven bread.My day is oh so busyI wish that I could stayIn the quiet of my houseIf only I could play. Cruel World Azra, Azra,Wake up Azra.Wake up Azra,It is time to go. Hindu Poet - Kamalakanta Kamalakanta was born in Burdwan India in the late 18th Century. From an early age he expressed an interest in spirituality and later in life Kamalakanta received initiation into Tantric Yoga from a Tantric yogi named Kenaram Bhattacharya. Two Poems and a Short Story 1)dying in the bar[sluggishly]yet,I would crawl tooupto the bar,it was everything, the dampnessthe carved woodthe zoned-out-ness in my headdreaming; it was better than death?then I took another drink?so manyI never moved much, like dead fish.my head split like an assit was numb and, nothing else numbness was my homeacross the street, dancingon the patiothe moon was out. Preserving Dignity No one should have to beg or crawl before humanity. No one should have to scheme to procure philanthropy. Give Me a Lily Pad & The Continuum [two Poems] What can I do to keep this world in its orbital spin?I gave up trying to win the hearts of the many-.Throw the meat-balls against the wall, stop, stop!!Trying to make them spin, like God did in the heavens!Sexual longings-a pathway to anger and rage-Turn the page to the cheap hotels, turn the pageGive it a pathway to run, tell your friends, they've won. Ode, to the Mighty Midget Omac [In English and Spanish] Part OneMidget HistoryI am thirty-six inches tall, that is all-Honest to god I amMy hair is green, my eyes red, and IHave a very thick neckMy eyebrows are thin, and my beardHas three hairs?And I bore abuse, when I was youngYes! It happened to be; day by day??folks laugh at me, my appearanceYou see?I make them appalled.. Shaking out the Rugs [Following the Poet] Let's follow the poet to hisHell and heaven! Count hisGhosts and dilemma's?Reach out to touch hisStretched-out skies; let's followThe poet to see where he lays.Let's follow the poet to his end;To see if he can?whateverHe wants to do, do over again?. A Different Place... I wish we had met 20 years ago.. THe Monster Mash, A Graveyard SMASH (short story I wrote when I was 11) The Monster Mash The Graveyard SmashHave you heard of the Monster Mash? I suppose you know the story of how it came to be, right? Well, I'm here to tell the TRUE story to you.It sarted out late one night, when all monsters where out of human sight. The Man Who Could Not Say Sorry For His Sins Sorry would be a start.Though you cant take back your mistakes, and you cant unravel time,you'd think there would be remorse, for such a self serving crime,to send others out to die, to pay the blood price you have decreed,when its purely posturing and posing, all about vanity and greed,to secure a perceived niche in history, glowing down the years,is the extent of your ambition, is the puny limit of your fears,when those you have sent to die, believing implicitly in you,leave relatives behind who see, that nothing you said was true,there is no thought now for those, whose number you dont count,they are yesterdays forgotten, though daily they still mount,no thought of resignation, no apology to those left behind,just onward with the ego, fast forward from those times,as if nothing ever happened, as if your lies are quite ok,as if now is what to focus on, and then was another day,lost back in the mists of time, obscured by clouds half seen,not an affront to the living, not impeachable and obscene,you may want to move on now, and ignore your past infamy,but you should be tried for treason, and jailed for blasphemy. Portrait Of The Artist As A Young Dog Emlyn Williams Theatre, Mold, North Wales: 20th February 2003Clwyd Theatr Cymru commemorated the 50th anniversary of the death of the Welsh poet, Dylan Thomas (1914-1953) with a superb run of performances by a small but accomplished cast of actors.Described in the programme as "A theatrical journey through the prose writing of Dylan Thomas", the production was created by Tim Baker, an Associate of the Royal National Theatre, who won the Manchester Evening News Best Visiting Production award in 1992 for the highly acclaimed To Kill a Mockingbird. Barriers There are many times I set upbarriers and walls,invisible unless you come too close,And then you hit them.You wonder what happened.
|
| home | site map | contact us |