Rex+W



Joy in the Woods Claude McKay

There is joy in the woods just now, The leaves are whispers of song, And the birds make mirth on the bough And music the whole day long, And God! to dwell in the town In these springlike summer days, On my brow an unfading frown And hate in my heart always—

A machine out of gear, aye, tired, Yet forced to go on—for I’m hired.

Just forced to go on through fear, For every day I must eat And find ugly clothes to wear, And bad shoes to hurt my feet And a shelter for work-drugged sleep! A mere drudge! but what can one do? A man that’s a man cannot weep! Suicide? A quitter? Oh, no!

But a slave should never grow tired, Whom the masters have kindly hired.

But oh! for the woods, the flowers Of natural, sweet perfume, The heartening, summer showers And the smiling shrubs in bloom, Dust-free, dew-tinted at morn, The fresh and life-giving air, The billowing waves of corn And the birds’ notes rich and clear:—

For a man-machine toil-tired May crave beauty too—though he’s hired

He is saying that a slave longs for beauty. He likes the woods, and he enjoys being in them, even if its just for work. One poetic device that was used is, rhyme. For example, tired and hired.

Late september by: Charles Simic

The mail truck goes down the coast Carrying a single letter. At the end of a long pier The bored seagull lifts a leg now and then And forgets to put it down. There is a menace in the air Of tragedies in the making.

Last night you thought you heard television In the house next door. You were sure it was some new Horror they were reporting, So you went out to find out. Barefoot, wearing just shorts. It was only the sea sounding weary After so many lifetimes Of pretending to be rushing off somewhere And never getting anywhere.

This morning, it felt like Sunday. The heavens did their part By casting no shadow along the boardwalk Or the row of vacant cottages, Among them a small church With a dozen gray tombstones huddled close As if they, too, had the shivers

he is saying that everything is sad. or depressed. a poetic device that was used is similie. for example. this morning, it felt like sunday.