{"version":1,"type":"rich","provider_name":"Libsyn","provider_url":"https:\/\/www.libsyn.com","height":90,"width":600,"title":"Special Episode: Poetry Share!","description":"Some of you may remember a few years back when I uploaded a reading of "The Velveteen Rabbit."  That was a recording I had made for librivox.org, an online archive of literary works in the public domain, recorded by volunteers all over the world.  Recently I recorded a few poems for an anthology they were putting together and I thought I'd share them with you. I hope you enjoy them! I've included the text below. The Indian Burying Ground - Philip Freneau In spite of all the learned have said,     I still my old opinion keep; The posture, that we give the dead,     Points out the soul's eternal sleep. Not so the ancients of these lands\u2014     The Indian, when from life released, Again is seated with his friends,     And shares again the joyous feast. His imaged birds, and painted bowl,     And venison, for a journey dressed, Bespeak the nature of the soul,     Activity, that knows no rest. His bow, for action ready bent,     And arrows, with a head of stone, Can only mean that life is spent,     And not the old ideas gone. Thou, stranger, that shalt come this way,     No fraud upon the dead commit\u2014 Observe the swelling turf, and say     They do not lie, but here they sit. Here still a lofty rock remains,     On which the curious eye may trace (Now wasted, half, by wearing rains)     The fancies of a ruder race. Here still an aged elm aspires,     Beneath whose far-projecting shade (And which the shepherd still admires)     The children of the forest played! There oft a restless Indian queen     (Pale Shebah, with her braided hair) And many a barbarous form is seen     To chide the man that lingers there. By midnight moons, o'er moistening dews;     In habit for the chase arrayed, The hunter still the deer pursues,     The hunter and the deer, a shade! And long shall timorous fancy see     The painted chief, and pointed spear, And Reason's self shall bow the knee     To shadows and delusions here. (More about this poem) Miracles - Walt Whitman Why, who makes much of a miracle? As to me I know of nothing else but miracles, Whether I walk the streets of Manhattan,     Or dart my sight over the roofs of houses toward the sky,     Or wade with naked feet along the beach just in the edge of the water, Or stand under trees in the woods, Or talk by day with any one I love, or sleep in the bed at night with any one I love, Or sit at table at dinner with the rest, Or look at strangers opposite me riding in the car, Or watch honey-bees busy around the hive of a summer forenoon, Or animals feeding in the fields, Or birds, or the wonderfulness of insects in the air, Or the wonderfulness of the sundown, or of stars shining so quiet and bright, Or the exquisite delicate thin curve of the new moon in spring; These with the rest, one and all, are to me miracles, The whole referring, yet each distinct and in its place. To me every hour of the light and dark is a miracle, Every cubic inch of space is a miracle, Every square yard of the surface of the earth is spread with the same, Every foot of the interior swarms with the same. To me the sea is a continual miracle, The fishes that swim\u2014the rocks\u2014the motion of the waves\u2014the         ships with men in them, What stranger miracles are there?(More about this poem as well as an extended version!)   Little Orphant Annie - James Whitcomb Riley Little Orphant Annie\u2019s come to our house to stay, An\u2019 wash the cups an\u2019 saucers up, an\u2019 brush the crumbs away, An\u2019 shoo the chickens off the porch, an\u2019 dust the hearth, an\u2019 sweep, An\u2019 make the fire, an\u2019 bake the bread, an\u2019 earn her board-an\u2019-keep; An\u2019 all us other childern, when the supper things is done, We set around the kitchen fire an\u2019 has the mostest fun A-list\u2019nin\u2019 to the witch-tales \u2018at Annie tells about, An\u2019 the Gobble-uns \u2018at gits you              Ef you                 Don\u2019t                    Watch                       Out! Onc\u2019t they was a little boy wouldn\u2019t say his prayers,\u2014 So when he went to bed at night, away up stairs, His Mammy heerd him holler, an\u2019 his Daddy heerd him bawl, An\u2019 when they turn\u2019t the kivvers down, he wasn\u2019t there at all! An\u2019 they seeked him in the rafter-room, an\u2019 cubby-hole, an\u2019 press, An\u2019 seeked him up the chimbly-flue, an\u2019 ever\u2019wheres, I guess; But all they ever found was thist his pants an' roundabout-- An\u2019 the Gobble-uns\u2019ll git you              Ef you                 Don\u2019t                    Watch                       Out! An\u2019 one time a little girl \u2018ud allus laugh an\u2019 grin, An\u2019 make fun of ever\u2019one, an\u2019 all her blood an\u2019 kin; An\u2019 onc\u2019t, when they was \u201ccompany,\u201d an\u2019 ole folks was there, She mocked \u2018em an\u2019 shocked \u2018em, an\u2019 said she didn\u2019t care! An\u2019 thist as she kicked her heels, an\u2019 turn\u2019t to run an\u2019 hide, They was two great big Black Things a-standin\u2019 by her side, An\u2019 they snatched her through the ceilin\u2019 \u2018fore she knowed what she\u2019s about! An\u2019 the Gobble-uns\u2019ll git you              Ef you                 Don\u2019t                    Watch                       Out!An\u2019 little Orphant Annie says when the blaze is blue, An\u2019 the lamp-wick sputters, an\u2019 the wind goes woo-oo! An\u2019 you hear the crickets quit, an\u2019 the moon is gray, An\u2019 the lightnin\u2019-bugs in dew is all squenched away,-- You better mind yer parents, an\u2019 yer teachers fond an\u2019 dear, An\u2019 churish them \u2018at loves you, an\u2019 dry the orphant\u2019s tear, An\u2019 he\u2019p the pore an\u2019 needy ones \u2018at clusters all about, Er the Gobble-uns\u2019ll git you              Ef you                 Don\u2019t                    Watch                       Out! (More about this poem) Music for this episode by Kevin MacLeod, public domain. ","author_name":"Flies in the Kitchen","author_url":"http:\/\/fitkpod.libsyn.com\/website","html":"