"Brook in Woods" by BierstadtPoetry Challenge: Short Response to a Classic Poem The Society July 12, 2025 Poetry, Poetry Challenge 13 Comments . In this poetry challenge, poet Roy E. Peterson challenges you to post a classic poem and a short, poetic response to it. See his example below. Post your choice of poem and poetic response in the comments below. Feel free to comment on others’ poems as well. . The Brook by Alfred, Lord Tennyson (1809-1892) I come from haunts of coot and hern, _I make a sudden sally, And sparkle out among the fern, _To bicker down a valley. By thirty hills I hurry down, _Or slip between the ridges, By twenty thorps, a little town, _And half a hundred bridges. Till last by Philip’s farm I flow _To join the brimming river, For men may come and men may go, _But I go on forever. I chatter over stony ways, _In little sharps and trebles, I bubble into eddying bays, _I babble on the pebbles. With many a curve my banks I fret _By many a field and fallow, And many a fairy foreland set _With willow-weed and mallow. I chatter, chatter, as I flow _To join the brimming river, For men may come and men may go, _But I go on forever. I wind about, and in and out, _With here a blossom sailing, And here and there a lusty trout, _And here and there a grayling, And here and there a foamy flake _Upon me, as I travel With many a silver water-break _Above the golden gravel, And draw them all along, and flow _To join the brimming river, For men may come and men may go, _But I go on forever. I steal by lawns and grassy plots, _I slide by hazel covers; I move the sweet forget-me-nots _That grow for happy lovers. I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance, _Among my skimming swallows; I make the netted sunbeam dance _Against my sandy shallows. I murmur under moon and stars _In brambly wildernesses; I linger by my shingly bars; _I loiter round my cresses; And out again I curve and flow _To join the brimming river, For men may come and men may go, _But I go on forever. _ _ A Hundred Brooks by Roy E. Peterson A hundred brooks a river grow That runneth to the sea While time and tides affect the flow As they have done to me. The stirring of the heavenly winds That mix with earthly clouds Lifts us above our human minds And rivers’ misty shrouds. _ _ Post your choice of classic poem and response in the comments below. NOTE TO READERS: If you enjoyed this poem or other content, please consider making a donation to the Society of Classical Poets. The Society of Classical Poets does not endorse any views expressed in individual poems or commentary. ***Read Our Comments Policy Here*** 13 Responses Roy Eugene Peterson July 12, 2025 1. In 2021, there was a challenge of using the first line of another poet’s poem. This challenge is different. For example, I have been inspired by one or two words in a poem. 2. This challenge is an opportunity for readers to learn about or remember some great poems from the past. 3. This challenge in a sense presents an opportunity by direct comparison to equal or exceed poems from the past. 4. There is no limit to the number of submissions in the Comments Section. Reply Roy Eugene Peterson July 12, 2025 Here is another example of a few that I will post. This one is perhaps the longest that should be posted: I’M NOBODY! WHO ARE YOU? By Emily Dickinson I’m Nobody! Who are you? Are you – Nobody – too? Then there’s a pair of us! Don’t tell! they’d banish us – you know! How dreary – to be – Somebody! How public – like a Frog – To tell your name – the livelong June – To an admiring Bog! I’M NOT PERFECT TOO By Roy E. Peterson I’m not perfect! What are you? Are you imperfect, too? What would the world think of us? They’d judge us if they knew. How dreary to be perfect. To never have a sin To only tell to other people The mess that they are in. If the faults are all you see, There’s no beauty in a tree. You’re preaching from a steeple. You’re too perfect for me. When I say I am a Christian I’m not bragging I am perfect. I am saying, thank you Lord, For loving me and every defect. So if you’re calling me imperfect, You are right, I’m just like you. The difference is in my salvation. I’ll be perfect when life is through. Reply Roy Eugene Peterson July 12, 2025 In the next one, I have a Poet Note of what inspired my poem. This is another one based on an Emily Dickinson poem: “HOPE” IS THE THING WITH FEATHERS By Emily Dickinson “Hope” is the thing with feathers – That perches in the soul – And sings the tune without the words – And never stops – at all – And sweetest – in the Gale – is heard – And sore must be the storm – That could abash the little Bird That kept so many warm – I’ve heard it in the chillest land – And on the strangest Sea – Yet – never – in Extremity, It asked a crumb – of me. FAITH IS THE FEATHERED ARROW By Roy E. Peterson When we are lost and lonely God rosins up his bow To give us hope and courage With fitting of an arrow. Faith is the feathered arrow That strikes deep in the soul; That whistles in the wilderness And gives our lives control. Poet Note: Inspired by the words, “the thing with feathers.” Reply Joseph S. Salemi July 12, 2025 NEWS ITEM (by Dorothy Parker) Men seldom makes passes At girls who wear glasses. A REPLY (by Joseph S. Salemi) You’re wrong — we’ll make passes At girls who wear glasses As long as they’re lasses With cute curvy asses. (This is slightly longer than the original, but I think it falls within the general parameters of the challenge.) Reply Roy Eugene Peterson July 12, 2025 Wonderful take! Perfect contribution. Reply Davis Saunders July 12, 2025 SWEET AND LOW by Alfred, Lord Tennyson Sweet and low, sweet and low, Wind of the western sea, Low, low, breathe and blow, Wind of the western sea! Over the rolling waters go, Come from the dying moon, and blow, Blow him again to me; While my little one, while my pretty one sleeps. Sleep and rest, sleep and rest, Father will come to thee soon; Rest, rest, on mother’s breast. Father will come to thee soon; Father will come to his babe in the nest, Silver sails all out of the west Under the silver moon: Sleep, my little one, sleep, my pretty one, sleep. WAKE AND RISE by Davis Saunders Wake and rise, wake and rise, Along with the morning sun; Rise, Rise, open thy eyes, Along with the morning sun; Father is coming, look out at the tide, Silver sails with father arrive, Now, his journey is done; Rise, my little one, rise my pretty one, rise. Reply Roy Eugene Peterson July 12, 2025 Davis, your poem is as inspiring as was Tennysons. It was almost like a song. Reply Brian Yapko July 12, 2025 Fascinating idea for a challenge, Roy. Here is William Blake’s “The Tyger” and my own responsive “Tyger” which was published here 5 years ago: The Tyger (William Blake) Tyger Tyger, burning bright, In the forests of the night; What immortal hand or eye, Could frame thy fearful symmetry? In what distant deeps or skies. Burnt the fire of thine eyes? On what wings dare he aspire? What the hand, dare seize the fire? And what shoulder, & what art, Could twist the sinews of thy heart? And when thy heart began to beat, What dread hand? & what dread feet? What the hammer? what the chain, In what furnace was thy brain? What the anvil? what dread grasp, Dare its deadly terrors clasp! When the stars threw down their spears And water’d heaven with their tears: Did he smile his work to see? Did he who made the Lamb make thee? Tyger Tyger burning bright, In the forests of the night: What immortal hand or eye, Dare frame thy fearful symmetry? The Tyger (Response by Brian Yapko) Tyger burning in my heart Would you cleave this world apart? What deep need for symmetry Can justify such zealotry? In what cauldron of the soul Burns this angry flame of dole? From what cave, what deep abyss This urge to turn the world amiss? Whence your prowling in my mind? Friends and foes alike maligned? Loud of roar, sharp of claw, Daring hate, decrying law? Fierce of eye, hot of breath, Why should you judge life and death? How can I my soul restore When you are crouching at my door? Do not pounce. Let anger cease. Though maddened, I admire peace. When the grave receives this shell I would avoid the hate of Hell. Tyger burning in my heart Let my anger cleave apart. Let me answer Heaven’s call For He who made the lamb made all. Reply Roy Eugene Peterson July 12, 2025 Brian, this poem is at least an equal to Blake’s poem in most eyes and surpasses it in mine. Blake’s was one of my old favorites! What a stirring message with captivating words. I am in awe. Reply Cynthia L Erlandson July 12, 2025 This is quite a profound take on “The Tyger,” Brian. Blake’s is one of my (many!) favorite poems, and you’ve done it more than justice. I wonder how many people have done takes on this one. The very first poem I had published at SCP, in 2020, was modeled after Blake’s “Tyger” (“Falcon, falcon, flying high….”) Reply Cynthia L Erlandson July 12, 2025 “Variations on a Time Theme” is a long, ten-part poem by Edwin Muir. I will quote the first few lines of Part III, after which (attempting to echo the sense of his whole poem), I not long ago wrote a few lines: “A child in Adam’s field I dreamed away My one eternity and hourless day, Ere from my wrist Time’s bird had learned to fly, Or I had robbed the Tree of which I die, Whose boughs rain still, whose fruit wave-green shall fall Until the last great autumn reddens all.” — Edwin Muir Until the last great autumn Displays its reddening sprawl — The leaves that drop first, blackening on the bottom — Family trees and people who begot them Continue to decay, with each life’s scroll Illegible, like fallen branches’ random scrawl. Reply Roy Eugene Peterson July 12, 2025 Beautifully done, Cynthia, as I knew you would do. The introduction really helped, as well. Reply Roy Eugene Peterson July 12, 2025 Most of you likely initially surmised “classic” can be a bit elastic. Perhaps “memorable” might be a good descriptor. Here is one of mine with a little humor based on an Ogden Nash poem that is perhaps more memorable for its humor than classical in the strictest sense. WINTER MORNING POEM By Ogden Nash Winter is the king of showmen, Turning tree stumps into snow men And houses into birthday cakes And spreading sugar over lakes. Smooth and clean and frosty white, The world looks good enough to bite. That’s the season to be young, Catching snowflakes on your tongue! Snow is snowy when it’s snowing. I’m sorry it’s slushy when it’s going. AUTUMN IS RETREAT OF SUMMER By Roy E. Peterson Autumn is retreat of summer Turning green grass into umber Leaves on trees change to gold and brown Trembling in fear of falling down. The world is brown sugar frosting. Harvesting becomes exhausting. Hiking trails have fallen silent. Hurricanes become violent. The kids are dressing up for school Wearing jackets, since now it’s cool. Big flocks of birds now fill the sky. Now what is that which stings my eye? 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Roy Eugene Peterson July 12, 2025 1. In 2021, there was a challenge of using the first line of another poet’s poem. This challenge is different. For example, I have been inspired by one or two words in a poem. 2. This challenge is an opportunity for readers to learn about or remember some great poems from the past. 3. This challenge in a sense presents an opportunity by direct comparison to equal or exceed poems from the past. 4. There is no limit to the number of submissions in the Comments Section. Reply
Roy Eugene Peterson July 12, 2025 Here is another example of a few that I will post. This one is perhaps the longest that should be posted: I’M NOBODY! WHO ARE YOU? By Emily Dickinson I’m Nobody! Who are you? Are you – Nobody – too? Then there’s a pair of us! Don’t tell! they’d banish us – you know! How dreary – to be – Somebody! How public – like a Frog – To tell your name – the livelong June – To an admiring Bog! I’M NOT PERFECT TOO By Roy E. Peterson I’m not perfect! What are you? Are you imperfect, too? What would the world think of us? They’d judge us if they knew. How dreary to be perfect. To never have a sin To only tell to other people The mess that they are in. If the faults are all you see, There’s no beauty in a tree. You’re preaching from a steeple. You’re too perfect for me. When I say I am a Christian I’m not bragging I am perfect. I am saying, thank you Lord, For loving me and every defect. So if you’re calling me imperfect, You are right, I’m just like you. The difference is in my salvation. I’ll be perfect when life is through. Reply
Roy Eugene Peterson July 12, 2025 In the next one, I have a Poet Note of what inspired my poem. This is another one based on an Emily Dickinson poem: “HOPE” IS THE THING WITH FEATHERS By Emily Dickinson “Hope” is the thing with feathers – That perches in the soul – And sings the tune without the words – And never stops – at all – And sweetest – in the Gale – is heard – And sore must be the storm – That could abash the little Bird That kept so many warm – I’ve heard it in the chillest land – And on the strangest Sea – Yet – never – in Extremity, It asked a crumb – of me. FAITH IS THE FEATHERED ARROW By Roy E. Peterson When we are lost and lonely God rosins up his bow To give us hope and courage With fitting of an arrow. Faith is the feathered arrow That strikes deep in the soul; That whistles in the wilderness And gives our lives control. Poet Note: Inspired by the words, “the thing with feathers.” Reply
Joseph S. Salemi July 12, 2025 NEWS ITEM (by Dorothy Parker) Men seldom makes passes At girls who wear glasses. A REPLY (by Joseph S. Salemi) You’re wrong — we’ll make passes At girls who wear glasses As long as they’re lasses With cute curvy asses. (This is slightly longer than the original, but I think it falls within the general parameters of the challenge.) Reply
Davis Saunders July 12, 2025 SWEET AND LOW by Alfred, Lord Tennyson Sweet and low, sweet and low, Wind of the western sea, Low, low, breathe and blow, Wind of the western sea! Over the rolling waters go, Come from the dying moon, and blow, Blow him again to me; While my little one, while my pretty one sleeps. Sleep and rest, sleep and rest, Father will come to thee soon; Rest, rest, on mother’s breast. Father will come to thee soon; Father will come to his babe in the nest, Silver sails all out of the west Under the silver moon: Sleep, my little one, sleep, my pretty one, sleep. WAKE AND RISE by Davis Saunders Wake and rise, wake and rise, Along with the morning sun; Rise, Rise, open thy eyes, Along with the morning sun; Father is coming, look out at the tide, Silver sails with father arrive, Now, his journey is done; Rise, my little one, rise my pretty one, rise. Reply
Roy Eugene Peterson July 12, 2025 Davis, your poem is as inspiring as was Tennysons. It was almost like a song. Reply
Brian Yapko July 12, 2025 Fascinating idea for a challenge, Roy. Here is William Blake’s “The Tyger” and my own responsive “Tyger” which was published here 5 years ago: The Tyger (William Blake) Tyger Tyger, burning bright, In the forests of the night; What immortal hand or eye, Could frame thy fearful symmetry? In what distant deeps or skies. Burnt the fire of thine eyes? On what wings dare he aspire? What the hand, dare seize the fire? And what shoulder, & what art, Could twist the sinews of thy heart? And when thy heart began to beat, What dread hand? & what dread feet? What the hammer? what the chain, In what furnace was thy brain? What the anvil? what dread grasp, Dare its deadly terrors clasp! When the stars threw down their spears And water’d heaven with their tears: Did he smile his work to see? Did he who made the Lamb make thee? Tyger Tyger burning bright, In the forests of the night: What immortal hand or eye, Dare frame thy fearful symmetry? The Tyger (Response by Brian Yapko) Tyger burning in my heart Would you cleave this world apart? What deep need for symmetry Can justify such zealotry? In what cauldron of the soul Burns this angry flame of dole? From what cave, what deep abyss This urge to turn the world amiss? Whence your prowling in my mind? Friends and foes alike maligned? Loud of roar, sharp of claw, Daring hate, decrying law? Fierce of eye, hot of breath, Why should you judge life and death? How can I my soul restore When you are crouching at my door? Do not pounce. Let anger cease. Though maddened, I admire peace. When the grave receives this shell I would avoid the hate of Hell. Tyger burning in my heart Let my anger cleave apart. Let me answer Heaven’s call For He who made the lamb made all. Reply
Roy Eugene Peterson July 12, 2025 Brian, this poem is at least an equal to Blake’s poem in most eyes and surpasses it in mine. Blake’s was one of my old favorites! What a stirring message with captivating words. I am in awe. Reply
Cynthia L Erlandson July 12, 2025 This is quite a profound take on “The Tyger,” Brian. Blake’s is one of my (many!) favorite poems, and you’ve done it more than justice. I wonder how many people have done takes on this one. The very first poem I had published at SCP, in 2020, was modeled after Blake’s “Tyger” (“Falcon, falcon, flying high….”) Reply
Cynthia L Erlandson July 12, 2025 “Variations on a Time Theme” is a long, ten-part poem by Edwin Muir. I will quote the first few lines of Part III, after which (attempting to echo the sense of his whole poem), I not long ago wrote a few lines: “A child in Adam’s field I dreamed away My one eternity and hourless day, Ere from my wrist Time’s bird had learned to fly, Or I had robbed the Tree of which I die, Whose boughs rain still, whose fruit wave-green shall fall Until the last great autumn reddens all.” — Edwin Muir Until the last great autumn Displays its reddening sprawl — The leaves that drop first, blackening on the bottom — Family trees and people who begot them Continue to decay, with each life’s scroll Illegible, like fallen branches’ random scrawl. Reply
Roy Eugene Peterson July 12, 2025 Beautifully done, Cynthia, as I knew you would do. The introduction really helped, as well. Reply
Roy Eugene Peterson July 12, 2025 Most of you likely initially surmised “classic” can be a bit elastic. Perhaps “memorable” might be a good descriptor. Here is one of mine with a little humor based on an Ogden Nash poem that is perhaps more memorable for its humor than classical in the strictest sense. WINTER MORNING POEM By Ogden Nash Winter is the king of showmen, Turning tree stumps into snow men And houses into birthday cakes And spreading sugar over lakes. Smooth and clean and frosty white, The world looks good enough to bite. That’s the season to be young, Catching snowflakes on your tongue! Snow is snowy when it’s snowing. I’m sorry it’s slushy when it’s going. AUTUMN IS RETREAT OF SUMMER By Roy E. Peterson Autumn is retreat of summer Turning green grass into umber Leaves on trees change to gold and brown Trembling in fear of falling down. The world is brown sugar frosting. Harvesting becomes exhausting. Hiking trails have fallen silent. Hurricanes become violent. The kids are dressing up for school Wearing jackets, since now it’s cool. Big flocks of birds now fill the sky. Now what is that which stings my eye? Reply
