Mrs. Jestice English 1 But words are things, and a small drop of ink, Falling, like dew, upon a thought produces, That which makes thousands, perhaps millions, think. - Lord Byron -
I Am Poetry Directions: 1. Create an I AM poem (10 lines or more); you may use the following examples to help you. 2. Make a collage to go with your poem, which will also function as the front cover to your portfolio. (pictures on an 8 ½ x 11 piece of construction paper) I Am I am a work in progress I wonder who I am meant to be. I hear the screams of self-doubt in my brain. I want to feel secure in myself. I am a work in progress I pretend to know what I am doing and where I am going. I feel the pressure of perfection and the fear of failure. I touch a baby s hand and see the future in his eyes. I worry about EVERYTHING! I am a work in progress. I understand I may never find the answers to my questions. I say, that s okay. I try not to worry so much. I hope people can see who I really am. I am a work in progress - Mrs. Stefanski
Poems of Metaphor and Simile Harlem By Langston Hughes What happens to a dream deferred? Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun? Or fester like a sore and then run? Does it stink like rotten meat? Or crust and sugar over Like a syrupy sweet? Maybe it just sags like a heavy load. Or does it explode? Directions: 1. Fill out the TP-FLATT 2. Write a poem using at least 4 metaphors or similes. 3. The poem must have at least 10 lines. 4. Follow Langston Hughes Harlem for your template. 5. Turn in by the end of class.
The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth; Then took the other, as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim Because it was grassy and wanted wear, Though as for that the passing there Had worn them really about the same, And both that morning equally lay In leaves no step had trodden black. Oh, I marked the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way I doubted if I should ever come back. I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I, I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.
Poems of Personification Fifteen By William Stafford South of the Bridge of Seventeenth I found back of the willow one summer Day a motorcycle with engine running As it lay on its side, ticking over slowly in the high grass. I was fifteen. I admired all that pulsing gleam, the shiny flanks, the demure headlights fringed where it lay; I led it gently to the road and stood with that companion ready and friendly. I was fifteen. We could find the end of a road, meet the sky out on Seventeenth. I thought about hills, and patting the handle got back a confident opinion. On the bridge we indulged a forward feeling, a tremble. I was fifteen. Thinking, back farther in the grass I found the owner, just coming to, where he has flipped over the rail. He had blood on his hand, was pale- I helped him walk to his machine. He ran his hand over it, called me a good man, and roared away. I stood there, fifteen.
A narrow fellow in the grass by Emily Dickinson A narrow Fellow in the Grass Occasionally rides- You may have met Him did you not His notice sudden is- The Grass divides as with a Comb- A spotted shaft is seen- And then it closes at your feet And opens further on- He likes a Boggy Acre A floor too cool for Corn- Yet when a Boy, and Barefoot- I more than once at Noon Have passed, I thought, a Whip lash Unbraiding in the Sun When stopping to secure it It wrinkled, and was gone- Several of Nature s People I know, and they know me- I feel for them a transport Of cordiality- But never met this Fellow Attended, or alone Without a tighter breathing And Zero at the Bone-
Poems of Apostrophe The Weary Blues by Langston Hughes Droning a drowsy syncopated tune, Rocking back and forth to a mellow croon, I heard a Negro play. Down on Lenox Avenue the other night By the pale dull pallor of an old gas light He did a lazy sway... He did a lazy sway... To the tune o' those Weary Blues. With his ebony hands on each ivory key He made that poor piano moan with melody. O Blues! Swaying to and fro on his rickety stool He played that sad raggy tune like a musical fool. Sweet Blues! Coming from a black man's soul. O Blues! In a deep song voice with a melancholy tone I heard that Negro sing, that old piano moan "Ain't got nobody in all this world, Ain't got nobody but ma self. I's gwine to quit ma frownin' And put ma troubles on the shelf." Thump, thump, thump, went his foot on the floor. He played a few chords then he sang some more "I got the Weary Blues And I can't be satisfied. Got the Weary Blues And can't be satisfied I ain't happy no mo' And I wish that I had died." And far into the night he crooned that tune. The stars went out and so did the moon. The singer stopped playing and went to bed While the Weary Blues echoed through his head. He slept like a rock or a man that's dead.
O Captain! My Captain! By Walt Whitman 1 O CAPTAIN! my Captain! our fearful trip is done; The ship has weather d every rack, the prize we sought is won; The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting, While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring: But O heart! heart! heart! 5 O the bleeding drops of red, Where on the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead. 2 O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells; Rise up for you the flag is flung for you the bugle trills; 10 For you bouquets and ribbon d wreaths for you the shores a-crowding; For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning; Here Captain! dear father! This arm beneath your head; It is some dream that on the deck, 15 You ve fallen cold and dead. 3 My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still; My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will; The ship is anchor d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done; From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won; 20 Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells! But I, with mournful tread, Walk the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead.
Directions: 1. Fill out the TP-FLATT 2. Write a poem of personification or apostrophe. 3. Write it as a riddle so that we can guess what it is you re describing, or write the poem as a tribute to someone/something special. 4. The poem must have at least 10 lines. 5. Turn in by the end of class.
Traveling Through the Dark By William Stafford Poems of Sensory Imagery Traveling through the dark I found a deer dead on the edge of Wilson River road. It is usually best to roll them into the canyon: that road is narrow; to swerve might make more dead. By glow of the tail-light I stumbled back to the car and stood by the heap, a doe, a recent killing; she had stiffened already, almost cold. I dragged her off; she was large in the belly. My fingers touching her side brought me the reason her side was warm; her fawn lay there waiting, alive, still, never to be born. Beside that mountain road I hesitated. The car aimed ahead its lowered parking lights; under the hood purred the steady engine. I stood in the glare of the warm exhaust turning red; around our group I could hear the wilderness listen. I though hard for us all my only swerving then pushed her over the edge into the river.
Evening Concert, Sainte-Chapelle By John Updike The celebrated windows flamed with light directly pouring north across the Seine; we rustled into place. Then violins vaunting Vivaldi's strident strength, then Brahms, seemed to suck with their passionate sweetness, bit by bit, the vigor from the red, the blazing blue, so that the listening eye saw suddenly the thick black lines, in shapes of shield and cross and strut and brace, that held the holy glowing fantasy together. The music surged; the glow became a milk, a whisper to the eye, a glimmer ebbed until our beating hearts, our violins were cased in thin but solid sheets of lead. Directions: 1. Fill out the TP-FLATT 2. Write a poem using the five senses, following today s sensory exercise. 3. Write 2 lines per sense: hearing, taste, touch, sight, smell. 4. The poem must have at least 10 lines. 5. Turn in by the end of class.
Poems of Auditory Imagery Out, Out By Robert Frost The buzz saw snarled and rattled in the yard And made dust and dropped stove-length sticks of wood, Sweet-scented stuff when the breeze drew across it. And from there those that lifted eyes could count Five mountain ranges one behind the other Under the sunset far into Vermont. And the saw snarled and rattled, snarled and rattled, As it ran light, or had to bear a load. And nothing happened: day was all but done. Call it a day, I wish they might have said To please the boy by giving him the half hour That a boy counts so much when saved from work. His sister stood beside him in her apron To tell them Supper. At the word, the saw, As if to prove saws know what supper meant, Leaped out at the boy s hand, or seemed to leap He must have given the hand. However it was, Neither refused the meeting. But the hand! The boy s first outcry was a rueful laugh, As he swung toward them holding up the hand Half in appeal, but half as if to keep The life from spilling. Then the boy saw all Since he was old enough to know, big boy Doing a man s work, though a child at heart He saw all was spoiled. Don t let him cut my hand off The doctor, when he comes. Don t let him, sister!
So. But the hand was gone already. The doctor put him in the dark of ether. He lay and puffed his lips out with his breath. And then the watcher at his pulse took fright. No one believed. They listened to his heart. Little less nothing! and that ended it. No more to build on there. And they, since they Were not the one dead, turned to their affairs. Good Riddance (Time of Your Life) Another turning point, a fork stuck in the road Time grabs you by the wrist, directs you where to go So make the best of this test, and don't ask why It's not a question, but a lesson learned in time It's something unpredictable, but in the end is right, I hope you had the time of your life. So take the photographs, and still frames in your mind Hang it on a shelf in good health and good time Tattoos of memories and dead skin on trial For what it's worth it was worth all the while It's something unpredictable, but in the end is right, I hope you had the time of your life. It's something unpredictable, but in the end is right, I hope you had the time of your life. It's something unpredictable, but in the end is right, I hope you had the time of your life. Writer(s): Billie Joe Armstrong, Frank E. Iii Wright, Michael Pritchard Copyright: Green Daze Music, WB Music Corp.
Clementine By Percy Montross In a cavern, in a canyon, excavating for a mine, Dwelt a miner, forty-niner, and his daughter Clementine. Refrain: Oh, my darling, oh, my darling, oh, my darling Clementine, You are lost and gone forever, dreadful sorry, Clementine. Light she was and like a fairy, and her shoes were number nine, Hit her foot against a splinter, fell into the foaming brine. Ruby lips above the water, blowing bubbles soft and fine, Alas, for me! I was no swimmer, so I lost my Clementine. In a churchyard, near the canyon, where the myrtle dove entwine, There grow roses and other posies fertilized by Clementine. Then the miner, forty-niner, soon began to droop and pine, Thought he ought to join his daughter, now he s with his Clementine. In my dreams she still doth haunt me, robed in garments soaked in brine Though in life I used to kiss her, now she s dead, I draw the line. Directions: 1. Fill out the TP-FLATT 2. Write a poem using sound, following today s sensory exercise. 3. Be sure to use onomatopoeia. 4. The poem must have at least 10 lines. 5. Turn in by the end of class.
Poems of Alliteration, Assonance, and Consonance Me Against the World By Tupac Shakir With all this extra stressin The question I wonder is, after death, after my last breath When will I finally get to rest? Through this suppression They punish the people that s askin questions And those that possess, steal from the ones without possessions The message I stress: to make it stop, study your lessons Don t settle for less-even the genius asks questions Be grateful for your blessings Don t ever change, keep your essence The power is in the people and the politics we address Always do your best, don t let the pressure make you panic And when you get stranded And things don t go the way you planned it Dreamin of riches, in a position of making a difference Politicians and hypocrites, they don t wanna listen If I m insane, it s the fame made a brother change It wasn t nothing like the games It s just me against the world Directions: 1. Fill out the TP-FLATT 2. Write a poem using alliteration, assonance, and consonance. 3. The poem must have at least 10 lines. 4. Turn in by the end of class.
Poems of Rhyme and Rhythm Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening By Robert Frost Whose woods these are I think I know. His house is in the village though. He will not see me stopping here To watch his woods fill up with snow. My little horse must think it s queer To stop without a farmhouse near Between the woods and frozen lake The darkest evening of the year. He gives his harness bells a shake To ask if there is some mistake. The only other sound s the sweep Of easy wind and downy flake. The woods are lovely, dark and deep. But I have promises to keep. And miles to go before I sleep. And miles to go before I sleep.
fireworks By Amy Lowell You hate me and I hate you, And we are so polite, we two! But whenever I see you, I burst apart And scatter the sky with my blazing heart. In spits and sparkles in stars and balls, Buds into roses--and flares, and falls. Scarlet buttons, and pale green disks, Silver spirals and asterisks, Shoot and tremble in a mist Peppered with mauve and amethyst. I shine in the windows and light up the trees, And all because I hate you, if you please. And when you meet me, your rend asunder And go up in a flaming wonder Of safferon cudes, and crimson moons, And wheels all amaranths and maroons. Goldon lozenges and spades, Arrows of malachites and jades, Patens of copper, azure sheaves. As you mount, you flash in glossy leaves. Such fireworks as we make, we two! Because you hate me and I hate you.
Nothing Gold Can Stay By Robert Frost Nature's first green is gold Her hardest hue to hold. Her early leaf's a flower; But only so an hour. Then leaf subsides to leaf. So Eden sank to grief, So dawn goes down to day. Nothing gold can stay. Directions: 1. Fill out the TP-FLATT 2. Write a poem that rhymes. 3. The poem must have at least 10 lines. 4. Turn in by the end of class.
Poems of Symbolism I The Bells by Edgar Allan Poe Hear the sledges with the bells- Silver bells! What a world of merriment their melody foretells! How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, In the icy air of night! While the stars that oversprinkle All the heavens, seem to twinkle With a crystalline delight; Keeping time, time, time, In a sort of Runic rhyme, To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells From the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells- From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells. II Hear the mellow wedding bells, Golden bells! What a world of happiness their harmony foretells! Through the balmy air of night How they ring out their delight! From the molten-golden notes, And an in tune, What a liquid ditty floats To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats On the moon! Oh, from out the sounding cells, What a gush of euphony voluminously wells! How it swells! How it dwells On the Future! how it tells Of the rapture that impels To the swinging and the ringing Of the bells, bells, bells, Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells- To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells!
III Hear the loud alarum bells- Brazen bells! What a tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells! In the startled ear of night How they scream out their affright! Too much horrified to speak, They can only shriek, shriek, Out of tune, In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire, In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire, Leaping higher, higher, higher, With a desperate desire, And a resolute endeavor, Now- now to sit or never, By the side of the pale-faced moon. Oh, the bells, bells, bells! What a tale their terror tells Of Despair! How they clang, and clash, and roar! What a horror they outpour On the bosom of the palpitating air! Yet the ear it fully knows, By the twanging, And the clanging, How the danger ebbs and flows: Yet the ear distinctly tells, In the jangling, And the wrangling, How the danger sinks and swells, By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells- Of the bells- Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells- In the clamor and the clangor of the bells!
IV Hear the tolling of the bells- Iron Bells! What a world of solemn thought their monody compels! In the silence of the night, How we shiver with affright At the melancholy menace of their tone! For every sound that floats From the rust within their throats Is a groan. And the people- ah, the people- They that dwell up in the steeple, All Alone And who, tolling, tolling, tolling, In that muffled monotone, Feel a glory in so rolling On the human heart a stone- They are neither man nor woman- They are neither brute nor human- They are Ghouls: And their king it is who tolls; And he rolls, rolls, rolls, Rolls A paean from the bells! And his merry bosom swells With the paean of the bells! Directions: 1. Fill out the TP-FLATT 2. Write a poem using symbolism. 3. The poem must have at least 10 lines. 4. Turn in by the end of class.
Jestice/English 1