The inspiration for this next poem comes from your favorite story, Snow White. I know how much you enjoy it so I thought that I would write something in the same air as ―Snow White‖ with a bit of a modern twist. I hope that you have as much fun reading it as I had writing it, enjoy.
Mirror, mirror on the wall Mirror, mirror on the wall Do I really have to go to the Ball? I think I hear my Mother call Mirror, mirror on the wall Mirror, mirror on the wall I think I hear my Mother call Do I really have to go to the Ball? Mirror, mirror on the wall Mirror, mirror on the wall Do I really have to go to the Ball? It‘s such a huge, huge Hall Mirror, mirror on the wall Mirror, mirror on the wall Oh how I wish it were Spring and not Fall I wish I wasn‘t so very small Mirror, mirror on the wall Mirror, mirror on the wall Do I really have to go to the Ball? I think I hear my Mother call Mirror, mirror on the wall Oh Mirror, mirror on the wall I‘d rather go to the big city mall Do I REALLY have to go to the Ball????
I got the idea for this poem after you took a cruise down to the Caribbean and came back saying that it was hard to stand up on the boat because of the rough sea. I decided to write it after I went on a cruise for myself and discovered just how difficult it really was. This one is just for you.
I went on a cruise this past Fall. What a rough ride this came to be, The inside was like a shopping mall. I even hit my knee. The ship was so huge, I look around as I struggle up the It was a great refuge, stairs, All eyes are on me….pairs and From the hot sun outside, pairs. That wanted to burn my hide. ―What are you looking at?‖ I say, We stopped at the beach for a day or ―We‘re glad you made it. Hooray! two. Hooray! Boy that was hot, ―Whew!‖ Not sure I liked that 7-day cruise, Back on the ship, I woke up with many a bruise. ―Ouch!‖, I banged my hip. Maybe I‘ll try it again next year, They say you‘ve got to face your fear.
I decided to write this poem because of your cat, Jack. I took inspiration from instances in the past, and various other aspects of his long and happy life . I hope this poem helps you enjoy his memory.
I have a cat named Jack. I found him in the haystack. He is a pretty color of grey. I hope he decides to stay. Every day we go outside and play. He likes to hide in the hay. He likes to roll around in the sun. We always have so much fun. His favorite food is tuna fish. I feed him from the silver dish. I‘m not sure when Jack‘s birthday is. Mine is today, maybe so is his. It‘s time for bed, Jack sleeps with me. Oh I hope he doesn‘t pee!
As you know, I don‘t enjoy school at all, so I decided to make this poem reflective of my opinion on the school days I used to have. I‘d like to say thank you for, among other things, helping me make it through 12 rough, long years of schooling.
I‘m not a big fan of school you I‘m off to gym class, now that‘s a know. blast. But everyone says I have to go. Too bad this class doesn‘t last. In the mornings I‘d rather sleep. Lunch tastes good, Into my dreams I am so deep. I knew it would. The alarm bell rings, Thank goodness it‘s afternoon, And the radio sings. I‘ll be going home soon. Mom says ―Get up, it‘s time for Home at last, another day done, school‖. That really wasn‘t much fun. I‘d rather be swimming in the pool. So it‘s off to school I go, And in Home Ec I have to sew.
I wrote this poem after I learned that you were going to Spain next year. Traveling to a foreign country can be dangerous, so I would like to wish you luck in the future by dedicating this poem to you. Good Luck
This 50 cent piece came directly from Spain A trip on an airplane and then on a train The legend, they say mostly for fun Is to wear it when hiking to bring out the sun Try it here during practice and hopefully you‘ll find That the charm of this necklace will bring peace of mind Whatever the outcome, I want you to know That good luck will be with you wherever you go
I decided to make dreams the theme of these five entries. I know how interesting you find dreams to be so I thought I‘d focus the rest f this dedication to that.
The structure of "A Dream Within a Dream" consists of two stanzas containing two disparate but ultimately connected scenes. The first stanza shows the first-person point of view of the narrator parting from a lover, while the second places the narrator on a beach while futilely attempting to grasp a handful of sand in his hand. Despite the apparent differences between the two stanzas, they are linked through the ironic similarity of their evanescent natures. In the first image, the narrator is leaving his lover, indicating a sense of finality (and mortality) to their love. Accordingly, the falling grains of sand in the second stanza recall the image of an hourglass, which in turn represents the passage of time. As the sand flows away until all time has passed, the lovers time also disappears, and the sand and the romance each turn into impressions from a dream. Through the alliteration in "grains of the golden sand," Poe emphasizes the "golden" or desired nature of both the sand and of love, but he shows clearly that neither is permanently attainable.
Like many of Poes poems, "A Dream Within a Dream" uses the sea as a setting for a discussion of death and decay. "The City in the Sea" illustrates the imagery of a pitiless sea most clearly, with the Gothic allusions to the end of time, and in "A Dream Within a Dream", the "surf-tormented shore" becomes a second metaphor for time, as the waters of the sea slowly but inexorably pound away at the physical existence of the shore. The narrator regards the wave as "pitiless," but he further associates himself with the temporal nature of the water by weeping in tandem with the falling of the sand. As the title, the phrase "a dream within a dream" has a special significance to any interpretations of the poem. Poe takes the idea of a daydream and twists it so that the narrators perception of reality occurs at two degrees of detachment away from reality. Consequently, this reality reflects upon itself through the dream medium, and the narrator can no longer distinguish causality in his perception. By showing the narrators distress at his observations, Poe magnifies the risks of uncertainty and of the potential changes to his identity. Time is a powerful but mysterious force that promotes cognitive dissonance between the protagonists self and his abilities of comprehension, and the daydream proves to have ensnared him. Alternatively, the poem itself may be viewed as the outermost dream, where the inner dream is merely a function of the narrators mind.
Take this kiss upon the brow! And, in parting from you now, Thus much let me avow-- You are not wrong, who deem That my days have been a dream; Yet if hope has flown away In a night, or in a day, In a vision, or in none, Is it therefore the less gone? All that we see or seem Is but a dream within a dream. I stand amid the roar Of a surf-tormented shore, And I hold within my hand Grains of the golden sand-- How few! yet how they creep Through my fingers to the deep, While I weep--while I weep! O God! can I not grasp Them with a tighter clasp? O God! can I not save One from the pitiless wave? Is all that we see or seem But a dream within a dream?
In John Donne‘s poem ―The Dream,‖ the narrator is woken from a dream by the person who he claims to have been dreaming about. Like in the more popular Donne poem ―The Flea,‖ the narrator attempts to cajole the woman into coming to bed with him by talking about the poetic conceit (the dream, the flea) and how it relates to them. Unlike in ―The Flea,‖ however, Donne uses some very complex imagery to describe the dream and the waking and to form his arguments for her staying. Although nothing in ―The Dream‖ uses the feminine pronoun to describe the one who wakes the narrator, the imagery of an angel and the cajoling tone all point to a feminine character. Because of this, Donne‘s romantic reputation, and his use of the female pronoun in other similar poems the following explication assumes that the unnamed person who wakens the narrator is a woman.
The narrator, glad to be awoken by the person he was dreaming about, starts off by complementing her and attempts to bring her into his bed. He tells her she is so true that she makes dreams into reality and histories into fables. Although it‘s not a theme he uses often, the idea of a woman altering history appears in one other Donne poem: The Damp. In ―The Damp‖ Donne challenged the wooed to ―…like a Goth and Vandal rise, / Deface records and histories,‖ (lines 13-14) –to make different choices then what she made in the past. In each poem, Donne uses this image to portray women as have remarkable power over reality and perceptions of reality. At the end of the stanza, much like the quip that was in his usage of reason, Donne again makes a reference to the activities occurring in the dream but in a less veiled way. ―Let‘s act out the rest,‖ (line 10) as the line was originally written, coupled with his calling her back into his arms, gives away the sexual nature of this dream.
The toughest and last stanza of the poem begins with the easiest lines to paraphrase. She came into Donne‘s room and woke him from an erotic dream. In the previous stanza he said she knew the precise moment to wake him and, for him, this means she was interested in playing out that dream in reality. But as she gets up to leave, he questions why she is leaving. If before Donne almost let her off the hook, he attempts to drive it home now: He lets her go but not without an ―I‘ll die without you parting shot.‖ It is not, however, in the same sardonic spirit as before. Instead, he is returning to the same power of altering history and waking him up with her eyes. It is the classic ―without you I am nothing,‖ concept from the troubadours.
Dear love, for nothing less than thee Would I have broke this happy dream; It was a theme For reason, much too strong for phantasy: Therefore thou wakedst me wisely; yet My dream thou brokst not, but continuedst it. Thou art so truth that thoughts of thee suffice To make dreams truths, and fables histories. Enter these arms, for since thou thoughtst it best Not to dream all my dream, lets act the rest. As lightning or a tapers light, Thine eyes, and not thy noise, waked me; Yet I thought thee (For thou lovst truth) an angel at first sight; But when I saw thou sawst my heart, And knewst my thoughts, beyond an angels art, When thou knewst what I dreamt, when thou knewst when Excess of joy would wake me, and camst then, I must confess it could not choose but be Prophane to think thee anything but thee. Comming and staying showed thee thee, But rising makes me doubt, that now Thou art not thou. That Love is weak, where fears as strong as he; Tis not all spirit pure and brave If mixture it of Fear, Shame, Honour, have. Perchance as torches, which must ready be, Men light and put out, so thou dealst with me, Thou camst to kindle, gost to come; Then I Will dream that hope again, but else would die.
Notice that the things soldiers dream of are mundane ordinary things, things they used perhaps to take for granted and not think about. Normally the word "dreamers" conjures up images of people imagining things like say winning the lottery or building a perfect world. Here in the "foul dug outs gnawed by rats" a dreamer is not someone reaching out for the extraordinary but one longing for the ordinary. Also note the contrast between the first half of the poem and the second. The image of soldiers and war that children often cherish is about glory and a "flaming fatal climax" but then when faced with the reality of such a thing minds and hearts turn instead to "going to the office in the train". The key word perhaps is "gray" Deaths gray land is where the soldiers stand on the brink off and it is of the gray realities of everyday life that they dream.
Soldiers are citizens of deaths gray land, Drawing no dividend from times to-morrows. In the great hour of destiny they stand, Each with his feuds, and jealousies, and sorrows. Soldiers are sworn to action; they must win Some flaming, fatal climax with their lives. Soldiers are dreamers; when the guns begin They think of firelit homes, clean beds, and wives. I see them in foul dug-outs, gnawed by rats, And in the ruined trenches, lashed with rain, Dreaming of things they did with balls and bats, And mocked by hopeless longing to regain Bank-holidays, and picture shows, and spats, And going to the office in the train.
It is difficult to establish something that could be described as a universal interpretation of the poem. What follows must therefore be my personal interpretation of the symbolism in and meaning of A Dream. The narrator is a troubled soul who wishes for something other than reality. The tone in the poem suggests that death, possibly through suicide, might be an option to obtain this state of ‗other than reality‘. In the second verse, however, the narrator seems to revel in his memories too strongly to allow death to be an option, perhaps in fear of death causing loss of his memories of the past. In the poem, Poe explores the mystery and magic of dreams. To be more exact: The power of the divide between dreams and real life: the possibility of hiding in a dream world � or a fantasy world, more likely � to escape the troubles of real life. Rather than death, the narrator wishes to escape from reality through dreams and fantasies. In verse one and three, the narrator describes the same basic scenario twice: The safety of the dream-world, and the dangers of the real world. It is tricky to ascertain what these dangers are, but � considering the atmosphere and narrative voice � inner conflicts such as loneliness, grief, depression, shame or remorse seem viable options. If the poem can indeed be said to be a description of the narrator‘s attempt at escaping reality, the contrasts become clear: The darkness is safety from other people, and possibly from the narrator himself. The line ―But a waking dream of life and light hath left me broken-hearted‖ describes the narrator‘s fears of what happens when the spell of his fantasy world is broken: Upon ‗waking up‘ from his fantasy world he feels heartbroken, and wishes only to return to his own, safe, fantasy world.
Because of daylight breaking dreams, the lightness � although typically connected with Goodness � is considered negative by the narrator. The last verse describes how daylight (if ‗day-star‘ is indeed synonymous with the sun) sheds light on the storm and night, as if it reveals the weaknesses the narrator is trying to hide from: The pain and fear outside his personal dream sphere. The narrator expresses the value he puts on his fantasies by elevating the dreams to a state of apotheosis: ―That holy dream — that holy dream‖. The repetition, which primarily functions to emphasize the importance, also gives us a glimpse of the desperate undercurrent of the poem. The repetition gives the impression that the narrator is desperately trying to cling on to that elusive dream world. And, with the last two lines of the poem, admitting that he is doomed to failure, and that the ―real world‖ has caught up with him.
In visions of the dark night I have dreamed of joy departed- But a waking dream of life and light Hath left me broken-hearted. Ah! what is not a dream by day To him whose eyes are cast On things around him with a ray Turned back upon the past? That holy dream- that holy dream, While all the world were chiding, Hath cheered me as a lovely beam A lonely spirit guiding. What though that light, thro storm and night, So trembled from afar- What could there be more purely bright In Truths day-star?
The most interesting bit in this poem, for me, is in these lines - "Now, whether it were really so, I never could be sure;" I wonder, why does the poet say this when the entire "May marrying June" sequence would appear fantastic enough to most of us? Is the section above these lines to be taken as factual reporting, and the section from these lines onwards as a fancy? "But Fancy, still, will sometimes deem Her fond creation true." Other than that, I find that the language is simple; the rhyming makes it very hummable. The descriptions are very vivid, as if she stood there and she saw a wedding. It is as if she is pointing towards the greens in spring and telling you their history (like someone would point at an ancient palace and say "here is where that king lived"). And then she turns towards you with her eyes wide and tells you something you are never going to believe (and that someone then turns to you and says "no one really knows - but people still hear sounds on moonlit nights...").
On a sunny brae, alone I lay Now, whether it were really so, One summer afternoon; I never could be sure; It was the marriage-time of May But as in fit of peevish woe, With her young lover, June. I stretched me on the moor. From her mothers heart, seemed loath to part A thousand thousand gleaming fires That queen of bridal charms, Seemed kindling in the air; But her father smiled on the fairest child A thousand thousand silvery lyres He ever held in his arms. Resounded far and near: The trees did wave their plumy crests, Methought, the very breath I breathed The glad birds caroled clear; Was full of sparks divine, And I, of all the wedding guests, And all my heather-couch was wreathed Was only sullen there! By that celestial shine! There was not one, but wished to shun And, while the wide earth echoing rung My aspect void of cheer; To their strange minstrelsy, The very grey rocks, looking on, The little glittering spirits sung, Asked, "What do you here?" Or seemed to sing, to me. And I could utter no reply; "O mortal! mortal! let them die; In sooth, I did not know Let time and tears destroy, Why I had brought a clouded eye That we may overflow the sky To greet the general glow. With universal joy! So, resting on a heathy bank, Let grief distract the sufferers breast, I took my heart to me; And night obscure his way; And we together sadly sank They hasten him to endless rest, Into a reverie. And everlasting day. We thought, "When winter comes again, To thee the world is like a tomb, Where will these bright things be? A deserts naked shore; All vanished, like a vision vain, To us, in unimagined bloom, An unreal mockery! It brightens more and more! The birds that now so blithely sing, And could we lift the veil, and give Through deserts, frozen dry, One brief glimpse to thine eye, Poor spectres of the perished spring, Thou wouldst rejoice for those that live, In famished troops, will fly. Because they live to die." And why should we be glad at all? The music ceased; the noonday dream, The leaf is hardly green, Like dream of night, withdrew; Before a token of its fall But Fancy, still, will sometimes deem Is on the surface seen!" Her fond creation true.