Poetry in a Week


Published on

Published in: Education, Technology
  • Be the first to comment

  • Be the first to like this

No Downloads
Total views
On SlideShare
From Embeds
Number of Embeds
Embeds 0
No embeds

No notes for slide

Poetry in a Week

  1. 1. English 10 Poetry Project By: M. H.
  2. 2. Blackout Poem Haiku(be) Your vain eyes marvel In the wild silly clamor All overlook me
  3. 3. Acrostic Poem Neat Observant Efficient Lucid Lanky Earnest
  4. 4. “Someone Who Cares” Song Lyrics By Three Days Grace Every street in this city is the same to me Everyone’s got a place to be but there’s no room for me Am I to blame? When the guilt and the shame hang over me Like a dark cloud that chases you down in the pouring rain It’s so hard to find someone who cares about you But it’s easy enough to find someone who looks down on you Why is it so hard to find someone who cares about you But it’s easy enough to find someone who looks down on you? It’s not what it seems when you’re not on the scene There’s a chill in the air But there’s people like me that nobody sees so nobody cares Why is it so hard to find someone who cares about you When it’s easy enough to find someone who looks down on you? Why is it so hard to find someone who can keep it together when You’ve come undone? Why is it so hard to find someone who cares about you? I swear this time it won’t turn out the same cause now I’ve got myself to blame and you’ll know when we end up on the streets That it’s easy enough to find someone who looks down on you Why is it so hard to find someone who cares about you When it’s easy enough to find someone who looks down on you? Why is it so hard to find someone who can keep it together when you’ve come undone Why is it so hard to find someone who cares about you?
  5. 5. Poetic Devices Simile: The singer compares his guilt and shame to a dark cloud that hangs over his head. Rhyme: The entire song rhymes each ending of every phrase with the next one. Repetition: The chorus can be considered repetition because it is repeated for effect. Rhythm: The singer emphasizes several words that rhyme as well as some that convey feeling in the phrase.
  6. 6. Five Poets I am accused of tending to the past By: Lucille Clifton I am accused of tending to the past as if I made it, as if I sculpted it with my own hands. I did not. this past was waiting for me when I came, a monstrous unnamed baby, and I with my mother's itch took it to breast and named it History. she is more human now, learning languages everyday, remembering faces, names and dates. when she is strong enough to travel on her own, beware, she will.
  7. 7. Five Poets Allegiances By: William Stafford It is time for all the heroes to go home if they have any, time for all of us common ones to locate ourselves by the real things we live by. Far to the north, or indeed in any direction, strange mountains and creatures have always lurkedelves, goblins, trolls, and spiders:-we encounter them in dread and wonder, But once we have tasted far streams, touched the gold, found some limit beyond the waterfall, a season changes, and we come back, changed but safe, quiet, grateful. Suppose an insane wind holds all the hills while strange beliefs whine at the traveler's ears, we ordinary beings can cling to the earth and love where we are, sturdy for common things.
  8. 8. A Tale By: Robert Browning All was lost, then! No! a cricket (What 'cicada'? Pooh!) What a pretty tale you told me --Some mad thing that left its thicket Once upon a time --Said you found it somewhere (scold me!) For mere love of music--flew Was it prose or was it rhyme, With its little heart on fire, Greek or Latin? Greek, you said, Lighted on the crippled lyre. While your shoulder propped my head. Anyhow there's no forgetting So that when (Ah joy!) our singer This much if no more, For his truant string That a poet (pray, no petting!) Yes, a bard, sir, famed of yore, Feels with disconcerted finger, Went where suchlike used to go, What does cricket else but fling Singing for a prize, you know. Fiery heart forth, sound the note Wanted by the throbbing throat? Well, he had to sing, nor merely Sing but play the lyre; Playing was important clearly Ay and, ever to the ending, Quite as singing: I desire, Cricket chirps at need, Sir, you keep the fact in mind Executes the hand's intending, For a purpose that's behind. Promptly, perfectly,--indeed Saves the singer from defeat There stood he, while deep attention Held the judges round, With her chirrup low and sweet --Judges able, I should mention, To detect the slightest sound Till, at ending, all the judges Sung or played amiss: such ears Cry with one assent Had old judges, it appears! 'Take the prize--a prize who grudges None the less he sang out boldly, Such a voice and instrument? Played in time and tune, Why, we took your lyre for harp, Till the judges, weighing coldly So it shrilled us forth F sharp!' Each note's worth, seemed, late or soon, Sure to smile 'In vain one tries Did the conqueror spurn the creature Picking faults out: take the prize!' Once its service done? When, a mischief! Were they seven That's no such uncommon feature Strings the lyre possessed? In the case when Music's son Oh, and afterwards eleven, Finds his Lotte's power too spent Thank you! Well, sir,--who had guessed For aiding soul development. Such ill luck in store?--it happed One of those same seven strings snapped. . Five Poets No! This other, on returning Homeward, prize in hand, Satisfied his bosom's yearning: (Sir, I hope you understand!) --Said 'Some record there must be Of this cricket's help to me!' So, he made himself a statue: Marble stood, life size; On the lyre, he pointed at you, Perched his partner in the prize; Never more apart you found Her, he throned, from him, she crowned. That's the tale: its application? Somebody I know Hopes one day for reputation Thro' his poetry that's--Oh, All so learned and so wise And deserving of a prize! If he gains one, will some ticket When his statue's built, Tell the gazer ''Twas a cricket Helped my crippled lyre, whose lilt Sweet and low, when strength usurped Softness' place i' the scale, she chirped? 'For as victory was nighest, While I sang and played,-With my lyre at lowest, highest, Right alike,--one string that made 'Love' sound soft was snapt in twain Never to be heard again,-'Had not a kind cricket fluttered, Perched upon the place Vacant left, and duly uttered 'Love, Love, Love,' whene'er the bass Asked the treble to atone For its somewhat sombre drone.' But you don't know music! Wherefore Keep on casting pearls To a--poet? All I care for Is--to tell him that a girl's 'Love' comes aptly in when gruff Grows his singing, (There, enough!)
  9. 9. A Fine Old English Gentleman Five Poets By: Charles Dickens I'll sing you a new ballad, and I'll warrant it first-rate, Of the days of that old gentleman who had that old estate; When they spent the public money at a bountiful old rate On ev'ry mistress, pimp, and scamp, at ev'ry noble gate, In the fine old English Tory times; Soon may they come again! In those rare days, the press was seldom known to snarl or bark, But sweetly sang of men in pow'r, like any tuneful lark; Grave judges, too, to all their evil deeds were in the dark; And not a man in twenty score knew how to make his mark. Oh the fine old English Tory times; Soon may they come again! The good old laws were garnished well with gibbets, whips, and chains, Those were the days for taxes, and for war's infernal din; With fine old English penalties, and fine old English pains, For scarcity of bread, that fine old dowagers might win; With rebel heads, and seas of blood once hot in rebel veins; For shutting men of letters up, through iron bars to grin, Because they didn't think the Prince was altogether thin, For all these things were requisite to guard the rich old gains In the fine old English Tory times; Of the fine old English Tory times; Soon may they come again! Soon may they come again! This brave old code, like Argus, had a hundred watchful eyes, And ev'ry English peasant had his good old English spies, To tempt his starving discontent with fine old English lies, Then call the good old Yeomanry to stop his peevish cries, In the fine old English Tory times; Soon may they come again! The good old times for cutting throats that cried out in their need, The good old times for hunting men who held their fathers' creed, The good old times when William Pitt, as all good men agreed, Came down direct from Paradise at more than railroad speed. . . . Oh the fine old English Tory times; When will they come again! But Tolerance, though slow in flight, is strong-wing'd in the main; That night must come on these fine days, in course of time was plain; The pure old spirit struggled, but Its struggles were in vain; A nation's grip was on it, and it died in choking pain, With the fine old English Tory days, All of the olden time. The bright old day now dawns again; the cry runs through the land, In England there shall be dear bread -- in Ireland, sword and brand; And poverty, and ignorance, shall swell the rich and grand, So, rally round the rulers with the gentle iron hand, Of the fine old English Tory days; Hail to the coming time !
  10. 10. Five Poets “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.
  11. 11. Poem Imitation “Love” is the Thing with Brown and White Fur Based off Emily Dickenson’s “Hope” is the Thing with Feathers “Love” is the thing with brown and white fur— That settles deep in the heart— And lets out the bark with an endearing rasp— And has been at my side—from the start— And its gentleness—in the storm—is felt— And pitiable is the man— Whose heart it never caused to melt— As only this thing can— I’ve embraced its warmth on the darkest of nights— And in the times of sorrow— Yet no matter the amount I borrow this tender love is there—tomorrow
  12. 12. Prose Paragraph Creating a poem based off Emily Dickenson’s poem, “Hope” is the Thing with the Feathers, was an enjoyable challenge. Admittedly, some of the rhymes had me tearing my hair out, but in the end, it was worth it. Throughout her piece, Emily Dickenson personifies hope as a small bird. I chose to compare love to a dog. I tried to keep the poem vague enough that anyone with a dog could relate to its message, but certain descriptions hinted at my true inspiration: my cocker spaniel, Patchy. I remember him as being gentle and serene, no matter what was happening around him. All I’d have to do was run a hand through his soft, fluffy fur, and my worries would evaporate instantly.
  13. 13. Prose Page While working on the Poetry Project, I discovered many things about myself as a writer as well as about poetry itself. Unless I have boundaries, like the Haiku(bes), I have a difficult time staying focused on one subject throughout my poem. I tend to lean toward the silly rhymes, rather than somber verses, but writing sad poetry comes more naturally to me. While researching five poets, I sampled many different styles of writing. Going back to my enjoyment of lighthearted pieces, I took delight in Robert Browning’s flair and upbeat rhyming as well as Charles Dicken’s sardonic tone. Until my time spent investigating poetry for this project, I had no idea there were so many diverse approaches to the literary art.
  14. 14. Prose Page Cont. I didn’t enjoy the Acrostic Poem as much as the other parts of the project, because it felt slightly shallow in comparison to my Haiku or Blackout Poem. The Imitation Poem was difficult at first, because there were so many directions I could take the piece. However, I enjoyed cross-referencing Emily Dickenson’s poem; it helped me understand the meaning of her writing. My favorite part of the Poetry Project was definitely the Blackout Poem. In order to create one, I had to read the articles without really absorbing the actual information, which was fascinating in itself. Once I had stumbled upon several words that popped out, I went to work. I find it interesting that this poem, more than any other, can be taken numerous ways, and that it all depends on the reader’s mind.