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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 –
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 TPFLATT.
2. Write a poem using at least 4 metaphors or similes.
3. The poem must have 10 lines.
4. Follow Langston Hughes “Harlem” for your template.
5. Turn in BOTH 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.
Directions:
1. Fill out the TPFLATT.
2. Turn in by the end of class.
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
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 TPFLATT.
2. Write a poem using Personification or Apostrophe.
3. Write it as a riddle so that we can guess what you’re describing, or write the poem as a
tribute to someone/something special.
4. The poem must have 10 lines.
5. Turn in BOTH 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 by Green Day
Songwriters: Michael Pritchard / Frank E. / Iii Wright / Billie Joe Armstrong
Good Riddance lyrics © Warner/Chappell Music, Inc
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 it's right I hope you had the time of your life
So take the photographs, and still-frames in your mind Hang them 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 it's 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
Caged Bird BY MAYA ANGELOU
A free bird leaps
on the back of the wind
and floats downstream
till the current ends
and dips his wing
in the orange sun rays
and dares to claim the sky.
But a bird that stalks
down his narrow cage
can seldom see through
his bars of rage
his wings are clipped and
his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing.
The caged bird sings
with a fearful trill
of things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom.
The free bird thinks of another breeze
and the trade winds soft through the sighing trees
and the fat worms waiting on a dawn bright lawn
and he names the sky his own
But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams
his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing.
The caged bird sings
with a fearful trill
of things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom.
Directions:
1. Fill out the TPFLATT.
2. Write a poem using Auditory Imagery.
3. The poem must have 10 lines.
4. Turn in BOTH by the end of class.
Poems of Alliteration, Assonance, and Consonance
Me Against the World By Tupac Shakir
Songwriters: Kenneth Karlin / Carsten Schack / Leon Ware / Burt F Bacharach / Hal David / Yafeu A Fula / Malcom Greenridge / Minnie Ripperton / Richard Rudolph / Tupac Amaru Shakur
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-es questions
Be grateful for blessings
Don't ever change, keep your essence
The power is in the people and 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 makin' 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 nothin' like the game
It's just me against the world
Directions: 1. Fill out the TPFLATT.
2. Write a poem using Alliteration, Consonance, and Assonance.
3. The poem must have 10 lines.
4. Turn in BOTH by the end of class.
Poems of Rhyme and Rhythm 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 window and light up the trees, And all because I hate you, if you please. And when you meet me, you rend asunder And go up in a flaming wonder Of saffron cubes, and crimson moons, And wheels all amaranths and maroons. Golden lozenges and spades, Arrows of malachites and jades, Patens of copper, azure sheaves. As you mount, you flash in the glossy leaves. Such fireworks as we make, we two! Because you hate me and I hate you.
Nothing Gold Can Stay
Robert Frost, 1874 - 1963
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 TPFLATT.
2. Write a poem using Rhyme and Rhythm.
3. The poem must have 10 lines.
4. Turn in BOTH by the end of class.
Poems of Symbolism
Do not go gentle into that good night
Dylan Thomas, 1914 - 1953
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
“The Bells” by Edgar Allan Poe
1809 - 1849
I.
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 all 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 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 clamour and the clangour 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 meaning 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,
Rolls
A pæan from the bells!
And his merry bosom swells
With the pæan of the bells!
And he dances, and he yells ;
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the pæan of the bells--
Of the bells :
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the throbbing of the bells--
Of the bells, bells, bells--
To the sobbing of the bells ;
Keeping time, time, time,
As he knells, knells, knells,
In a happy Runic rhyme,
To the rolling of the bells--
Of the bells, bells, bells--
To the tolling of the bells,
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells--
Bells, bells, bells--
To the moaning and the groaning of the bells.
Directions:
1. Fill out the TPFLATT.
2. Write a poem using Symbolism.
3. The poem must have 10 lines.
4. Turn in BOTH by the end of class.
