Ballad-Style Poetry

Walt Whitman - O Captain! My Captain!

Sylvia Plath - Daddy

NCTE Writing Contest!

This one is really good:

NCTE 2008 Writing Contest

Music or Poetry?

Bob Dylan - Subterranean Homesick Blues (Folk Rock)

Saul Williams - Coded Language (Spoken Word/Slam)

Blue Scholars - Joe Metro (Hip Hop/Rap)

Would you classify these as poetry, music, both, or something else entirely? Why do you feel this way?

Identity Essays

Here are a few examples of writers exploring their own lives in their essays, very similarly to Sandra Cisneros in House on Mango Street

David Sedaris

Louise Erdrich

Edwidge Danticat

New Writing Contest!

2009 Young Authors Writing Contest

Accepting: Fiction, Creative Nonfiction, and Playwriting (no poetry)

Entries must be postmarked by 12/19

Whip-Around Poems (CP II)

Period 7:

Valentine

I was always New Year’s Day

And she was always Valentine’s

As I stand among the final fading strands of confetti

From last night’s revelry

I feel as if everything is falling apart

As if bits of the sky are chipping away

And the business buildings are raining the first hundred

Thousand digits of pi onto my head

And through my soiled and soaked overcoat.

And if you, Valentine, peered into my snow-globe of a January afternoon

You would undoubtedly say that the spider had finally

Outsmarted himself—your eyes wide with childish glee;

For my temper, ornery and distant, is certainly winter,

While your February fuels hope of a spring ahead-

A budding world waiting to awaken and thrive in peace

The distant promise of summer—

children taking down their artwork

And teachers clearing out their desks

And everyone stares in awe as if they’re witnessing a miracle.

It’s getting colder here, you know

As the early morning joggers and

coffee connoisseurs dot the urban landscape—

and the tingling in my fingers is sadly

Only the stirrings of dreams:

That is the multi-million dollar question, isn’t it?

To understand love as distant as heaven and as close as

A month and a half away.

“Hush,” she said, and then nothing—

Swallowed by the winter silence. 

Period 8:

There is a flipside to joy—

There is a flipside to joy—

Quiet as snow, it is lined with pebbles

And boulders, small rocks and clumps of dirt.

Where only the bleak grays of doubt and fear survive,

The foliage of trampled dreams and the cold,

Anonymous moon shining over me.

A place where you run at night,

Your heart beating like the pulse of blood

Behind a bruise, the disorientation of panic

Impairs reaction time like alcohol, and then—

And then the colors begin to whirl.

There is a flipside to joy—

A tunnel as thin as a pin, where,

Like Alice, you take a little pill and

Slide right through—like a camel through

The eye of a sewing needle.

You emerge in a shallow, dry hollow

Watching infinitude trains pull away

And then, you, as well, are onboard,

Waving back at the ones you left behind.

There is a flipside to joy—

Where words are no longer necessary,

Where we refuse, or fail, to act human,

Where the dogs can’t catch our scent;

But from my seat in the crowded dining car

Of the endless black eternal locomotive,

We boldly flirt with the coastline—

My eyes widen as diamonds of sunlight

Dance on the water. 

The Plan by Jack Handey

A humorous piece to help you start off your week with a smile:

The Plan - By Jack Handey

My Name (CP II)

Here is my "My Name" piece that I wrote in college...as you can see, I chose to write mine in poem form:

Matt

I.

Mine is a name not worth naming.

It dies before it leaves your mouth,

Lips clapping like flapping shutters and

Tongue tchk-ing against teeth

Like the click of a key in a lock

Yet I’m stuck wearing this name like a badge of boredom,

A monument to all that is routine and mundane. 

And I beg for a trade.

 

II.

“But think of what it means!” you plead,

“A gift of God…our gift from God!”

Well thanks, mom, no pressure there…

Jesus was a gift of God too, and look what it got him,

Thirty-three years and back home he went.

(If I did that, you’d charge me rent)

No thank you, madam, I’ll have none of that.

But I’ll do anything else to escape the sinuous syllable

I state for self-identification.

 

III.

Oh how I begged them to let me change it…

Something different, something alive, something else!

Theodore, Balthazar, Tyler, Byron,

Or my personal favorite, Coyote Jones,

(The one I called myself when I was alone)

Even spoon out some alphabet soup and see what comes up!

It couldn’t be worse than my title at present

The tragically vapid,

And wholly depressing,

Matt.

The Best Laid Plans... (CP I)

The title of the novel "Of Mice and Men" comes from a poem by Robert Burns entitled "To A Mouse", written way back in 1785. The poem is very hard to understand due to it being written in a local dialect of English (it looks like a foreign language!)...which is similar to the way some of the characters talk in the novel.

Here is the poem in its entirety:

Wee, sleeket, cowran, tim'rous beastie, 

O, what panic's in thy breastie! 

Thou need na start awa sae hasty, 

Wi' bickering brattle! 

I wad be laith to rin an' chase thee, 

Wi' murd'ring pattle!

I'm truly sorry Man's dominion 
Has broken Nature's social union, 
An' justifies that ill opinion, 
Which makes thee startle, 
At me, thy poor, earth-born companion, 

An' fellow-mortal! 

I doubt na, whyles, but thou may thieve; 
What then? poor beastie, thou maun live! 
A daimen-icker in a thrave 'S a sma' request: 
I'll get a blessin wi' the lave, 
An' never miss't!

Thy wee-bit housie, too, in ruin! 
It's silly wa's the win's are strewin! 
An' naething, now, to big a new ane, 
O' foggage green! 
An' bleak December's winds ensuin, 
Baith snell an' keen!

Thou saw the fields laid bare an' wast, 
An' weary Winter comin fast, 
An' cozie here, beneath the blast, 
Thou thought to dwell, 
Till crash! the cruel coulter past 
Out thro' thy cell.

That wee-bit heap o' leaves an' stibble, 
Has cost thee monie a weary nibble! 
Now thou's turn'd out, for a' thy trouble, 
But house or hald. 
To thole the Winter's sleety dribble, 
An' cranreuch cauld!

But Mousie, thou are no thy-lane, 
In proving foresight may be vain: 
The best laid schemes o' Mice an' Men, 
Gang aft agley, 
An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain, 
For promis'd joy!

Still, thou art blest, compar'd wi' me! 
The present only toucheth thee: 
But Och! I backward cast my e'e, 
On prospects drear! 
An' forward, tho' I canna see, 
I guess an' fear!

Here is a rough translation of the poem:

http://www.electricscotland.com/burns/mouse.html

And here is the audio of the poem:

Listen to this in Real Audio

Assignment: Burns compares his own life's struggles to that of a mouse. What animal do you feel best represents your life thus far, and why? Explain this association in a post on your blog. This can be in either prose (a few paragraphs describing the similarities or differences) or in poetry (in either Burns' style or your own!)

Execution of the Mentally Handicapped: Legal? (CP I)

A picture of Daryl Atkins, a mentally-handicapped man who was convicted of murder. His case was a landmark case in the American courts, but there were dissenters to the vote.

Check out the following links for our discussion today:

Atkins V. Virginia Wikipedia article

Official site for the Atkins V. Virginia case

Audio Transcript of the Ruling

Amnesty International article on execution of mentally handicapped

Similes and Metaphors in Song

It might surprise you to know that a great number of popular songs utilize figurative language to get their message across. Here are three that I found, along with their video links:

Pearl Jam - Wishlist

I wish I was a neutron bomb for once I could go off
I wish I was a sacrifice but somehow still lived on
I wish I was a sentimental ornament you hung on
The Christmas tree I wish I was the star that went on top
I wish I was the evidence I wish I was the grounds
For 50 million hands upraised and open toward the sky

I wish I was a sailor with someone who waited for me
I wish I was as fortunate as fortunate as me
I wish I was a messenger and all the news was good
I wish I was the full moon shining off a Camaro's hood

I wish I was an alien at home behind the sun
I wish I was the souvenir you kept your house key on
I wish I was the pedal brake that you depended on
I wish I was the verb 'to trust' and never let you down

I wish I was a radio song, the one that you turned up

The Wallflowers - One Headlight


So long ago, I don't remember when
That's when they say I lost my only friend
Well they said she died easy of a broken heart disease
As I listened through the cemetery trees

I seen the sun comin' up at the funeral at dawn
The long broken arm of human law
Now it always seemed such a waste
She always had a pretty face
So I wondered how she hung around this place

Hey, come on try a little
Nothing is forever
There's got to be something better than
In the middle
But me & Cinderella,
We put it all together
We can drive it home
With one headlight

She said it's cold
It feels like Independence Day
And I can't break away from this parade
But there's got to be an opening
Somewhere here in front of me
Through this maze of ugliness and greed
And I seen the sun up ahead
At the county line bridge
Sayin' all there's good and nothingness is dead
We'll run until she's out of breath
She ran until there's nothin' left
She hit the end-it's just her window ledge

Well this place is old
It feels just like a beat up truck
I turn the engine, but the engine doesn't turn
Well it smells of cheap wine & cigarettes
This place is always such a mess
Sometimes I think I'd like to watch it burn
I'm so alone, and I feel just like somebody else
Man, I ain't changed, but I know I ain't the same
But somewhere here in between the city walls of dyin' dreams
I think her death it must be killin' me

Guns N' Roses - Sweet Child O' Mine



She's got a smile that it seems to me
Reminds me of childhood memories
Where everything
Was as fresh as the bright blue sky
Now and then when I see her face
She takes me away to that special place
And if I'd stare too long
I'd probably break down and cry

Whoa, Oh, Oh
Sweet child o' mine
Whoa, Oh, Oh, Oh
Sweet love of mine

She's got eyes of the bluest skies
As if they thought of rain
I hate to look into those eyes
And see an ounce of pain
Her hair reminds me of a warm safe place
Where as a child I'd hide
And pray for the thunder
And the rain
To quietly pass me by

Whoa, Oh, Oh
Sweet child o' mine
Whoa, Oh, Oh, Oh
Sweet love of mine



Well nighttime let her through
Yeah I'm talking to you
I wanna see her
Precious little thing

With eyes that dance around without their clothes
So buy a pretty dress
Wear it out tonight
For anyone you think could out do me

Or better still be my winding wheel
Cause I feel just like a map
Without a single place to go of interest
And I'm further North than South

If I could shut my mouth shed probably like this
So buy a pretty dress
And wear it out tonight
For all the boys you think could out do me
Or better still be my winding wheel

Be my winding wheel
Well the children laugh and sing a song that ushers in her driving rain

And I'm standing in the station like some old record waiting on a train
So buy a pretty dress
Wear it out tonight
For anyone you think could out do me
Or better still be my winding wheel

Be my winding wheel