critical week # 14

Today is a Bitter Sweet day. It is the last day of us doing poetry blogs. I must say that I have learned a lot from this class. With our first day of coming into this class we were asked what was our definition of poetry. To me it was a an expression of art with the use of words. I still feel this way about poetry but i have also learned to appreciate that expression a lot more when realized the mechanics that it takes in order achieve this art form. There were so many different forms that I have learned about. Before this class I had never heard of a Ghazal, an Abude . This class broadened my experiences with poetry. I must say I don't think I will invest in a career of Poetry, but it has definitely affected my life. Now I appreciate the use of language and how words can be placed together so beautifully. It makes me want to expand my vocabulary, discover new words to use within my poems. I also have learned to be creative. Poem are better when you describe your subject with out directly speaking about it. Metaphors play an important role in poems. It is what gives the poem that twist. So as this semester comes close to the end. I now have a greater appreciation for poetry. I started out wondering if I would be able to conquer the task of writing poetry. Though I may not be the best in the class I do feel that gave a good effort. And hey life is all about trying.

I was on facebook today and I came across this video on my friends page. I was just going to pass it by.

I didn't think that it was worth watching, but something told me to press play. This poem blew me away.

With me being Christian it really touched me. It made me question myself, my life and my desires. As a college student

its easy to lose focus on really living the right way. Its easy to be religious but hard to be spiritual. You can go through the motions,

but if you are not living right its hard to continue to have that true connection to God. Where he can abide in you.

Another point this poem made, was that it easy to quotes scripture of comfort. The ones that promises us prosperity, but we

hate to read the ones that convict us. He ends it with how bless we are that Jesus died on the cross for our sins. And thats when

I realized that is how I am saved. Poetry should move you, and it should inspire you. Love to hear people perform poetry.

You feel their expressions and your not confused on what they want you take away from the poem.

week #14 free #1

This is the poem that I did for this week group presentation. I decided to post it so you can tell me what you think.

Revenge

I still taste the salt from my tears.

What a sweet sour taste.

I sit on the edge of our bed,

Staring blandly at the wall.

Devastation consumes me like a parasite.

Leaving nothing left if me.

Leaving no trace of who I once was.

Life seems a lot darker now.

I scare myself,

With the possibility of my thoughts.

I could kill you a hundred ways,

And cover up the evidence.

Scorned,

A womanís fury comes straight from hell.

You should hope for the best,

But expect the worst.

I hope she was worth it.

Sherita Bolden

As you can assume, my topic was about my husband cheating on me. So I tried to explore this with confessing my thoughts of getting revenge.

week #13 criticcal

This weekend I read over our packet for the upcoming group project. The poem form that interested me the most was Confessional Poetry. It was stated that confessional poetry was an expression of feelings and emotions. They consisted of feelings of death, trauma, and relationships. Some of the most known people to use this form, was Sylvia Plath, Anne Sexton, and W.D. Snodgrass, and Robert Lowell. I choose the poem but Sylvia Plath was Lady Lazarus

Lady Lazarus

I have done it again.
One year in every ten
I manage it-----

A sort of walking miracle, my skin
Bright as a Nazi lampshade,
My right foot

A paperweight,
My featureless, fine
Jew linen.

Peel off the napkin
O my enemy.
Do I terrify?-------

The nose, the eye pits, the full set of teeth?
The sour breath
Will vanish in a day.

Soon, soon the flesh
The grave cave ate will be
At home on me

And I a smiling woman.
I am only thirty.
And like the cat I have nine times to die.

This is Number Three.
What a trash
To annihilate each decade.

What a million filaments.
The Peanut-crunching crowd
Shoves in to see

Them unwrap me hand and foot ------
The big strip tease.
Gentleman , ladies

These are my hands
My knees.
I may be skin and bone,

Nevertheless, I am the same, identical woman.
The first time it happened I was ten.
It was an accident.

The second time I meant
To last it out and not come back at all.
I rocked shut

As a seashell.
They had to call and call
And pick the worms off me like sticky pearls.

Dying
Is an art, like everything else.
I do it exceptionally well.

I do it so it feels like hell.
I do it so it feels real.
I guess you could say I've a call.

It's easy enough to do it in a cell.
It's easy enough to do it and stay put.
It's the theatrical

Comeback in broad day
To the same place, the same face, the same brute
Amused shout:

'A miracle!'
That knocks me out.
There is a charge

For the eyeing my scars, there is a charge
For the hearing of my heart---
It really goes.

And there is a charge, a very large charge
For a word or a touch
Or a bit of blood

Or a piece of my hair on my clothes.
So, so, Herr Doktor.
So, Herr Enemy.

I am your opus,
I am your valuable,
The pure gold baby

That melts to a shriek.
I turn and burn.
Do not think I underestimate your great concern.

Ash, ash---
You poke and stir.
Flesh, bone, there is nothing there----

A cake of soap,
A wedding ring,
A gold filling.

Herr God, Herr Lucifer
Beware
Beware.

Out of the ash
I rise with my red hair
And I eat men like air.

I loved the vivid images used in this poem. In the bible Lazarus was raised from the dead, her use of language in the poem paints that picture of what it may have been like to view someone that was once dead. My favorite line was " Do I terrify" and "The Sour breath will vanish in a day". The poem had solemn tone to it. She comes out of the grave incomplete, and she is hoping to one day regain those things that makes us alive. While doing research on her poem. A reader wrote that " "Lady Lazarus' is Plath's way expressing in her own words the agony of being born agian." This was a deep dark poem. Plath has been known for writing depressing poems that hint around the act of suicide. We even see in this poem her multiple suicide attempts and how she continuously raise from the dead and come back from them. To me, most confessional poems are like a cry out for help. Its a way for the author to hopefully gain understanding from the reader.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=esBLxyTFDxE

week #13 free

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?

Langston Hughes

I did blog last week when we wasn't suppose to so I'm gonna repost it for this week.

week #11 critical #3

I went back to one of our old blogs when our teacher told us to find something beautiful and tell why it is beautiful. Well I decided to think outside the box and write about something other than nature. So I wrote about a movie camera. I find the beauty in this camera because this is my life's dream, being an actress. Along with acting, I want to be a director and produce films. I love seeing life throw the eye's of a camera. Your creativity is limitless. You can tell any story that you want. Your shots are everything. Close ups, medium shots, and far away all work together to help tell the story. Acting and film has been my life and this would be my dream job. When I look at this camera I see the freedom of life. I see, myself living life to the fullest. With film everyday is different, its spontaneous. And to me thats the beauty of life. Waking up excited to go to work, to see what the day will bring.

week #11 critical #2

So spring break is the week that most of us will probably be getting our barriers together and start to work on our poetry collections. I think back to when I heard Natasha Trethewey speak last week and she went into depth of why she choose certain pieces to place in her collection, Native Guard. Her collection started off with the an elegy to her mother. Most of the poems in the beginning were about her relationship with her mother, and ultimately dealing with the grief of her passing. Then the last part of her collection was about the forgotten soldiers of the Native Guard. She explained to us the reason for her placing her mother and these soldiers in the same collection. She said that they had one thing in common. Each of them were left to be forgotten, and that the people that should have honored them left no memorial for them. She did not give her mother a tombstone, and the Blacks soldiers names were not left on a plague like the white soldiers names were. This made her collection connect and come together. This made me realized how important it is that your collection has some sort of theme to it. It gives depth and meaning to your poems. Reading other collections you also see how the poems all connect. Some poems feed off of the one before, almost like a story. So as you create and set up your portfolios think about what kind of story or message you want to tell.

week #11 free

Morning

Savoring moments before I leave.

I open my eyes, staring at you.

Making sure that you inhale and exhale

The air you need to survive.

Oh how I could beat the hell out of time.

How dare it cause me to leave your side.

The torture of the day awaits me,

As I daydream of last nights encounters

I try to slip out of the puzzle we have created.

Amazed by the masterpiece of our bodies.

What a sight. My leg underneath yours,

Your arms over lapping mines.

Finally I break free from this heavenly prison.

But just as I think I’m free from capture.

You grab my hand and ask me where I’m going.

I kiss you on the forehead and reply,

“The day awaits me my love”

This was my Aubade poem. Im thinking about if I want to put this in my portfolio book. But I was looking for suggestions about how I could make this better. We didn't get to workshop this poem. so appreciate the comments. Thanks

week #10 critical #3

Erasing Amyloo

A father with a huge eraser erases his daughter. When he  finishes there's only a red smudge on the wall.   His wife says, where is Amyloo?   She's a mistake, I erased her.   What about all her lovely things? asks his wife.   I'll erase them too.   All her pretty clothes? . . .   I'll erase her closet, her dresser--shut up about Amyloo!  Bring your head over here and I'll erase Amyloo out of it.   The husband rubs his eraser on his wife's forehead, and as  she begins to forget she says, hummm, I wonder whatever  happened to Amyloo? . . .   Never heard of her, says her husband.   And you, she says, who are you? You're not Amyloo, are  you? I don't remember your being Amyloo. Are you my  Amyloo, whom I don't remember anymore? . . .   Of course not, Amyloo was a girl. Do I look like a girl? . . . I don't know, I don't know what anything looks like  anymore. . . 

      Russel Edson

I like reading this prose poem and when we read it in class it really made sense to me. 

A lot of times people wish they could pick and choose parts in there life that they want to remember. 

But as the poem demonstrates we can never complete forget anything.I t will always be a part of our lives.

I also think about how some things wouldn't be the same  if they were erased. Like If my mom 

and dad never met, there would be no me. I also feel like another there could be another meaning to the poem. It reminds me of

 the government, and how they all try to cover up there mistakes as if they never happen. But this poems

shows that no matter how hard you try it will never be forgotten.

I feel that prose poems are short and sweet and give you something

to think about. Maybe that is what makes them so poetic.

week 10 free #2

I was looking at some videos for our upcoming project and these are two videos of poetry that caught my attention. These videos are taken from def poetry Jam. This form of poetry is where Hip Hop stems from. Now hip hop has turned into rapping. The difference being, rap artist dont talk about anything in depth. Hip Hop is slowly dying. Anyway I hope you enjoy the video.

week 10 critical #1

In class this week I learned how people can interpret poems in their own ways. I was the guardian for Cydney. After reading her poem I automatically thought it was a metaphor for a 3G phone and a man. This was so cool because I like how she linked the characteristics of a I phone to the characteristics you experience in a relationship. But the meaning I got from her poem was slightly different form what she wrote about. She was writing her poem in relation to I pod. Knowing this made her poem make more sense in certain places. For instance when she says "you make me think releasing me from the world around me" That doesn't connect to a phone, but it makes sense with a I pod. Class got even more interesting when one of my classmates spoke about what she thought the poem was about. She thought it was a "woman's toy" LOL I thought that was completely hilarious. The whole class re read the poem and at that moment we agreed that it could represent a "woman's toy". It actually fit better that way. I guess that is why workshops are so important. The title of a poem is important. The title can change the complete meaning of the poem. I will love to see the revision of the this poem.

Week 9 critical #3

I focused more so in found poems but I didn't really think about listing poems. I wanted to learn more about them so started to see if I could find some examples. While researching I found a website that allowed you to create a listing poem just by filling in the boxes. It was kind of fun, you just randomly writing stuff in the blanks and seeing how it would play out in the end. Here is the results of my poem

What’s in the pockets of my old coat
Half eaten piece bubble gum
Fat peace a of lent...
10 dollar bill my dad gave me for the store
two rusted pennies
ticket stubs from the movies
A rolled up piece of snot tissue
lip gloss that has no more luster
and a old note from and ex boyfriend

It was pretty cool. But of course I would like to work on making the poem more complex. Listing poems are not just random sentences put together but they have a purpose and work together for a greater meaning. These are some others poems I looked that were listing poems. According to "The excerpt from conversations with a Poet" List poems contain, repetition, it doesn't matter if it contains rhyming or not, and the ending is and strong and funny.

The are some other examples of listing poems

This morning I got up
on the wrong side of the bed
turned the shower water too hot
and scalded my head
mom yelled at me
dad ignored me
my puppy bit me
big brother hit me
could not find the lotion
nor the shampoo
wish I could go back to bed
...........and snooze.

Also

I went to the store
to pick up some bread
when I arrived
I got rolls instead
strolled through the veggies
and picked up fruits
got custard pudding
and brunswick stew
hit the dairy and
went for the eggs
then felt a pain in my legs
the load was heavy
and boy, was I sluggy
do you know why?
did not get a buggy.

I got these examples from Aspirennies.com

Sites I visited

http://www.rcowen.com/PDFs/Franco%20Ch%2020%20for%20web.pdf

http://www.aspirennies.com/private/SiteBody/Romance/Poetry/Styles/poemStyle11.shtml

http://www.aspirennies.com/private/SiteBody/Romance/Poetry/Styles/poemStyle11.shtml

To write you own listing poem http://ettcweb.lr.k12.nj.us/forms/listpoem.htm

week #9 free #2

Poetry best when come from real life experiences. I have a great inspiration for my next found poem. This weekend I lost my keys. That is the worse feeling in the world. Especially when you don't know who may have picked them up. Your keys are like life to you. It has access to your car, house, your mama's house, your mail box. So when you lose them its understandable that you go into panic mood. Eventually I found them (YEA!) and now life is back to normal. There is a sigh of relief. I feel this will make a great found poem, there are so many metaphors that you can use for keys. I feel like we all have lost ours keys once in our lives. So this poem can relate to anybody. I still have to sit down and explore what really want to say, but if I write this poem right it can really be a good one. I can't wait to play around with and introduce it to the class!

Week #9 critical 1

• This was my found poem that I wrote in class.

I wrote it based on a facebook chat me and friend had

8:21am

Terence

?

first 
how did the paegent go?

8:22am

Rita

great! I won!

I wish you can have been there !

8:22am

Terence

i knew you would!!
sweet

congrats!!

i wish i could have too

8:22am

Rita

thanks!

8:22am

Terence

maybe when u win next year too i'll be there

lol

so what is this project?

8:23am

Rita

No.... i can only do it once

and Idk... I gotta keep the ball rolling now uuh

I guess i need to go ahead and write a movie

8:27am

Terence

yup

i'll help

u just gotta take the first step

8:28am

Rita

what that

So from this I wrote a poem called c=Conversation with God. The encouragement my friend gave me in this chat sounded like something God would say to me. I just changed some sentences around to fit better.

Conversation with God

So you won! I just wanted to say congrats sweetie!

Thanks! I wish you could have see me.

Now you know I didn't miss it. And when you win next year I'll be there too.

No.... I can only do it once.

Says who, don't you know I will make a winner over many things.

Well I guess I have to keep the ball rolling now huh?

Yup, so what is your next project,

Idk, I guess ill write the rest of my life story

Ill help you just have to take the next step.

And what is that....?

Week #8 critical #3

Black Arts Movement!

While looking up research for our class project. I came across some good information about the Black Arts Movement. It was started in harlem by a writer by the writer Amira Baraka ( later changed his name to Le roi Jones.) He started this movement shortly after the death of Malcom X. This era was crucial to African American literature because it encourage blacks to start their own publishing house, art institutes, magazines, and journals. It encouraged blacks to write. It displayed a different type of literature, giving the minority people a voice.

Poetry was an important part of this movement. Most poems were written during this era to inform people of the issues within the community. It was a way for African Americans to spread knowledge with one another. The poems during the (BAM) were powerful. They had to be. This was a period of the civil right movement and the black panthers, poets wanted to engage their audience into political issues.

The Black arts Movement lasted about a decade but it can be said hat some of the most exciting poems came from this movement. I continue to research information from this era I continue to get excited. This era produced art this was feel with passion, desire, and strength. It had a fire to it, and that fire inspired other minorities to express themselves as well. Below is a poem from Nikki Giovvani. She was a major poet during this time

Nikki-Rosa

Childhood rememberances are
always a drag if you're Black
you always remember things like
living in Woodlawn with no inside toilet
and if you become famous or something

They never talk about how happy
you were to have your mother
all to yourself and how good the
water felt when you got your bath
from one of those

Big tubs that folk in chicago barbeque
in and somehow when you talk
about home
it never gets across how much you
understood their feelings as the
whole family attended meetings

About Hollydale and even though you
remember your biographers never
understand your father's pain as he
sells his stock and another
dream goes

And though your're poor it isn't
poverty that concerns you and
though they fought a lot
it isn't your father's drinking that
makes any difference but only that

Everybody is together and you
and your sister have happy birthdays
and very good Christmasses and I
really hope no white person ever has
cause to write about me
because they never understand

Black love is Black wealth and they'll
probably talk about my hard childhood
and never understand that
all the while I was quite happy

week 8 #2 critical

The joy of writing a Sestina!

I just wanted to spend time talking about the joy of writing a sestina...(not). These are difficult to do because it requires us to incorporate six endings of the same words into a poem. But you have to do so in a way where the poem still makes sense and appeals to the reader. Talking to my other classmates I learned that sestinas are not our favorite types of poem to write. Yes listening to the poems we had in class, I feel that we did a better job at writing it than we had thought. I have a lot of respect for the people that have mastered this form. It's not easy. Poets like Elizabeth Bishop, can write this poem in way where you forget about the reputation. Like Professor Park's say in class, don't let the form of the poem take control of what you want to say. Her sentences don't feel forced. They fit in the right place. This was my problem. In the beginning it was easy to have powerful sentences. But towards the end it became more difficult to not force the sentences. My words were Queen, quotes, fruits, friends, earth, and tiger. Fruits and quotes were the hardest to work with. Queen was easy though. So many things can work with queen. My favorite line in the poem was "A real queen is 'and I quote'" I felt I that used quote in a clever way because it was an actually quote. As far as me writing another sestina.... If i don't have to I probably won't. A sestina is one of those things that you can cross off your bucket list and and be grateful that you tried it.

Week #8 free #1

Growing up I dreamed of being a queen.

Being able to call my wild untamed pet a tiger

Having every word I state being quoted.

Everyone around me wanting to be my friend

They bring me special gifts straight from the Earth,

Never Reluctantly giving me their first fruits.

What a bittersweet obligation just like a Grapefruit

The task is never ending for a Queen.

She must be quick and Fierce just like a Tiger

For she is responsible and the keeper of the earth.

Her best interest are for her people, they are her friends.

Her word must be powerful to go down in history as quotes

But a real queen is, And I quote

“ A Virtuous Women”. She bring her dreams to fruition.

She is admired by her family and friends.

A crown is not needed for her to know that she is a queen.

The cream of the fight, just like the eye of the tiger.

She is strong as the roots that grow underneath the earth

A true queen learns from previous ancestors that walked the earth

She spreads knowledge and wisdom of studied quotes

Protective over her young, just as a female Tiger.

The beauty of her soul is a refreshing as freshly squeezed fruit.

Her husband replaces her name with queen

Her royalty is views by all of her friends

So being a queen is not as easy as I thought my friend,

It’s critical that you be intoned with yourself and the earth,

For the earth will leak little secrets of how to walk as a queen.

Your like will be like one big quotation.

An essential part of everyone’s diet like fruit.

Your courage stripes you like Tiger.

The pride and strength in you could challenge a tiger’s.

Learning to love your enemies as friends,

Learning savor the meat of life fruits,

Appreciating the Gifts of the earth,

And saying words of wisdom create for quotes.

All are what make up the true essence of a queen

I am queen, with the slyness of tiger. I am the foundation for my friends. And we al reap the benefits from the earth.

Week #7 Entry #3 critical

Genus Narcissus

Faire daffadills, we weep to see / You haste away so soone.
—Herrick

The road I walked home from school
was dense with trees and shadow, creek-side,
and lit by yellow daffodils, early blossoms

bright against winter’s last gray days.
I must have known they grew wild, thought
no harm in taking them. So I did—

gathering up as many as I could hold,
then presenting them, in a jar, to my mother.
She put them on the sill, and I sat nearby,

watching light bend through the glass,
day easing into evening, proud of myself
for giving my mother some small thing.

Childish vanity. I must have seen in them
some measure of myself—the slender
stems, each blossom a head lifted up

toward praise, or bowed to meet its reflection.
Walking home those years ago, I knew nothing
of Narcissus or the daffodils’ short spring—

how they’d dry like graveside flowers, rustling
when the wind blew—a whisper, treacherous,
from the sill. Be taken with yourself,

they said to me; Die early, to my mother.

I read this poem in my 1102 class, I really enjoyed it. If your know about Greek mythology, then you know how daffodils came about. Narcissus was so intrigued with himself that he looked at himself in a pond and stayed in that one spot forever. when he died a flower grew in his spot. in this poem the little girl pick these flowers because she see herself in it. "must have seen in them some measure of myself—the slender

stems, each blossom a head lifted up." The same goes for the mother. She views herself in these flowers, but just Daffodils are also short lived plants, so she sees her death quickly approaching. I like this poem because it ties in so nicely with the rest of the collection. The next poem in the book is called graveyard where her mother has died and we see the narrator in the first stage of grief.

Week #7 Entry #2 critical

My favorite poem from Billy Collins

Moon

The moon is full tonight
an illustration for sheet music,
an image in Matthew Arnold
glimmering on the English Channel,
or a ghost over a smoldering battlefield
in one of the history plays.

It's as full as it was
in that poem by Coleridge
where he carries his year-old son
into the orchard behind the cottage
and turns the baby's face to the sky
to see for the first time
the earth's bright companion,
something amazing to make his crying seem small.

And if you wanted to follow this example,
tonight would be the night
to carry some tiny creature outside
and introduce him to the moon.

And if your house has no child,
you can always gather into your arms
the sleeping infant of yourself,
as I have done tonight,
and carry him outdoors,
all limp in his tattered blanket,
making sure to steady his lolling head
with the palm of your hand.

And while the wind ruffles the pear trees
in the corner of the orchard
and dark roses wave against a stone wall,
you can turn him on your shoulder
and walk in circles on the lawn
drunk with the light.
You can lift him up into the sky,
your eyes nearly as wide as his,
as the moon climbs high into the night.

~ Billy Collins ~

I like how the poem make a reference to the poem written by Coleridge. I researched a little to find the poem he was talking about. I took an exert from the poem.

Dear Babe, that sleepest cradled by my side,

Whose gentle breathings, heard in this deep calm,

Fill up the intersperséd vacancies

And momentary pauses of the thought !

My babe so beautiful ! it thrills my heart

With tender gladness, thus to look at thee,

And think that thou shalt learn far other lore,

And in far other scenes ! For I was reared

In the great city, pent 'mid cloisters dim,

And saw nought lovely but the sky and stars.

But thou, my babe ! shalt wander like a breeze

By lakes and sandy shores, beneath the crags

Of ancient mountain, and beneath the clouds,

Which image in their bulk both lakes and shores

And mountain crags : so shalt thou see and hear

The lovely shapes and sounds intelligible

Of that eternal language, which thy God

Utters, who from eternity doth teach

Himself in all, and all things in himself.

Great universal Teacher ! he shall mould

Thy spirit, and by giving make it ask.



Therefore all seasons shall be sweet to thee,

Whether the summer clothe the general earth

With greenness, or the redbreast sit and sing

Betwixt the tufts of snow on the bare branch

Of mossy apple-tree, while the nigh thatch

Smokes in the sun-thaw ; whether the eave-drops fall

Heard only in the trances of the blast,

Or if the secret ministry of frost

Shall hang them up in silent icicles,

Quietly shining to the quiet Moon.

He also makes a reference to Matthew Arnold, he was a English poet and also an inspector of schools. I like the tone of the Collin's poem. It has a piece within it. I love the imagery of holding a child up to the moon, it's like he wants to show them that there is a whole world out there. Its like the child's introduction to the universe. While reading this i also made a reference to the piece. In the movie "Root's", Kunta Kinte holds Kissy up to the moon, almost as if he was dedicating her back to the God. This poem makes me think of that scene I also like when collins writes "And if your house has no child, you can always gather into your arms the sleeping infant of yourself." We all should take the time and find the innocence in ourselves and remember how beautiful nature is and that we can find inspiration in it. When I read this poem I pictured myself outside. Feeling the summer breeze tickle my face as I sit on the green grass and look at the fully light moon. I could see that man holding up his little baby. And I see myself holding up the infant me. It was a great read.

Week 7 Free entry #1

Cut

A deep wound
That continues to have the scabs pulled off of it
Leaving it open with drops of blood that I try to catch

I try to protect it,
from the salt and vinegar continuously poured on top.
Excruciating pain left for me to deal with.

Time will heal it,
But it’s hard to slather time across this sore,
And without patience this medicine will only counteract.

So I bandage it up
Knowing that its not ready to be expose to others,
Because it’s susceptible for an infection.

Soon a scar will appear,
A war wound reminding me of the struggle and hurt
A sign like a rainbow to promise me to always put me first.

Sherita Bolden

week 6 (# 3)Critical

Crime Scene

Freshly Slaughtered,

even the teeth are still warm.

Only busted bones left to identify the person

She sits in the Damp Sand

Her green tunic stretched and pulled

Left to rot under the cider sky.

Piece of evidence left in her hand.

A letter beginning with, Dear Professor Sedge.

Immediately we knew we had our guy.

But even if he was caught,

we would only receive a vague confession.

Giving off no leads, to trace us to him

So here is what I see

staring at her red wolf flesh

Cold, alone, streaked with Ice.

She will forever sing a song contained,

Of the day she was tied up by her lover.

The inspiration of this poem comes from Watching a CSI show! This professor kills one of his students and leaves her in a ditch. This episode was so good... so I kind of form a poem from the view point of the Detective....

And the lines are from the list we got last week.

Here are the lines I choose :

Here's what I see

Streaked with ice

the red wolf flesh

Dented bones

to identify a character

tie up my lover

Dear professor Sedge

even warm teeth

a green tunic

a cider sky

vaguely confessional

Rhyming Exercise

This week I wanted to re do the assignment we did in class and find words that rhymes.

I chose the word Precious.

1.* Delicious

2.*Cautious

3.*Luscious

4.* Joyous

5.* Vicious

6. *Jealous

7. * Vivacious

8. Lettuce

9. Dallas

10. Tennis

11. Crisis

12. Thesis

13. porous

14. Status

15. Caucus

16. Chorus

17. Midas

18. Ruckus

19. Notice

20. Menace

(Week 6) #1 free

This is the Pantoum poem I did this week.

Pierced with a suicidal sword,

yet somehow I go on.

Filled with ancestral desires.

I'm tied up in my lover,

Yet somehow I go on.

This is a child's game.

Im tied up in my lover,

the purpose of this will be apparent one day.

This is a child's game

Played sufficiently fierce

The purpose of this will be apparent one day.

As of now the story is occurring.

This is child's game.

Played sufficiently fierce,

The purpose of this will apparent one day.

As of now the story is occurring.

Played sufficiently fierce,

I give off no leads.

As of now the story is occurring.

Deep inside I dream of us,

pierced with a suicidal sword.

Sherita Bolden

week 5 critical #3

Blank verse

I first I thought blank verse was really easy because it was written in the form that we talk in. There is no rhyming, so you don't have the stress to make words fit. It also is very flexible with meter . But actually in order to write a good blank verse poem have to have some constraints. Or it will just come out sloppy and nothing would separate it from being a poem and and an essay. Its usually written in iambic pentameter. So it even though it doesn't rhyme it should have a beat to it. Since blank verse is easy it it requires you to have creativity. From looking at our packet this week Blank verse is usually long. Shakespeare used a lot of blank verse for his dramatic plays.

My favorite blank verse poem is:

Job Interview

Think you, if Laura had been Petrarch's wife He would have written sonnets all his life? DON JUAN, III, 63-4 "Where do you see yourself five years from now?" the eldest male member (or is "male member" a redundancy?) of the committee asked me. "Not here," I thought. A good thing I speak fluent Fog. I craved that job like some unappeasable, taunting woman. What did Byron's friend Hobhouse say after the wedding? "I felt as if I had buried a friend." Each day I had that job I felt the slack leash at my throat and thought what was its other trick. Better to scorn the job than ask what I had ever seen in it or think what pious muck I'd ladled over the committee. If they believed me, they deserved me. As luck would have it, the job lasted me almost but not quite five years. William Matthews

week 5 #2 Critical

Since we have to write sonnets for class I decided to do a little more research on the difference between the Italian Sonnets and the shakespearean sonnets.

The Italian sonnet can be also known as the Petrarchan Sonnet. Its named after Francesco Petrarch he is recognized as the person that developed this style of sonnet. Sonnets were very popular and were used by poets who wanted to impress nobility.

Sonnets kept most of the original themes that the Italian sonnets included, but other writers created their own form of sonnets. This is why we have the Shakespearean, and the Spenserian sonnet. Toward the 16th century sonnets were now as popular, and the were use mainly to poke fun of things or to show a poets cleverness in his writing.

We know the general rules in each sonnet

The Italian Sonnet (Petrarchan) has 14 lines. they are grouped in a 8 line unit and 6 line unit.

In the English Sonnet ( Shakespearean) there is 14 lines and they are grouped in 3 quatrains. Which a couplet at the end to emphasis the main point of the sonnet.

The Spenserian is similar to the english, but the rhymes scheme is alot harder for example.

ABAB BCBC CDCD EE.

Here is an example of an Italian poem with the rhyme schemes

Oh His Blindness

When I consider how my light is spent (a)
Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide, (b)
And that one talent which is death to hide, (b)
Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent (a)
To serve therewith my Maker, and present (a)
My true account, lest he returning chide; (b)
"Doth God exact day-labor, light denied?" (b)
I fondly ask; but Patience to prevent (a)
That murmur, soon replies, "God doth not need (c)
Either man's work or his own gifts; who best (d)
Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state (e)
Is Kingly. Thousands at his bidding speed (c)
And post o'er land and ocean without rest; (d)
They also serve who only stand and wait." (e)

By: John Milton

Shakespearean Sonnet

et me not to the marriage of true minds (a)
Admit impediments, love is not love (b)*
Which alters when it alteration finds, (a)
Or bends with the remover to remove. (b)*
O no, it is an ever fixed mark (c)**
That looks on tempests and is never shaken; (d)***
It is the star to every wand'ring bark, (c)
Whose worth's unknown although his height be taken. (d)***
Love's not time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks (e)
Within his bending sickle's compass come, (f)*
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, (e)
But bears it out even to the edge of doom: (f)*

If this be error and upon me proved, (g)*

I never writ, nor no man ever loved. (g)*

William Shakespeare

And the Spenserian sonnet

Happy ye leaves! whenas those lily hands, (a)
Which hold my life in their dead doing might, (b)
Shall handle you, and hold in love's soft hands, (a)
Like captives trembling at the victor's sight. (b)
And happy lines on which, with starry light, (b)
Those lamping eyes will deign sometimes to look,(c)
And read the sorrows of my dying sprite, (b)
Written with tears in heart's close bleeding book. (c)
And happy rhymes! bathed in the sacred brook (c)
Of Helicon, whence she derived is, (d)
When ye behold that angel's blessed look, (c)
My soul's long lacked food, my heaven's bliss. (d)
Leaves, lines, and rhymes seek her to please alone, (e)
Whom if ye please, I care for other none. (e)

websites

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sonnet#Italian_.28Petrarchan.29_sonnet

http://www.lima.ohio-state.edu/dburks/201sonnet.htm

Week 5 free entry #1

This is the sonnet that we did in class on tuesday. I though it was a very fun activity. It caused us to think on the spot, and also it was exciting to hear how the poem turned out in the end. This was the result of the project.

Collaborated force

(Orginal)

Created by the pressure of the Earth

Broken under the weight

An aggressive force holds us together

But still small atoms tear us apart

Apart like the orange from the healthy white

But still similar to the green from a plant

The fire, the nonsense will quickly bring down

The frighten but fearless woman above

Who knows courage has fear but in spite of

All that I still wanted to try for you

Uncomfortable and new, but why not?

Maybe I will turn blue like the ocean.

As I hold my breath and wait for release

(Revised)

Created by the pressure of the Earth

Broken under the weight

An aggressive force holds us together

Yet, still small atoms tear us apart,

Apart like the orange from the healthy white

Similar like the greenness on a plant

Like fire, nonsense will quickly burn down,

the frighten but fearless woman above

Who knows courage, can have fears, In spite of

All that I wanted to try for with you. Yes,

uncomfortable and new, but why not?

Maybe I will turn blue like the ocean.

As I hold my breath and wait for release