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Karl's Poetry Portfolio

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S: Poetry Portfolio

FC: Karl's poetry Portfolio

2: Table Of Contents: Pg. 2: Haiku Pg. 3: Limerick Pg. 4: Free Verse Pg. 5-11: Birches TPCASTT Pg.12: Ode Pg. 13: Narrative

3: Haiku | A poem where there is a set number of syllables in a sentance. It was originally written by the Japanese samuri and nobles. With 5 syllables, then 7, and then 5. Ex: This is a haiku I now understand what a, haiku can look like

4: Limerick | A poem that usually starts with "There once was" or "There was a." Usually goes to the rhyme scheme of A, A, B, B, A. | Ex: There once was a clover named Kate, Who sat on the edge of a plate, The fancy folk dined, On foods of all kind, Then tossed her at quarter past eight.

5: A poem which has no rythm or rhyme. It can either make sense or be non-sense. It can tell a story or just use pretty words | F r e e V e r s e | Example: The flowers blooming, so cheerifly I must say, for their bright, vibrant colors, wind blowing them far.

6: When I see birches bend to left and right Across the lines of straighter darker trees, I like to think some boy's been swinging them. But swinging doesn't bend them down to stay. Ice-storms do that. Often you must have seen them Loaded with ice a sunny winter morning After a rain. They click upon themselves As the breeze rises, and turn many-coloured As the stir cracks and crazes their enamel. Soon the sun's warmth makes them shed crystal shells Shattering and avalanching on the snow-crust Such heaps of broken glass to sweep away You'd think the inner dome of heaven had fallen. They are dragged to the withered bracken by the load, And they seem not to break; though once they are bowed So low for long, they never right themselves: You may see their trunks arching in the woods Years afterwards, trailing their leaves on the ground, Like girls on hands and knees that throw their hair Before them over their heads to dry in the sun. But I was going to say when Truth broke in With all her matter-of-fact about the ice-storm, I should prefer to have some boy bend them As he went out and in to fetch the cows-- Some boy too far from town to learn baseball, Whose only play was what he found himself, Summer or winter, and could play alone. One by one he subdued his father's trees By riding them down over and over again Until he took the stiffness out of them, And not one but hung limp, not one was left | Birches By Robert Frost

7: For him to conquer. He learned all there was To learn about not launching out too soon And so not carrying the tree away Clear to the ground. He always kept his poise To the top branches, climbing carefully With the same pains you use to fill a cup Up to the brim, and even above the brim. Then he flung outward, feet first, with a swish, Kicking his way down through the air to the ground. So was I once myself a swinger of birches. And so I dream of going back to be. It's when I'm weary of considerations, And life is too much like a pathless wood Where your face burns and tickles with the cobwebs Broken across it, and one eye is weeping >From a twig's having lashed across it open. I'd like to get away from earth awhile And then come back to it and begin over. May no fate willfully misunderstand me And half grant what I wish and snatch me away Not to return. Earth's the right place for love: I don't know where it's likely to go better. I'd like to go by climbing a birch tree And climb black branches up a snow-white trunk Toward heaven, till the tree could bear no more, But dipped its top and set me down again. That would be good both going and coming back. One could do worse than be a swinger of birches. | Birches Cont.

8: Title: I thought this poem would be about someone looking at and decribing birch trees. | Paraphrase: The person in the story is looking at birch trees all around him. He imagines boys swinging on them like he did when he was a kid. But, children don't bend the trees way he sees they are bent, so he realizes it was from ice weighing down the branches. The sun then slowly melts away snow. The branches seem not to crack and break, but to bend tremendusly. He would prefer to have had boys bend them by playing instead of the ice storm. A boy who had nothing to play with but the trees. To learn how to play perfectly on them, with ease. He would climb and then shoot out and jump far out. This boy he is imagining is much like himself when he was a boy. He would get hurt. He wishes he could go back and climb trees. He resepcts all that are swingers of branches.

9: Connnotations: • Extended metaphor: The whole poem is talking about what the author did as a kid, such as swinging on branches. This isn't just talking about swinging on branches, but what adults did in their free time as a kid that they can't do and miss now that they are older. • Symbolism: The birches also symbolize life and if we way them down, then our life can get depressing, so we have to keep a balanced life and keep having fun • Metaphor: "The sun's warth shed crystal shells." He is talking about how the suns rays that can almost look like shells, while clearly they aren't shells. • Extended Metaphor: When he is talking about jumping up from high in the tree he really is talking about how when people are kids they are care-free. • Imagery: When Robert calls the beams of sunlights shells of light, which reminded of when you squint your eyes and can see the light look like hexagons.

10: Attitude: The poem's attitude in the beginning is happy, untill he realizes ice bent the trees and not children. Then he is sad, and, finally he is reminicent and realizeskids have better things to do. | Shift: The main shift in this poem is when the author realizes the trees were bent by ice, he went from happy, to depressed.

11: Theme: The theme of it this poem is that you should be serious and grow up in life, but to also keep doing fun things that you would have enjoyed in your childhood. | Title: The title is talking about the birch trees the author is talking about and staring at that reminds him of his childhood.

12: Ode: Ode to the crossing guard: Who lets us across the street His yellow and orange armor His smile always sweet But his intentions are far-more worse than you can think For the hearts of children Buried in his sink His ideas corrupt His mind in a blurr All of this happened... When he saw her

13: Narrative: The Butterfly Abroad: The little butterfly waits patiently it sucks the nectar the bird it hates the bird searches the sector for its next prey may the bird be lucky and the butterfly doesn't say yay the butterfly thinks its yucky and that is not okay

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  • By: Karl N.
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  • Title: Karl's Poetry Portfolio
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  • Published: over 9 years ago