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My Poetry Portfolio

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S: FOXY SHAZAM

BC: Yes!!! D(a)S ME____

FC: Evan's Poetry Portfolio

1: Contents | Contents | Narrative!!! Ode!! Tpcastt Analysis | Oh Yaa!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

2: Three Poetry Terms | 1. Couplet-a two line stanza, usually with end rhymes the same | 2.Oxymoron-a form of pardox that combines a pair of contray terms into a single expression. this combination usually serves the purpose of shocking the reader into awareness. | 3. Sarcasm-a type of irony in which the person appears to be praising something but is actully insulting it. its purpose is to injure or hurt | The people say I'm old but I'm still brave and bold | "Wise Fool" and "Sad Joy" | "Wow, that sweater is c0ol

3: Narrative on the 5th of December I try not to remember what happened that terrible day it happened to frosty that silly baffon sadly he was laughing at a baboon loaded with poo at the ready het poor frosty right in the heady then with "hmph" old frosty took one last glimpse and shot that baboon with his dusty pistol all the way to the town of Bristol !1!

4: Ode Ode to death and its bloody sythe slicing and hacking through the bodies of the living always taking and never giving always to claim another soul with just an image of the nasty ghoul now tearing at the dull to become demons forever more the diablo sends him down the drain with his blood falling down as rain down, down, down the end is near the world is at the mercy of deaths rear !1!

5: Tpcastt Analysis T. I think that "Birches" means that the poet was always surrounded by birches P. He thinks that the bowed branches are from kids playing on them. C. one could be a swinger of branches- Metaphor I was a swinger of branches- Repitition climb trunk towards heaven- Hyperbole leaves falling to groung...like girls with hair- Simily with the trees branches moving and dancing-Personification A.Trying to remember and become a swinger of birches S.He thinks that the boys are bending the branches but he knows that it is the ice storms T.Now the poet wants to become what he did in his childhood T.Always respect mother nature.

6: Birches “Birches” – Robert Frost WHEN I see birches bend to left and right Across the line 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 5 Loaded with ice a sunny winter morning After a rain. They click upon themselves As the breeze rises, and turn many-colored As the stir cracks and crazes their enamel. Soon the sun's warmth makes them shed crystal shells 10 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 15

7: 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. 20 But I was going to say when Truth broke in With all her matter-of-fact about the ice-storm (Now am I free to be poetical?) I should prefer to have some boy bend them As he went out and in to fetch the cows— 25 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 30

8: Until he took the stiffness out of them, And not one but hung limp, not one was left For him to conquer. He learned all there was To learn about not launching out too soon And so not carrying the tree away 35 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, 40 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 45 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. 50

9: May no fate wilfully 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, 55 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. 60

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Ev(a)n
  • By: Ev(a)n
  • Joined: over 7 years ago
  • Published Mixbooks: 1
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  • Title: My Poetry Portfolio
  • Tags: None
  • Published: over 7 years ago

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