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The Portfolio of Poetic Poetry

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S: The Portfolio of Poetic Poetry

FC: By Nicole R. | The Portfolio of Poetic

1: The Table Of Contents | Poetic Terms ~~~~~~~~~~2-4 Stanza ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~2 Couplet ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~2 Tercet ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~3 Quatrain ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~4 Poetry Analysis ~~~~~~~~5-11 Birches, by Robert Frost ~~~~~~~~~5-8 TPCASTT ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~9-11 Original Poems ~~~~~~~~~12-17 Narrative ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~12-15 Ode ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~16-17

2: Poetic Terms | Stanza: A Stanza consists of two or more lines of poetry that together form one of the divisions of a poem. The stanzas of a poem are usually of the same length and follow the same pattern of meter and rhyme and are used like paragraphs in a story. Some Stanza Types: Couplets - Stanzas of only two lines which usually rhyme. ex. If turkeys gobble, Do Pilgrims squabble?

3: Tercets - Stanzas of three lines. The three lines may or may not have the same end rhyme. If all three lines rhyme, this type of tercet is called a triplet. ex. The Eagle Alfred, Lord Tennyson (1809-92) He clasps the crag with crooked hands: Close to the sun it lonely lands, Ringed with the azure world, it stands. The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls; He watches from his mountain walls, And like a thunderbolt he falls. | Poetic Terms Cont.

4: Quatrains - Stanzas of four lines which can be written in any rhyme scheme. ex. The Mountain Donna Brock The mountain frames the sky As a shadow of an eagle flies by. With clouds hanging at its edge A climber proves his courage on its rocky ledge. | Poetry Terms Cont. | 5gh

5: Poetry Analysis | “Birches” – Robert Frost 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 | 5 | 10 | 15

6: 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, (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-- 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 | Birches, cont. | 25 | 20 | 30

7: 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 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 | 35 | 40 | 45

8: 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. | 50 | 55 | 60

9: TPCASTT Analysis | T - I think the poem is about birch trees. | P - A person imagines why the birch branches are bent, yet it is really because of ice storms. | C - There are some metaphors, like in lines, 11, 14, 16, and 18. What was happening wasn't really saying exactly what happened, but it was there to help with imagery. In the poem, you can also find many similes.

10: C (cont.) - An example for this is in line 19. The author was comparing so the readers get an idea of what the birches look like. A - First, thw mood is calm and imaginative, but then it's not wanting to accept the truth, and then the writer remembers childhood and how he swung on branches, creating another calm and happy mood.

11: S - The time shifts from present to past when the writer tells about his childhood. The mood changes a few times, where it was calm, then not as happy, and back to calm. T - The title means that the poem will be talking about birch trees. T - The theme in this poem is childhood and wanting to get another chance at life.

12: Narrative Poem | Six young torbies, Sitting on a bench One stood up and said, "Where's Mom?” The kits were puzzled Another one asked, "What about Dad?” And they began their search

13: So then they split up, Sought for them, bottom to top Around the whole house, In places fit for a mouse Some went outside "I think I see her!” They all looked around, For the kit wouldn't have lied Now Dad couldn't be far, Two kits searched in cabinets A third shouted in glee, "Dad sees me! He sees me!”

14: And then the kits were happy, They found their parents Now they're with their tabby father and their tortoiseshell mother | Note: Torbie is short for Tortoiseshell-Tabby. There are three specific breeds used.

16: Ode | Oh, the skittles that are my friends, Our happy times that never end We greet each day with a rainbow, And end them with a bit more I carry them everywhere I go, A better pal I do not know They pick me up when I am down, They turn my frown All the way around And when I'm low...to the store I'll go, And get some more... Me and my rainbow !!! | Ode to my Skittles

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Nicole R
  • By: Nicole R.
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  • Title: The Portfolio of Poetic Poetry
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