Poem #13: Metaphors by Sylvia Plath

Metaphors

I'm a riddle in nine syllables,
An elephant, a ponderous house,
A melon strolling on two tendrils.
O red fruit, ivory, fine timbers!
This loaf's big with its yeasty rising.
Money's new-minted in this fat purse.
I'm a means, a stage, a cow in calf.
I've eaten a bag of green apples,
Boarded the train there's no getting off.

 

Sylvia Plath

Preface Post

Katie Hines

12/19/2012

Block 4

Preface Post (I turned my preface in to you on my test)

So long as there shall exist, by reason of law and custom, a social condemnation, which, in the face of civilization, artificially creates hells on earth, and complicates a destiny that is divine, with human fatality; so long as the three problems of the age—the degradation of man by poverty, the corruption of women by starvation, and the crippling of childhood by lack of light—are not solved; so long as asphyxia shall be possible; in other words, and from a yet more extended point of view, so long as ignorance and misery remain on earth, books like this cannot be useless.~Victor Hugo’s Les Miserables

In this preface, Victor Hugo is trying to convey the two main problems and themes in Les Miserables: ignorance and poverty. Jean Valjean is degraded and judged by the citizens of the town he is released in, for the people do not trust this convict and believe he is “less than”. Being misled into thinking her daughter is sick and needs money for medicine, Fantine must sell her hair, must sell her teeth, and finally, must sell her body. Little Cossette is neglected and segregated from the other children, being treated worse than a mutt. As long as there are corrupt, ignorant beings rotting up the earth, and problems of poverty and acts of cruelty, Les Miserables will always have much to teach us.

Book Project: Black Beauty

(My computer was not working; I hand wrote it and turned it in, so this isn't an exact replica.)

Epologue

The horrific memories of my past no longer thought of now; I peacefully close my eyes and they dissapear. As if they never happened.

I find myself missing my old friends, Merrylegs and dear old Ginger, as I nibble a few fresh blades of grass under a shady oak resting atop a grassy meadow. I miss that sweet tempered Captain; I miss his old war stories and I miss Ginger's affectionate nudges and Merrylegs' proud whinny.

My lady, a dear, kind soul, often comes out to enjoy a light trail ride, which I happily provide. She has the softest, gentlest hands, and never needs pull on my mouth or kick my sides.

Joe, that sweet old stablehand I knew as a young colt, grooms and pets me every single day. He hums a melodic tune as he runs his slender fingers through my black mane.

I've not misses a single meal since my time here, and neither have the other horses that live on this farm. Every human speaks softly and kindly; each human strokes my white star and lets me nibble a carrot.

Sometimes, when I am alone, sleeping inside my airy stall as rain taps the metal roof, I dream. I dream about when I was barely four, and playing and jumping and running and squealing with Ginger and Merrylegs, not a scar on my body. I dream that my knees were never banged up, my ribs had never shown, my eyes had always remained exuberantly bright. I dream that we are together again, our pasts behind us and our futures bright. I dream that they found the home I did.

Poem #12: Mirror by Sylvia Plath

Mirror

I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions.
Whatever I see I swallow immediately
Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike.
I am not cruel, only truthful ‚
The eye of a little god, four-cornered.
Most of the time I meditate on the opposite wall.
It is pink, with speckles. I have looked at it so long
I think it is part of my heart. But it flickers.
Faces and darkness separate us over and over.

Now I am a lake. A woman bends over me,
Searching my reaches for what she really is.
Then she turns to those liars, the candles or the moon.
I see her back, and reflect it faithfully.
She rewards me with tears and an agitation of hands.
I am important to her. She comes and goes.
Each morning it is her face that replaces the darkness.
In me she has drowned a young girl, and in me an old woman
Rises toward her day after day, like a terrible fish.

Poem #11: Evening Star by Edgar Allan Poe

Evening Star

'Twas noontide of summer,
  And mid-time of night;
And stars, in their orbits,
  Shone pale, thro' the light
Of the brighter, cold moon,
  'Mid planets her slaves,
Herself in the Heavens,
  Her beam on the waves.
    I gazed awhile
    On her cold smile;
Too cold- too cold for me-
  There pass'd, as a shroud,
  A fleecy cloud,
And I turned away to thee,
  Proud Evening Star,
  In thy glory afar,
And dearer thy beam shall be;
  For joy to my heart
  Is the proud part
Thou bearest in Heaven at night,
  And more I admire
  Thy distant fire,
Than that colder, lowly light.

Dense Question and Answer

Katie Hines

12/7/2012

Block 4

Dense Question

1. 1) Despite all of William's reasons to give up, what makes him persevere and pull through?

William has every reason to give up. His family is poor, starving, and emaciated. But he

doesn't. His family depends on this windmill; it could save them from the devastating famine. William

knows that through his invention, he could truly save his home, Malawi. When William sees his

malnourished sisters and hungry parents, the tragedy pushes him to try harder. Sometimes, people need

a devastating loss to see the light.

2. What makes Katniss, from the Hunger Games series, refuse to give up?

Katniss Everdeen lives in the hungry, poverty stricken District twelve with her fearful sister,

Prim, and her miserable mother. There is nothing in the world she cares about more than her little

sister. Katniss could give up; not just in the games, but in life. She could simply run away with Gale

and live a life in the woods without a care in the world. But she doesn't. She doesn't, because her family

depends on her, and she would never let them down.

3. What makes you push on through life?

Nobody's life is perfect. I have reasons to give up; I have doubts, problems. But I have seven

creatures depending on my little gray car pulling up to the green pastures at feeding time. I have two

sisters that fight me tooth and nail, but I couldn't live without them. I have two parents that never seem

to understand, but are still my protectors. My horses, my angels, keep me going in more ways than I

can describe, as well as my family. I am forever indebted to them both.

Poem #10: Fear Itself is Undefined by Bianca Flores

Fear Itself Is Undefined

Bianca Flores

I lay on my bed soaking my pillow with my tears,
I try to remember exactly what it is that I fear.
Is it the passing of time or the love that I lack?
Is it the mistakes that I've made or the fact that I can't bring the past back?
What is it that I'm afraid of?
Why am I so scared?
Is it the people I've hurt or the people that have hurt me?
Am I afraid of everything that I cant seem to see?
Is it the love of a friend, or the loss of my family?
Is it the possibility that my life can end in a tragedy?
What is it that I fear most?
What do my eyes say I'm scared of?
Is it the sun that sets but won't seem to rise?
Is it the hope that I have that always seems to die?
Is it the trust of a person that I cannot begin to grasp?
Is it all the memories of my horrid past?
Is it me?
Can it possibly be that the thing I fear most is the thing I can't be?
The things that I try to understand?
The me that I try to be with when I'm feeling sad?
The person I'm expected to be? Is that what I fear? . . .
I think the thing I fear most . . .is me