Please see the syllabus for due dates.
Students will review the following sites for information and write their own poems.
http://www.poewar.com/poetry-writing-tips/
http://www.wikihow.com/Write-a-Poem
The following site describes the different types of poems.
http://www.types-of-poetry.org.uk/
Different Types of Poetry
ABC poem
Alexandrine Poetry Type
Allegory
Analogy Poetry Type
Ballad Poems
Ballade Poetry Types
Blank Verse
Burlesque Types
Cacophony
Canzone Poetry Type
Carpe diem
Cinquain Poetry Type
Classicism Types
Conceit Poetry Type
Couplet Poetry Type
Dactyl Poetry Type
Doggerel
Elegy
Enjambment
Epic Poems
Epigram
Epitaph
Epithalamium Form
Free Verse
Haiku Poetry Type
Idyll Poetry Types
Imagery Poems
Irony
Lay Poetry Types
Limericks
Lyric Poetry
Name Poem
Narrative Poetry
Odes
Pastoral Poetry Type
Quatrain Poetry Type
Refrain Poetry Type
Rhymes
Romanticism Type
Senryu Poetry Type
Rhyme Royal Type
Sonnets
Tanka
Terza rima
Verse
Prose and Prose Poetry
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Visit the above sites to review notes on how to write poetry.
Post your poems below.
Review your syllabus for DUE dates.
“This is the beginning of a new day. You have been given this day to use as you will. You can waste it or use it for good. What you do today is important because you are exchanging a day of your life for it. When tomorrow comes, this day will be gone forever; in its place is something that you have left behind…let it be something good.”
UNKNOWN
Anything Can Happen
Shel Silverstein
Listen to the Mustn’ts,child,
Listen to the Don’ts
Listen to the Shouldn’ts
The Impossibles, the Won’ts
Listen to the Never Haves,
Then listen close to me —
Anything can happen, child,
Anything can be.
Voices And Choices
Ron Atchison
It happens to me too,
the voices and choices
are too much at times
and I need a quiet place
just me and the moon
or me and the sky
a place where I can hear God whisper
reminding me to breathe
asking me to ‘hold on’
and when I hear this
I know everything will be O.K.
I’ll Paint You A Rainbow
Grace E. Easley
I’ll paint you a rainbow to hang on the wall,
to brighten your heart when the gray shadows fall.
On a canvas of joy outlasting the years,
with a soft brush of sweetness to dry all your tears.
I’ll paint you a rainbow with colors of smiles
That glow with sincerity over the miles.
On a palette of words I will tenderly blend
Tones into treasures of sunlight and wind.
I’ll paint you a rainbow that reaches so wide,
Your sights and your sorrows will vanish inside,
And deep in the center of each different hue,
A memory fashioned especially for you.
So lift up your eyes, for suspended above,
A rainbow designed by the fingers of love…
The Touch Of The Master’s Hand
Myra Brooks Welch
It was battered and scarred,
And the auctioneer thought it
Hardly worth his while
To waste his time on the old violin,
But he held it up with a smile.
“What am I bid, good people”, he cried,
“Who starts the bidding for me?”
“One dollar, one dollar, Do I hear two?”
“Two dollars, who makes it three?”
“Three dollars once, three dollars twice,
Going for three”. . . but no!
From the room far back a gray-haired man
Came forward and picked up the bow;
Then wiping the dust from the old violin,
And tightening up the strings,
He played a melody, pure and sweet,
As sweet as an angel sings.
The music ceased and the auctioneer
With a voice that was quiet and low,
Said “What now am I bid for this old violin?”
As he held it aloft with its bow.
“One thousand, one thousand, Do I hear two?”
“Two thousand, Who makes it three?”
“Three thousand once, three thousand twice,
Going and gone”, said he.
The people cheered, but some of them cried,
“We do not quite understand.
What changed its worth?” Swift came the reply:
“The touch of the Master’s hand.”
And many a man with life out of tune,
And battered and scarred with sin,
Is auctioned cheap to the thoughtless crowd
Much like the old violin.
A “mess of pottage,” a glass of wine,
A game and he travels on,
He’s going once, and going twice –
He’s going – and almost gone!
But the MASTER comes, and the foolish crowd,
Never can quite understand,
The worth of a soul, and the change that’s wrought
By the touch of the MASTER’S hand.
Angels Sing In Me
James Dillet Freeman
Angels sing in me.
I rush to write down what I hear.
I carry a pad and pencil everywhere,
for this singing may come at any hour in any place.
I must get it down quickly and turn it into words
and phrases before it passes away,
leaving no trace.
For the Angels, I have noticed,
hardly ever sing the same song twice…
All I can do is pray that my Angels will return
and look over my shoulder where I write,
and whisper a few more words in my ear.
So that the singing I heard you may hear too.
A Dream Deferred
by Langston Hughes
Langston Hughes homepage
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?
http://www.cswnet.com/~menamc/langston.htm