1. English 10 Poetry Project
By: M. H.

2. Blackout Poem
Haiku(be)
Your vain eyes marvel
In the wild silly clamor
All overlook me

3. Acrostic Poem
Neat
Observant
Efficient
Lucid
Lanky
Earnest

4. “Someone Who Cares”
Song Lyrics
By Three Days Grace
Every street in this city is the same to me
Everyone’s got a place to be but there’s no room for me
Am I to blame? When the guilt and the shame hang over me
Like a dark cloud that chases you down in the pouring rain
It’s so hard to find someone who cares about you
But it’s easy enough to find someone who looks down on you
Why is it so hard to find someone who cares about you
But it’s easy enough to find someone who looks down on you?
It’s not what it seems when you’re not on the scene
There’s a chill in the air
But there’s people like me that nobody sees so nobody cares
Why is it so hard to find someone who cares about you
When it’s easy enough to find someone who looks down on you?
Why is it so hard to find someone who can keep it together when
You’ve come undone?
Why is it so hard to find someone who cares about you?
I swear this time it won’t turn out the same cause now I’ve got myself to
blame and you’ll know when we end up on the streets
That it’s easy enough to find someone who looks down on you
Why is it so hard to find someone who cares about you
When it’s easy enough to find someone who looks down on you?
Why is it so hard to find someone who can keep it together when you’ve
come undone
Why is it so hard to find someone who cares about you?

5. Poetic Devices
Simile: The singer compares his guilt and
shame to a dark cloud that hangs over his
head.
Rhyme: The entire song rhymes each
ending of every phrase with the next one.
Repetition: The chorus can be considered
repetition because it is repeated for effect.
Rhythm: The singer emphasizes several
words that rhyme as well as some that convey
feeling in the phrase.

6. Five Poets
I am accused of tending to the past
By: Lucille Clifton
I am accused of tending to the past
as if I made it,
as if I sculpted it
with my own hands. I did not.
this past was waiting for me
when I came,
a monstrous unnamed baby,
and I with my mother's itch
took it to breast
and named it
History.
she is more human now,
learning languages everyday,
remembering faces, names and dates.
when she is strong enough to travel
on her own, beware, she will.

7. Five Poets
Allegiances
By: William Stafford
It is time for all the heroes to go home
if they have any, time for all of us common ones
to locate ourselves by the real things
we live by.
Far to the north, or indeed in any direction,
strange mountains and creatures have always lurkedelves, goblins, trolls, and spiders:-we
encounter them in dread and wonder,
But once we have tasted far streams, touched the gold,
found some limit beyond the waterfall,
a season changes, and we come back, changed
but safe, quiet, grateful.
Suppose an insane wind holds all the hills
while strange beliefs whine at the traveler's ears,
we ordinary beings can cling to the earth and love
where we are, sturdy for common things.

8. A Tale
By: Robert Browning
All was lost, then! No! a cricket
(What 'cicada'? Pooh!)
What a pretty tale you told me
--Some mad thing that left its thicket
Once upon a time
--Said you found it somewhere (scold me!) For mere love of music--flew
Was it prose or was it rhyme,
With its little heart on fire,
Greek or Latin? Greek, you said,
Lighted on the crippled lyre.
While your shoulder propped my head.
Anyhow there's no forgetting
So that when (Ah joy!) our singer
This much if no more,
For his truant string
That a poet (pray, no petting!)
Yes, a bard, sir, famed of yore,
Feels with disconcerted finger,
Went where suchlike used to go,
What does cricket else but fling
Singing for a prize, you know.
Fiery heart forth, sound the note
Wanted by the throbbing throat?
Well, he had to sing, nor merely
Sing but play the lyre;
Playing was important clearly
Ay and, ever to the ending,
Quite as singing: I desire,
Cricket chirps at need,
Sir, you keep the fact in mind
Executes the hand's intending,
For a purpose that's behind.
Promptly, perfectly,--indeed
Saves the singer from defeat
There stood he, while deep attention
Held the judges round,
With her chirrup low and sweet
--Judges able, I should mention,
To detect the slightest sound
Till, at ending, all the judges
Sung or played amiss: such ears
Cry with one assent
Had old judges, it appears!
'Take the prize--a prize who grudges
None the less he sang out boldly,
Such a voice and instrument?
Played in time and tune,
Why, we took your lyre for harp,
Till the judges, weighing coldly
So it shrilled us forth F sharp!'
Each note's worth, seemed, late or soon,
Sure to smile 'In vain one tries
Did the conqueror spurn the creature
Picking faults out: take the prize!'
Once its service done?
When, a mischief! Were they seven
That's no such uncommon feature
Strings the lyre possessed?
In the case when Music's son
Oh, and afterwards eleven,
Finds his Lotte's power too spent
Thank you! Well, sir,--who had guessed
For aiding soul development.
Such ill luck in store?--it happed
One of those same seven strings snapped.
.
Five Poets
No! This other, on returning
Homeward, prize in hand,
Satisfied his bosom's yearning:
(Sir, I hope you understand!)
--Said 'Some record there must
be
Of this cricket's help to me!'
So, he made himself a statue:
Marble stood, life size;
On the lyre, he pointed at you,
Perched his partner in the prize;
Never more apart you found
Her, he throned, from him, she
crowned.
That's the tale: its application?
Somebody I know
Hopes one day for reputation
Thro' his poetry that's--Oh,
All so learned and so wise
And deserving of a prize!
If he gains one, will some ticket
When his statue's built,
Tell the gazer ''Twas a cricket
Helped my crippled lyre, whose
lilt
Sweet and low, when strength
usurped
Softness' place i' the scale, she
chirped?
'For as victory was
nighest,
While I sang and
played,-With my lyre at lowest,
highest,
Right alike,--one string
that made
'Love' sound soft was
snapt in twain
Never to be heard
again,-'Had not a kind cricket
fluttered,
Perched upon the
place
Vacant left, and duly
uttered
'Love, Love, Love,'
whene'er the bass
Asked the treble to
atone
For its somewhat
sombre drone.'
But you don't know
music! Wherefore
Keep on casting pearls
To a--poet? All I care for
Is--to tell him that a girl's
'Love' comes aptly in
when gruff
Grows his singing,
(There, enough!)

9. A Fine Old English Gentleman
Five Poets
By: Charles Dickens
I'll sing you a new ballad, and I'll warrant it first-rate,
Of the days of that old gentleman who had that old estate;
When they spent the public money at a bountiful old rate
On ev'ry mistress, pimp, and scamp, at ev'ry noble gate,
In the fine old English Tory times;
Soon may they come again!
In those rare days, the press was seldom known to snarl or
bark,
But sweetly sang of men in pow'r, like any tuneful lark;
Grave judges, too, to all their evil deeds were in the dark;
And not a man in twenty score knew how to make his
mark.
Oh the fine old English Tory times;
Soon may they come again!
The good old laws were garnished well with gibbets, whips, and chains,
Those were the days for taxes, and for war's infernal din;
With fine old English penalties, and fine old English pains,
For scarcity of bread, that fine old dowagers might win;
With rebel heads, and seas of blood once hot in rebel veins;
For shutting men of letters up, through iron bars to grin,
Because they didn't think the Prince was altogether thin,
For all these things were requisite to guard the rich old gains
In the fine old English Tory times;
Of the fine old English Tory times;
Soon may they come again!
Soon may they come again!
This brave old code, like Argus, had a hundred watchful eyes,
And ev'ry English peasant had his good old English spies,
To tempt his starving discontent with fine old English lies,
Then call the good old Yeomanry to stop his peevish cries,
In the fine old English Tory times;
Soon may they come again!
The good old times for cutting throats that cried out in their need,
The good old times for hunting men who held their fathers' creed,
The good old times when William Pitt, as all good men agreed,
Came down direct from Paradise at more than railroad speed. . . .
Oh the fine old English Tory times;
When will they come again!
But Tolerance, though slow in flight, is strong-wing'd in the
main;
That night must come on these fine days, in course of
time was plain;
The pure old spirit struggled, but Its struggles were in vain;
A nation's grip was on it, and it died in choking pain,
With the fine old English Tory days,
All of the olden time.
The bright old day now dawns again; the cry runs
through the land,
In England there shall be dear bread -- in Ireland, sword
and brand;
And poverty, and ignorance, shall swell the rich and
grand,
So, rally round the rulers with the gentle iron hand,
Of the fine old English Tory days; Hail to the coming time !

10. Five Poets
“Hope” is the Thing with Feathers
By: Emily Dickinson
"Hope" is the thing with feathers—
That perches in the soul—
And sings the tune without the words—
And never stops—at all—
And sweetest—in the Gale—is heard—
And sore must be the storm—
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm—
I've heard it in the chillest land—
And on the strangest Sea—
Yet, never, in Extremity,
It asked a crumb—of Me.

11. Poem Imitation
“Love” is the Thing with Brown and White Fur
Based off Emily Dickenson’s “Hope” is the Thing with Feathers
“Love” is the thing with brown and white fur—
That settles deep in the heart—
And lets out the bark with an endearing rasp—
And has been at my side—from the start—
And its gentleness—in the storm—is felt—
And pitiable is the man—
Whose heart it never caused to melt—
As only this thing can—
I’ve embraced its warmth on the darkest of nights—
And in the times of sorrow—
Yet no matter the amount I borrow
this tender love is there—tomorrow

12. Prose Paragraph
Creating a poem based off Emily Dickenson’s
poem, “Hope” is the Thing with the Feathers, was an
enjoyable challenge. Admittedly, some of the
rhymes had me tearing my hair out, but in the end, it
was worth it. Throughout her piece, Emily Dickenson
personifies hope as a small bird. I chose to compare
love to a dog. I tried to keep the poem vague
enough that anyone with a dog could relate to its
message, but certain descriptions hinted at my true
inspiration: my cocker spaniel, Patchy. I remember
him as being gentle and serene, no matter what was
happening around him. All I’d have to do was run a
hand through his soft, fluffy fur, and my worries would
evaporate instantly.

13. Prose Page
While working on the Poetry Project, I
discovered many things about myself as a writer as
well as about poetry itself. Unless I have boundaries,
like the Haiku(bes), I have a difficult time staying
focused on one subject throughout my poem. I tend
to lean toward the silly rhymes, rather than somber
verses, but writing sad poetry comes more naturally to
me. While researching five poets, I sampled many
different styles of writing. Going back to my enjoyment
of lighthearted pieces, I took delight in Robert
Browning’s flair and upbeat rhyming as well as Charles
Dicken’s sardonic tone. Until my time spent
investigating poetry for this project, I had no idea
there were so many diverse approaches to the literary
art.

14. Prose Page Cont.
I didn’t enjoy the Acrostic Poem as much as
the other parts of the project, because it felt slightly
shallow in comparison to my Haiku or Blackout
Poem. The Imitation Poem was difficult at first,
because there were so many directions I could take
the piece. However, I enjoyed cross-referencing
Emily Dickenson’s poem; it helped me understand
the meaning of her writing. My favorite part of the
Poetry Project was definitely the Blackout Poem. In
order to create one, I had to read the articles
without really absorbing the actual information,
which was fascinating in itself. Once I had stumbled
upon several words that popped out, I went to
work. I find it interesting that this poem, more than
any other, can be taken numerous ways, and that it
all depends on the reader’s mind.