English 10 American Literature Poetry Unit 2012-2013
The English 10 students of Room 100 delved into poetry with zealous fevor this year. After studying Steinbeck's Of Mice and Men, students looked at the "American Experience" portrayed in poetry and prose from Sylvia Plath, Robert Frost, T.S. Eliot, Emily Dickinson, William Carlos Williams, and Ralph Waldo Emerson. Students studied how sound and form impact a poem's meaning by writing and discussing their own poetry. Each poem a student created needed to include at least one of the four major elements of poetry: figurative language, imagery, voice/attitude/tone, and pattern. Students transferred their newly forged knowledge of the American Experience to the study of Jon Krakauer's non-fiction novel Into the Wild. One of their assignments for the novel study included using vocabulary words from the book in poems about Chris McCandless's journey. The results for ALL students were quite fantastic!
A Painting from the Queen by Ali V. Crunch, crackle, crackle. The breeze sings a steady song through the crisp air. Colors of fire, warm and cold, are my current comfort. Crackle, rustle, rustle. The Queen presents her golden gifts for a scarce amount of time. Wealth is gained as I grasp the thin, fallen coins. Rustle, chirp, chirp. The beauty in the sky tug at my heart strings as they leave me. Graceful and calm, the star of life awaits them. Chirp, whoosh, whoosh. The scent of angelic death livens me. My skin tattooed with tiny valleys . Whoosh, flutter, flutter. I cling to the moment I long for already. Mother nature’s buildings promise to return. Silence, silence, silence. I say my last goodbyes until next year. Goodbye, goodbye. | A Brain That Does Not Think by Ali V. Three, two, the sound goes off. I wake with hesitation, my heart sunk in my stomach. Was it real? Was it coincidence? Was it empty memory? My blood, thick with sorrow, runs with swift anticipation; Waiting for reassurance. It does not come for hours, but the aches join in for company. How long until they leave? I turn away for healing, inviting numbness over pain. Open with welcome arms, my heart gives a slight grin. Funny, is it not? How the brain is filled with knowledge and fact, But the heart refuses to listen. Time will piece the broken back together, When it decides to show. Connected in one body, the heart is brain and blood, In charge of every feeling; I collapse as emotions flood. |
Chris McCandless by Emily F. The wanderlust overwhelmed him. His monomania was controlling him. Incorrigible struck by the mien. Inspired by Tolstoy. Chris was fatuous. Sedentary in the wilderness proved onerous. He obliquely hurt his family. Found moldering in a bus. Feckless with reality. Castigated by a dream. The wilderness broke him. Excitement! by Bonnie H. Two lines, lined with silent enemies. The familiar sound of a shared song of foes. Pounding of hand-on-hand and whooping from the stands. Gathering of twitching nerves for one last pep-talk. The excitement of the game is here. Nine against one, but she is not alone. Encouraging voices echo from the dugout. The smell of dirt tickles her nose & the touch of the bat tingles her fingers. The loud resounding voice of the umpire calls out “Play Ball!” The excitement of the game is here. The ball is released, evading the eyes of onlookers with its speed. A cracking sound is heard, voices fill the air. Lightning she is, sprinting to the square. A sign brings both applause and groans from the two enemies. The excitement of the game is here. The Storm By: Abby B. I can feel the ground rumbling. The earth becomes still, the birds cease to sing, the wind no longer bellows, the grass shakes in fear, the honey bees stop buzzing, the warm rain pelts the ground, the thunder sounds its battle cry, the lightening dances in the sky. The earth is awoken. Perfect By Jade D. I am a slight perfectionist. I get frustrated when people spell “saxophone” wrong. I spend hours organizing folders for band. I type out homework so that it is not wrinkled. I rewrite words until all the letters look nice. I am a slight perfectionist. I am an artist. I draw the graduation cards I give out. I carry my sketchbook to every class. I have a portfolio for work I do not hang up. I dedicated a wall of my room to pictures I draw. I am an artist. I am a writer. I keep a journal of everything that happens. I write letters to my mom about how I am feeling. I constantly think of ideas for stories. I love five-subject notebooks. I am a writer. I am a confident teenager. I tried out for Drum Major as a sophomore. I wear what I want regardless of what is “in.” I text people at random to ask them to name a penguin. I yell at the top of my lungs and act silly with my friends. I am a confident teenager. I am a fighter. I continue to get better every day. I stay strong even when I am upset. I push myself to accomplish everything I am given. I surround myself with people who love me. I am a fighter. | Into the Wild Poems Written by Amanda C., Abby B., and Bonnie H. Chris Was… He was an amiable salesman as a child, He was at times congenial and convivial, He became an incorrigible man, He was not indolent but instead was filled with wanderlust, He was not sedentary but itinerant, He had a hauteur persona, He was a fan of Tolstoy and Thoreau, He had monomania for the malevolent taiga, He was found desiccated and sere, Chris reached his Rubicon. Chris’s Reverie He chased after a phantasmal dream which castigated him. He looked into the visage of the taiga in order to find fatuous relief. The primordial escarpments were his reverie. His unalloyed aesthetic attitude posited his ruminations of Tolstoy and Thoreau. He was an unalloyed lumpen, a sanctimonious and sullen man. The primordial escarpments were his reverie. Tyger! Tyger! By: Abby B. (A Found Poem from The Tyger by: William Blake) Tyger! Tyger! Burning bright In the forest of the night. In what furnace was thy brain? In what distant deeps of skies Burnt the fire of thine eyes? Did He smile His work to see? Did He who made the lamb make thee? What immortal hand or eye Could frame thy fearful symmetry? Snapping Bubblegum By Jade D. I promised that I would not spend all my time Freaking over the cute guy I see in PreCalc. But now I found another class he has with me, And I see him in the hallway more often Than I did last year, or the year before. It's like life knows how much I want him, But won't admit that I can't have him. It isn't really shocking that he has a girlfriend, Therefore making him completely and utterly unavailable. If I move slightly to the right in one class... Or turn a little to the left in the other... Then I can see his hair or, if I'm lucky. His face and all of its perfection. But since I'm too afraid to say a single word, i'll just keep snapping my bubblegum occasionally, And turn just in time to see him laugh At the tiny little pop some random girl On the other side of the room keeps making. And with each simple laugh, I remember That maybe, there's still hope for me Because they won't last forever, But snapping bubblegum will. Snowfall by Hannah A. Light, white snowflakes Tasteless and cold to the touch Fall gracefully from the sky. Each flake Unique to it’s own shape, size, and pattern, Softly descends in the direction of the rest; The direction of the wind. It lands softly joining the billions of others Already fallen. A light sheet of snow Drapes over the land. The white dusting covers and hides The rooftops in the city, The treetops in the country They blend with the dull colorless background; The cloudy winter sky. |
Tree by Hannah A. It is simple, being a tree, I stand so tall for all to see My leaves will fall in the autumn chill While branches remain, quiet and still I stand through harsh winters, frozen and bare But then springtime comes with warming air. As springtime comes my leaves return The air is damp; The ground is wet as it’s rainy season’s turn. Thunder and lighting show up in the sky, I see the flash And hear the pound There are angry clouds. They begin to cry. Rain pours down all around me, My roots drink it thirstily. Summer comes along and I bake in the sun, I stay in place, never moving. The breeze runs through my leaves cooling me. The wind is my friend Until the day it begins to take my leaves again. Everyone is Waiting By Charissa K. Everyone is waiting. They’re waiting for hope- Or waiting for change. They’re waiting for love- Or waiting for someone to hate. They’re waiting to forgive- Or waiting to be forgiven. They’re waiting for someone- Or waiting to be alone. They’re all waiting for anything- Or waiting for nothing. Drums by Hunter L. Cymbals screaming like eagles, Bass Drum booming like hooves, Toms roaring like a lion, Snare crackling like thunder, Drums. The backbone to music. Keeping tempo, Entertaining audiences, Filling arenas, Sound exploding like dynamite. | Kindness Found poem by Naomi Shihab Nye by Kayla M. Before you know what kindness really is feel the future dissolve in a moment. What you held in your hand, all must go so you know between the regions of kindness. Before you learn the tender gravity of kindness you must see how this could be you, who journeyed through the night with plans. Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside, You must wake up with sorrow You must speak to it till your voice catches the thread of all sorrows. Stars By Charissa K. The stars winked and waved and greeted the moon whenever it was near. They feared the sun didn’t want it to come and hid when it was near. They stayed away in the shadows of the day waiting for the moon. They winked and waved and cherished the night their friend was ever near. Into the Wild Poem By: Jade D.and Charissa K. Before he left he was so congenial, so convivial. He was amiable and knew right from wrong. As more time passed, the more lumpan he became. He was primordial, he was fatuous, And then one day, he was gone. After two years of phantasmal reveries, We heard the sullen news. We castigated ourselves for not seeing what was wrong. We were choler with ourselves for not trying harder. We knew he was not coming back. Now we see he was monomaniac with wanderlust. now we see how sanctimonious he was; How destitute, how hauteur. How we see how much he meant to us. But we know he will never come back. |
The Value by David M. (Found poem from "The Gunslinger") He was just an ordinary pilgrim. He was not a holy man. He had in his long life been nothing if not adaptable. An occasional tombstone pointed the way. He was left important gifts from his father. He used his instinct to track down the man in black. The man in black fled across the desert. If he was not who he is he may not have been thirsty. He used to hold water in his horn. The horn was spilled from a dying friend. There were fewer friends now. And he missed them both. Yet he had gained. That didn’t matter either. | The Journey by David M. Every step you take, Move you make, Lies in your wake, And retains its stake. It takes you to another state, Another stage in your life. It can take you at whatever rate, Through every single strife. Every step leaves a mark, All make a difference. Even in the dark, It leaves a mark you might not sense. The steps you take make up you, So take caution when you step on through. |