Gabby+Santaniello

Sonnet

Ode to Winter Frozen, like time stands still in the afternoons when it's around Cold and hostile, taking prisoners in it's icy grip Most of the population can't stand it I guess they don't look deep enough Into the glass like ice covering surfaces and making them beautiful You wouldn't have stared at the trees before But now there's glittering jewels hanging from the branches Dripping down the bark And you're mesmerized Forgetting the nipping wind and frozen fingers look around you for once Into the world you've never taken the time to notice And wonder about the Winter.

Raised By (still being drafted)

<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I was raised by food and family <span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">by smiling grandmothers with big hearts <span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">and bigger kitchens <span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I was raised by curiosity and hope <span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">hope for a better future <span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">curious about everything <span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I was raised by books <span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">taking me off on adventures I never knew were possible <span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">turning my bed to a rocketship <span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">and my tub to the ocean <span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I was raised by Disney <span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">taught that I can be the hero of my own story <span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">and sometimes I can do the saving <span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I was raised by swords and pirate ships <span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">tea parties and rabbit holes <span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I was raised by imagination <span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">By a never ending story <span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">and a mad man with a box <span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I was raised by teachers <span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">engraving in me the ways of the world <span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I was raised by the world <span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">by wars and violence, of new beginnings and a chance <span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">a chance at something more, something better <span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I was raised by pens and paper <span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">materials to hold my dreams <span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I was raised a dreamer.

Along the reaches of the street Held in a lunar synthesis, Whispering lunar incantations Dissolve the floors of memory And all its clear relations, Its divisions and precisions. Every street lamp that I pass Beats like a fatalistic drum, And through the spaces of the dark Midnight shakes the memory As a madman shakes a dead geranium.
 * ** Rhapsody on a Windy Night ** ||  ||
 * by [|T.S. Eliot] ||
 * Twelve o'clock.
 * Twelve o'clock.

Half-past one, The street-lamp sputtered, The street-lamp muttered, The street-lamp said, "Regard that woman Who hesitates toward you in the light of the door  Which opens on her like a grin.  You see the border of her dress  Is torn and stained with sand,  And you see the corner of her eye  Twists like a crooked pin."

The memory throws up high and dry A crowd of twisted things; A twisted branch upon the beach Eaten smooth, and polished As if the world gave up The secret of its skeleton, Stiff and white. A broken spring in a factory yard, Rust that clings to the form that the strength has left Hard and curled and ready to snap.

Half-past two, The street-lamp said, "Remark the cat which flattens itself in the gutter, Slips out its tongue  And devours a morsel of rancid butter." So the hand of the child, automatic, Slipped out and pocketed a toy that was running along the quay. I could see nothing behind that child's eye. I have seen eyes in the street Trying to peer through lighted shutters, And a crab one afternoon in a pool, An old crab with barnacles on his back, Gripped the end of a stick which I held him.

Half-past three, The lamp sputtered, The lamp muttered in the dark. The lamp hummed: "Regard the moon, La lune ne garde aucune rancune,  She winks a feeble eye,  She smiles into corners.  She smooths the hair of the grass.  The moon has lost her memory.  A washed-out smallpox cracks her face,  Her hand twists a paper rose,  That smells of dust and eau de Cologne,  She is alone  With all the old nocturnal smells  That cross and cross across her brain." The reminiscence comes Of sunless dry geraniums And dust in crevices, Smells of chestnuts in the streets, And female smells in shuttered rooms, And cigarettes in corridors And cocktail smells in bars.

The lamp said, "Four o'clock, Here is the number on the door.  Memory!  You have the key,  The little lamp spreads a ring on the stair.  Mount.  The bed is open; the tooth-brush hangs on the wall,  Put your shoes at the door, sleep, prepare for life."

The last twist of the knife.

8. This poem gives the reader a sense of melancholy by using a theme of the night and singularity. The author, T.S. Elliot uses this poem to tell a story, because he's not directly speaking to anyone but the reader. And even then, he doesn't use words like 'you' which suggests that he isn't speaking to the reader, and may not be speaking to anyone at all. The structure of the poem is set up in a way where there's still a flow to the lines, but not much of a rhyme scheme. The few words he does rhyme, such as "The street-lamp sputtered,The street-lamp muttered,The street-lamp said," makes the lines much more intriguing, using the rhyming as pull, making the streetlamp 'mutter' and 'sputter', rather than just having a talking streetlamp. It gives the thing more time to come to life, gives the reader a moment to think about what's happening. The way the lines are set up makes the reader pause in certain places where pauses are necessary to add affect to the poem. The way he speaks about it suggests that the person in the poem is alone, and the only ones talking to him are inanimate objects, telling him to do things. ||


 * As she laughed I was aware of becoming involved in her laughter and being part of it, until her teeth were only accidental stars with a talent for squad-drill. I was drawn in by short gasps, inhaled at each momentary recovery, lost finally in the dark caverns of her throat, bruised by the ripple of unseen muscles. An elderly waiter with trembling hands was hurriedly spreading a pink and white checked cloth over the rusty green iron table, saying: "If the lady and gentleman wish to take their tea in the garden, if the lady and gentleman wish to take their tea in the garden..." I decided that if the shaking of her breasts could be stopped, some of the fragments of the afternoon might be collected, and I concentrated my attention with careful subtlety to this end.

The author uses the subject of the poem and the formal language to suggest romanticism. The way the poem is formed is like a paragraph, it doesn't have stanzas. The formation of the poem let's the poem flow smoother, but still uses commas to break it up when it is important. When the author says " As she laughed I was aware of becoming involved in her laughter and being part of it" it gives you a romantic feel, like a couple sitting across from each other, just laughing. The author also uses the subject to set the tone of the poem, by speaking about her in a way that clearly says there's something between them, it lets the reader get into the mindset of romance. There's also a way that Elliot uses repetition when he writes "An elderly waiter with trembling hands was hurriedly spreading a pink and white checked cloth over the rusty green iron table, saying: "If the lady and gentleman wish to take their tea in the garden, if the lady and gentleman wish to take their tea in the garden..." " It gives the thought that, the waiter was repeating himself because he could not get their attention, because the author was so wrapped up in this girl he just didn't answer, which also fuels the flow and overall romantic tone of the poem. ||

Enjambments- thought continues on the next line

Morning at the Window T.S. Elliot

They are rattling breakfast plates in basement kitchens, And along the trampled edges of the street I am aware of the damp souls of housemaids Sprouting despondently at area gates.

The brown waves of fog toss up to me Twisted faces from the bottom of the street, And tear from a passer-by with muddy skirts An aimless smile that hovers in the air

The author uses line breaks and descriptive language to give the reader imagery of the poem. The way the poem is broken up means a lot about the way it flows. The line breaks are important in this poem because, even though it's not just continuous, like a paragraph, there's still a certain flow to it. One idea is continued down onto the next line, which makes the poem flow smoothly, and still lets you pause in the appropriate places. The way the author uses formal language makes the reader imagine an older time period, like when he says "Twisted faces from the bottom of the street,And tear from a passer-by with muddy skirts" I imagine a girl walking down the street, where the sun isn't completely up and not a lot of people are outside, she's wearing a long dress and maybe a bonnet, with the bottom of her skirts dragging on the ground. The tone of this poem is calm and laid back. The way nothing too deep is going on in the poem, and the things the author speaks about just lets your mind take a rest and enjoy the poem.