Friday, April 20, 2012

Song Lyrics as Poetry


White lips, pale face
Breathing in snowflakes
Burnt lungs, sour taste
Light's gone, day's end
Struggling to pay rent
Long nights, strange men

And they say
She's in the Class A Team
Stuck in her daydream
Been this way since 18
But lately her face seems
Slowly sinking, wasting
Crumbling like pastries
And they scream
The worst things in life come free to us
Cos we're just under the upperhand
And go mad for a couple grams
And she don't wanna go outside tonight
And in a pipe she flies to the Motherland
Or sells love to another man
It's too cold outside
For angels to fly
Angels to fly

Ripped gloves, raincoat
Tried to swim and stay afloat
Dry house, wet clothes
Loose change, bank notes
Weary-eyed, dry throat
Call girl, no phone

And they say
She's in the Class A Team
Stuck in her daydream
Been this way since 18
But lately her face seems
Slowly sinking, wasting
Crumbling like pastries
And they scream
The worst things in life come free to us
Cos we're just under the upperhand
And go mad for a couple grams
And she don't wanna go outside tonight
And in a pipe she flies to the Motherland
Or sells love to another man
It's too cold outside
For angels to fly
An angel will die
Covered in white
Closed eye
And hoping for a better life
This time, we'll fade out tonight
Straight down the line

And they say
She's in the Class A Team
Stuck in her daydream
Been this way since 18
But lately her face seems
Slowly sinking, wasting
Crumbling like pastries
They scream
The worst things in life come free to us
And we're all under the upperhand
Go mad for a couple grams
And we don't wanna go outside tonight
And in a pipe we fly to the Motherland
Or sell love to another man
It's too cold outside
For angels to fly
Angels to fly
To fly, fly
For Angles to fly to fly to fly
For Angels to die

I believe Ed Sheeran's song "The A Team" could be a poem because it uses many literary devices such as metaphors, imagery, ambiguity, rhyme, similes, and personification. It could also be a poem because it can be interpreted in many different ways.

Monday, April 16, 2012

Spring Poem



Spring In New Hampshire by Claude McKay

Too green the springing April grass, 
Too blue the silver-speckled sky, 
For me to linger here, alas, 
While happy winds go laughing by, 
Wasting the golden hours indoors, 
Washing windows and scrubbing floors. 

Too wonderful the April night, 
Too faintly sweet the first May flowers, 
The stars too gloriously bright, 
For me to spend the evening hours, 
When fields are fresh and streams are leaping, 
Wearied, exhausted, dully sleeping.

I chose this poem because I loved how McKay described Spring. Spring is my favorite season of the year and McKay painted a fantastic picture of the beauty of the Spring season. I especially liked how he described the clear blue sky and the bright night stars as that is exactly how I see them during this lovely season.

Monday, April 9, 2012

Pablo Neruda's Ode To Clothes


I chose Pablo Neruda's poem Ode to Clothes because I loved the perspective Neruda took on something as simple as clothes. In the poem, the persona thinks of clothes not only as something to cover up your naked body but as a partner and comrade to help you get through the day everyday. It was almost amusing how seriously he viewed his clothes but I enjoyed it.

Friday, April 6, 2012

Robert Frost's Wind and Window Flower


I chose Robert Frost's Wind and Window Flower because it is a very exciting poem about love. In this poem, Frost uses imagery to describe how the flower and winter breeze communicate to one another through a window pane. Specifically, he uses a lot of tactile, auditory, and visual imagery that really helps the reader see what's going on in the poem.

Wind and Window Flower

    LOVERS, forget your love,
    And list to the love of these,
    She a window flower,
    And he a winter breeze.
    When the frosty window veil
    Was melted down at noon,
    And the cagèd yellow bird
    Hung over her in tune,
    He marked her through the pane,
    He could not help but mark,
    And only passed her by,
    To come again at dark.
    He was a winter wind,
    Concerned with ice and snow,
    Dead weeds and unmated birds,
    And little of love could know.
    But he sighed upon the sill,
    He gave the sash a shake,
    As witness all within
    Who lay that night awake.
    Perchance he half prevailed
    To win her for the flight
    From the firelit looking-glass
    And warm stove-window light.
    But the flower leaned aside
    And thought of naught to say,
    And morning found the breeze
    A hundred miles away.