Analysis Of The Poem ' Perro '

The morning was foggy and I could see the front of my school through my window. It was a nice sight to see. I walked into the kitchen to make myself a bowl of cereal and there she was with her head down on the table. I could tell that she arrived a couple of hours ago because the tears hadn’t dried from her cheeks yet. I got myself ready gave her a kiss on her forehead and headed off to school. I had walked into class eager to see what my teacher Mrs. Padron had in store for today. Every single day there was something new to learn and there’s something about that infinite nature of learning that really appealed to me as a child. I cherished those 7 hours I spent in class the most I could and I dreaded the mere thought of having to go home where I would have to face the

The poem “Persimmons” by Li- Young Lee tells the story about the poet’s life, flashing back to his early childhood and adulthood having trouble adjusting to the English language. English was not his first language, which caused more confusion than understanding of new words. Persimmons shows how words can mean different things, but also how when someone truly loves you, some opposite words can have the same meaning. The poet is bashed by his sixth-grade teacher Mrs. Walker, but with the help of his mother and father he can overcome English boundaries and gain knowledge through their love.

En el nombre del Padre, del Hijo, y el Espíritu Santo: In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.

It was 6:25 AM and I was beginning to wake up. I was on my top bunk of our bunk bed and I said to myself I feel like doing something to get me in trouble. I crawled out of my sheets trying not to hit my head on the ceiling fan. I jumped off the stairs of the bunk bed onto the old wooden floor. On impact I heard my sister say i’m hungry from her little princess bed. My sister Izzy and I walked in to the kitten for a meal. She got a tortilla, cold hotdog, and a dill pickle. I went for a peanut and butter jelly sandwich. After breakfast, I went outside to feed the 4 dogs we had. But be for I did I got my sandals. I opened the back door leading to the fresh morning air. I hoped down from the cement stairs onto the cold moist grass. With every step

Just before noon on a blustery January morning, on a shore of Lagos Dos Bocas, a lake between the towns of Arecibo and Utuado in Central Puerto Rico, fourteen-year old Consuela Flores, skinny legs and knobby knees slashing through thick, green foliage, ran as fast as she could through the lush undergrowth of a Caribbean rain forest. Avoiding the walking trails, the angular teen could hear her pursuer's footsteps gaining on her. Glancing over her shoulder, Consuela stumbled across an above-ground root of a young kapok tree. Trying to regain her balance, she leaned backwards, just before a hand on her shoulder jerked her off her feet. Wrapping his arms around her before wrestling her to the ground, Consuela's fifteen year old cousin, Enrique Maturin straddled her waist, then pinned her arms above her head before leaning toward her with a sweaty, heavy breathing smirk. Half-screaming, half-laughing in gasping fits, Consuela continued struggling to get away before gasping in a mixed dialect of Puerto Rican Spanish, "Okay, I'm caught, let mi go!"

In the last century, there are a lot of families immigrant to the other countries due to some reasons that wars, politics, national issues, and the safe environment for next generation. Although they escape some trouble from their original country, they still encounter some problems in foreign country. Between these problems, the most significant is the culture conflict including self-identity, languages, and family influences. The contradiction of culture gradually become an issue that affect on the mind of next generations that they hesitate between accept or reject, gain or lose, forward or backward when they are in a foreign situation. The speaker in the poem “Persimmons” and the narrator’s brother in the story “Simple Recipes” both express

As soon as I opened my eyes, the bright light from my window streamed into my sight. My aunt stood there, breathing in the musty smell September, her petite figure enveloped by a sweater and a long dress. I was compelled to bury myself in the covers before noticing the time on my alarm clock; I was almost twenty minutes behind schedule. I yelled a short good morning before running into the rest room and preparing the day ahead of me. Pulling my hair into a pony tail, I grabbed my pancakes to go and headed out the door.

My brain clasping by stress became weighty, and the room seems like spinning. Slowly I dragged myself up from my chair and walked toward my bed. By the chilly floor the cold penetrated through my feet to my body. Finally, I arrived to my hard wooden bed and I throw myself and let myself sink through and disappear. Haltingly turning my head toward the window the marvelous sunset mixed with pink, blue, yellow, and other more colors appeared before me and through the sky the sparrows dashed and sang with there own alluring

The sun hits like a bullet of faith and then suddenly I am wide awake. The buzzing of the alarm clock suddenly stops, seven thirty, the numbers read. I pull my comforter tighter under my chin and close my eyes, fully intending to get up in a few minutes, but not yet. I can not do it yet. Unfortunately, my Mother is always there to wake up on time. The listlessness of my voice surprises me. I groan and fold the thick layers of blankets off of me. The frigid December air pounces. As I watch, thousands of tiny bumps germinate on my arms, and the fine hairs stand alarmingly straight. I stretch my arms and yawn away the sleep out of me, the day starts.

I wake up and think I am in our old house in the countryside. The sun is streaming through the window from rolling, green hills outside, and I can smell my mother’s cooking wafting through the house. Soon the day will begin, a long day, of weaving cloth.

Enid tried to smile at her parents. Her world was grey like a gloomy rainy day. Quiet, yet dangerous. Enid shut her eyelids and imagined what it would be like if colours filled her life again. Suddenly, the lumpy and sweaty hospital bed became softer. Enid sank down in it and dreamt—wonderful things, she dreamt!

There I was sitting, hoping I would come closer to finishing a dreadful class assignment, pushing a cheap pencil that could give my fingers skin peeling blisters in a few more strokes. It was a frigid Saturday night during October, I looked out the window smeared with water due to condensation and noticed the sky was a rich navy, smoked clouds began to settle behind the steep mountains and the wind was giving a gentle cry. Ruddy brown leaves were twisting off their branches and rocked back and forth until I imagined listening to them make a hushed scratch on the asphalt. The night was too beautiful to ignore, so I tossed my pencil over my shoulder and thought I deserved to enjoy my weekend. The homework made me forget I was hungry from all

wind slowly whistling across the oak trees. “Mom, they all think that I’m a demented freak! What’s the point of going to school if I can’t even focus!?” Ellie forced a yell, but you could tell that her voice was weak from all the previous crying, and her eyes were dark and sunken in from all the sleep-deprived nights. But if I were you, I wouldn’t dare call her an insomniac, even if you find it to be true, because she always desperately tries to convince herself that she’s normal.

On March 7, 203 AD, five Christians were condemned to death in an amphitheater in the North African city of Carthage. One was a young mother named Perpetua, a wealthy and likely well-educated woman from a Roman patrician family. Her prison diary is the earliest surviving account authored by a Christian woman, and provided an enduring model for the genre of martyr literature, stories that comforted Christians during the persecutions of the early church and continued to inspire the faithful all the way from the Middle Ages to well into the modern day.

The alarm clock buzzed loudly beside my ear. Feeling like a gong that was being hit repeatedly was placed right beside my head. I sluggishly pulled myself out of my bed and dragged myself to my closet. The words, first day of school moaned ghastly in my head. Summer was uneventful and school was just going to be hell. I picked out an old, worn out flannel and a pair of jeans to wear. Not rushing at all, I struggled to put the raggedy clothes on. They smelt like horrendous lies and rumors. Exactly what this state and my school are built on.