Analysis Of The Poem ' Saved '

The enchanted forest pulsed in, it’s ancient heartbeat, the deep, haunting song sweeping through the swaying leaves. The woody incense of thousands of leaves and branches matting the forest floor filled the air and dominated our nostrils. Soon, the branches will bend to the will of the whispering wind, allowing the sun to fill every nook and cranny with its the lustrous, golden light, illuminating the full grandeur of a forest that is steeped in plushness and opulence. But for now, the sprawling limbs of centuries-old trees still guarded the darkness, blotting out most of the gentle rays of dawn’s light.

The poem “To This Day” written by Shane Koyczan, the symbolism is the black things grabbing the kid. This is showing that words do hurt and it stays with you this is shown through the whole story of the pain and suffering of the kid. This is said " who used to say that rhyme sticks and stones as if broken bones hurt more than the names we got called" this is showing word do hurt and the black things grabbing him is showing that like a broken bone it still hurts over time just like words do. With this evidence it shows that if you don't want to be called that don't say it at all.

This very well-known poem ‘Sanctuary’ was written in the early ‘50s by Judith Wright. Judith was a prolific Australian poet, critic, and short-story writer. She was also an uncompromising environmentalist and social activist campaigning for Aboriginal land rights. She believed that the poet should be concerned with national and social problems. The poem ‘Sanctuary’ was written as a great expression of environmental concern from her. The poem begins with a shocker. Sanctuary, implicitly, is a place of habitation which is safe. However, the first lines of the first stanza, “The road beneath the giant original trees sweeps on and cannot wait” represents a contrast. Here the road is used metaphorically to symbolise today’s modern developments taking place at the cost of all round natural destruction. The poem then unfolds the gloomy mood of the poet in the description of dangerous driving in the night on the road through the Sanctuary to the city: “only the road ahead is true.” In the last line then she is simply sarcastic: “It knows where it is going: we go too.” In fact the road never knows where it is going, but we know where we are going! The poet subtly asks: do we know where we are going by destroying our own habitation, native forests, plants and animals?

Once they were there, the quarter-mile trek to their place had to be made. It was a small, circular clearing in the cone-bearing woods. The area around the fire pit was dirt, for safety reasons. On the outskirts of the copper-colored dirt were five large, round logs arranged in a circle for sitting. Just a few feet beyond the logs, the forest began again in copious amounts of vegetation and growth, like an untamed lion. That night’s weather was just right. The cool air was

The air was crisp and clean, as it was a mild autumn day. Throughout the forest, the sounds of nature could be heard. Birds chirping, leaves falling off trees in the midday breeze. The calm sounds of the woods gave way to a new sound: the gentle humming of a young female wanderer, on a quest to visit her grandmother. She quite enjoyed the sounds and view of the forest, as it was her favorite thing to surround herself with as she was growing up in the village not far from the forest edge. As she strolled through the winding paths of the forest road, she thought of the wonderful experiences of the day ahead with her grandmother.

Streaks of shimmering sunlight filtered through a golden canopy of trees, casting elegant shadows to dance across the mossy verdure. The lush grass was invested with thriving insects that swarmed on the ground like an overcrowded marketplace. The crickets made a harmonious song that echoed throughout the forest, almost in sync with the repetitive calls of exotic animals that were crawling through shrubbery and soaring high in the leafy giants. Leathery leaves brushed against each other in the feeble breeze, almost as if they were whispering in hushed tones whilst squirrels ran and frolicked in the bushes.

Every child looks up to their father. A father is supposed to be the first man his daughter ever loves. The first hero his son ever has. A man the kids can look up to and always have for support. When kids are young they don't know right from wrong, they learn that based on the actions of others. They base how they act on those they look up to. Inconstancy can cause for major heartbreak, that cant always be fixed.

The mighty wind clashed against the tall trees and hoisted the delicate leaves up into the heavens above. Only a minuscule of light from above was granted access to the vast lands covered by the grand trees below. Birds flocked from tree to tree scavenging for anything edible that they could clench their beaks on. Their screams echoed bounced from tree to tree and into the night sky as water slowly leaked from the trees like a faulty tap and made a thud when it slapped the surface. Decaying plants filled the air with a smell that could bring a bear to his knees. A thick mist covered the landscape and could scare away any animal that would dare draw near.

Excitement and adrenaline raced through me. A room that opened onto the stone terrace and became mine for our stay in Italy and allowed me to wander outside without disturbing anyone. I ran out deep blue wooden doors, stepped into the dawning light, and gasped. My eyes could not take in enough at once. The night before, my family and I had looked out upon the mountains but were only greeted by darkness. Now, I watched as mist sprawled lazily across the forested mountains. Purple and red hues oozed over the sky with the sun slowly beginning to warm the earth and the songs of birds rang in the morning light. Below, in the immense valley, several villages stirred as the day began. Each started to ring with voices which carried through the light air. Across the expanse, farmers began to burn excess hay adding smoke to the already dense filter of fog.

She found herself, her eyes steady to the horizon, her face aglow, bright, with the last amber rays of sun before dusk beckoned the stars. A reddish beam streaked though the boughs of the great Cotton tree in both brilliant and shadowy beams. Fern trees hung before her like giant emerald curtains and from them drops of water dangled like diamonds on a necklace. The branches of the Guaguos danced, falling upon each other in a virescent mosaic and above the birds warbled. She walked amongst the dripping oranges, and golden pineapples; the pomegranates which hung like broken shards of sunrise from sprawling branches. The wind roared through the leaves, and coiled around her feet. Looking up she saw a flock of Red-billed tropicbirds floating upon grey clouds blowing over from

“It was, as I have said, a fine autumnal day; the sky was clear and serene, and nature wore that rich and golden livery which we always associate with the idea of abundance. The forests had put on their sober brown and yellow, while some trees of the tenderer kind had been nipped by the frosts into brilliant dyes of orange, purple, and scarlet."

The sunless sky covered the woods over the treetops which created a canopy over my head. The crimson and auburn foliage was a magnificent sight, as this was the season known as Fall. There was a gentle breeze, creating the single sound of rustling leaves. The leaves appeared as though they were dying to fall out of the tree and join their companions on the forest floor. Together with pine needles and other flora the leaves formed a thick springy carpet for me to walk upon.

As I turn from the outlook, leaving the booming mountains to my back I notice the trees. Making up this glowing landscape were the burning leaves of the treas. The canopy of color burned with high intensity. Each leaf was chattering in the wind making up faint rustling, perhaps to keep the forests secret below. Nature’s sympathy was conducting itself is a small crescendo. The trees were tall enough to pain the sky

Therefore, this began my journey to a destination unknown. It was a bit past 7 am as I walked out of my hotel room and out into civilization. I strolled around the outbacks of Colorado until I sauntered upon a path that seemed abandoned. There were no previously left footprints, no people in sight, and no birds chirping in the distance. It was just I and the eerie undiscovered trail, despite my insecurities I followed the mysterious trail. I am glad I did not listen to my inner self because the pathway led me to a populated field of vibrant yellow sunflowers. While observing the most angelic scenery I’ve ever laid eyes on, a sudden rush of wind chilled my bones and left a scent that invaded my lungs. The overpowering smell was a combination of sweetness with tree bark, it gave me a sense of peacefulness but also unease. Brushing my sensations aside, I continued on the horror film-like path. I was patiently studying the distinctive types of trees when out the corner

The sunset was not spectacular that day. The vivid ruby and tangerine streaks that so often caressed the blue brow of the sky were sleeping, hidden behind the heavy mists. There are some days when the sunlight seems to dance, to weave and frolic with tongues of fire between the blades of grass. Not on that day. That evening, the yellow light was sickly. It diffused softly through the gray curtains with a shrouded light that just failed to illuminate. High up in the treetops, the leaves swayed, but on the ground, the grass was silent, limp and unmoving. The sun set and the earth waited.