Analysis Of The Poem ' The Yard '

August Wilson’s Fences, is a dramatic play that spotlights on the attributes of black life in the mid to late twentieth century and emphasizes the strains of society on African Americans. Focusing on the lives of normal African Americans, the author also recognizes the significance of the family ties and how they relate to the society. He mentions symbols such as sports and fences in the story to relate to many topics mainly all of the topics pile up to the prism of race and its impact on the lives of typical African Americans at that time. Wilson uses the symbol of fences in his play, physically and mentally, in numerous occasions to symbolize protection, Rose and Troy Maxson’s relationship, and Troy 's fight against Death in order to convey the characters ' incapability of facing reality.

Death is inescapable. In the same way, life is inescapable. The Appalachian short story, “Jake Pond”, portrays this inevitable cycle through the depiction of a young boy enjoying nature. Lou Crabtree writes of the many inner workings of life through symbolism. While some would say this story is a literal telling of a boy and his surroundings, it does, in fact, include a plethora of metaphors to display the complexities of life through figurative language (Crabtree). In Lou Crabtree’s “Jake Pond” symbols such as the young boy, black snakes, pond, hollytree, and other natural entities portray themes of life and death, while detailing multiple aspects of change.

The inn keeper's parlor was the best in town, they told her. His wife was wearing a heavy dress, adorned with lace and a massive broach that she raised a plump hand to touch, as if to be certain it was still there. They spoke of the massive rug, bought from Paris, and the finely crafted furniture they all sat upon. The preacher listened quietly, smiling as though their vanity wasn't a sin, while Mrs. Hartford eyed the dress with longing. Della thought that the dress was tasteless. The lace was poorly made, and the line of the bodice wasn't flattering. The fabric was an odd shade between blue and green, and the woman inside it was far less appealing. She didn't bother to mention that her own parlor had been filled with crystal, and priceless art her father had collected around the world. She didn't mention that her toys had cost more than Mrs. Johnson's gowns, or that she was mispronouncing the tea they'd been served. Not to be kind, not to be deceptive, but because did not matter anymore. Nothing mattered anymore. She'd given up that life to marry Ben, given up her family, given up her home and her gowns and her education.

When Henry gets home and starts dressing for dinner Elisa nervously waits on the porch for a reaction on her appearance from her passionless husband. “She looked toward the river road where the willow-line was still yellow with frosted leaves so that under the high grey fog they seemed a thin band of

“The dust from the roads fluffed up and spread out and fell on the weeds beside the fields, and fell into the fields a little way. now the wind grew strong and hard and it worked at the rain crust in the corn fields. Little by little the sky was darkened by the mixing dust, and the wind felt over the earth, loosened the dust, and carried it away. The wind grew stronger. The rain crust broke and the dust lifted up out of the fields and drove gray plumes into

Whilst crossing off his daily chores, a glimmer, seemingly radiating from a mound of manure, had caught his eye. Some poor beast had downed the abandoned needle amidst a mouthful of its afternoon snack, and, presumably, plopped it out the next morning, fully intact. Mrs. Clarke, to her credit, stayed true to her word. Although her sewing needle returned in a somewhat grotesque, lackluster manner, she did indeed treat us to ice cream — even letting us get double

graveyard. The leaves on the trees swayed back and forth with a soft moan of the

The poem “A song in the front yard” by Gwendolyn Brooks, brings out two different backrounds the young black girls and the young white girl. It shows how the white girl is jealous of the black girls, hoping that she would get the chance to play with all of them. On the other hand, the black girls just wish they can live like the white girl, for example, a much better home and not worrying much about life. In the beginning stanzas, it sets the stage for ambience and establishment and the ending stanza, the narrator shows its way into decision and the end of this poem.

Not long into their carriage ride, Audra was warm, full, and sleepy. Maxen had brought along a skin of hot cider, along with a bag full of roasted chestnuts, and a warm bread filled with cheese, spices, and spinach. Since they’d hardly had a chance to take a bite of food during their post-wedding celebration, the fare was most satisfying.

As she sat in the chair sewing and giggling, she heard one of the silverware or plates hit the table creating a little mentally twang. It was just a reminder she was not alone. She smiled abut quickly hid it as not to draw intention. She heard the smacking of hungry jows on the meat, slowly devouring the meat. She continued to sew. The needle wove in and out of the fabric, just like how she was weaving in and out of her prosecute. What if she was caught though? She knew this was all very risky. Suddenly from as is if she had been sleeping, she heard a voice louder than the other sin the ther other room.

The poet is disheartened with both the facts. He says that the soldier that fight, especially in the vanguard of the army, have funerals with the rejections of all rituals, for example, no flowers, no candles and not even their dead bodies. He concludes that first the soldiers are not sent but forced to fight in the war and then when they die their funeral is carried out for formality with no respect or even sympathy. He calls these rituals "mockeries" in a bitter and furious tone in the octet of the sonnet and the choruses "shrill, demented" and compares it to the falling of bullets of machine guns on the ground when he says "wailing shells"

They stop on the threshold of the farm's large kitchen, haggard and breathless. Violette's arms are trembling from the effort of carrying the child. Maman Echailh, a big wooden spoon up in the air, watches the intruding girls in stupefaction. All at once, Mado and her friends spill their horrific discovery. Nanny soon has taken the situation in hand and dispatched a lad to the café du coin, the nearest house with a telephone. Time to eat supper, when the sky changes color from vivid blue, to a dull pinkish slate gray, marking the approaching dusk. Neither Dédé, Mado, Violette or Jeanne are the least hungry, despite the heavy garlic aroma of the potato and ground meat au gratin, invading the room. They were seated on the bench against the wall, outside the front door, when the gendarmes came to report the incident. They heard enough. They know the little girl. They recognized her dress at once. The pretty white one, with blue stripes, that Dominique wears on Thursdays because after school is over, she goes to visit her auntie. And for her, it is a special day of goodies, with luscious cakes and lemonade and a little trinket or two that her loving aunt will have

The blue bowl stood there, seemingly full forever, no matter how deeply or rapaciously we dipped, as if it had no bottom. And she dipped up soup. Dipped up lima beans. Dipped up stew. Forked out potatoes. Spooned out rice and peas and corn. And in the light and warmth that was Her, we dined.

The sun was still below the horizon but the clouds above the mountains were tainted the color of pomegranates. Around me the shadows seemed empty. I tried not to look into the brush as I walked down the driveway. I had stopped before, looking to see the back of the shadows; staring hard, only to have them retreat from my eyes indefinitely. Invisible birds called from within. Their sound followed me down the driveway and onto the road.

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.