Creative Response to Homecoming

The storm clouds were dark, gloomy and grim like a graveyard. They were near the surface of the earth. It was going to rain. They were lingering on. The soldiers’ uniforms were repeatedly buffeted by the howling gale. The sky was as black as a devil’s soul. A large boom echoed across the crimson battlefield as the lighting returned the thunder’s call. Endless calls for help could be heard. Then, the rain started pouring down, filling up the battle field, like a flood, as the constant sound of the rain pounding on the metal could be heard. Heavy boots pressed down on the wet mud, which would not be dry for the next week, due to the trenches. The trenches were six-foot-deep and reeked of dead bodies and human excrement.

So much pain, so much blood. Everything was fuzzy, people looked like splotches blocking my vision. The yelling. It’s getting louder. I look for light, but only darkness is here now. There. Under the door. I try my hardest to lift the fallen door, but a shooting pain propels up my leg so I stop. “

On the first day of battle, many soldiers were sent in to the area between our land and our enemy’s land, what we call “no man’s land”. It was muddy and the tanks were unable to make it through, leaving our men vulnerable. So many men died that I began to lose hope that I could ever return back home alive.

I feel that homecoming shouldn’t be abolished. Abolishing homecoming would be upsetting to students and former students. The reasons I feel this way is because homecoming could be so much fun, you also get to know more about your school and learning their traditions of the school.

I fought the thoughts of not being able to breathe and allowing myself to have a panic attack. I have never been very religious, but it got to a point where counting didn’t help and the moment that destroyed my health replayed over and over. It was the few seconds prior to blacking out, to when I looked up at my rearview mirror and saw a truck coming right for me because he fell asleep. These thirty minutes of darkness symbolized the endless emotional and physical pain I had endured and my return to the darkness, which I cannot explain. So I prayed, hoping that even though I couldn’t remember all the verses, it would end the spinning and the torture. These moments of fear were more than claustrophobia; it was also a concoction of sadness. Sadness, that uncovered my weak and fragile human being self to the world because I had still not healed. As these thoughts deepened, the bed of the MRI machine began to move outward and I knew it was over. I hadn’t realized that my body was trembling until they took the thick white sheet off me. It revealed my shaking legs covered in Goosebumps and so, I pulled my fuzzy green socks up and with their help got off the bed. I wondered if that’s what it was like to live through a traumatic event or was it me being dramatic? Either way, I shut the door leaving the loud and terrible noises behind me. As I walked out, I could never see myself laying in that room again, unable to escape the endless

I arrive on the shores of Gallipoli my heart beating like a gun I hear the cold deafening screams of my brothers jar into my hear like a whistle. Through the mud filled trenches I walk my legs feeling impossibly cold.

Walking From Boston to New York I thought that we would never win the battle against the British. I couldn’t believe that I was going to go to war with the British. The British had so much more experience than we did, There were some people who didn’t even have one bit of experience with weapons. Surely, I was nervous about going to battle. The whole time getting ready I thought about how much I’d miss my wife and our three children Lilia, Bethany, and Lucas. I thought to myself one day I won’t have to write to them, I can see them and tell them stories about the war. Right now all I need to think about is battling the British and surviving at the same time. Therefore, When going to battle being intrepid we

Walking to New York From Boston was when I thought that we would never win the battle against the British. I couldn’t believe that I was going to go to war with the British. The British had so much more experience than we did, There were some people who didn’t even have one bit of experience with weapons. Surely, I was nervous of going to battle. The whole time getting ready I thought about how much I’d miss my wife and are three children Lilia, beathanny, and Lucas. I thought to myself one day I won’t have to write to them, I can see them and tell them stories about the war. Right now all I need to think about is battling the British and surviving at the same time. When going to battle being intrepid we were

The visual representation of the poem Homecoming, by Bruce Dawe, explores a few of the key themes represented in the poem. These themes include: the depiction of a journey, death, futility of war, sadness and dehumanisation. Which are communicated in the poster through the use of its content, ideas, themes and techniques used. The use of colour sets the tone of the visual representation.

The meadow near the Western Front was nothing compared to the vast fields of the prairie back home. There, in what seems like another lifetime, was a harvest full of life, colour, and promise. Here, there was only death and harshness. Trevor, our Commander, had once described the scenery of these fields in France before the chaos. He had said it was filled with little red flowers and high green grass. After three years of fatalities and rain, the scene shifted to represent the misery. There was no colour here. Our uniforms that had once been a deep green were now covered with dried mud. The scene before me was bleak. The sky was gray; as it had been since the first day we made camp in these trenches. The ground was muddy with small pools of

Many people don’t comprehend how traumatic the life of a young fighter in World War I was. In my opinion, this book will especially help you understand this. The descriptive language describing the wounds and unpleasant content made me feel queasy at times, but also forced me to feel compassionate for the military troops. In this book, limbs are lost, animals such as horses are killed, starving soldiers dig through garbage for food, the troops are destroyed by poison gas, munitions, and bombs. The conditions the fighters went through in the war was dangerous and disturbing which makes me realize how fortunate my life is and causes me to feel compassion for the fighters because of what they had to struggle with.

I hope you are not distressed, nor should you worry about my return. This will be my 11th and the final letter I am sending home, my dearest apologies for the lack of letters, the war isn’t the place I thought it would be, the climate and conditions are horrid. The rest was the worst part, having to switch patrol areas to protect the frontline for hours, and then rest for a minimal time. Poor Jimmy died later earlier today, they say it was from diseases and sickness. I’ll need to be careful down in these trenches, fleas, and bugs crawling all over me. The ground is like quicksand, all the missiles, explosions and gunfire have turned the dirt into a sinking pile of mud all over the battlefield. My team, my second family are mostly gone… I don't

Throughout the novel “Homecoming,” the effects of the slave trade on the characters are explored. For example, Quey, the son of Effia, feels the pressure of carrying on his father’s slave industry in the midst of struggling with his identities. According to Quey, “he was one of the half-caste children of the Castle, and, like the other half-caste children, he could not fully claim either half of himself, neither his father’s whiteness nor his mother’s blackness. Neither England nor the Gold coast” (Gyasi 55). Quey makes it clear that he struggles to find his place in the world because he could never put an identity on himself. When asked to accept a position in his mother’s village, Quey was not enthusiastic about it because he had

“AHHH!” I screeched. My voice echoed and I crumpled to the floor. As I lay on the ground, a smell seemed to enter and toxicate the air. I didn’t run, I didn’t fight the urge to fall asleep, I didn’t care if I died right there and then. In my mind I had already died, and my spirit was still back in bed dreaming of nothing important. I was just a body, a body waiting to meet the horror of this white prison. As I lay crying and beginning to holsinate another wave of white washed over me.

Reporter noted it has been an ongoing issue with the step-mother. This morning (12/01/15) they had an argument over clothes for due to this being their homecoming week. Reporter noted the girls asked Rhonda last night (11/30/15) could they wear legging and she said she would think about it. Reporter Jasmine was questioned about it because they had them on this morning. They were told to go take them off in the process there was a verbal disagreement between her and Rhonda. Rhonda grabbed her by the hair and pulled her to the drawer looking for some scissors. She couldn’t find any so she got a knife to cut them off of her. Reporter noted Jasmine was trying to fight her and in the process she was trying to reach for the knife and cut her hand.