Descriptive Essay About Pacific Blues

The stone was cold and I could feel the pain swelling up inside. I took a step towards the edge, I thought to myself, “One more step and the worries would end…” if only it was that easy.

sound, and even escape from our blue marble, to head for the unknowns of the

We’re standing on a beach, a layer of rocks following the coastline. They’re sharp to the touch and as I pull my finger away it draws a tear of blood. Age has not dulled its surface, nor the sea as its waves crash unrelentlessly against the rocks.

Throwing a stone across the water, he made seven perfect dashes and smiled to himself. Circular waves spread and combined and he threw another, but too heavy it jumped only four times and sank. Bern grunted, then swept the bank before another stone caught his eye. Unearthing it, he scraped dirt away with his uneven nails, then washed the stone in the water. When rotated, the stone’s facets glistened tiny beads of light. Dropping it into his shirt pocket, he hurried after her voice, tracing the sloping trail overlooking the river and leading up into the woods. At the top of the clearing he glanced in the direction of her voice and spied her periwinkle dress from behind a cottonwood tree.

In Langston Hughes’ Harlem Renaissance poem “The Weary Blues,” a man remembers the night he heard a soulful blues player in the streets of Harlem. In the first five lines, Langston depicts a beautiful night with passionate music in the air. The speaker is recalling the night he was “down on Lenox Avenue” and heard a “Negro play[ing]” (5, 6). In the poem Hughes “recaptures the […] experience” to demonstrate “the power of blues” on the speaker and the blues player himself (Bouchard). Beginning in line 13, Hughes illustrates the movement of the man.

I’ve come to love the sound of walking on gravel. The crunching and compressing of rocks beneath your feet. The occasional rock you kick that gets sent flying, skipping over the other rocks making the sound of a natural tap dance. It was 8 in the morning. The smell of moisture was in the air and the sun gave everything a soft orange hue. Especially since we were surrounded by the Ocean. The sun made the entire ocean a prism causing it to look like a sea of orange paint. Jason (my Mom’s fiance’) and I were walking down a gravel path from the house we were

Echoed steps within the hollowed space cause a silence filled with excitement and anxiety. Drawn once again to the smoothed ebony and ivory. I take my set upon a worn leather pedestal. I glide my fingers along my old worn music sheets, feeling a rhythm of bumps. Ready to play. My fingers find their home within the glassy landscape erupted by the familiar risen small keys. Within a few notes, I’m no longer in the room but back where I began.

Rodor’s thinking was interrupted by a sound that seemed to echo from the earth’s very core. Vibrating through the clouds to where he was standing. The noise like a blade cut through him. The pain was so immense he dropped to his knees groaning. His forehead was creased in excruciating pain. Beads of sweat rolling down his head and neck. The noise growing ever loud by each second that passed showed no sign of relenting its hold on the Endiete.

The moment of stillness and snap of the lens is always satisfying. What makes a picture exceptional is a change of perspective. Photography is the very culmination of creativity, looking at the world through a lens that is simply different and changing your way of thinking. Before I was introduced to photography, I was the type of person to hate taking pictures at an event. It was a hassle and a distraction from enjoying the present and the now. However, I was later inspired to look into photography after seeing pictures that I never thought were possible from a simple camera. It took me a while to grasp how to use it properly. The various photography terms and methods were discouraging at first, but I gradually became experienced and came

As I lazily look out in front of me, I notice the sounds I hadn’t heard previously. The wind whistles from far over the ocean and I hear the leftover whisper that makes it to my ears. The lapping water slaps the shoreline and provides a welcome rhythm. I hold up a conch shell to my left ear, and become entranced by the echoing of the sea into the depths of the pink shell. I suddenly jump from the piercing sound of water bottle crackling when I accidentally rest my elbow on it.

When music enthusiasts or even music novices such as myself think of the blues, thoughts of hardship, adversity, and regret rush to mind. An individual loses his or her job, they get the blues. A close relative passes away, you feel the blues. Indeed, blues music is all too often associated with trials and tribulations. Yet, the blues itself seemingly encompasses much more than simply a sense of misery and unhappiness. Rather, the blues more so embodies overcoming hardship, moving past adversity, hoping for a better tomorrow, and invoking a sense of genuine emotion. In fact, As Elijah Wald states in “The Blues: A Very Short Introduction,” the blues should be thought of in emotional, musical, cultural, or even commercial terms (Wald, 7). To me, however, the blues is a passionate medium of expression, feeling and message that addresses subjects on race and class. Love, emotion, and sexuality were subjects that blues artists commonly decided to incorporate into lyrics. Yet, what was the true motivation behind this transcendent line of music?

I agree with your response, my family is from Hawaii as well and people will always play the ukelele not only at gatherings, even the boys at school. It is a form of art for them and for the girls that dances hula as well. I used to like Japanese rock music when I was younger and I could never understood a word from it, but I really like the rhythm and how it flows. Nowadays with the power of technology, I just go online and search for the translation of the lyrics and have it translated to my language for better understanding of the story behind the song.

She trips along the shore, stumbling on the countless rocks worn smooth by centuries of the ocean’s wrath. You can barely tell she’s crying; the wind pushes her tears away before they fully leave her wild, blue eyes. A sudden gust whips her blonde tresses into her face again; she reaches up for what feels like the millionth time to throw them over her shoulder. She turns to look at the waves pounding the shore. The crashes are deafening, and as she watches, frothy spray shoots high into the air.

a circular ditch and bank surround the stones. Upright stones tower over 20 feet and weigh up to 45 tons. Horizontal slabs, called lintels, crown huge pillars. All of these elements are made of sarsen, a local sandstone,

Great waves toss and turn with great force as they rush and collide with the earth soaking the soft sand. The ocean seemed to be howling as every wave grew as tall as a mountain. Slowly, the water creeps forward, then lazily seeping back in the vast ocean, only to do the same over and over again. The deep sea is a mysterious place where sea creatures lurk beneath the waves. Blue, sparkling water is everywhere you look with no end. The humming waves seem to whisper as if telling me the most confidential secret. You can never really hear them clearly until you dive in deeper and deeper.