Descriptive Essay - Original Writing

Construct a close reading of this poem that demonstrates your awareness of the poet’s body of work.

Many people have said poetry is dead as the 21st century does not recognise and appreciate it as much as they use to. Robert Macias is a new aged poet. He started painting on side walks in Miami. He became Instagram famous by typing his poems and posting pictures of them for everyone to see. He has given a new energy to poetry and caused enthusiasm by young adults. The three poems chosen to analyse were ‘Dear You’, ‘Storms’ and ‘Between the Sea and Sky.’ They were chosen because each poem has an effect on young people by relating to aspects of their lives. ‘Dear You’ is about God’s connection to Earth. ‘Storms’ is about embracing your own self and ‘Between the Sea and Sky’ is about the importance of love in your life. These themes are not only relevant to young people but also

A “woman singing.. softly” in the dusk is one of many enticing sounds used to build a sense of euphoria within the poem. This “singing woman“ and the “tinkling strings“ presented create such a peaceful scene of the speaker’s childhood that it greatly contrasts with that of the speaker’s manhood. He later applies auditory imagery once again when describing his adulthood; however, now this image isn’t so enticing. He displays a “singer bursting into clamor“ creating a ruckus, all in vain. These abrasive sounds exemplify a horrid reality that the speaker currently faces, which only spurs him to ache for the past more. Additionally, delightful visual imagery of his past is clearly shown in the “smile” of his “mother… as she sings”. Family often is revered and cherished. By having his mother, who is content nonetheless, in his memory makes his childhood that much more beautiful. He even “presses the small, poised feet of his mother“, physically touching a loved one while she smiles and sings. All of these combined elements construct an irrefutably content image. Unfortunately, this only aids in complicating his sentiments. The speaker conveys an ideal childhood; yet, he is well aware of the fact that it is eternally in the past and he has to confront the terrifying “clamor” of his

These objections may have carried their weight, but Blake is a romantic in his own capacity within his own parameters of the concepts of imagination, sublime, beauty, and nature. He has the capacity of appreciating the simple things of and from nature. In ‘A Cradle Song’, Blake captures the pleasure of a mother who takes joy in watching her baby’s innocent gestures and movements. What can be simpler, truer, purer, and more natural, than an expression of care and love of a mother for a baby? Blake’s description, in this simple four stanza poem, touches on the reader’s heart and fills it with tender and soft feelings, which are innate to human beings, and Blake as a poet has a quality to transfer them into words. Children are the greatest gift of nature and Blake is truly romantic in his depiction of this entity. Through the repeated word ‘sweet’, Blake shows the overwhelming passion and devotion of a mother to her child. Within the same parameters, a poem ‘Infant Joy’, depicts a new born boy who is asked by his mother that what name he wants and the baby happily chooses his name, Joy, as this is all he knows. As a baby, he knows no worries, no troubles, and no miseries. This simple poem celebrates mother’s happiness as she blesses her baby with her pray for his upcoming life of joy and happiness. The poem’s simplicity and charm go parallel with each other as we know that nothing could be more pure and charming than a child. To give a choice to a child to choose his name implies Blake’s wish for all human beings to have freedom of thought and

He ended the kiss, but pressed his forehead to mine, as we both tried to regain some control. “I think,” I said between breaths, “you want to fuck me up against your car.”

We pulled up the driveway, the headlights of the car shining against the metal garage door. I listened to the sweet melody flowing from the white headphones all the way through my ears. Flightless Bird, American Mouth by Iron & Wine played, the lyrics burning themselves in my brain, leaving the permanent mark of the emotions that filled each sweet, meaningful word. My mom pulled a headphone from my ear aggressively and shook her head at me.

He hears his father's voice and the words conjure up images in his child's mind of a cow and a little boy walking down the road. The words have the power to create. He hears the music of language in songs. The artist takes things literally from the beginning. "Words which he did not understand he said over and over to himself till he had learned them by heart: and through them he had glimpses of the real world about" (57).

It was Halloween and, being the super mature teenager that I was, I went trick-or-treating. Going house to house and getting practically thrown at with candy just seemed entirely worth it. Considering I was 5,3, I wasn 't surprised that I could pull off being a 12-year-old for one night without calling attention to myself.

There are times when people come across an object that holds a sentimental value and want to keep it close to their heart or in other instances, store it somewhere safe. Though my possession isn 't exactly an object you can hold or put away for safekeeping, but rather a place that allows family and friends to gather and dwell upon its most glorious days. A place everyone is perpetually invited and accepted for who they are. This home, I gratefully inherited from my grandparents, has become a shelter for those those in need, serves as a financial asset, and offers fond memories.

I grabbed his arm and pulled it to mine "And if you love me the way i love you you 'll stay here......" he shook his head and i felt him brush my hair from my face "Tk.........let me go..." it wasn 't an angry let me go it was I 'm sorry but you have let me go "No... If you want to go take me with you." im crazy i thought as i looked up at him. More tears fell from his face. He cried beautifully without the ugly puffed lips and blotchy skin but just tears. Glassy eyes with tears of fire and ice it seemed the way the light hit them. Tears that fell onto his skin, perfectly tan and strangely nice against the almost redness of his hair. I hated to think so but he was amazing in the dull 4am light. The moon hit his face just enough to make him look like artwork. Art that somehow is beautiful but also makes you think. He took my arm and rolled up my sleeve. " Look at you......" he traced the endless scars on my arm, not all self inflicted but all with a reason,all with a meaning. I wiped my eyes even though no tears were there. "Scars and cigarette burns......just another page in my story." he pulled off his hoodie and i saw his arms. Burn marks. "From the fire...most of them....." he breathed, painfully. "From the past." i traced a few of the scars on my arms with his finger. "From my father and other horrible people." i traced more scars and shivered as i did. I traced the long scar from rist to elbow and felt him quake. "From me." i traced the last scars remaining. "And thats

"Dreamy" I thought. Standing on the corner is a young guy with a smile. I see him here almost every day, so I linger for a while. He tells me his name, and I tell him mine. ' 'I 'm Ester, what 's your name? I enquired. ' 'My names David ' '.,He replied. We end up talking for a while and I asked him if he had ever left this city. He tells me of all these stories of the places where he 's been, the distant lakes and mountains, and in valleys oh so green. I can see it in his eyes, he really has been there, travelled in those distant lands, seen sights beyond compare. I am so honoured just to get to know him, and hear him tell his tales. He makes me laugh and smile, stuff I have never been able to do. I want to go and see the world through

After close to three hours on the road, we pulled up in front of a beautiful old mansion that had been converted into a luxury hotel. It had a beautiful view, right on the shores of the Beauly Firth. The grounds were impressive. We’d made it in time for the complimentary coffee and shortbread. The piping hot coffee and the shortbread were just what I needed to hold me over until the dinner hour.

I had only been to Nabir once. I was traveling to another plane when I discovered I had accidentally deviated from the normal route, landing myself in an unfamiliar place. The Nabirians wore elaborately engraved tags around their necks that varied between bright neon to modest bland colors, all of which had numerical values inscribed upon them. The people minded their own business, kept polite conversations, and talked in smooth voices; a refreshing change to the other unscrupulous planes I had visited in the past. I was enticed, however, by how incredibly intelligent the people on the plane appeared to be — though I soon found that conversing with a Nabir native could be quite undesirable and mostly one sided.

Blake romanticizes the children of his poems, only to place them in situations common to his day, in which they find their simple faith in parents or God challenged by harsh conditions. Songs of Experience is an attempt to denounce the cruel society that harms the human soul in such terrible ways, but it also calls the reader back to innocence, through Imagination, in an effort to redeem a fallen

Uncle Hyunwoo tutted in annoyance when the lead of his pencil snapped while finishing a Sudoku he had started in the morning. He glanced at the clock: 7:38 pm. Hyunjung had told him she was staying another two hours after school, so he expected her to have been back by 6:45 at the latest and it had now been almost more than an hour since then.