Poem: Promised Land

Claude McKay was a black man born in Jamaica, he choose literature very on in life and kept with it. He moved to the United States at age twenty three to study at Tuskegee Institute and was immediately shocked by the blatant racism prevalent in Charleston, South Carolina. He moved to New York and shortly after became co-editor of The Liberator, a famous abolitionist newspaper, he wrote some of his most revered poems while working there. He was part of the Harlem Renaissance a movement that was a reawakening of artistic and cultural talents of African American people in the United States and helped to reinvigorate their pride in being black.

An exceptional place it was, the place where my voyage began. A place of marvelous happenings, festivities, and majestic sights. A place that is valued for its vast diversity through distinct cultures and its people. A place where even perspicacious meteorologists are incapable of providing the daily forecast, accurately that is.

Ah, those days of ceaseless travel, those youthful days, those springtime days; fertile, blossomy, sun-filled days of promise. Ah, yes, those indescribably glorious days, in which the Founder was building the dream not only here in this then barren valley, but hither and yonder throughout the land, instilling the dream in the hearts of the people (124).

The poem “The Lonely Land” by A.J.M Smith can be compared with the poem by Marilyn Dumont called “Not Just a Platform for My Dance”. Smith’s poem, “The Lonely Land”, describes the land in detail. He says that even though the land is not perfect, it has its own beauty. “Not Just a Platform for My Dance” states that the land is not just considered as a place, but as something to learn from. Dumont also explains how the land teaches us everything we know. Even though both of the poems are about the land, one poem gives the land a human characteristic. To both writers, the land is considered as something special.

Setting: “The Land Of Stories (The Wishing Spell)’s main setting is The Land Of Stories

In this poem, gold alludes to an object, or in this case a person's fragility or innocence. Dally is so crazy about keeping Johnny golden. He does not want Johnny to end up messing up like he did, and getting tough inside. Dallas Winston was in the slammer for a while, and it made him hard and tough, that is what Dally is trying to hide Johnny Cade from. The moral of Gone With the Wind is relative to Nothing Gold Can Stay. “Love and understanding are gone with the wind.” A film taking place in the setting of the Civil War, where characters had to make an effort everyday to survive, like Johnny was having to do after the church fire. Johnny’s understanding of why this had happened to him was long gone, he knew why he did it, and that his love for his brothers was never going to leave his side. Greasers were always different. It seemed like it was everyday one of them or the gang together would have to risk themselves to save another. Greasers hated the Socs and vice versa. That is what Ponyboy talked about. Ponyboy told the story, he either did it in his journal or told it in first person limited, which was through his eyes or how it all went down for him. The movie could be showing scenery and he would be talking about what he felt, or in the book, you cannot see what is happening so in between dialogue breaks, it would pause and he would talk about what he was thinking at the moment or what was happening and his thoughts on it.

A place where I could be myself, there's no pretending, To be like a queen atop valiant horses and go parading, When it rains, I'm like a child who never stops jumping, smiling, and giggling; Freely singing, dancing, and laughing like there's nobody

Dan M. Kahan argues in his article “Shame Is Worth a Try” that people who understand the potential of shaming know that it is “cheap, efficient, and an appropriate alternative to short jail sentences” (571).

“Small town big heart,” they say locked away behind their cold immaculate castle gates that rest on the remains of the previous farmland and plains. The collective heart beats but only at a convenient time suiting parties involved. “A place where everyone matters,” they utter as their motto in indistinguishable monotone voices. The people are too wrapped up in their everyday lives to ever be concerned about their neighbor, they look through life with gilded glasses. It’s as if a fog had descended slowly creeping into their view distorting what they once held most dear.

Who knew that this foreign land would be where a girl, sixteen years of age, would be living, maybe, for the rest of her life. It had always been her dream to live in a house where it almost looks like a palace compared to the houses back in her motherland. It had always been her dream to stroll the streets of an unfamiliar place in luck to quench the burning thirst of adventure within her. She loves the thought of adventure. She loves the thought of exploring a new world where many are unfamiliar to her. To see a world where there are no dust rising from the filthy grounds like of those of her former neighborhood. To see a world where the roads are as clean and smooth as a polished obsidian. To see a world where the trees are as green as a peridot.

our Home on the Range? A beautiful land where the deer and the antelope have played, where it seems that everyone is absurdly optimistic, and the stars sing out at night the beauty of the world

After reading “The Scarlet Letter” and watching the Monica Lewinsky Ted talk, one can see there are major differences and similarities between 17th century shaming and modern day shaming. In the 17th century scaffolds were metaphorically much smaller than they are now. In the 17th century a scaffold was a raised wooden platform used for the public execution of a criminal, whereas contemporary scaffolds are platforms used for verbal shaming, internet shaming, and shaming worldwide. In the 17th century only people in one’s town could see them being shamed, but today in society being shamed can be viewed by anyone because of technology used by people every day.

When I was a child I despised living amongst the trees and the dirt of the countryside. I wished more than anything to exist in a place devoid of the responsibilities and expectations that rural life deposits on a child. But, as I have grown and matured, a new appreciation for the purity and peace that the land offers has sprouted within my heart like a shaft of golden wheat reaching for the sun. The farmland on which I live has bore more than just mere crops. It has fostered hope and respect and honesty in the souls and minds of those who tend to it. Now, more than ever, I know that I will be eternally grateful for existing in such a

Such writing focuses on remote, pristine, untouched places in the place of arrival, far from colonial habitation.

The wide field, brimmed primarily with yellow, sprouting, lush, wild flowers and tall green grass, swayed gently in the crisp breeze. Deep within an abundance of towering pine trees, where the bluebirds chirped and the frogs croaked, babbled a crooked creek. The air was filled with the smell of moist bark and sweet blossoms, the sound of bees buzzing, and the feeling of serenity. I had lived in my very own oasis where all of my childhood dreams were born. I dreamed of all my “firsts”, my first kiss, my first love, my first high school dance, my first varsity soccer game in the stadium under the lights, my first day as a college student in a foreign city, my first paycheck as an employee, and countless more. My siblings and I staged and acted out various versions of the perfect little family with the house located in the countryside surrounded by the white picket fence to complete the stereotypical American Dream. My imagination was sparked by this magical sanctuary where I led my siblings in the pursuit of our hopes and dreams for a future that now in retrospect seemed untouchable.