Response To The Poem 'Dreamcatcher'

AN ENDLESS DANCE, SPINNING ROUND AND ROUND IN AN ENDLESS CYCLE. OF RISING AND FALLING, LIKE A DREAM WITHIN A DARK DREAM…

This may not be the type of story that one is looking for as an extra credit assignment, sorry to say, but it's what you're going to get. As a teacher, one might be looking for a story or a poem, which in a way this is a story, the story of how a young man figured out how he was going to type this assignment. But first he want to let people know that even though they may be a teacher or mentor, that doesn't mean that life is all of a sudden fair. That being said, the teachers don't always get exactly what they want, despite the fact that they could give someone a zero for writing a paper with this style or format. He realizes that the teacher wanted a story or poem, and as he said before, he has a story; this is just

First recorded in 1931 by Oswald George Nelson, known as Ozzie Nelson, with his orchestra, “Dream a Little Dream of Me” came into existence. Two days later, after Ozzie Nelson had recorded “Dream a Little Dream of Me”, the song was again recorded on February 18, 1931 by orchestra leader and musician Wayne King. Since those first two recordings of “Dream a Little Dream of Me” there have been approximately 60 versions by many well-known artists of which included Mama Cass Elliot in 1968 with the group The Mamas and the Papas.

The coyotes howl the moon beckons me the stars wink at me begging me to join the night again. So calm and peaceful my soul was when the moon chased the sun into hiding. Everything went by in a flash as though time was on fast forward while I sat and listened to the music of life. I yearn so for that time again. It was just me and the night.

Everything I saw, everything I heard, everything I felt... She cracked open my wall which all the scenery around me started to take on colour. The emptiness became full, nothing became something and the roots inside my heart started to blossom. I thought I was satisfied because my dream had come true and I’d told myself it was enough. Yet here you are, watering this withered heart again. That cloud of darkness inside me that you once saw... you saw it as the night sky. The darkest places of all. It’s something so dark that I nearly forgot that the stars also shines too. You made me understand my pain and I’ve translated this pain into something beautiful. Because that darkness, turned out to be so bright just like the starry

1. My initial feelings about the poem are a patriotic poem where the poet is giving hope to those in war. She tells them that victory is coming at the end.

It collides with eternity as we lay beneath the stars. They become my reason to be near to you, for the infinite wonders above could never compare to your beauty. Here in your arms with your gentle breath upon my face, the rhythm of your heart is my lullaby. I finally understand the place where I belong. You’re my universe, my dearest

I lay here in bed. The room is dark and empty. The darkness is like I've never seen it before. It expands into a great bisque of unknown. The abyss sucks me in like a black hole in space. As I lay here I think about my family. I think of my father who is in Memphis Tennessee, I think of my mother who's in the kitchen cooking. I smell the smell of enchiladas drifting through the year I smell The distinct smell of paprika flowing through the air. I hear the sizzling of the melting cheese on the stove. As I lay here my bed feels like loud. I feel as if I'm on a throne with in the sky floating around with no end in sight. I hear the fan. It's roaring like a jet engine. I think to myself it shouldn't be that wild but life goes on. A beaming light

I know something is there but I see nothing, no one. The vivid memories and promises haunt me in my greyscale nightmares. But why me? I close my eyes and ask myself will I wake from these traumatic times or is this just the beginning. As I drift off into a bitter, lonesome sleep I’m numb to the pain. I feel you by my side, but how can such a heartless monster be so comforting. All the lies and broken promises seem so insignificant as I feel so empowered to the bursts of energy pumping through my body as you stroke my hair and you gently kiss my forehead and tell me no one else can determine your happiness, happiness comes from within; and before I get the chance to say I love you, you vanish with the handful of trust I had in you fading. I cry for help. I cry out for someone, anyone as I die in darkness. heartbroken and alone. I feel the end nearing and I clinch my fists and close my eyes as I prepare for the horrific impact of fatal depression and i exhale only to inhale a sense of security. Love, beauty, confidence, I feel it all. Not only do I feel serenity I feel you. You came back for me just like I hoped, yet that hope is the same thing that killed

Shards of crumbled dreams just lay on the ground and muddy water streams, trickle among crushed rose petals - that have been trampled on by uncaring feet. While the sparks of the fire just smolder and won’t burn, crumbled dreams like so many nightmares, come to haunt you in the night, like phantom specters, on skeleton horses - riding through dark night skies. Shadows hide the moon and

I am getting up. Setting my clean hands against the muddy dirt, I am shoving myself skyward. I am reaching to the sun, flying up. The ground is no friend of mine. Each step I am taking, I need to force myself to take. I am walking along the bay. I hear a noise, the sound of sweet serenity. It is a bar. I need a drink, I need to smother a parrot. I am walking through the door, and I hear the sweet, melodic, tune, sung by none other than a true church-bell. Not even god can save, him. I am looking at the man in the corner booth, he has a pork pie hat on his head. The hat is old, I can tell because of the wrinkles that wonder about the

Faiz Ahmed Faiz writes: “At night my lost memory of you returned / I was like the dying patient who, for no reason, smiles.” Of course, the night has been the time when people become vulnerable of their thoughts and their painful past experiences. In the mid-1900s, Faiz Ahmed Faiz, delves into these painful nights, where he reminisces about his beloved and longs for it, usually shown in his poetry. Consequently, Faiz Ahmed Faiz uses three literary devices in many ways to portray the true subject of poetry, based on him, which is the loss of the beloved. Specifically, Faiz uses emotional language, hyperbole, and allegory to illustrate the theme of the loss of the beloved.

My day begins again with a drone of the same ringtone of the alarm. Getting up to open the window forgetting about the same old raven bird that stares at me with its whole black eyes sending you into a black spiral. The sense of nostalgia hits, rain leaves its own scent like the scent of an ex-lover’s. After all eternity doesn’t wait for the past to catch up, you just keep on going with your life as I have. Making my way to the kitchen I avoid all the papers on the floor scattered like a tornado threw up and shredded its life. My hands twitches to grab the phone eager to check for the ghost messages and calls. Putting down my arm as soons as it raises “don’t do it”. I turn in circles to find someone but in its leave was nothing. “ I know” I whispered to no one. The hallway was filled with darkness except for one room whose light was slowly dimming. Darting past the shadowed hands reaching for me I went into the room. Searching for that dark grey raincoat that was hung up on a hanger in the half empty closet.

There was once a man, he stood outside on the edge of the forest every night. His gaze would set upon the nights starts. Peaceful and calming the sight was, giving him hope, he would always tell himself one more night. Every time he would hear rustling in the branches be would focus on the forest before him. He was waiting for the girl of his dreams to emerge. This girl, with beautiful hair that changed colors in the sunlight. She was small, tiny, but if afraid or angry her shape would change to that of a beautiful white wolf the color of snow. This man had waited years for her I 'm this spot almost every night. It was because this was the spot he saw in his dreams where he would meet her. His whole life he felt empty and

Cocoons of blankets hug me as the pitch black of the room shushes out all of the noise and frustration of the day. Thoughts flutter restlessly through my mind on butterfly wings, taking them and morphing them into peculiar things. The sheep do not jump over the fence. They’re busy grazing the stars, stars that remain only because of the putty.