A Paper BAG!!!! YAY!!!

Reader Response

When I first came to TCIS, I remembered the uncertainty that dwelled inside of me. Everyday I felt stupid, as if I really had no purpose here. Time ticked by, but with no memories or meaning. In the sixth stanza of the poem, the author says that the old sheet she covered herself in made her feel like an idiot, with no past and a pointless future ahead of her. Luckily, she's decided that she had to change her attitude to have a meaning in this world. I've done similar things and decided to see the glass of milk half full instead of half empty.

The Story of Mary and Mo

This is the story of Mary and Mo,

A boy and girl who once fell in love,

It’s a sad story so please be aware,

That it may leave you in despair,

Mary worked at the fields all day,

Never to be seen far away,

Watching upon her was a strange fellow,

One with a name of mysterious Mo,

One day he came up to her and said,

“Ms, may I help you?” and went ahead,

She watched him in deep admiration,

As he worked in the big plantation,

Everyday they worked together,

And despite the coldness of the weather,

They never left each other’s side,

Promising until the day they die,

Two years later Mary lay in her bed,

Sick with disease and almost dead,

Mo mourned as the days passed by,

And could not part with her to say good-bye,

A. What was the easiest aspect of writing a ballad? What was the hardest?'

Thinking of a story was a pretty easy start. However, the actual writing was pretty challenging for me.

B. Did you consult any outside resources to assist you in writing?

No, I just referred to the information about ballads we learned in class.

C. Why do people write poetry?

People write poetry to express their ideas not through novels, but in a new perspective.

D. What is an example of an excellent word choice in your ballad and why?

I don't think that any of my word choices are excellent. I used standard vocabulary, so there isn't a word that sticks out to me. I guess 'mourned' is a word choice that had a strong impact upon the poem because it really expressed Mo's sadness for the death of his wife.

Hope

http://senweb.lr.k12.nj.us/Library/class%20projects/Stapleford/Children45/AfricanChildren.jpg

http://positivepsychologynews.com/news/timothy-so/200903181667

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http://eastfinchley.files.wordpress.com/2009/02/hands.jpg

http://pics.livejournal.com/northanger/pic/000sh2gs

http://neysometa.files.wordpress.com/2009/08/depression.jpg

http://southasiarev.files.wordpress.com/2009/07/release_all_political_prisoners.gif

http://blog.lawyerahead.ca/wp-content/uploads/2009/05/getting_fired.jpg

http://ladyandria.files.wordpress.com/2009/04/hobo-739433.jpg

Oh math,

The language of the devils,

The torment you cause,

The time you waste,

Why did you have to be invented?

I really do hate you.

Oh geometry,

You are by far the worst, if you know what I mean,

What use do you have in this world?

We don’t use you when we go grocery shopping,

Or go walking down the street,

We don’t see kites as having two adjacent sides,

Or the diagonals being perpendicular,

We think of them toys being flown in the sky,

But then why must we learn the properties when life does not require?

I really do hate you.

Oh algebra,

Simple math is all we need,

Three plus five,

Or ten times three

Why make life more complex when sweet and simple is the motive we all strive for?

The unknown “x” or the missing variables,

I really do hate you.

Oh word problems,

In metaphorical language,

You are a parasitic worm,

Infesting the insides of my skin,

Only to be solved by the remedy of knowledge,

Incompetent minds of math failures are never supplied with that mastery,

So then how can we find a solution to the impossible?

I really do hate you.

Oh functions,

Transformations, shifts, rotations,

Trying to remember all the rules,

When I’m reminded by the fact that none are used in life,

There I sit in stupefaction,

Distracted by the x’s and y’s that seem to be charging towards me with torches and pitchforks,

Screaming at me, “why don’t you get me?”

I really do hate you.

Oh math,

A foreign language,

I do not want to learn,

Why do you hold me hostage in your evil game?

I really do hate you.

HATE.

HATE.

HATE.

YOU.

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All the hatred of math was trapped inside of me, and while I was writing this poem, I let my emotions pour out and spill onto the paper. It was fairly easy writing this poem because I simply wrote what my mind was thinking. I could literally feel the hate burning through my veins as I was writing. Coincidentally, I was studying for the math test at the time of writing this poem, so ideas flowed even more better to my head.