Just Out of My Reach
About my poem:My poem was inspired by the poet Robert Frost. He often wrote about nature, and loved to be outside. My poem is about being stuck doing asinine work, stuck at a desk, when you would much rather be outside in nature. Its within your view, but just out of reach. You can imagine how it would feel to be out there, and you just want to burst out of your seat and run. There is a reason you can't go outside, whether it be work or school or something else, and you feel tied to your seat.
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About Him:He was born in San Francisco on march 26, 1874. His father was a journalist who edited a city newspaper, and his mother was a teacher. Robert eventually tried his hand a both professions, but loved nothing more than poetry. His father was born in the south, but moved to New Hampshire, and then to California during the Civil War. Robert is named after the South's most famous war general, Robert E. Lee. At the age of 16, Frost began to write poetry, and at 19, he sent his first poem to a magazine called The Independent. During this time, he would wander through the woods reading a collection of British poems. In 1900, he, his wife, and his daughter moved to a farm. Late at night, after he was done working on the farm, he wrote poems such as "Mending Wall" and "October." After ten years on the farm, he sold it and moved to London. They moved into a country farmhouse thatched with thick straw. From London, he was able to start his poem writing career. His first published poem as a professional was called "A Boy's Will" and was published in 1912. When his poetry finally became successful and popular in the US, he moved his family back there. "The Road Not Taken"Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth; Then took the other, as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim, Because it was grassy and wanted wear; Though as for that the passing there Had worn them really about the same, And both that morning equally lay In leaves no step had trodden black. Oh, I kept the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back. I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference. AnalysisThe author first paints a picture of what he sees. There are two roads in the woods, each coated with a layer of yellow leaves. Being one traveler, he could only pick one road to travel down. He looked down on as far as he could, but decided to take the less travelled one. He had kept the first for another day, but also knew that because life is the way it is, he might never be back at the fork in the road ever again.
This connects with his life because he lived around nature for most of his poem-writing life. He loved to reveal through the woods and read British poetry, as well as sit late at night on his farm writing whatever popped into his head. "Headin' Home"There was an awareness both day and night that you weren't a veteran 'till you made the flight, and it was a long time coming. Then it finally arrived, the day we were all hoping for, the day to step off the distant shore of South Viet Nam. And step onto that "Giant Bird" and scream away headin' home again. My vision or dream, and I think this was shared with others that were there, was to scream away at high noon so I could turn and stare, at Vietnam behind me. But it wasn't a day flight. In darkness we left. Just got aboard and flew away, feeling like thieves in the night. I say thieves and I say it willing. The take-off was almost chilling. It was quiet and austere, and no one dare make a sound. It was a silent moment of care for our friends we left on the ground. You'd think we'd be cheering to be young and alive and free and headin' home, instead we were praying that our friends would survive to get a flight of their own. But we'd never know and it's like we stole something they might need, fighting support or fellowship, in the event that they might bleed. I think this was shared, in unison we stared from the flying bus, and as hard as we stared we could not see, Viet Nam behind us. But we were alive and lucky and on a flight, and proceeded on into the night...headin' home.... - Dennis Sprague - 1969-1970 My analysisIn the poem, the author writes about the mixed feelings that a Vietnam war veteran has when he finally leaves Vietnam, which the title implies when you first see it. At the beginning of the poem, the author tells us about how you weren't a hero until you made it home, and the hope and anticipation of that flight. Then, the day finally arrived. He wanted to be happy and scream that he was finally free, but he couldn't because of the guilt he felt. His brothers, people who had fought next to him for moths, maybe even years, were back on the ground, and he had just "stolen" the only way for them to escape. He felt that he should have been back on the ground, helping them in the form of "fighting support or fellowship." Throughout the poem the mood changes from happy anticipation to dreadful guilt. The author will never know if they made it back home like he did.
Donald TrumpBorn 1946 in New York City,
investor, author, business magnate, on bottom feeders and terrorists, he takes no pity, there's no in-between, you either love or hate. education in both military and college, after school he started working, using his vast knowledge from his duties, there is no shirking. he'll help, not hurt, Cut taxes and spending, well other candidates spit dirt, his patients is never-ending. he might be loud and a little bit plump, but his heart's in it, Donald Trump. In my family, I'm an only child My mom and dad are really great I sometimes live up to my last name, wild My parents make sure I'm in a happy state I have one pet, he is a horse He is quite big and tall He is gentle, kind, and never needs force During the day, he lives in a stall My friends are trustworthy, funny and sweet Whenever I'm around them, I always smile Friends like them are hard to find When it comes to giving, they go the extra mile For my life, I am quite blessed It isn't perfect, but to me it's the best Solomon, my horse, and I. |
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