Senior English: Due on Edsby by Wednesday, January 15th @ 8 p.m.
Directions:
Using Abandoned
about...you. :)
Farmhouse as a model for writing, create a characterization poem for yourself
A certain degree of soul baring is required! Let Kooser’s poem, or mine, be a model for you...and allow
it to help guide your own creation of a characterization poem.
Sprawling Lifehouse was an example of one I wrote this summer (mid-July) but, in its creation
took me several drafts and revisions, as should yours. Revise, revise, revise. Work on becoming a
better writer - your future self thanks you.
Please use 5
literary tools in your poem and then indicate to me what they are - just as I
have demonstrated for you using color. Make sure you include the “shifts” that the author originally
did, include a final shift back to positive (or one with an optimistic tone) if you’d like to (as mine does).
Please let me know if you need help or want someone to bounce ideas off of.
My expectations are that you include:
1. At least 4 stanza’s
2. At least 5 literary tools/devices
3. 3 poems - the 1st being the original Abandoned Farmhouse, the 2nd being your newly created poem black and white
without color, the 3rd being your poem SHOWING the 5 literary tools/devices you utilize as an author
4. Timely submission on Edsby by Wednesday, January 15th, 2014
For 12 bonus points, you may create the collage of your choice in the form of your choice and print your poem for the backside (or the center)
of the collage. Make sure you put the given assignment on Edsby, of course, by the deadline, and the bonus is IN ADDITION TO the
given assignment and can be turned in during class. The 12 bonus point collage assignment is OPTIONAL. :)
Senior English: Due on Edsby by Wednesday, January 15th @ 8 p.m.
Abandoned Farmhouse
By Ted Kooser
He was a big man, says the size of his shoes
on a pile of broken dishes by the house;
a tall man too, says the length of the bed
in an upstairs room; and a good, God-fearing man,
says the Bible with a broken back
on the floor below the window, dusty with sun;
but not a man for farming, say the fields
cluttered with boulders and the leaky barn.
A woman lived with him, says the bedroom wall
papered with lilacs and the kitchen shelves
covered with oilcloth, and they had a child,
says the sandbox made from a tractor tire.
Money was scarce, say the jars of plum preserves
and canned tomatoes sealed in the cellar hole.
And the winters cold, say the rags in the window frames.
It was lonely here, says the narrow country road.
Something went wrong, says the empty house
in the weed-choked yard. Stones in the fields
say he was not a farmer; the still-sealed jars
in the cellar say she left in a nervous haste.
And the child? Its toys are strewn in the yard
like branches after a storm--a rubber cow,
a rusty tractor with a broken plow,
a doll in overalls. Something went wrong, they say.
Senior English: Due on Edsby by Wednesday, January 15th @ 8 p.m.
Sprawling Lifehouse
She was almost a tall woman, says the height of her closet bars and the issues she holds close little pink ribbons here and there.
And happy simple, explained a bedroom colored in soft shades of grey;
She was a faulty perfectionist, proclaim boxed rows and stations holding jewelry
all the seasons of her life in a sometimes-too-messy bedroom;
and a restless but God-fearing woman, says the Bible with a broken back
on the floor below the window, dusty with sun;
But not a woman who enjoys cooking, say the unopened books promising joy with the domestication she might never want
and the litany of clean dishes on uncluttered shelves,
a place offering visitors an oven and dishwasher squeaky clean, seldom used.
A man did not live with her, says the bedroom and closet overflowing color, pattern and lace
Her walls papered with mementos, pictures, objects offering symbolism, memories, traces of love.
The bathrooms chime in their agreement bathed in raspberry paint
recently darkened after an impulsive, frivolous summer project.
She had no children, says the lightly decorated guest room, workout room and computer room all in a row all hers - lots of room to grow. She may never want them, she may.
Choice.
Some things are unimportant, declare the unplugged cable box and dish in the yard, or the overgrown hedge to her right side or weed-flowers
growing wild and reckless underneath the well-watered grapes but others certainly are cry the thank you cards, grad invites, celebrations, letters and notes from former students near and far that have made their
way in her heart, mind, home and those she has let into her world.
The dust mocks her from some hidden surfaces but the wine rack is full, her collection of wine-stems glistens in the sun
Mt. Vernon, Washington Square and vineyards in the East remind her that youth is still hers as it once was
Her freedoms remain - roots or wings - love or money - marriage or not these questions reluctantly tug on her thoughts from time to time.
Hiking is a passion, claim the Nike’s kicked off victoriously in the corner boasting clumps of red clay and mud from the Southwestern hills,
So are good movies and piano, argue the rows of drama and comedy separated by waxy, floral, decorative candles.
The assault of colors once inside hail the most vivid images using browns and reds
the oft-favored black and white combo reminds her that sensibilities of conventionalism
in decorating, living or teaching don’t really belong to her at all.
And the winter has gone, say the open windows and sunlight pouring in, the earth warming.
It is not lonely here, say the used towels, muddy laundry from lake adventures and dual sets of keys
after shave and a happy sampling of baby toys waiting for Hannah tucked snugly against the wall in the extra extra room,
awaiting family, friends, visitors...this city house is an old one full of love.
Something went wrong they say - just follow the path cries the ancient wisdom!
Images of loss, the places she avoids, her narrow list of doubts sometimes growing,
she’s tough - but tired of it too - says her easy access to tears.
Hazel eyes and a short-lived smile say she is not easily angered but feisty all the same,
the bookcases all over tell the story of a reader, a thinker, someone who asks questions, seeks answers she loves the players but hates the game, she’s most often a teacher say the Gallagher and Marzano bibles with place-keepers and tabs.
Quotes on the wall and plaques of wisdom announce her love of words, a desire to write and go far away to do it
Projects, half-finished gardens, and unread books explain that time on the weekends is all she has
If only she would stick around all weekend to spend some.
And as for her? Her life is her own, she’s happy, her life is in flux, she’s sure. Resistance to settling is her normal.
Like branches after a storm - framed memories, computer gadgets, magazines, heart-shaped rocks line a ledge, pictures of sisters, her mom, faceless
angels and boots strewn about, her very own collection of perfected, distinctive, all-hers chaos.
A treadmill and elliptical remind her with each pass and with every day what she is in control of
her life, her destiny, her future, her choices, where she lives, where she goes, to whom she gives time.
She enjoys many blessings, friendships, a purpose despite it’s wavering tendency to deceive and betray her.
Something went right, they say.
Senior English: Due on Edsby by Wednesday, January 15th @ 8 p.m.
Sprawling Lifehouse
*
*
*
*
*
= direct characterization
= narrators
= alternates between 3rd person singular (she/her) and 3rd person plural (they), no I (1st person)
= shift/turn
= imagery
She was almost a tall woman, says the height of her closet bars and the issues she holds close little pink ribbons here and there.
And happy simple, explained a bedroom colored in soft shades of grey;
She was a faulty perfectionist, proclaim boxed rows and stations holding jewelry
all the seasons of her life in a sometimes-too-messy bedroom;
and a restless but God-fearing woman, says the Bible with a broken back
on the floor below the window, dusty with sun;
But not a woman who enjoys cooking, say the unopened books promising joy with the domestication she might never want
and the litany of clean dishes on uncluttered shelves,
a place offering visitors an oven and dishwasher squeaky clean, seldom used.
A man did not live with her, says the bedroom and closet overflowing color, pattern and lace
Her walls papered with mementos, pictures, objects offering symbolism, memories, traces of love.
The bathrooms chime in their agreement bathed in raspberry paint
recently darkened after an impulsive, frivolous, sloppy summer project.
She had no children, says the lightly decorated guest room, workout room and computer room all in a row all hers - lots of room to grow. She may never want them, she may.
Choice.
Some things are unimportant, declare the unplugged cable box and dish in the yard, or the overgrown hedge to her right
side or weed-flowers growing wild and reckless underneath the well-watered grapes but others certainly are cry the thank you cards, grad invites, celebrations, letters and notes from former students near
and far that have made their way in her heart, mind, home and those she has let into her world.
The dust mocks her from some hidden surfaces but the wine rack is full, her collection of wine-stems glistens in the sun
Mt. Vernon, Washington Square and vineyards in the East remind her that youth is still hers as it once was
Her freedoms remain - roots or wings - love or money - marriage or not these questions reluctantly tug on her thoughts from time to time.
Hiking is a passion, claim the Nike’s kicked off victoriously in the corner boasting clumps of red clay and mud from the
Southwestern hills,
So are good movies and piano, argue the rows of drama and comedy separated by waxy, floral, decorative candles.
The assault of colors once inside hail the most vivid images using browns and reds
the oft-favored black and white combo reminds her that sensibilities of conventionalism
in decorating, living or teaching don’t really belong to her at all.
And the winter has gone, say the open windows and sunlight pouring in, the earth warming.
It is not lonely here, say the used towels, muddy laundry from lake adventures and dual sets of keys
after shave and a happy sampling of baby toys waiting for Hannah tucked snugly against the wall in the extra extra room...
awaiting family, friends, visitors...this city house is an old one but filled with love.
********* Something went wrong they say - just follow the path cries the ancient wisdom!
Images of loss, the places she avoids, her narrow list of doubts sometimes growing,
she’s tough - but tired of it sometimes too - says her easy access to tears.
Hazel eyes and a short-lived smile say she is not easily angered but feisty all the same,
the bookcases all over tell the story of a reader, a thinker, someone who asks questions, seeks answers she loves the players but hates the game, she’s most often a teacher say the Gallagher and Marzano bibles with placekeepers and tabs.
Quotes on the wall and plaques of wisdom announce her love of words, a desire to write an go far away to do it
Projects, half-finished gardens, and unread books explain that time on the weekends is all she has
If only she would stick around all weekend to spend some.
And as for her? Her life is her own, of that she’s proud, her life is in flux, of that she’s sure. Resistance to settling is her
normal.
Like branches after a storm - framed memories, computer gadgets, magazines, heart-shaped rocks line a ledge, pictures
of sisters, her mom, faceless angels and boots strewn about, her very own collection of perfected, distinctive chaos.
A treadmill and elliptical remind her with each pass and with every day what she is in control of
her life, her destiny, her future, her choices, where she lives, where she goes, to whom she gives time.
She enjoys many blessings, friendships, a purpose despite it’s wavering tendency to deceive and betray her.
********* Something went right, they say.