Roberto+Albano


 * I. What is poetry?**

"Poetry is the silent voice that is heard everywhere inside of us..." - Unknown


 * II. Ode**

This black and silver Sometimes bright Sometimes dull, Item who would Have guessed it sings Music and clacks when It is time to do something Plastic and rubber soft to the touch Who would have guessed it had a smell. Occupation Entertainment Company Respondent Who would have guessed This Ipod is also My Best Friend!


 * III. Praise**

There we were coming back It was all a blur except For what happened next. We are home now and Grandmom Is taking her bags in her house. She is old and slow And god forbid an emergency were to happen She would respond so slow And maybe not at all, I went to shut the car door I did not realize My fingers were in the jam I reacted rationally I tried to open the door... Just my luck, I locked it... I began to scream This solves nothing, Before I knew it... Here was my mom, with the door open.


 * IV. Poems By Edgar Allan Poe**

__Alone__

From childhood's hour I have not been As others were--I have not seen As others saw--I could not bring My passions from a common spring-- From the same source I have not taken My sorrow--I could not awaken My heart to joy at the same tone-- And all I lov'd--//I// lov'd alone-- //Then//--in my childhood--in the dawn Of a most stormy life--was drawn From ev'ry depth of good and ill The mystery which binds me still-- From the torrent, or the fountain-- From the red cliff of the mountain-- From the sun that 'round me roll'd In its autumn tint of gold-- From the lightning in the sky As it pass'd me flying by-- From the thunder, and the storm-- And the cloud that took the form (When the rest of Heaven was blue) Of a demon in my view--

__A Valentine__

For her this rhyme is penned, whose luminous eyes, Brightly expressive as the twins of Leda, Shall find her own sweet name, that nestling lies Upon the page, enwrapped from every reader. Search narrowly the lines!- they hold a treasure Divine- a talisman- an amulet That must be worn at heart. Search well the measure- The words- the syllables! Do not forget The trivialest point, or you may lose your labor And yet there is in this no Gordian knot Which one might not undo without a sabre, If one could merely comprehend the plot. Enwritten upon the leaf where now are peering Eyes scintillating soul, there lie perdus Three eloquent words oft uttered in the hearing Of poets, by poets- as the name is a poet's, too, Its letters, although naturally lying Like the knight Pinto- Mendez Ferdinando- Still form a synonym for Truth- Cease trying! You will not read the riddle, though you do the best you can do.

__Spirits of the Dead__

Thy soul shall find itself alone 'Mid dark thoughts of the grey tomb-stone; Not one, of all the crowd, to pry Into thine hour of secrecy.

Be silent in that solitude, Which is not loneliness- for then The spirits of the dead, who stood In life before thee, are again In death around thee, and their will Shall overshadow thee; be still.

The night, though clear, shall frown, And the stars shall not look down From their high thrones in the Heaven With light like hope to mortals given, But their red orbs, without beam, To thy weariness shall seem As a burning and a fever Which would cling to thee for ever.

Now are thoughts thou shalt not banish, Now are visions ne'er to vanish; From thy spirit shall they pass No more, like dew-drop from the grass.

The breeze, the breath of God, is still, And the mist upon the hill Shadowy, shadowy, yet unbroken, Is a symbol and a token. How it hangs upon the trees, A mystery of mysteries!


 * V. Riff**

With my bones nearly broken, I try to get up and run away I can barely, but suddenly I feel the adrenaline climb I reach the door, but suddenly It is no longer a door, just another wall

If I do not get out now I will surely die By now my eyes are swollen and I cannot see I do not know what kind of thing is in this house I scream and tell it to stop and to go away, but it still stays Finally I get out and as I am falling 6 stories I realize The door that I just found was a window.

Riffed from Chelsea Horler


 * VI. Sonnet**

Death is when your loved ones must depart Death is a sharp pain to the heart Death is a feeling of permanent sadness and pain Death is when your loved ones have forever gone away

Death is a call to heaven or hell Death is an eternal mansion or cell Death is a lesson to learn about Death is a loss, without a doubt

Death is an unhappy feeling to have Death is unpleasant on anyone's behalf Death is something we all will go through Death is a storm waiting to brew

Death is a lingering crow always overhead Death is a soul, done being fed


 * VII. Statement About Self**

The poetry I write is simple. The only way that I can describe or say is my style is thought. I write based in though, my Ode is based on thought and feeling. I also have one other style that I feel as though I share with every other poet and writer. This style is inspiration, without inspiration I cannot write. However, in my opinion my inspiration is different than others. I only need my inspiration to start off with my writing and then I just go from there. Death is… This poem is purely inspirational. I have a large family, and even larger when you take into account my extended family. This means that I probably experience more personal deaths, so death is one of those topics that are always on my mind. So I took that perfect opportunity that when I was given the assignment, to write about death.




 * VIII. Analysis of Poe**

Edgar Allan Poe lived his life in a depressed state. This is commonly expressed in his poems and more commonly assumed in the genre in which he officially wrote. His official genre that he was classified under was gothic romance. Although many of his poems were “dark” they are very entertaining and are appealing to the senses. Alone is a poem that I think was written to be dark and gloomy, but to also show that light that is always at the end of the tunnel. This poem can also be though as a take on peer pressure. For example, “From childhood's hour I have not been As others were--I have not seen.” (Lines 1 and 2) Children and teens, even some adults struggle to find themselves and their own place in the world. This until you find your self it may feel like an eternity, but when you eventually to that “Demon in you view” will feel like is has been lifted and then suddenly that light at the end of the tunnel will begin to appear. Death is another preoccupation of the world. Poe was extremely preoccupied with death, especially after the death of his mother and beloved with. One of his expressions of this preoccupation was the poem known as “Spirits of the Dead.” In “Spirits of the Dead” Poe has a common view of death just phrased in a different way and this really caught my eye. “Be silent in that solitude, Which is not loneliness- for then The spirits of the dead, who stood In life before thee, are again In death around thee, and their will Shall overshadow thee; be still.” (Second Stanza, Lines 4-10) This view is that when our loved ones pass away, we mourn an are silent as they are now, but however their thoughts still linger and surround us, and we then begin to hear them speak to us in death and are actually still with us.