Responce to My Papa's Waltz

The first time I read "My Papa's Waltz" I thought it was about abuse. Then when Ms. Galang made us take the opposing side. I now think it could go either way.

The poem could be interprited as abbusive in several ways which could also just my clumpsy and playful.
1) "The whiskey on your breath could make a small boy dizzy"- this could mean the dad is drunk or that he has had one drink.

2) "We romped until the pans slid from the kitchen shelf"- this could be him drunk and stumbling around but could also be them being playful and actually dancing and playing.

3) "At every step you missed my right ear scraped a buckle"- could be being hit with a belt but could also be that little boy only comes up to his belt.

Overall the poem to me could go either way. There is evidence of abuse as you can see in my annotations but there is evidence also hinting that the boy is scared of something else or not scared at all. I personly like this poem because it makes you think.

Narritive Poem (lesson don't take my air jordens)

I always think of thoes trees.

Their light.

How it filtered through the leaves
and cast shadows on the pine needle strun
ground.

I always think of walking through
thoes woods.

I will always remember when I came back.


I am at the top of the hill,
the path goes no further.

So why do I find mself
climbing higher.
Up,
up
and
up.

No longer on the woods.

On a large flat rock.

This is what I remeber.

The rock was its own
woods.

Birch and pine trees
thin from such litte
air
grew.

Their shadows destorted
against
jagged
boulders.

I am close
to the sun.
So why do I feel so far away?

I know that by now
they will be looking
for me.

Wondering where I
have gone.

I will lie
be selfish and
keep this
place.

Its tree's,
shadow's,
rock's,
and
pine needle's
to myself.

Poem About an Incident

I see it all
like a movie.

Slowly
painfully slowly
and yet I am calm.

Looking out from the
backseat, I see everything.

As time slows and stops.

Then red, red
everywhere and
the metallic taste
of blood in my mouth.

My body is numb.

I can not see.
I allow myself to hear.
Screams and shouts
her voice then his.

My name over and over.

Reaching for me. But I can
not reach for them.

We are separated.
By something unable to be seen.

Inside my eyelids
colors dance.
Memories play like movies.
I can feel my heart
thudding
I can hear
them screaming.

just my name.

Then I can not
hear my heart
My ears open wide
listening
for it.

No use it is gone.

I hear my name then
nothing.

Responce to Poem about Photo of a Girl

This poem is raw. It is the truth not edited, not changed. This poem does not hide anything. It has no secrets. It is what poetry should be. Somewhere along the way we lost poetry like this. It is not my favorite poem. It provokes you. Challenges you. Pushes you to look deeper, yet she does not hide anything. Everything is there on the paper. Some poetry is hidden, a maze of word and similes that do not mean something. Poetry should make you work but it should not be a hunt. A light jog for the mind. That it what Photo of a Girl does. You want to know more and at the end of the poem you don't know anything yet you don't feel like a chunk of something is missing.

Art

There are three trees in the picture. Two are very full and have leaves auborn colored. The third one is strage though it has no leaves. It is so different and so empty while the others are so full that it must me on purpose. This painting represents something much deeper then what is on the actual surfice of the paint. It tells a story a message if you will just let it.





The third tree
looks wrong.
Out of place.
Like it has been slopply
pasted into a picture.

Children do not wish
to climb the empty tree.

It seems dead.
Hollow.

The wind pushes heavy at
the bare
tree.

Like a knife. It cuts
through the tree.

The other ones have no care.

The hollow tree will be
knocked over soon.

Gone and the feild will be perfect.