My Sonnet

Only this morning I saw it was gone
The thief had no mind what they had taken
But now it seemed to me that they had won
Maybe some day they too would awaken
To see the happiness that was stolen
The reason for thievery hold anon
In my watered eyes the tears sat swollen
A culprit unaware of what was done
A foolish decision was made by him
He held no regard for the world around
A decision assembled on a whim
A long buried life, far below the ground
The lesson learned a bit too late for some
But time in learning, the justice shall come

The Golf Links

The golf links lie so near the mill
       That almost every day
 The laboring children can look out
       And see the men at play.

First of all I wanted to find out what 

golf links were and when this poem may 

have been written because it seems to be 

about a very touchy subject. Maybe about 

the sociological views of a certain time. 

I was thinking the 20's and 30's, but I 

wasn't sure when golf really became a 

big thing for men to play and in the 20's

I don't think there were really that many 

men out playing golf unless they were 

extremely wealthy and the mills would 

have probably been empty since it seemed 

in the 20's that no jobs were available. 

I wasn't too sure about the time when the 

child labor movement really came about, 

but I didn't think it went as late as the 

30's and I know it never got past the 40's. 

When I finally found a date it said it was 

written in 1915 which surprised me a bit, 

but in those times child labor was a very 

important movement at that time. Golf 

links are courses built on sandy ground 

perhaps near a shore. It's almost like 

these rich men are out having a day at 

the beach while mere children labor 

away in a mill. I feel like it's the 

owners of the mill that the children are 

watching. Maybe it represents the moral 

repugnance of the time. These men see no 

problem with the fact that children are 

working in dangerous situations and they 

even go so far as to shove the children's 

faces in it by playing out near the mill. 

I thought this poem did a very good job of 

getting straight to the authors point about 

how wrong child labor is. It is very 

interesting because normally it is laboring 

men and children at play but now the roles 

have been reversed and I think that the 

author makes that a shocking reality for 

the reader. When the author says they 

" can look out/And see the men at play" 

it was almost as if they were privileged 

enough to even get to look at the men playing. 

Overall I thought it was a very powerful and 

interesting poem. The author had a very 

obvious standpoint and she makes it very 

clear and personal about how child labor 

made her feel.   

A Poison Tree

I was angry with my friend:
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe:
I told it not, my wrath did grow.
And I watered it in fears,
Night and morning with my tears;
And I sunnèd it with smiles,
And with soft deceitful wiles.
And it grew both day and night,
Till it bore an apple bright;
And my foe beheld it shine,
And he knew that it was mine,
And into my garden stole
When the night had veiled the pole:
In the morning glad I see
My foe outstretched beneath the tree.

I really think this poem relates to everyone. It's like when you get in a fight with a friend and you go to another friend or family member and rant and rave about why you are angry and eventually the steam runs out on the issue at hand, but on the other hand a person you don't like and don't plan on getting to know that you have an issue with could keep popping up. Maybe they have no idea that you like them, but then at the end of the poem it makes me think that the "foe" does know that the author doesn't like them, but they really don't care. I think that is the hardest thing. When a person knows you are so angry with them, but it never seems to cause them any grief and you are so upset and continue to get more and more upset about it.It seems like the more you think about the foe in your life, the madder you get and the more you find to rant and rave about. Your wrath grows and grows and it never gets let out and it never ends and finally in the end you realize your wrath means nothing to the foe and that fact may even make your wrath grow to a greater height. I really think this is a poem about real life and I really enjoy it the more I read it.

Many Red Devils

Many red devils ran from my heart
And out upon the page,
They were so tiny
The pen could mash them.
And many struggled in the ink.
It was strange
To write in this red muck
Of things from my heart.

I didn't really understand this poem until 

we analyzed it in class. Then I realized that

it is about the little things we do in life 

and little parts of ourselves go into it. 

They may go unnoticed for a while, but maybe 

while you reread a paper you realize all the 

little bits of your mood and yourself that have 

been added in. I like how the poem says the devils 

can be crushed by the pen, but he doesn't crush 

them. It is good to bring your life experiences 

and biases into some situations. You should make 

things that are a part of you because you are 

different and there is no person that can think 

the way you do and no two life experiences are the 

same. Maybe the part about the devils struggling 

is saying that the authors sometimes doesn't 

know how to put himself into the writing when 

he thinks that it should be there. These little 

parts of the author, creator, director, artist, or 

even reader can be so small. They could be the 

connections a reader makes to a part in the story, 

or a bit of a movie that the director changes 

because of a life experience they had. I think that

it is really interesting to look back at my writing

and see where all my life experience comes in and 

see where my opinions really shine even when I know 

that they shouldn't be there. I think he calls them

devils because perhaps he doesn't want them in the 

writing or they are very personal devils or faults

that he doesn't want to show in his writing. He says 

that it is very hard to write in all the "muck" and 

I think that maybe that could meant that the things he 

is letting out in his writing could be challenges in

his life or very hard things for him to talk about. 

Overall, after listening to the analysis in class I 

really think that I like this poem a lot more and it 

makes much more sense.  

This is just to say

I like this poem a lot because it is something that I think everyone is guilty of. You either take something, use something, wear something, or eat something that you know you probably shouldn't because the owner will be missing it at some point. It always seems like they don't need it forever and the point that you finally decide to take it or use it is when they realize that they want it too. It's almost that feeling of guilt, but then you realize how good it really was. Like the author saying, " they were delicious so sweet and so cold" means that he may be sorry that you are missing the sweet plums, but you should know that even though it wasn't you that enjoyed them, they were greatly enjoyed by someone. They brought great joy to someone even if they were supposed to bring joy to the owner. I think it is interesting how the author breaks up the stanzas. The first is just a statement with no indication of guilt and there seems to be nothing interesting happening. The second stanza is the authors admittance of guilt to taking the plums that were not his. The third stanza is sort of a reassurance to the previous owner of the plums that they were not taken and smashed or thrown away after a taste, but enjoyed by the author. I really liked this poem a lot. I think it is very interesting.

Mid-Term Break

While I was reading this poem at first I wasn't really sure who it was that had died and then maybe about halfway through I thought maybe it was his brother. I misread the last line four or five times and didn't get it. I thought it was A four foot box, a foot for every foot and I was thinking okay no duh a foot for every foot and then I read it again slower and realized what it was really saying. That was the worst realization I had. The poor little thing was only four years old. The seventh stanza was surprising. It's when you finally realize that the little boy was hit by a car. I thought it was a little strange though that it said :No gaudy scars, the bumper knocked him clear." Like it was lucky or something. Well you know he did die, but at least he doesn't look bad because the bumper saved his face. I understand that there is always optimism in every situation, but I really don't think that is what I would be thinking if I had seen my little brother for the first time in six weeks and he was lying in a casket. I thought it was a little shocking that the author calls it a corpse in the last line of the fifth stanza. I mean this is his little brother and maybe that is just a way for him to deal with the thought of losing him is to make him into an object instead of his four year old brother. I think this is one of the most powerful poems I have read. I really liked it a lot. I think it is fascinating and very interestingly written. The first stanza is apprehensive, the second is sorrowful, the third is happy, the fourth sympathetic, the fifth is angry, the sixth is calm almost or realizational, and the seventh is thankful. I think all the stanza are kind of going through all the stages of grief. I really like the way this author sets up the poem.

Goodbye to Sunk-noll

Goodbye to the monsters,
that hid in the dark.
In the side of the basement
I wasn't allowed. I must admit
that I wouldn't have gone anyway.
They blocked out the light and
waited for me.They knew I was
coming. I sprinted past,
but always to return for a swipe
at the lights cause the monsters
have never been worth the big fight.

Goodbye to the stair that froze me
in fear. All of them quiet but the fifth
from the top. It creaked and it folded
under the lightest of steps. It caught
me on Christmas sneaking down
just for a peek. It was my parents
while my parents were asleep.

Goodbye to the dark green. The leaves
of the tree I was unable to climb. The
tree that blocked my view of the world
on our quiet little street. From my room
I saw nothing but bees. Their life was that
tree. The bees that we caught each summer
with cups and old lids.

Goodbye to that well on the side of the
house. The one I got stuck in and no one
helped me out. I screamed at the spiders
that came outside to see the reason for all
the noise. I begged and pleaded my
brother and cousin to help me, but they
laughed and rolled and giggled nearly to
death. When my brother got stuck? I
laughed and giggled and rolled on the
ground and ran for my life when he finally
got out. 

Goodbye to those pickets of that old dark
brown fence. The ones with the pieces
broken out of their middles. Like the last
little piece of a puzzle that's missing. I was
the culprit. The breaker of pieces. Once
proud of my strength and my concoring
ways and now I am sorry. The pickets
have exacted their revenge for now some
of my pieces are missing.

Goodbye to the rivers we made every
summer. A hose quickly uncoiled as soon
as mom left and drug to the bottom to start
our play set. Our fingers were dirty and sore
from the thorns, but they worked excitedly
to finish the job. The sticks were our trees,
the pebbles our boulders. A combination
of soldiers, cowboys and indians, some
dolls stolen from their house. We
quickly recoiled when the car hit the
driveway but the next day made a new
chance for adventure when the coast
was clear for the devious digging.

Goodbye to those toys in my closet. The
ones I should have gotten rid of years ago,
but I couldn't bear to see them go. They
were my friends before I had Kelsey. They
liked my singing and laughed at my jokes.
The big fluffy beagle that's missing an eye
and the doll I colored on to make her look
"pretty". I guess I'll be the one that's gone
before they are taken away.

Goodbye to the child. The hands in the path
now covered by grass. The hands that
carved pumpkins and played in the mud.
The child who ran in the snow in shorts and
a tee. Who screamed to her friend before
she could cross the street. The one who
locked out her brother and dressed up the
dog. The child who couldn't wait to see the
world beyond that little house on Sunk-noll.
The world the tree had blocked for so long.

Goodbye to home.