Ode to Wine

Summary- Ode to Wine is a poem telling people about wine and making people see something as simple as wine in a different light.
Shifts- In the beginning of the poem, Neruda is talking about the different kinds of wines. He then starts saying the effects wine has on people. He then moves to turning a woman's body into aspects of wine. At the end he puts true meaning behind the wine.
Theme-Something as simple as wine can be beautified.
Title- Ode to Wine. It is dedicating the poem to wine and showing its significance.
Imagery-

• Wine stirs the spring (Personification... Wine can't stir, and spring can't be stirred)
• Happiness bursts through the earth like a plant (Simile... The happiness is emerging through nothing like a plant emerges from the ground.)
• The line of your hip becomes the brimming curve of the wine goblet (Metaphor... He is saying that the woman's hip is curvy like the wine goblet.
  

Connotations-

• My darling

Conflict-No conflict, just a man's love for wine.

Time
  Tick-Tock.
Goes the clock
As I sleep in my bed.
Ring-Ring! Goes my clock
No more sleeping,
Sleepy-head.
 
As I dress, all
I hear is tick-tock
Tick-tock.
I can’t stand all
This ticking!
I unplug the hot
Cord of that annoying
Clock.
 
When I get to
School, there is
Again a tick-tock.
But it is muffled
just like boys are
muffled by a jock.
 
I get to class
And space out.
All I hear is
Tick-tock.
Class is so long,
So boring.
I start to admire my
Neon
Colored socks.
 
Tick-tock. Tick-tock.
Hours pass in the day.
I am starting to
dislike school vehemently.
All work, no play.
 
But then I see you,
And all that changes.
My day turns around
It magically rearranges!
When you hold me
In your arms, there is
No more tick-tock.
When you and I are
Together,
All times stops.

Ode to Crush

7:45, you are there waiting.
Chillin' with my friends, though your grades ahead.
Walking, I think, "We're not even dating!"
Still I hug you, despite what my mind says.
Talk for just minutes, go our sep'rate ways.
Classes begin, though they're hard to enjoy.
I can't wait to see you later today,
Even though I'm chased by plenty of boys.
Walking to class, you are the one I'm with.
Kids give me looks like, "Do you guys go out?"
I shake my head no and say it's a myth.
But the way we act fills their heads with doubt.
I hope that this crush can maybe be more,
So years from now, my last name can be yours.

"Blindfolded"

Blindfolded, but my hands are free.
I don't remember what has happened to me.

Do I want to take off this mask?
I am usually intrepid, but this seems like a terrifying task.

Should I use these demons to set my eyes free?
They have done some pretty crazy stuff to me.

Slit these wrists and bathed in their tears.
I even cried out, but still, nobody hears.

They always force me to the sink to rinse,
To hide what they did, to erase all evidence.

Shhh... They can hear me, I know they can.
They're evil I tell you. These are evil hands.

They know you know, and now they're trying to get away!
I promise I'm not crazy, they don't do this everyday.

Wait a second, do I feel wet?
Is that what, what I think it is? It doesn't smell like sweat.

Oh man, they really did it this time.
The carpet has to be blood-soaked. They'll be caught in this crime.

But now my insides are feeling quite dry,
Oh how I wish I could use my eyes.

If you haven't figured by now, there is no cloth around my head.
And I can't feel my hands anymore, I guess they finally fled.

At least I know I'm no longer under attack,
I think this time I'm actually going to fall somewhere underneath black.

This poem was very, VERY, difficult to write. I had to try and put myself in my peer's shoes, head, and body in order to create this piece. I do not know the details of what happened in my peer's experience . However, I really tried to create a poem that would get his story across. I hope you enjoy it.

"A Visit To Grandpa's"

We used to visit him, every single year.
Out in California, though we were far, far, from the piers.
Grandpa lived on a quaint and little farm.
He was very benign; he would never cause a soul any harm.
He was adept in farming, he had done it since he was a lad.
And working with him side by side, made me oh-so very glad.

So when it was time to go back and see him, I was excreting joy.
Because Grandpa was the coolest grandpa I'd met in my 12 years of being a boy.
Mom, Dad, and Sis seemed to be taking forever
to get everything packed and get themselves together.
I really wished they would have hurried up, we wouldn't have time to lose
But I didn't know that until later, so I am not in the position to accuse.

When we pulled up to the farm, what seemed to be years later.
The first thing I did was run to the field and check me and Grandpa's growing tomaters.
They were as round as Saturn, and as red as Mars.
I couldn't wait to tell Grandpa, his eyes would light up like stars.

I met up with my family as they walked through the door.
Dad was saying something about how Grandpa's hearing could be getting poor.
Apparently when they knocked, he hadn't come like normal.
So they just broke into the house (I didn't think that was very formal)
But then I noticed it was pretty quiet in the house.
You could have probably heard the talk between the threads in my mother's blouse.

My mother called for Grandpa, my dad, and even Sis,
He didn't answer either time, and then my tummy started to twist.
Grandpa was kind of old... but he was still on top of his game!
He was probably just beguiling us! He had to have heard us when we came.
But then a heart-suppressing gasp came from his room,
Where everyone had migrated, while I was trying to destroy what I had already assumed.

There he was, in his bed, laying there peaceful as ever.
"Come on now, Grandpa," I  thought, "your game is no longer clever."
But he never got up, no "Rawr!", no "Blegghh!", not even a simple "Boo."
Dad called 911, even though I knew that he already knew.
Sirens were coming at us and tears started flowing like a tidal wave,
I cried too, even though I knew Grandpa would want me to be brave.

Needless to say, that was my last time seeing him, on that unfortunate day,
It was sad then, but it showed me that we are only guaranteed today.


 

Last week, we had an assignment where we had to research a poet from a different country. My poet's name was Anna Akhmatova. My favorite poem I found by her is a poem I did not read in class. It is entitled "Solitude". It is significant because it talks about how all the people that tore her down, actually ended up making her stronger.

Solitude
So many stones have been thrown at me,
That I'm not frightened of them anymore,
And the pit has become a solid tower,
Tall among tall towers.
I thank the builders,
May care and sadness pass them by.
From here I'll see the sunrise earlier,
Here the sun's last ray rejoices.
And into the windows of my room
The northern breezes often fly.
And from my hand a dove eats grains of wheat...
As for my unfinished page,
The Muse's tawny hand, divinely calm
And delicate, will finish it.
-Anna Akhmatova