On the first page of "The Giver" by Lois Lowry, an airplane soars over Jonas and his community. We wouldn't even look up, but Jonas is fascinated. Then, A voice orders the citizens to go inside, "Leave your bikes where they are." After several minutes the voice speaks up again explains it had only been a pilot-in-training who took a wrong turn "Needles To Say, He Will Be Released."
"The Giver" is simply the story of people that took to much for granted, were given a choice, and then decided to play it safe. It's safe to say i've been obsessed with "The Giver" for 6 years-since second grade. It makes you think, a lot, maybe too much. It makes you think about how you since things, how your world is, it's eerie, it makes you shiver.
In "The Giver" years before the book takes place, people get fed up. They are sick of the burden of choices, sick of being in control, so, they make one last choice, they trade color, for a "perfect" life. One without choices, without excitement, where they don't need to choose anything at all. Everything is decided for them, and nothing bad ever happens.
That is Jonas's life, it's all that he knows, or will ever know, until two things happen: One, his twelfth birthday, and two he hears of a baby named Gabe. His father who had been chosen to work with babies, speaks of him. Gabe does not sleep well at night and if it doesn't stop he will be released.
Then, on the day of his birthday, he goes to a ceremony, and is chosen for the role of the giver. But, first the reciever. And old man "Giver" to jonas becomes one he sees everyday one, that shows him things that are foriegn. Pain, true happiness, and color. And jonas learns the truth.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
3 Great Blogs
Today, as i flipped throughout the blogs of my fellow classmates, I realized they are all pretty good, but 3 especially stood out.
Gabrielle Gautier's blog "Read!!!!!!!" Was very good because not only were her assigned post very good and extremely thorough, I believe she also include posts that were not assigned, showing not only that she truly cared but, also a passion for writing which, I think is the most meaning full purpose of ELA in school.
The second blog that stood out was Jadmary Riascos's "It's time to blog" For her creativity and neatness. The first thing I noticed when i first looked at her blog was that it was very neat and organized. She had a title for every post and because of her use of different fonts you could tell exactly where everything was. In entries where they were poems that the entries were about she made them different fonts so if you had not read the poem you could tell which was which.
And finally the third blog was Astrid Asmundsson's "A million and one." First of all, all of her entries were very deep, you can tell from them that she really thinks about what she's writing and doesn't just rush through it. All of her poems have a really nice rhythm to them and kind of get stuck in your head after you read them.
Gabrielle Gautier's blog "Read!!!!!!!" Was very good because not only were her assigned post very good and extremely thorough, I believe she also include posts that were not assigned, showing not only that she truly cared but, also a passion for writing which, I think is the most meaning full purpose of ELA in school.
The second blog that stood out was Jadmary Riascos's "It's time to blog" For her creativity and neatness. The first thing I noticed when i first looked at her blog was that it was very neat and organized. She had a title for every post and because of her use of different fonts you could tell exactly where everything was. In entries where they were poems that the entries were about she made them different fonts so if you had not read the poem you could tell which was which.
And finally the third blog was Astrid Asmundsson's "A million and one." First of all, all of her entries were very deep, you can tell from them that she really thinks about what she's writing and doesn't just rush through it. All of her poems have a really nice rhythm to them and kind of get stuck in your head after you read them.
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Rhyme Scheme Poem: On the Pond.
On the Pond
Ducks flutter,
ducks glide
away and back.
On the pond there
are some but more in,
that's a fact.
Little dragons buzz
their fragile
wings.
As they skim the surface
with the tune of a swing.
The fish dart
around leaving
small, and soft
waves. Though not
many on top those
below are more brave.
Little tadpoles
swim only in
groups, for their
mothers and fathers
were all part of the
loop.
At night,
When it's quiet
the loon always
sings to warn or
to worry
all together
in spring.
Ducks flutter,
ducks glide
away and back.
On the pond there
are some but more in,
that's a fact.
Little dragons buzz
their fragile
wings.
As they skim the surface
with the tune of a swing.
The fish dart
around leaving
small, and soft
waves. Though not
many on top those
below are more brave.
Little tadpoles
swim only in
groups, for their
mothers and fathers
were all part of the
loop.
At night,
When it's quiet
the loon always
sings to warn or
to worry
all together
in spring.
An "incident" poem.
On the way, on the way
home.
A blur slowly moves by, not a blur,
not a smudge.
No,
A cat.
Not mine. Alone.
A cat smaller then normal, leaner.
A kitten, just
a kitten. Not kinder, not
Meaner.
I approach her slowly
and gently lift her up
of the ground and i carry her
home lowly.
I want to put up a poster and through.
But then i remember
She's the deli man's cat.
So i carry her back up the block
to one deli of blue.
I hand her to the deli mans's son but
he does not lift one arm nor two.
So I set the small cat on the floor
but what more?
She runs out of sight and they don't even
lift their eyes.
home.
A blur slowly moves by, not a blur,
not a smudge.
No,
A cat.
Not mine. Alone.
A cat smaller then normal, leaner.
A kitten, just
a kitten. Not kinder, not
Meaner.
I approach her slowly
and gently lift her up
of the ground and i carry her
home lowly.
I want to put up a poster and through.
But then i remember
She's the deli man's cat.
So i carry her back up the block
to one deli of blue.
I hand her to the deli mans's son but
he does not lift one arm nor two.
So I set the small cat on the floor
but what more?
She runs out of sight and they don't even
lift their eyes.
Incident Poem Response
Once riding in old Baltimore,
Heart-filled, head-filled with glee,
I saw a baltimorean
Keep looking straight at me.
Now I was eight and very small,
and he was no whit bigger,
and so I smiled, but he poked out
his tongue and called me, "nigger."
I saw the whole of Baltimore
From May until December,
of all the things that happened there
That's all I remember.
Above is a poem called "An Incident" by Countee Cullen.
This poem shows someone being incredibly mean and when you think about why, it's barely anything.
If this happened to most other people this poem would be a lot more angry. The fact that the author, Countee Cullen writes about the incident as if it had not happened yet while in reality it had, and even in the end he doesn't seem angry at that boy at all, he just seems to sort of accept it as something that happened, not anything that drastically changed his life though he did say it was all that he remembered. I think that writing about the incident was his way of getting rid of unresolved feelings and thoughts that remained from the day that it happened. You have to be very strong to do that and i think that most people would maybe categorize the people the same race of the boy that called him "nigger" just as the boy hated all black people.
Heart-filled, head-filled with glee,
I saw a baltimorean
Keep looking straight at me.
Now I was eight and very small,
and he was no whit bigger,
and so I smiled, but he poked out
his tongue and called me, "nigger."
I saw the whole of Baltimore
From May until December,
of all the things that happened there
That's all I remember.
Above is a poem called "An Incident" by Countee Cullen.
This poem shows someone being incredibly mean and when you think about why, it's barely anything.
If this happened to most other people this poem would be a lot more angry. The fact that the author, Countee Cullen writes about the incident as if it had not happened yet while in reality it had, and even in the end he doesn't seem angry at that boy at all, he just seems to sort of accept it as something that happened, not anything that drastically changed his life though he did say it was all that he remembered. I think that writing about the incident was his way of getting rid of unresolved feelings and thoughts that remained from the day that it happened. You have to be very strong to do that and i think that most people would maybe categorize the people the same race of the boy that called him "nigger" just as the boy hated all black people.
Art Response.
The painting above is called " The Mulberry Tree" By Vincent Van Gogh. I really like how you can see the lines of his brush because he used a lot of thick paint. I also think its interesting how Van Gogh made the leaves so wavy because it makes you feel like your in a heat wave.
I found this painting by googling "Vincent Van Gogh" It stood out to me because it reminded me of the summer, and i have been waiting for spring to come.
I think the thing i like the most is the background, its super colorful and looks as if it goes on for miles. Even though everything in the painting is wavy it almost makes it clearer. It shows you that moment and that moment only.
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
The Antlers of a Deer.
If a poets a deer than
a poems his antlers.
If a poets not free than
a poem will banter.
They both hope to live
to see better times
but the answers not always
where the question rhymes.
As i read a poem i speak to
the poet. As i watch the sun set and rise and set
again.
I wish to set the poet free from
the poem he's encased in.
And maybe when are to worlds meet
will speak to one another as are feet
fall into beat.
a poems his antlers.
If a poets not free than
a poem will banter.
They both hope to live
to see better times
but the answers not always
where the question rhymes.
As i read a poem i speak to
the poet. As i watch the sun set and rise and set
again.
I wish to set the poet free from
the poem he's encased in.
And maybe when are to worlds meet
will speak to one another as are feet
fall into beat.
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