Jake+W

They eat beans mostly, this old yellow pair. Dinner is a casual affair. Plain chipware on a plain and creaking wood, Tin flatware.

Two who are Mostly Good. Two who have lived their day, But keep on putting on their clothes And putting things away.

And remembering. . . Remembering, with twinklings and twinges, As they lean over the beans in their rented back room that is full of beads and receipts and dolls and cloths, tobacco crumbs, vases and fringes.

Gwendolyn Brooks

This poem is explaining a family that seems like they dont have alot of money. They live in a storage room and all they have to eat is beans. Although they are not a very wealthy family, and not much to eat they live every day like it is the best they've had.

You are the bread and the knife, the crystal goblet and the wine. You are the dew on the morning grass and the burning wheel of the sun. You are the white apron of the baker, and the marsh birds suddenly in flight.

However, you are not the wind in the orchard, the plums on the counter, or the house of cards. And you are certainly not the pine-scented air. There is just no way that you are the pine-scented air.

It is possible that you are the fish under the bridge, maybe even the pigeon on the general's head, but you are not even close to being the field of cornflowers at dusk.

And a quick look in the mirror will show that you are neither the boots in the corner nor the boat asleep in its boathouse.

It might interest you to know, speaking of the plentiful imagery of the world, that I am the sound of rain on the roof.

I also happen to be the shooting star, the evening paper blowing down an alley and the basket of chestnuts on the kitchen table.

I am also the moon in the trees and the blind woman's tea cup. But don't worry, I'm not the bread and the knife.

You are still the bread and the knife. You will always be the bread and the knife, not to mention the crystal goblet and—somehow—the wine. Billly coilins

This poem is a person speaking to another about how she is somethings but at the same time she is not others. Hes telling her that if she takes a look in a mirror she will see that she is who she is.

Take this kiss upon the brow! And, in parting from you now, Thus much let me avow: You are not wrong who deem That my days have been a dream; Yet if hope has flown away In a night, or in a day, In a vision, or in none, Is it therefore the less gone? All that we see or seem Is but a dream within a dream. I stand amid the roar Of a surf-tormented shore, And I hold within my hand Grains of the golden sand-- How few! yet how they creep Through my fingers to the deep, While I weep--while I weep! O God! can I not grasp Them with a tighter clasp? O God! can I not save //One// from the pitiless wave? Is //all// that we see or seem But a dream within a dream? Edgar Allan Poe

Edgar Allan Poe is writing this poem about how he wonders if we are all living in a 3rd demension world. How what we see and do is not reality but just a dream or a fantisy. When he says a dream within a dream he is saying that life seems to be even more unreal than a dream.

They came for him one winter's night. Arrested, he was bound. They said there'd been a robbery, his pistol had been found. They marched him to the station house, he waited till the dawn. And as they led him to the dock, he knew that he'd been wronged. "You stand accused of robbery," he heard the bailiff say. He knew without an alibi, tomorrow's light would mourn his freedom. Over the hills and far away, for ten long years he'll count the days. Over the mountains and the seas, a prisoner's life for him there'll be. He knew that it would cost him dear, but yet he dare not say. Just where he'd been that fateful night, a secret it must stay. He had to fight back tears of rage. His heart beat like a drum. For with the wife of his best friend, he spent his final night of freedom. Over the hills and far away, he swears he will return one day. Far from the mountains and the seas, back in her arms again he'll be. Over the hills and far away.

Over the hills and, over the hills and, over the hills and far away. Poetic Device:Rhyme

The song i picked is called Over the hills and far away by nightwish. This song is about a man who was set up for a robbery. Someone had committed this crime and placed his gun at the scene. The night they found the gun he was sleeping with his best friends wife. Later on is describes the journey and what he was feeling. This was brought to you by : Jake Wise

Wise, Jake Wise I am Wise, Jake Wise I am boring and kinda funny I guess, I wonder if she likes me, I see Devin and scream Sasquatch, I hear literally almost nothing, I want a blonde,

I am Wise, Jake Wise I say Devin is...well..a good friend I pretend he isn’t though, I feel sorry for the kid and, I worry that he won’t pass high school, I cry NEVER!

I am Wise, Jake Wise, __I understand what dreams mean, - Rhyme__ __I dream of building a time machine, - Rhyme__ __I try to ties shoe strings together, - Alliteration__ __I hope that the world will be bright with the array of leaves of red, orange, and green. - Imagery__ I am Wise, Jake Wise