Anthony+Carter

"Poetry is the silent voice that is heard everywhere inside of us"- Unknow

ODE By: AJ Carter

You may be tall, dark, and scary. But you have a since of cool and awesomeness to you. People think of you as a vigilante a boogie man. But I think of you as a hero You may not be the best remodels like some heroes like others with giant S’s on their chest. But being the Bat is good enough for me. And pulse if it wasn’t for you I wouldn’t know how to be a hero. So thank you Dark Knight Thank you Batman

Sonnet By: AJ Carter

 You don’t believe that you are a hero But others believe that you are But you believe that you are a zero You have a natural since of justice Which makes up a part of you Others can also see this justice in you You often wonder why they see this When you cannot It makes you ponder this thought “Could I really be a hero” You start to think no your wrong But then why does everyone else see this Maybe you are right Maybe there is more, maybe you can be this hero By: AJ Carter

Ghazal By: AJ Carter

What is the measure of a hero How do you determine that they are a hero

Is it by the size of their fists Or is it the measure of their intelligence, for a hero

Could it be their strength of will Or maybe it’s the purity of the heart for a hero

Could it be how much the people love them Or is it how much they help the people for a hero

I think the measure of a hero is them self Why you might ask for a hero

I say them self because of their will, heart, body, and mind That is what I think makes it for a hero

Not their power or their fame But how they uses toughs four qualities to help the people, that is for a hero By: AJ Carter

My poetry is very simple to understand. I didn’t know what to do at first for my poetry so asked for ideas from my friends and family. And the idea I got from my parents is what I went with. So the poetry is on super heroes. They’re easy for me because I know a lot about them and their history and also how they react to being a hero. In my ODE I talked about Batman and how people don’t see him as a hero and I see him as a hero. Like in the line “ You may not be the best remodels like some heroes like others with giant S’s on their chest. But being the Bat is good enough for me.” Then in the sonnet I was talking about how they feel. When they first become a hero or how some of them have felt over the years of being a hero. For insistence “You don’t believe that you are a hero But others believe that you are But you believe that you are a zero You have a natural since of justice Which makes up a part of you” I made them because I thought it would be a good way to look into their heads. Then the Ghazal was based off of how people may see heroes compared to me. “I say himself because of will, heart, body, and mind That is what I think makes it for a hero Not his power or his fame But how he uses toughs four qualities to help the people, that is for a hero”.

code 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.
 * **A Dream Within a Dream** ||||  ||
 * by [|Edgar Allan Poe] ||

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?

code|| **The Raven** ||||  || code ||  ||||   ||
 * by [|Edgar Allan Poe] ||

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, || Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore-- While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door-- "'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door-- Only this and nothing more."
 * **The Raven** ||||  ||
 * by [|Edgar Allan Poe] ||

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December; And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. Eagerly I wished the morrow;--vainly I had sought to borrow From my books surcease of sorrow--sorrow for the lost Lenore-- For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore-- Nameless //here// for evermore.

And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain Thrilled me--filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before; So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating, "'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door-- Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;-- This it is and nothing more."

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer, "Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore; But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping, And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door, That I scarce was sure I heard you"--here I opened wide the door; Darkness there and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing, Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before; But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token, And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore?" This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!"-- Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning, Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before. "Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice; Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore-- Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;-- 'Tis the wind and nothing more!"

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter, In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore; Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he; But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door-- Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door-- Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore, "Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven, Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore-- Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!" Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly, Though its answer little meaning--little relevancy bore; For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being Ever yet was blest with seeing bird above his chamber door-- Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door, With such name as "Nevermore."

But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour. Nothing further then he uttered--not a feather then he fluttered-- Till I scarcely more than muttered "Other friends have flown before-- On the morrow //he// will leave me, as my hopes have flown before." Then the bird said "Nevermore."

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken, "Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore-- Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore Of 'Never--nevermore.'"

But the Raven still beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door; Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore-- What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore Meant in croaking "Nevermore."

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core; This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er, But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er, //She// shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor. "Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee--by these angels he hath sent thee Respite--respite and nepenthe, from thy memories of Lenore; Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!" Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!--prophet still, if bird or devil!-- Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore, Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted-- On this home by Horror haunted--tell me truly, I implore-- Is there--is there balm in Gilead?--tell me--tell me, I implore!" Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil--prophet still, if bird or devil! By that Heaven that bends above us--by that God we both adore-- Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn, It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore-- Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore." Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."

"Be that word our sign in parting, bird or fiend!" I shrieked, upstarting-- "Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore! Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken! Leave my loneliness unbroken!--quit the bust above my door! Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!" Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."

And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, //still// is sitting On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door; And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming, And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor; And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor Shall be lifted--nevermore!

Because I feel that, in the Heavens above, The angels, whispering to one another, Can find, among their burning terms of love, None so devotional as that of "Mother," Therefore by that dear name I long have called you— You who are more than mother unto me, And fill my heart of hearts, where Death installed you In setting my Virginia's spirit free. My mother—my own mother, who died early, Was but the mother of myself; but you Are mother to the one I loved so dearly, And thus are dearer than the mother I knew By that infinity with which my wife Was dearer to my soul than its soul-life.
 * **To My Mother** ||||  ||
 * by [|Edgar Allan Poe] ||

code || ||

The poet I choose was Edgar Allen Poe. A man whose poems were based off of a dark past. His past was dark because his parents died three months after he was born. So he had to live with Uncle who he didn't have a good relationship with. So he moved in with his aunt and cousin Virginia who he later married in life. In his poetry many of the lines connect like "Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore". The setting in each of these seems to be of dark places or of his dreams. In "A dream within a dream" He seems to be talking about a dream that he would like to hold on to for insistence. "Through my fingers to the deep, While I weep--while I weep! O God! can I not grasp Them with a tighter clasp?" And the dream has to do with his parents and how he never actually know them but dreams of them. Raven clearly was suppose to be dark but not as dark as intended. Raven also sounds like a dream poem and the Raven is suppose to be him or when he looks into the darkness he is looking in himself. As in these to parts. "Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer, "Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore; But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping, And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door, That I scarce was sure I heard you"--here I opened wide the door; Darkness there and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing, Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before; But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token, And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore?" This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!"-- Merely this and nothing more." Then the last one "To My Mother" was about his mother and was a tribute to her and Virginia. Because he actually mentions them in the poem. "In setting my Virginia's spirit free. My mother—my own mother, who died early, Was but the mother of myself; but you Are mother to the one I loved so dearly,"