Brianna+Thompson

"Words written in verse may speak volumes when those spoken do not."-Caressia Combs Sometimes it's easier to express yourself through your writing than it is to express yourself through spoken language because you get flustered when you have to speak to someone and you're just saying what comes to mind. Taking time out to write what you're feeling can make things a lot easier because you can go back and change what you wrote before you let someone see. You can't take back spoken words.

MIA'S ODE

Your smile is like no other seeing it makes me beam with pride. There's nothing like your hugs and your cute pecks on the cheek Your bright eyes make me smile Your laughter is always just what I need to hear to make things better. Though your hands are so small in comparison, they are my source of comfort I enjoy our time together, your personality is like that of a million entertainers. Mia my sweet niece, you are my inspiration

BREAK UP SONNET

My heart, crying for you all through the night; My mind wanders aimlessly through the day; I keep trying to forget about it; Everything we had, lost all in one night; Kisses made my problems melt away; You’re beautiful, most commonly heard; Loved everything about you, even being a nerd; Sensational, wondrous, creative; My love goes on and on, infinitely; How do I love thee, I can’t count the ways; Our friendship will last indefinitely; Promised you’d never forget our bond; And now I am holding you to that; And yet I still hope we can have our love back.

Ghazal: Because of You

You’re the reason.

Because of you, I can wake up and face life. You’re the reason.

Because of you, I can deal with all my troubles and stress and strife. You’re the reason.

Because of you, I can talk back to anyone and everyone, sharp as a knife. You’re the reason.

Because of you, I can be a heroine and leader, in my own right. You’re the reason.

Because of you, I still want to try through the fight. You’re the reason.

Because of you, I can see life from every angle, like a transparent light. You’re the reason.

Because of you, I can sleep in peace throughout the night. You’re the reason.

Because of you, I can achieve my dreams, and gain riches and fame. You’re the reason.

Because of you, I can use 120 percent of my brain. You’re the reason.

Because of you, Everything in this world is mine to gain. You’re the reason.

Beacuse of you, I get to decide who is in and who is a loser, lame. You’re the reason.

Because of you, Everywhere I go, they will remember my name. . You’re the reason.

Because of you, this world has already been changed. You’re the reason.

Because of you, I am free to be Bri, whenever, wherever. And no matter what happens, I always remain. You’re the reason.

MY WRITING STYLE

Poetry isn’t something I’m particularly good at so I don’t have a specific style of writing. Sometimes I feel like its forced and it just doesn’t come out the way I want it to. But when I truly write, like I let myself go and just get into my writing the only way I can describe it is that my work portrays my emotion towards that particular topic. I write about things that are close to my heart, ideas and stories that evoke an overwhelming amount of emotions to fill me. When I do get into my writing mood, I lose myself in my words trying to find the right ones to get my point across and to say exactly what I’m thinking but I can never seem to find the perfect fit. I hate writing poems for school because they’re never sincere because there’s always a guideline for you to follow or a deadline but to me your best writing comes from you taking your time, it cant be rushed and when it is your creativity is never really shown.

In Edgar Allan Poe’s poem he reflects back on his childhood memories and says, “From childhood's hour I have not been as others were, I have not seen as others saw.” This line refers to how growing up he was never like the other children. He was always different and stood out because of his demeanor. He had to grow up rather quickly because at the tender age of 4 both of Edgar’s biological parents died. After that he never really saw things the same, which may have been one of the major effects on his writing and why it had so many sad tones.

In his tribute to his wife’s mother titled “To My Mother” he tells her “My mother—my own mother, who died early, was but the mother of myself; but you are the mother to the one I love so dearly, and thus are dearer than the mother I knew.” From the title of the poem most readers would be under the false assumption that the poem is about his mother; however in this verse he clearly states that he is not referring to his own mother but instead the mother of his beloved wife.

Though the previous poem expressed his love for his mother-in-law most of them express the sorrow that he felt through out his entire life they have some mention of death in them whether its using the direct approach or using the figurative language as he does in his poem “The raven.” He talks to the Raven through out the entire poem “Leave my loneliness unbroken!--quit the bust above my door! Take they beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door! “ Quoth the Raven “Nevermore” In the entire poem the only words spoken from the Raven’s mouth was “Nevermore”. In history ravens are usually looked upon as a bad omen and the symbol for death. So its safe to assume that this Raven is the symbol of death in Edgar’s life and its repeated phrase nevermore is to say, you wont ever see your loved ones again because they are deceased.

All of his works are a portrayal of the rough life that Edgar Allan Poe had with death amongst all of his loved ones, from his biological parents, to his adoptive parents and then to his wife. All of the women in his life died from tuberculosis as did he himself. So you can see why his poems seem so sad and filled with gloom.

THE RAVEN by: Edgar Allan Poe code 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."

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!

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TO MY MOTHER by:Edgar Allan Poe code 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. code

ALONE by:Edgar Allan Poe

code From childhood's hour I have not been As others were--I have not seen As others saw--I could not bring My passions from a common spring-- From the same source I have not taken My sorrow--I could not awaken My heart to joy at the same tone-- And all I lov'd--//I// lov'd alone-- //Then//--in my childhood--in the dawn Of a most stormy life--was drawn From ev'ry depth of good and ill The mystery which binds me still-- From the torrent, or the fountain-- From the red cliff of the mountain-- From the sun that 'round me roll'd In its autumn tint of gold-- From the lightning in the sky As it pass'd me flying by-- From the thunder, and the storm-- And the cloud that took the form (When the rest of Heaven was blue) Of a demon in my view--

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