Mr.+Anglo+(Joseph+Tartaglia

"Poetry is a silent voice that is heard everywhere inside of us..." -Unknown

TO DA DO DA DO DA MI GULE MY BELLE THESE ARE THE WORDS THAT GO TO GET HER WELL I WANT YOU TO BE MY FAVORITE GAL MI GULE MI GULE MY BELLE THESE ARE THE WORDS THAT CLASH VE RY WELL I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I HOPE BY NOW I'LL GET TO YOU SOME HOW AND YOU WILL LOVE I LOVE YOU AND YOU WILL AL WAYS LOVE NOW FROM THE GREAT BEA TFUL SKY ABOVE BE CAUSE THE WORLD IS ROUND IT TURNS ME ON BE CAUSE THE SKY IS BLUE IT MAKES ME LOVE I CAN'T THINK OF ANY THING TO WRITE ON LAST TIME I SAW YOU YOU WERE DEAD AND DIE LAS NIGHT I SAID THESE WORDS TO MY GIRL FRIEND YOU KNOW YOU NEVER EVEN TRY MY FRIEND

An Ode To Life

You can describe... An ode to Kindness An ode to Health, An ode to Family, An ode to Love, An ode to Hate, An ode to Sadness, An ode to Happiness, An ode to Anger, An ode to Forgiveness, An ode to Emotions, An ode to Childhood, An ode to Adulthood, An ode to Loyalty, An ode to Friendship, And an ode to Death, But you can never describe, An ode to LIFE. But in life, All of the above matters the most.

[|Robert W. Service]

__//**The Cremation of Sam McGee**//__ By the men who moil for gold; The Arctic trails have their secret tales That would make your blood run cold; The Northern Lights have seen queer sights, But the queerest they ever did see Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge I cremated Sam McGee
 * There are strange things done in the midnight sun

Now Sam McGee was from Tennessee, where the cotton blooms and blows Why he left his home in the South to roam 'round the Pole, God only knows. He was always cold but the land of gold seemed to hold him like a spell; Though he'd often say in his homely way that he'd sooner live in Hell.

On a Christmas Day we were mushing our way over the Dawson trail. Talk of your cold! through the parka's fold it stabbed like a driven nail. If our eyes we'd close, then the lashes froze till sometimes we couldn't see, It wasn't much fun, but the only one to whimper was Sam McGee.

And that very night, as we lay packed tight in our robes beneath the snow, And the dogs were fed, and the stars o'erhead were dancing heel and toe, He turned to me, and "Cap", says he, "I'll cash in this trip, I guess; And if I do, I'm asking that you won't refuse my last request."

Well, he seemed so low that I couldn't say no; then he says with a sort of moan, "It's the cursed cold, and it's got right hold till I'm chilled clean through to the bone Yet 'taint being dead-it's my awful dread of the icy grave that pains; So I want you to swear that, foul or fair, you'll cremate my last remains.

A pal's last need is a thing to heed, so I swore I would not fail; And we started on at the streak of dawn but God! he looked ghastly pale. He crouched on the sleigh, and he raved all day of his home in Tennessee; And before nightfall a corpse was all that was left of Sam McGee.

There wasn't a breath in that land of death, and I hurried, horror-driven With a corpse half hid that I couldn't get rid, because of a promise given; It was lashed to the sleigh, and it seemed to say. "You may tax your brawn and brains, But you promised true, and it's up to you to cremate these last remains".

Now a promise made is a debt unpaid, and the trail has its own stern code, In the days to come, though my lips were dumb in my heart how I cursed that load! In the long, long night, by the lone firelight, while the huskies, round in a ring, Howled out their woes to the homeless snows-- Oh God, how I loathed the thing!

And every day that quiet clay seemed to heavy and heavier grow; And on I went, though the dogs were spent and the grub was getting low. The trail was bad, and I felt half mad, but I swore I would not give in; And I'd often sing to the hateful thing, and it hearkened with a grin.

Till I came to the marge of Lake Lebarge, and a derelict there lay; It was jammed in the ice, but I saw in a trice it was called the Alice May, And I looked at it, and I thought a bit, and I looked at my frozen chum; Then "Here", said I, with a sudden cry, "is my cre-ma-tor-eum"!

Some planks I tore from the cabin floor and I lit the boiler fire; Some coal I found that was lying around, and I heaped the fuel higher; The flames just soared, and the furnace roared such a blaze you seldom see, And I burrowed a hole in the glowing coal, and I stuffed in Sam McGee.

Then I made a hike, for I didn't like to hear him sizzle so; And the heavens scowled, and the huskies howled, and the wind began to blow, It was icy cold, but the hot sweat rolled down my cheeks, and I don't know why; And the greasy smoke in an inky cloak went streaking down the sky.

I do not know how long in the snow I wrestled with grisly fear; But the stars came out and they danced about ere again I ventured near; I was sick with dread, but I bravely said, "I'll just take a peep inside. I guess he's cooked, and it's time I looked". Then the door I opened wide.

And there sat Sam, looking cool and calm, in the heart of the furnace roar; And he wore a smile you could see a mile, and he said, "Please close that door. It's fine in here, but I greatly fear you'll let in the cold and storm-- Since I left Plumtree, down in Tennessee, it's the first time I've been warm".

There are strange things done in the midnight sun By the men who moil for gold; The Arctic trails have their secret tales That would make your blood run cold; The Northern Lights have seen queer sights, But the queerest they ever did see Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge I cremated Sam McGee. ||  ||   || 1. (The poem addresses that he has to burn a dead body on a cold and snowy night, hes worried that he is going to freeze to death, I don’t understand if what he in doing is legal or not, he doesn’t mention that so far)

2. (He rhymes a lot in like every line he rhymes. He doesn’t do much repeating though but he rhymes the words that are in the same line)

3. (He doesn’t compare opposites but he rhymes about things and compare them to other things)

4. (He would some times end the stanza with a rhyme that has something to do with Sam McGee.)

5. (He speaks old fashion but he doesn’t spell every thing right, or use punctuation. It seems like and older poem. Sounds like it’s a diary entry but its not. It’s only like from the 1930s or 1940s I think it doesn’t say, but I would guess that it is an older poem because the man who wrote it is dead now and he didn’t die recently he died in like 1958 so it’s definitely an older poem.)

6. (This Poem is very morbid; he’s like talking about burring a dead body in the snow. He feels cold I guess, but sad too about having to burn the body, I am not sure if he killed Sam McGee or not but he probably did. He writes like he’s make a note on something)

7. (He is saying that its dark, cold, and snowing out and he describe the way the places look, sound, and feel. Not that many metaphors though.)

8. (What is Robert W. Service Try to get out of this poem?)

[|Robert W. Service]

__//**The Passing of the Year**//__

My glass is filled, my pipe is lit, My den is all a cosy glow; And snug before the fire I sit, And wait to //feel// the old year go. I dedicate to solemn thought Amid my too-unthinking days, This sober moment, sadly fraught With much of blame, with little praise.

Old Year! upon the Stage of Time You stand to bow your last adieu; A moment, and the prompter's chime Will ring the curtain down on you. Your mien is sad, your step is slow; You falter as a Sage in pain; Yet turn, Old Year, before you go, And face your audience again.

That sphinx-like face, remote, austere, Let us all read, whate'er the cost: O Maiden! why that bitter tear? Is it for dear one you have lost? Is it for fond illusion gone? For trusted lover proved untrue? O sweet girl-face, so sad, so wan What hath the Old Year meant to you?

And you, O neighbour on my right So sleek, so prosperously clad! What see you in that aged wight That makes your smile so gay and glad? What opportunity unmissed? What golden gain, what pride of place? What splendid hope? O Optimist! What read you in that withered face?

And You, deep shrinking in the gloom, What find you in that filmy gaze? What menace of a tragic doom? What dark, condemning yesterdays? What urge to crime, what evil done? What cold, confronting shape of fear? O haggard, haunted, hidden One What see you in the dying year?

And so from face to face I flit, The countless eyes that stare and stare; Some are with approbation lit, And some are shadowed with despair. Some show a smile and some a frown; Some joy and hope, some pain and woe: Enough! Oh, ring the curtain down! Old weary year! it's time to go.

My pipe is out, my glass is dry; My fire is almost ashes too; But once again, before you go, And I prepare to meet the New: Old Year! a parting word that's true, For we've been comrades, you and I -- //I thank God for each day of you//; There! bless you now! Old Year, good-bye!

1. (I believe that this poem is about a persons experience with New Years Day or New Years Eve because of the title and it seems like this is a more of a happy poem by this author)

2. (It’s not a rhyming poem, more of a story telling type poem, not sad more happy then sad. I believe its about New Years. Judging by the title.

3. (He kind of compares other things to things but nothing exactly the opposite from each other.)

4. (Nothing repeats)

5. (It seems like it was made along time ago, considering the words they use, but with a modern flow to it.)

6. (It is not morbid kind of a happy poem I wouldn’t say it was sad poem, but it wasn’t too much of a happy one.)

7. (He says its dark and foggy out and that everyone is happy, but the setting of the poem makes you think that its going to be a sad poem witch it isn’t its just a dark setting witch at first gave me the illusion that it was going to be a sad poem but it turned out to be more happy then sad.)

8. (What make this a sad poem, and what makes this a happy poem?)