I had to do this for English, and I'm not sure about...help?
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I had to do this for English, and I'm not sure about...help?
I really don't like this here, it is supposed to be Vignette, this is hardly prose, but here it is, I don't know if I should turn it in with the final product
Fugato
The sun beats down on the wild flowers, punishing their fragile stems...
The flowers swing freely in the unfettered wind, in open fields...
The children play in the sun's pouring light, orange, making their faces too hot...
Hungry, the flowers turn up their heads, the wind ripples the fields, worthy of the sun's orange rays...
The wind carries the sound of giggles and play, away from school, into the open fields all around...
The murky puddle of water lies off the dusty dirt road, perishing under the sun...
Flaring winds drive the flowers' heads up and down, the sun seems lighter...
Two friends playing on the swings, the sun their goal, the wind in their way...
The wind seldom whispers to the murky puddle, but when it does, all the fields lean forward, closer...
The farmer, in an arduous trek against nature, finds his fields depleted by an unerring sun...
Fields of color, purple, rustic red and yellow-gold shade the golden fields and valley...
The days without worry, without cause to care, the pleasant summer days, sweat, salt and sun form a child's fun...
Changing ever so slowly, murky water turns into mud, deep brown, hiding secrets of the ground...
Dust sweeps the expanses of pale dirt, the farmer's wife looks out the window, shifting, muddled scenes, punishing sun, the wind carries away the smoke from the farmer's cigar, no where left to run...
The explorer's song, the train whistle blows, pistons pump, from east to west they go, step-in-step, together they go, off to conquer land not set foot on before...
The breath of life, the exhalation of air, wind blows through the flowers' hair, the great sea of green, yellow, gold, and so, ebb and flow, old scars remain not shown...
The teachers quickly herd their dreary and sleepy, flock back in, sharp with words and mean with a stick, the boys and girls scuttle to get in to sleep; happy, content, each falls into a slumber for another day, tomorrow they will reap...
Hardening, no longer mud, a nuisance or a puddle, what once was now is again, a journey of lifetimes and made scarcely a din, off the dirt road, passed by men and women alike, known by none...
That orange and red that seems to settle over dry lands, the fear of every man, the farmer walks in, tosses off his wet hat, he is not defeated, but the rain taunts him, scarring the earth, leaving known its miniscule presence, keeping the farmer's lifeline alive but in dearth...
Chugging along, humbly, a bewildering beast, the train moves west, the fields of wheat in plains hold promise for the family, they were promised the best it shines in the husband's eyes as they pass along the miles and miles of beige...
All things are the same.
Fugato
The sun beats down on the wild flowers, punishing their fragile stems...
The flowers swing freely in the unfettered wind, in open fields...
The children play in the sun's pouring light, orange, making their faces too hot...
Hungry, the flowers turn up their heads, the wind ripples the fields, worthy of the sun's orange rays...
The wind carries the sound of giggles and play, away from school, into the open fields all around...
The murky puddle of water lies off the dusty dirt road, perishing under the sun...
Flaring winds drive the flowers' heads up and down, the sun seems lighter...
Two friends playing on the swings, the sun their goal, the wind in their way...
The wind seldom whispers to the murky puddle, but when it does, all the fields lean forward, closer...
The farmer, in an arduous trek against nature, finds his fields depleted by an unerring sun...
Fields of color, purple, rustic red and yellow-gold shade the golden fields and valley...
The days without worry, without cause to care, the pleasant summer days, sweat, salt and sun form a child's fun...
Changing ever so slowly, murky water turns into mud, deep brown, hiding secrets of the ground...
Dust sweeps the expanses of pale dirt, the farmer's wife looks out the window, shifting, muddled scenes, punishing sun, the wind carries away the smoke from the farmer's cigar, no where left to run...
The explorer's song, the train whistle blows, pistons pump, from east to west they go, step-in-step, together they go, off to conquer land not set foot on before...
The breath of life, the exhalation of air, wind blows through the flowers' hair, the great sea of green, yellow, gold, and so, ebb and flow, old scars remain not shown...
The teachers quickly herd their dreary and sleepy, flock back in, sharp with words and mean with a stick, the boys and girls scuttle to get in to sleep; happy, content, each falls into a slumber for another day, tomorrow they will reap...
Hardening, no longer mud, a nuisance or a puddle, what once was now is again, a journey of lifetimes and made scarcely a din, off the dirt road, passed by men and women alike, known by none...
That orange and red that seems to settle over dry lands, the fear of every man, the farmer walks in, tosses off his wet hat, he is not defeated, but the rain taunts him, scarring the earth, leaving known its miniscule presence, keeping the farmer's lifeline alive but in dearth...
Chugging along, humbly, a bewildering beast, the train moves west, the fields of wheat in plains hold promise for the family, they were promised the best it shines in the husband's eyes as they pass along the miles and miles of beige...
All things are the same.
Nihil- Join date : 2009-10-23
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Re: I had to do this for English, and I'm not sure about...help?
It's pretty long for a poem...
Anyway, It seems fine, unless I'm totally missing the point.
Anyway, It seems fine, unless I'm totally missing the point.
Thing- Senator - Forum Enforcer
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Re: I had to do this for English, and I'm not sure about...help?
vignette, goes along with a book we are reading, its not a poem, but its sort of written in prose, not much
Nihil- Join date : 2009-10-23
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Re: I had to do this for English, and I'm not sure about...help?
Well, how the fuck are we supposed to know if it's good or not if we don't know the book?
Anyway, it looks good.
Anyway, it looks good.
Thing- Senator - Forum Enforcer
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See ya in anothah life, brothah. - Desmond Hume
Re: I had to do this for English, and I'm not sure about...help?
you don't need to know the book, its supposed to be creative
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