Haiku
select five poems
that you'd share with your classmates
publish on your blogs
Original Draft - Limerick
There once was a class to learn writing
That everyone found so exciting
They put poems on blogs
And rewrote them like dogs
Until they became more inviting
Rewritten Draft - Limerick
These poems should be from portfolios
Produced from your blood, sweat, and cardio
As exercise
You'll have to revise
And make them your best, yes indeedio
Free Verse
Each poem you choose must be on the blog twice
The original draft and then a rewrite
The difference between draft one and draft two
Will be up to the poet, who's none other than you.
This means all the poems you publish will go
on the blog from your writing portfolio
The points you receive will be left up to me
The maximum score you receive can be three
One point will show that it's up there at all
Two points or three will depend completely on how
Much you experiment with revising your draft
and showing your poetic talent and craft.
Acrostic
Don't
Under-
Estimate
Fred's (that's me)
Rigorous,
Intellectual, and
Demanding standards.
At least make an effort to improve all
Your poems. Don't just type them and think you're done
!
*See comments for grading on comments
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Monday, April 4, 2011
Spring Break "Adventure"
For this blog entry, dramatize an experience from your spring break. You must: 1) narrate in the third person; 2) apply show, don't tell to bring your experience to life; 3) employ a structure that gives your story a clear 3-part structure (beginning, middle, end)
If it hadn't been for those dinosaurs, he thought to himself, shivering. And that Dudley-Do-Right. The rain had been tolerable. In fact, it had been a blessing as the lines thinned down to a trickle. Ten minutes at Harry Potter's Forbidden Journey! It was the kind of boon that merited a Facebook status update. But now, the macho decision to forgo a rain poncho (a glorified, 7-dollar trash bag), along with ill-advised rides on the Jurassic Park River Tour and the Dudley-Do-Right Log Ride, meant a sweatshirt transformed from an insulating layer of warmth into a soaking body wrap of cold rain.
"I can't go on like this," he told his wife, who brightly removed her clear, vinyl, Universal Studios smock and sat down over her cup of steaming coffee. "I have to go find something dry to wear."
As he ventured back into the watery grayness, he remembered the laughable sight of himself in a restroom mirror: straight, black hair matted down like a shiny, plastic shell (was his head really that round?), patchy chin stubble, and his wife's thick, extra-nerdy glasses (he'd lost his professorial spectacles days earlier). Through the droplet-spattered and fogged lenses, he focused on the Marvel Studios souvenir store, the steel-clawed manimal Wolverine beckoning him inside. Yes.
He was not a big Marvel fan. Further, he stubbornly refused to spend money on an overpriced T-shirt that he wouldn't want to wear again. Not a fan of the Hulk or Fantastic Four, and always having had a natural aversion to the bright, tight spandex of Spider-Man (even implied in a hoodie or cotton tee), he scanned the racks until he zeroed in on The Shirt. Its simple chest logo appealed to his spare aesthetic sensibility. Equally important, it was a hero he would be happy to emulate, Iron Man -- cocky but lovable, smooth with the ladies but at heart devoted to his true love Pepper Potts. And more than able to kick a little tail.
He took the shirt to the cashier, already working out in his head where he could peel off his dripping top and replace it with his new geek-chic symbol. And then his eyes found the perfect protective outer shell to complete his vacation armor: a rain poncho with "The Wizarding World of Harry Potter" emblazoned across the back. Seven bucks was actually a pretty good deal.
If it hadn't been for those dinosaurs, he thought to himself, shivering. And that Dudley-Do-Right. The rain had been tolerable. In fact, it had been a blessing as the lines thinned down to a trickle. Ten minutes at Harry Potter's Forbidden Journey! It was the kind of boon that merited a Facebook status update. But now, the macho decision to forgo a rain poncho (a glorified, 7-dollar trash bag), along with ill-advised rides on the Jurassic Park River Tour and the Dudley-Do-Right Log Ride, meant a sweatshirt transformed from an insulating layer of warmth into a soaking body wrap of cold rain.
"I can't go on like this," he told his wife, who brightly removed her clear, vinyl, Universal Studios smock and sat down over her cup of steaming coffee. "I have to go find something dry to wear."
As he ventured back into the watery grayness, he remembered the laughable sight of himself in a restroom mirror: straight, black hair matted down like a shiny, plastic shell (was his head really that round?), patchy chin stubble, and his wife's thick, extra-nerdy glasses (he'd lost his professorial spectacles days earlier). Through the droplet-spattered and fogged lenses, he focused on the Marvel Studios souvenir store, the steel-clawed manimal Wolverine beckoning him inside. Yes.
He was not a big Marvel fan. Further, he stubbornly refused to spend money on an overpriced T-shirt that he wouldn't want to wear again. Not a fan of the Hulk or Fantastic Four, and always having had a natural aversion to the bright, tight spandex of Spider-Man (even implied in a hoodie or cotton tee), he scanned the racks until he zeroed in on The Shirt. Its simple chest logo appealed to his spare aesthetic sensibility. Equally important, it was a hero he would be happy to emulate, Iron Man -- cocky but lovable, smooth with the ladies but at heart devoted to his true love Pepper Potts. And more than able to kick a little tail.
He took the shirt to the cashier, already working out in his head where he could peel off his dripping top and replace it with his new geek-chic symbol. And then his eyes found the perfect protective outer shell to complete his vacation armor: a rain poncho with "The Wizarding World of Harry Potter" emblazoned across the back. Seven bucks was actually a pretty good deal.
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