Rinaldi,+Matthew

"Poetry is the universal language..." -William Hazlitt

__Who I Admire:__
It's 10:30 at night and I'm trying to rhyme, But I suck at it so I'm losing time. It's hard to say what I want to say When ichat's ringing, so I'll switch to "Away."

Now here I am thinking of another clever line And here it is, I feel like I'm on cloud nine. See, I don't need that herb to rhyme like a pro, 'Cause all I have to do is snort that blow.

Lol jk, I'm not Charlie Sheen, 'Cause I can't compare to that "WINNING!" machine. Wait I'm off topic, where was I? Too busy killin' it with the rhymes, feeling so fly.

Oh yeah "Who I Admire," that's the topic, Sorry I'm slow, I'm just too myopic. So back on track, who do I admire? I gotta say me, cause I just conquered the rhyming empire.

__Sonnet:__
It's really late and I'm getting really sleepy, I'm in my room all alone. It's getting real dark and pretty creepy, I think I heard a groan.

It's coming from under my bed, And I'm too afraid to look. I put the covers over my head, And then I began to shook.

My mind started to race, Thinking about the worst. If I ever see the monster's face, I would probably burst.

The floor started creaking and my brother leaped out, His face in the line of sight. I got so scared, I burst from my spout, And now he was also in fright.

He screamed and ran out angry, But that's what happens when you try to prank me.

__Raised By:__
I was raised by the smoke filled Maze of asphalt and concrete With the echoes of revving engines.

Surrounded by washed out colors Of faded walls and rusted metal. Smells of sewage from overflowing drains With the occasional scent of burgers and fries.

Every corner you turn The sound of "Spare change?" Resonates throughout my mind. Realizing the harsh, cruel system of this urban environment.

The different clicks And people that surround me, Influences the type of person That I will become.

The air-like fads That sweep through every nook and cranny, Traveling as fast as wind through All lines of sight.

It's this urban jungle That shaped me.

__Whatif:__
Last night, while I lay thinking here,

some Whatifs crawled inside my ear and pranced and partied all night long and sang their same old Whatif song: Whatif I'm dumb in school? Whatif they've closed the swimming pool? Whatif I get beat up? Whatif there's poison in my cup? Whatif I start to cry? Whatif I get sick and die? Whatif I flunk that test? Whatif green hair grows on my chest? Whatif nobody likes me? Whatif a bolt of lightning strikes me? Whatif I don't grow talle? Whatif my head starts getting smaller? Whatif the fish won't bite? Whatif the wind tears up my kite? Whatif they start a war? Whatif my parents get divorced? Whatif the bus is late? Whatif my teeth don't grow in straight? Whatif I tear my pants? Whatif I never learn to dance? Everything seems well, and then the nighttime Whatifs strike again!

Most of the poems I made was inspired by what was on my mind at the time. For example, the "Who I Admire" poem was just something a wrote down to express what was going through my mind that night. Another example is the "Raised By" poem. I was inspired by what was going on outside of the SLA window: the cityscape. Even though I love rhyming poems, I'm terrible at it. It takes a lot of inspiration for me to be able to rhyme. The one main way that helped me in rhyming is to not try so hard. I had to let the words flow and not force rhymes.

__Rudyard Kipling:__
**If-** by Rudyard Kipling

If you can keep your head when all about you Are losing theirs and blaming it on you; If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you, But make allowance for their doubting too; If you can wait and not be tired by waiting, Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies, Or, being hated, don't give way to hating, And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream--and not make dreams your master; If you can think--and not make thoughts your aim; If you can meet with triumph and disaster And treat those two impostors just the same; If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools, Or watch the things you gave your life to broken, And stoop and build 'em up with wornout tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss, And lose, and start again at your beginnings And never breathe a word about your loss; If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew To serve your turn long after they are gone, And so hold on when there is nothing in you Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on";

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue, Or walk with kings--nor lose the common touch; If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you; If all men count with you, but none too much; If you can fill the unforgiving minute With sixty seconds' worth of distance run-- Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it, And--which is more--you'll be a Man, my son!

__Analysis:__ Throughout this poem, the poet addresses the reader based on the last line ‘And--which is more--you'll be a Man, my son!.” You can infer that the poem itself assumes that the reader is a young boy. The rhyme scheme of ABABCDCD… and the use of similar line lengths create a constant rhythm that compliments the message of the poem. The repetition of “If you,” makes it feel as if the reader is being lectured. This also connects to the last line, which indicates that a Father figure is lecturing someone (in this case, the reader). The enjambments create slight pauses that emphasizes the beginning of each new line. The way the poem is worded, which is informal and formal at the same time, creates the poem. It makes the readers connect to how parent figures would talk: assertive and wise, but able to be understood by the child.

**Philadelphia** by Rudyard Kipling

If you're off to Philadelphia in the morning, You mustn't take my stories for a guide. There's little left, indeed, of the city you will read of, And all the folk I write about have died. Now few will understand if you mention Talleyrand, Or remember what his cunning and his skill did; And the cabmen at the wharf do not know Count Zinzendorf, Nor the Church in Philadelphia he builded.

It is gone, gone, gone with lost Atlantis, (Never say I didn't give you warning). In Seventeen Ninety-three 'twas there for all to see, But it's not in Philadelphia this morning.

If you're off to Philadelphia in the morning, You mustn't go by anything I've said. Bob Bicknell's Southern Stages have been laid aside for ages, But the Limited will take you there instead. Toby Hirte can't be seen at One Hundred and Eighteen North Second Street--no matter when you call; And I fear you'll search in vain for the wash-house down the lane Where Pharaoh played the fiddle at the ball.

It is gone, gone, gone with Thebes the Golden, (Never say I didn't give you warning). In Seventeen Ninety-four 'twas a famous dancing floor-- But it's not in Philadelphia this morning.

If you're off to Philadelphia in the morning, You must telegraph for rooms at some Hotel. You needn't try your luck at Epply's or "The Buck," Though the Father of his Country liked them well. It is not the slightest use to inquire for Adam Goos, Or to ask where Pastor Meder has removed--so You must treat as out of date the story I relate Of the Church in Philadelphia he loved so.

He is gone, gone, gone with Martin Luther (Never say I didn't give you warning) In Seventeen Ninety-five he was, ( rest his soul! ) alive. But he's not in Philadelphia this morning.

If you're off to Philadelphia this morning, And wish to prove the truth of what I say, I pledge my word you'll find the pleasant land behind Unaltered since Red Jacket rode that way. Still the pine-woods scent the noon; still the catbird sings his tune; Still autumn sets the maple-forest blazing; Still the grape-vine through the dusk flings her soul-compelling musk; Still the fire-flies in the corn make night amazing! They are there, there, there with Earth immortal ( Citizens, I give you friendly warning ). . The thins that truly last when men and times have passed, They are all in Pennsylvania this morning!

__Analysis:__ The poet himself did not write this poem to describe or give directions about the city of Philadelphia. But in turn, describe the experiences that he has had in this city. This poem addresses the reader. There is no rhyme scheme or rhyming words, which makes it seem as if this is being spoken by an actual person. The word “Philadelphia” and the proper nouns that the poet describes are all capitalized. This emphasizes the details of the poet’s experience and causes them to stick out in the reader’s head. The lines are random lengths, which again, connects to how the poet wants the poem to be read: as if someone is speaking. There are enjambments that create slight pauses. These pauses represent the slight pauses when a person takes to breathe while speaking. The language used is considered somewhat formal in today’s time, but was probably normal in the poet’s time period (how they spoke).

**The Thousandth Man**
by Rudyard Kipling

One man in a thousand, Solomon says, Will stick more close than a brother. And it's worth while seeking him half your days If you find him before the other. Nine nundred and ninety-nine depend On what the world sees in you, But the Thousandth man will stand your friend With the whole round world agin you.

'Tis neither promise nor prayer nor show Will settle the finding for 'ee. Nine hundred and ninety-nine of 'em go By your looks, or your acts, or your glory. But if he finds you and you find him. The rest of the world don't matter; For the Thousandth Man will sink or swim With you in any water.

You can use his purse with no more talk Than he uses yours for his spendings, And laugh and meet in your daily walk As though there had been no lendings. Nine hundred and ninety-nine of 'em call For silver and gold in their dealings; But the Thousandth Man h's worth 'em all, Because you can show him your feelings.

His wrong's your wrong, and his right's your right, In season or out of season. Stand up and back it in all men's sight -- With that for your only reason! Nine hundred and ninety-nine can't bide The shame or mocking or laughter, But the Thousandth Man will stand by your side To the gallows-foot -- and after!

__Analysis:__ Based on the whole poem, the poet is addressing the readers, whether male or female. Since the poem is, technically, mainly making a statement. The statement is stating that there is that one person (friend) out there or already in the readers’ lives that can connect to us. The poem is intended to be quirky and to keep the reader’s attention, since the topic itself grabs the attention of readers. The ABABCDCD… rhyme scheme keeps this alive in the poem. Also, the short lengths of the lines makes it quicker to read the lines and keep the reader’s attention. The enjambments connect to this too by shortening what would’ve been long lines. The words “Thousandth Man” is capitalized throughout the entire poem to emphasize how rare that person is.