Jordan+McLaughlin

//**"Poetry is the silent voice that is heard everywhere inside of us.."-Unknown**//

=Poems by Marianne Moore:=

=Poem #1= =Baseball and Writing= by [|Marianne Moore] (Suggested by post-game broadcasts) code Fanaticism? No. Writing is exciting and baseball is like writing. You can never tell with either how it will go     or what you will do; generating excitement-- a fever in the victim-- pitcher, catcher, fielder, batter. Victim in what category? Owlman watching from the press box? To whom does it apply? Who is excited? Might it be I?

It's a pitcher's battle all the way--a duel-- a catcher's, as, with cruel puma paw, Elston Howard lumbers lightly back to plate. (His spring     de-winged a bat swing.) They have that killer instinct; yet Elston--whose catching arm has hurt them all with the bat-- when questioned, says, unenviously, "I'm very satisfied. We won." Shorn of the batting crown, says, "We"; robbed by a technicality.

When three players on a side play three positions and modify conditions, the massive run need not be everything. "Going, going . . . " Is      it? Roger Maris has it, running fast. You will never see a finer catch. Well. . .  "Mickey, leaping like the devil"--why gild it, although deer sounds better-- snares what was speeding towards its treetop nest, one-handing the souvenir-to-be meant to be caught by you or me.

Assign Yogi Berra to Cape Canaveral; he could handle any missile. He is no feather. "Strike! . . . Strike two!" Fouled back. A blur. It's gone. You would infer that the bat had eyes. He put the wood to that one. Praised, Skowron says, "Thanks, Mel.  I think I helped a little bit." All business, each, and modesty. Blanchard, Richardson, Kubek, Boyer. In that galaxy of nine, say which won the pennant? Each. It was he.

Those two magnificent saves from the knee-throws by Boyer, finesses in twos-- like Whitey's three kinds of pitch and pre- diagnosis with pick-off psychosis. Pitching is a large subject. Your arm, too true at first, can learn to  catch your corners--even trouble Mickey Mantle. ("Grazed a Yankee! My baby pitcher, Montejo!"   With some pedagogy,    you'll be tough, premature prodigy.)

They crowd him and curve him and aim for the knees. Trying indeed! The secret implying: "I can stand here, bat held steady." One may suit him; none has hit him. Imponderables smite him. Muscle kinks, infections, spike wounds require food, rest, respite from ruffians. (Drat it!   Celebrity costs privacy!) Cow's milk, "tiger's milk," soy milk, carrot juice, brewer's yeast (high-potency--   concentrates presage victory

sped by Luis Arroyo, Hector Lopez-- deadly in a pinch. And "Yes,  it's work; I want you to bear down,      but enjoy it      while you're doing it." Mr. Houk and Mr. Sain, if you have a rummage sale, don't sell Roland Sheldon or Tom Tresh. Studded with stars in belt and crown, the Stadium is an adastrium. O flashing Orion, your stars are muscled like the lion. code

Analysis:

The poem baseball and writing uses multiple poetic devices to get one point across, baseball is like writing. Her poem is how she views baseball, she seems as if she’s writing the poem in the press box. She relates baseball to writing is by writing about baseball in the poem, wanting the reader to infer that writing is like baseball. The point that has been inferred is that baseball anything can happen and same can happen in writing, never knowing what will happen next. Right off the bat she tries to prove her point and sets the question and the rest of the poem is evidence to prove her point. At the beginning she starts with, “ You can never tell with either… how it will go… or what you will do.” Eventually she proves her point, but she doesn’t go straight into the reasons why. She has running thoughts in an unpredictable manner that she uses to prove her point; she is not in a debate, but uses more of image clips that prove her thesis of the poem.

=Poem #2= =The Fish= by [|Marianne Moore]

code wade through black jade. Of the crow-blue mussel-shells, one keeps adjusting the ash-heaps; opening and shutting itself like

an injured fan. The barnacles which encrust the side of the wave, cannot hide there for the submerged shafts of the

sun, split like spun glass, move themselves with spotlight swiftness into the crevices— in and out, illuminating

the turquoise sea of bodies. The water drives a wedge of iron through the iron edge of the cliff; whereupon the stars,

pink rice-grains, ink- bespattered jelly fish, crabs like green lilies, and submarine toadstools, slide each on the other.

All external marks of abuse are present on this defiant edifice— all the physical features of

ac- cident—lack of cornice, dynamite grooves, burns, and hatchet strokes, these things stand out on it; the chasm-side is

dead. Repeated evidence has proved that it can live on what can not revive its youth. The sea grows old in it.

code ||

Anlysis:

This poem tries to prove to the reader that the ocean can be looked at from many different views. The authors main way of showing us how lit up the ocean is by using imagery. She first presents a happy view of the ocean and how pleasant and peaceful things are. Later in the poem she talks about more sorrowful things that happen, which she uses imagery to show. An example of pleasant imagery, “crabs like green…lilies, and submarine… toadstools, slide each on the other.” There is nothing happening that is sorrowful in this picture and it mostly just showing some parts of life that goes on in the ocean. It then goes into a more sorrowful or takes a more deep stand point on what happens in the ocean, “All external… marks of abuse are present on this…. defiant edifice.” One might think that she is trying to say that there is abuse present in the ocean at first glance, but is there a way that it can be interpreted differently? Poems can be determined to have multiple meaning and this author might be trying to leave the reader wondering what she means in the last few stanzas that will make the poem stand out and be a successful poem because poetry does not have one deeper meaning.

=Poem #3= =A grave= by [|Marianne Moore]

code Man looking into the sea, taking the view from those who have as much right to it as you have to         yourself, it is human nature to stand in the middle of a thing, but you cannot stand in the middle of this; the sea has nothing to give but a well excavated grave. The firs stand in a procession, each with an emerald turkey-foot at the top, reserved as their contours, saying nothing; repression, however, is not the most obvious characteristic of the sea; the sea is a collector, quick to return a rapacious look. There are others besides you who have worn that look-- whose expression is no longer a protest; the fish no longer investigate them for their bones have not lasted: men lower nets, unconscious of the fact that they are desecrating a grave, and row quickly away--the blades of the oars moving together like the feet of water-spiders as if there were no such thing as death. The wrinkles progress among themselves in a phalanx--beautiful under networks of foam, and fade breathlessly while the sea rustles in and out of the seaweed; the birds swim through the air at top speed, emitting cat-calls as hereto- fore-- the tortoise-shell scourges about the feet of the cliffs, in motion beneath them; and the ocean, under the pulsation of lighthouses and noise of bellbuoys, advances as usual, looking as if it were not that ocean in which dropped things are bound to sink-- in which if they turn and twist, it is neither with volition nor consciousness.

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Analysis:

The writer is trying to prove that the ocean is like a grave and a lot of other places it’s not just an ocean it’s enormous and has uncountable amount of things going on. She talks about consciousness of what is happening to the ocean, specifically fishing, and how people do not care and think it is their own when it is not. The poem starts off by using imagery a trend in this author’s poems, but in this poem she also uses personification to define a specific example is, “ the sea is a collector, quick to return a rapacious look.” An ocean cannot show a rapacious look that is something a human would put off an action that they did to cause that to happen. The author persistently talks about how men are ruining the sea and “desecrate a grave” but why would she use the word desecrating a grave. The ocean is not already a grave but it is turned into one after, “men lower nets, unconscious of the fact…” Obviously the author views the ocean as a grave already and that these “men”, also known as fishermen, are ruining the already made grave. She might refer to the ocean as a grave because the fish live there and die there day after day, but like a lot of her poems she leaves an untold deeper meaning that cannot be determined when read.

=Poems by Jordan:=

**Ode to**

By Jordan McLaughlin

Black and white Colorful Thick and thin Short and high Warm Comfy and soft Piece of cloth Knitted and manufactured Many types They are important But overlooked Taken for granted.

**A sonnet** by Jordan McLaughlin

Cities are like an urban melting pot They have many things people can enjoy So why not live there and give it a shot If you have kids than you can buy them toys But if you are independent no prob They have many places to go and see There are millions of joints to find a job There is so much to do I grantee Don’t forget sports everyone loves to watch If you don’t drive you can take transportation Just run from hobo’s drunk on whiskey and scotch But if the city is much take a vacation All in all the city’s fun and have stuff There are some negatives and that’s no bluff.

This poem demonstrates a good use of poet devices. In my poem I use alot

= = =I was raised by some=

by Jordan McLaughlin
I was raised by A wimpy but caring A search all night for food type Protect me from a pack of viscous pack of hyaenas My guardian angle Who picked me up off the ground I was a luck abandon baby

Some furry Would always be talking to mom All in a natural habitat which they live in They all embraced me They were the type who would say, "We can't raise a human child, Nevertheless they took care of me.

Some plant eaters Had to change everything So that a meat eater like me Would be able to eat And there new found baby Would be able to eat.

Some That were willing to take care Of a human that was abandon All in the midst of a Ice age

Some nurturing That raised a human As one of their own Even though i am different They took care of me.

I Was Raised By Animals

= = =Baseball= By Jordan McLaughlin

The american past time is no regular sport It is different It takes one special talent one talent that some sports don't require a talent that people would consider to be in every sport not in my mind

What makes a ball player good is **//skill//**, Skill is the most important aspect of baseball People cannot just play the sport They need to be raised playing it. People that are strong and tougher Than a baseball player Does not make them good Baseball takes extreme cordination.

Another important thing is knowledge Baseball takes alot of split second thinking Technique and preparation, Especially think before you throw the ball If a player does not know where to throw the ball it is like a tsunami is about to hit, 3 errors in one play.

In baseball it is necessary For the team to be reliant on each other Baseball is the biggest team sport A player can't be good if they can't have Teammates that can't help them out, Or else there will be a one-man-team which cannot win.

Baseball Takes Skill Knowledge and Reliability On Teammates.

In my poems I talk right from the heart, in most cases I do not intentionally try to involve poetic devices. I think that my poetry would be a lot more intriguing if I involved more poetic devices, but who is to say how I write poetry. In most of my poems I take on the tone of a serious poetry writer a earnest tone. I think that my poems could have been longer but i don't believe in changing what one writes from the heart. I don't believe that there should be a particular format that one takes to write a poem. All my usage of poetic devices are natural and are non-intentional. Like I said earlier is that I believe my writing would interest more people if it was more poetic or deep, but my poetry is not really deep it has one meaning in my opinion but from others point of views it may have many. I think this how a lot of poets feel about there poetry. It is hard for me to make a poem with a prompt it has to be something that I want to write and something that has to do with my life and the mood that I am in. As a whole I think my poetry as a whole is stronger then my expectations and if I had to do it again I think that my poetry couldn't be any better. I was one of the classmates that dreaded doing this subject but in the end I liked it, learned a lot of things and my poetry improved poem to poem.