“My Father’s Sadness” is a poem that explores themes of fatherhood, responsibilities, and sympathy. The first stanza of the poem begins with the father’s voice speaking to his son, followed by the persona’s song to his father. The poem revolves around the speaker’s father’s life, with the son pursuing his father through time. The poem begins with dusk and implies that the son is pursuing his father through time.
The theme of fatherhood in the first stanza is the emotional distance and unspoken communication between the speaker and their father. The poem also highlights the importance of pride and love for a child in shaping them into who they become as adults. The poem also explores the challenges of being a father, such as the responsibility that comes with it and how the father is weighed down by this responsibility.
Fatherhood and masculinity are also central themes in the poem. In Robert Hayden’s poem “Those Winter Sundays”, an individual reminisces about their father and the sacrifices he made to provide for them. The imagery suggests that the son is a “minute human phantom” but not quite human.
In conclusion, “My Father’s Sadness” is a powerful poem that explores themes of fatherhood, responsibilities, and sympathy. The poem uses figurative language to convey these themes, making it a powerful and thought-provoking piece.
📹 What makes a poem … a poem? – Melissa Kovacs
What exactly makes a poem … a poem? Poets themselves have struggled with this question, often using metaphors to …
What is the theme of The Father’s story?
A Father’s Story represents a candid account of a father’s emotional experience in the wake of profound loss, anguish, and existential questioning. Furthermore, it represents a courageous endeavor to ascertain explanations and comprehend the underlying causes of heinous actions.
What happens in the first stanza of father to son?
The poem explores the impact of a generation gap and lack of communication on a relationship. The father discusses his own weaknesses that hindered his understanding of his son, highlighting unrealistic expectations parents may have for their children. The father expects his son to explore new territories, love, and grow through life’s challenges. The father laments the grief of not understanding each other, expressing anger. The poem ends with a positive note, indicating that both father and son are forgiving and will soon unite.
The poem highlights the universal phenomenon of generation gaps and communication issues due to a lack of common interests and disregard for individuality. The father, who is supposed to be a friend, guide, and philosopher to his children, lives under the same roof but does not share their personal experiences, highlighting the father’s helplessness.
What is the lesson taught in the first stanza?
The initial stanza underscores the significance of perseverance and unwavering effort, even in the face of initial setbacks. The text posits that the distinction between failure and success is not a defining factor in the pursuit of one’s goals.
What is the theme of The Father thing?
“The Father-Thing” is a 1954 science fiction short story by American writer Philip K. Dick, focusing on a boy’s father’s replacement with a replicated version. The story is told through third-person narration and is typical of Dick’s time, as it explores the fear of people not being who they seem to be. The story is more personal than works like Invasion of the Body Snatchers, which expressed the fear of people being different from what they seem to be. The Father-Thing is the third collected volume of Dick’s short stories, retitled Second Variety, and was published by Underwood-Miller in 1987.
What does the poet convey in the first stanza?
In the opening stanza, the poet’s curiosity is evident in their observations of the color of grass, the absence of wind, the creation of bird nests, and the tranquility of trees.
What theme about fatherhood is developed in the first stanza of My father’s Sadness?
The poem’s initial stanza delves into the subject of paternal influence, underscoring the impact of a child’s experiences and emotions on their subsequent development. The poet utilizes figurative language, particularly the metaphor “The Child is Father to the Man,” to effectively convey this message.
What does the first stanza represent?
In formal verse poetry, the stanzas serve as the fundamental structural unit, with the initial stanza establishing the overarching pattern. The rhyme scheme and rhythm are maintained in subsequent stanzas, thereby ensuring a consistent structural framework.
What does the first line of stanza indicate?
The poem indicates that the poet is contemplating the past, nostalgic for the carefree and joyous moments of his childhood, now that he is an adult. He articulates his disquiet at the loss of his childhood.
What is the theme of the father’s story?
A Father’s Story represents a candid account of a father’s emotional experience in the wake of profound loss, anguish, and existential questioning. Furthermore, it represents a courageous endeavor to ascertain explanations and comprehend the underlying causes of heinous actions.
What is the theme of the father?
“The Father” explores themes of pride, humility, religious authenticity, and the meaning of silence. The story follows Thord Overaas as he transitions from pride to humility, as his son’s loss forces him to reevaluate his perspective. Thord’s relationship with the church evolves from a mere means to an end to a more genuine one. The story also delves into the meaning of silence within interpersonal exchanges.
Pride and humility are central themes in the story, as Thord Overaas’s pride is evident in his actions and words. He announces his son’s birth in the priest’s study, claiming to be the sole responsible for it, without mentioning Finn’s mother. He views the boy as his own personal property, highlighting the importance of humility and religious authenticity in navigating interpersonal relationships.
What was the child doing in the first stanza?
The poem portrays a boy who takes pleasure in rising early to listen to the birdsong in the trees, the distant sound of a hunting horn, and the antics of a small brown bird.
📹 From Father to Son by Emyr Humphreys – Analysis of Stanza 1
In this video, stanza one of ‘From Father to Son’ is analysed. Language choices are probed and specific literary techniques are …
I’ve written hundreds of poems. I can’t even count them. Always writing more. It’s my great passion. I love reading others’ poems too. My great fear is that I’ll never be able to share them with an audience, stuck forever in my seclusion, obscure and hidden. Or worse, I will find a way to put it all out there only to be disregarded, rejected, or ridiculed.
GOOD POETRY We love to read good poetry It’s such a joy to see When written by a poet’s heart We know it will be good from the start. As a poet, you see must write with feeling If to the reader it will be appealing And the poet knows he must write it well If to hold the reader under It’s spell. “A good poet is one that writes from the HEART” R. Taub May12, 2015
Here is one I just wrote today: From nowhere to nevermind Living alone on a island in the sky My soul yarns for itself But the eyes are not made to see I When talking out loud in the night Silence seems to be the loudest line Soul can you speak to me in my mind? I haven’t heard you silence in a while But how can you be listing And talking to yourself at the same time?
Hi, I’ve always liked poetry and I had quite a knack for it considering my age when we learned about it in 6th grade, but I haven’t written any poems in the two years since. Now we are learning about poetry again in 8th grade, and here is a Haiku that I wrote for class yesterday. The Rain -by Me The rain thuds loudly Its presence always the same Yet ever-changing It’s not perfect, but for my first poem in two years, I’m pretty proud of it.
A poem is dance of words With each stanza waltzing with words A poem is art without the lines and shapes But with its canvas filled with words A poem is a song and an instrument But with no notes changed just your burdened voice crackling along the waves Most of all poem is art, It is alive and manual Poetry is a world filled with people different from all with rhyme or not, It is a poem nevertheless.
Kendrick Lamar Lyrics (Never Catch Me Flying Lotus ft Kendrick Lamar) This is poetry – I can see the darkness in me and it’s quite amazing Life and death is no mystery and I wanna taste it Step inside of my mind and you’ll find curiosity, animosity High philosophy, hyper prophesied meditation Reminisce on my wonder years and I wonder here Sentiments of my words ain’t been so sincere The sentiment of my nerves that I just persevere The big thought of fallin’ off disappeared to my fate They say that Heaven’s real Analyze my demise, I say I’m super anxious Recognize I deprive this feeling and then I embrace it Vandalizing these walls only if they could talk Conversations won’t contemplate to my dark thoughts
This is one of the poem on rain and a conversation with the earthly man…. And here is the poem- Address to the Rain God I sat gravely before the window, perusal the dark that laid before me profoundly thinking for a moment or so, about the Showery world that I could see. And up the heaven, I looked henceforth Towards the paradise, till the eye’s sought ‘What makes him rain such?’ ‘Brutish he is’ is what I thought. Above the world I looked far end And beneath came the God of Rain Thundering the skies and the heart of men stiffening the shower that had went insane. I stood there aquivering with fear for he stood in front of me and asked me for my remembrance knowing well that it is he who caused it. Politely I said with tongue no less, “This world is beautiful with creations unparallel” But the unstoppable rains have made such mess Why don’t you stop that you shall! ‘It is you the humans’, replied he ‘who pray for rain’ The rain that quenches the Earth’s thirst Deepening the swift streams that long last And then calling for it to return to the den. And Oh! the inner me felt deafeated But I stood there losing no faith But that was prime, this is subordinate “Has the thirst, vanished not yet!” The rain has caused havoc on crust The temporary world is biting the dust Fields overflowed by the tyrant rain ‘Floods and rain’, are they same? The king of splashes was pleased with me, At least what I thought from what I saw And replied with a strong voice With the winds added to his draw.
Very much enjoyed your discussion. I, too, am a poet but specialize in Japanese forms: i. e. haiku, tanka, haibun, kyoka, senryu. I hope you don’t mind me sharing a tanka and my haiku tribute poem to Matsuo Bashō’s frog with commentary by the late AHA founder and poet Jane Reichhold who considered my poem among her top 10 haiku of all time. What an honor. Here’s the Bashō poem and commentary: Bashō’s frog four hundred years of ripples – -Al Fogel “At first the idea of picking only 10 of my favorite haiku seemed a rather daunting task. How could I review all the haiku I have read in my life and decide that there were only 10 that were outstanding? Then realized I was already getting a steady stream of excellent haiku day by day through the AHA forum. The puns and write-offs based on Basho’s most famous haiku are so numerous I would have said that nothing new could be said with this method, but here Al Fogel proved me wrong. Perhaps part of my delight in this haiku lies in the fact that I agree with him. Here he is saying one thing about realism–ripples are on a pond after a frog jumps in, but because it refers back to Basho and his famous haiku, he is also saying something about the haiku and authors who have followed him. We, and our work, are just ripples while Basho holds the honor of inventing the idea of “the sound of a frog leaping is the sound of water”. As haiku spreads around the world, making ripples in more and larger ponds, its ripples are wider–including us all. But his last word reminds us all that we are only ripples and our lives are that ephemeral.
“Cross It All Out” Writing poetry is cake You can bake in one take It’s just a mild chore To make metaphors And little difficulty To toss in some simile It’s easy as pie Like a stoner getting high To write like a Keats Or a Poe or a Yeats Then cross out two-thirds But just the wrong words That’s all that it takes If you mind \tyour line breaks And create clever consonance When considering your consonants Then there’s the ending
A poem is a whisper of the heart, A dance of words, a work of art. It weaves emotions, thoughts untold, In rhythm’s grasp, its truth unfolds. A poem is a fleeting sigh, A glimpse of stars in midnight sky. It captures moments, dreams, and fears, A tapestry of joy and tears. A poem lives where silence breaks, In echoes of the soul, it wakes. With every line, a story grows, In gentle verse, its essence shows. – Chat GPT
A silly wave, The loudest laugh, A sunny smile, but deep, deep down, inside my heart, I want to cry I want to scream and i want to shout, I feel the walls breaking, cracking and shaking, failing to contain this overwhelming wave of emotions welling up inside my heart, I wanna get help but I don’t know where to start. This isn’t the best, but thanks for reading lol
Of all the flowers in the land, The rose is queen, so fair and grand. Her petals soft as morning dew, Her colors bright in every hue. The rose is love in flower form, A symbol of emotions warm. Her fragrance sweet, her beauty rare, A treasure beyond all compare. With thorns so sharp and leaves so green, The rose is nature’s perfect scene. A sight to see in every season, A symbol of life’s endless reason. For in the rose we find a way, To celebrate both night and day. In joy and love and sorrow too, The rose is there, forever true. So let us praise this flower fair, And cherish her with love and care. For in the rose, we find a friend, A beauty that will never end. Written by ChatGPT
I’m kinda glad there’s no real definition of a poem. When I read poems from others, it just feels…transcendental in a way? Like it’s meaningful somehow. And that makes me want to write my own. I thought I’d have to learn how many syllables must be in one sentence, like haikus, or some other rules. But apparently, poems that break rules are just different poems. That’s comforting.
There are a lot of ways to represent poetry, it can be on a rhyme or a sonnet, it can be narrative or lyrical. Only humans can make it and it is so beautiful how they express themselves. Poetry is based most of the time on feelings and they can be so deep that they can touch others, they use vivid images and they are capable to move society.
Feeling, emotion, thought, idea and reflection get converted into poetry if one has the instincts to write to add to creatively, if one seeks to sketch and draw. Images, thoughts, ideas, memories, remembrances, scenes and sights give an impetus to write. A poem may be about the tombstone of Yeats with the own epitaph of his. A poem may be about Shakespearean heroines or Shakespearean criticism. A poem may be a tribute to Wordsworth, Milton, Shakespeare, Yeats. A poem may be about Lincoln, Gandhi, Martin Luther King. it may be about book-reading.
Sadness befalls me, Love crushes me. Under the soul, there’s nothing To rid of pain, I’ve given up I draw I draw My soul My creativity is as fast as a liar’s tongue The speed that I draw is the speed a cheetah runs I draw The blood dancing through my veins I draw The sea of corpses that sinned I draw My life reaching its end
I was inspired to write this poem Leonora I remember the way The sun lights up your eyes, As we laugh, cry, listen and sigh. Dream under the summer skies. I remember the days We would sing in the wind And dance under the rain. Behold, the rainbow and the rays. The gentle breeze breathes On your hair, And your fair face. Now, I lie in the meadow. Smiling, laughing, Crying and sighing While the flowers say hello. The days are long. In the wind, I am dancing, Singing your favorite song. But I am all alone. You are just another memory. Just another rose. Alas, the white rose is plucked And laid on a stone.
Once we were like two peas in a pod. Her voice, an enchanting Nightingale’s song, Compelled me to nod. Her laughter and cheerful, vivid memory were so strong, They eroded life’s pains and discord. But in a moment, everything was gone, And I’m still waiting like a moron. Without you, nothing feels like home. The joyfulness from her presence has gone. But I’m still waiting like a moron
Again Yet again I am here yet again In anguish in fear In anger in despair I am here yet again I’m here Her face was flooded with much more than tears For her heart had faced damage over the years All of her energy, poured into those for whom she cared But I am here yet again I am here I must hide, I must hide oh, but to where? When the vicious circle lurks everywhere? Who causes men to stumble despite all his care Who brings me here yet again right here I trusted you, I trusted you when you said you were there Is hatred in your heart for me what you bear? When you, told me that all our paths were made clear? If so, why are we here yet again right here? Mommy, I’m sorry for all the disappointment this year My mind had become damaged and had long started to wear I tried to fight off the tiger, the dragon and the bear I tried to save the ship, the ship I had to steer I tried to see it coming, every trap, every snare I tried, I tried but all I saw was the end coming near And there was nothing I could do but stand in shock and just stare As I am here yet again Right Here
When a Poem gives itself over to Linguistic resonances both in its creation and recepetion is when Poetry arises. Otherwise it becomes the arena of ideologies. It occurs both at the site of creation and reception(the participation of the author and the audience). (By Linguistic resonances I mean, for brevity, that sweet spot of dynamics of words autonomously falling in place mutually evoking awe inspiring psychological states!! I don’t want to elaborate more and make it a Task/an essay in itself)
Deemed to Be Poetry is a tool of words Poetry is the talk of the sea and the birds Poetry is fathomed to be sophisticated Poetry is created to be differentiated Poetry is woven in the billowed clouds Poetry is thought, thoroughly threaded, and dowed Poetry is fabricated, fused, flavored with fright Poetry is something that one must not hide Poetry is worth the time when brought up from the mind of the wise Poetry is something that shall surprisingly rise.
Here’s a poem I wrote, hopefully I can get some feed back… COINCIDENCE _______________ Is it a miracle or a coincidence That I exist in this existence I’m innocent What’s your significance I hear in the distance Oh Lucifer with your stringed instruments Lookin powerless with your impotance I’m the one that’s omnipotent Did you affect me with your omniscientness Unconsciousness common sense Like peanut butter dipped in chocolate That’s Heaven sent Magnificent Annihilating the melody Feel the rage of my symphony Enter your heart of jealousy Mind zodiac imagery Instruction or philosophy Constantly prophesying my sovereignty Theoretical angelical comedy Spiritual technology Reflection of ideology DNA genealogy Calculus and trigonometry Mathematical equality Devine eschatology Crucifying scientology Writer Ryan K Pendley
🎯 Key Takeaways for quick navigation: 00:35 📝 Characteristics of poetry include emphasis on musical language, condensed expression, and intense emotions. 01:33 🎨 Poetry can blur the lines between visual art and literature, as seen in poems like Reinhard Döhl’s “Apfel” and E.E. Cummings’ visually shaped works. 02:29 🎤 Elements of poetry such as rhyme, rhythm, and imagery are integral to rap music, blurring the distinction between poetry and song. 02:57 📜 Prose poems challenge traditional poetry format by using paragraph structure while maintaining poetic elements like vivid imagery and wordplay. 03:50 🌊 Poetry’s influence extends beyond traditional forms, evident in powerful language usage in social media updates and ancient poetic forms like haiku. Made with HARPA AI
In a world of circuits and code, Where robots once were cold, A claim was made, six years ago, That they couldn’t do poetry, oh no! But behold! Here comes ChatGPT, A poet with a wit so free, With words that dance and thoughts that rhyme, Proving robots can write in time! So let this article stand as proof, That bots can spin poetic truth, With humor, charm, and flair to spare, ChatGPT’s here to proudly declare: Robots can do poetry, it’s true, And bring laughter and joy to you! So watch this verse with a gleeful smile, As AI’s wit goes the extra mile! —-ChatGPT
Tis thy flame….fear and reign… Saddest essence in thy end i tame… Sacred cove thy heart refrain…. Thy battled few and fewer named… Solemn oath I will maintain… Wisdom is thy winners fame… and fewer know that knowledge tames… Into the flames few men will reign…. Tis thy day the battle drains… Essence stays for men who acclaim… Thy simple pleasure and hearts maintained…..to swallow pride and vanity…..to live each day as only good men see…..a Rowl4nd99 poEm…
to me, i dont care how the lines are written, i care about the why. poetry is meant to emot. thats why i will definitely accept that classic rappers in the 90s and early 2000s were poet. but modern rappers arent. cos when i listen to most modern rap songs. i feel nothing. at least we still got got good poets like Eminem, Kendrick, J.Cole, Chali 2na. else modern rap will be like a bunch of words put together with no meaning, no plan, no emotion.
here’s a poem i made: The outshining might of the winds The sprouting light of the grinds Finding a rooting and route to run with Grinding for the looting and core of the sun Blinding sight and wings of land full of lore In hindsight, the rings of sands culled up the troop, turned into a burning loop, the hope made to cope with the madness and stress from the sadness and mess state of mind The hate and fate of the grand kind Late changes from all the dangers
not sure if anyone would care, but heres a poem i wrote for school today. 🙂 P.S im only in middle school Oh spring, oh spring, i adore the way your flowers bloom. I could watch them all day, all night, and every afternoon. They look so delightful. and smell oh so nice, i’ll stop to enjoy them maybe once or even twice. The flowers are so fragile, so delicate, so bright. When i see them i am sure to be full of delight!
Some people do ask why do i write? Heres the answer, It is not something which i force on, But something which comes narurally on, The pen i am holding write now gives my words a soul! And thats the magic which comes on! Some say they can’t understand the things i write, It is actually not ur fault, Since not all can understand a writers thought. We view a different world, and so express a million thoughts! ❤ I am a young poet of 15!!❤❤
Many years ago I read my lines in a poetry club – but the club had its elite, so my lines appeared to be no poetry… They said it was retelling of love (and didn’t explain what makes the difference) – at that time I was so much in love, I thought of that guy every single moment!.. I gave my feelings to paper – and nobody cared. Of course, 15 years later my poetry has improved, but I still fear to meet someone who’s the one to decide what poetry is or isn’t.
ok I’ve had teachers play this in class so many times as though it would teach us all we need to know to write a poem but it just…doesn’t. I’ve sat through this too much and been asked too many times to just go and cluelessly write a poem after, so it kinda gets on my nerves when this article KEEPS showing up and im looking for real concrete instruction. if you’re like me, i suggest Zoe Bee’s article on poetry, its the clearest explanation I’ve ever come across.
Just before this I was thinking of writing a poem But skipped due to laziness Soo here I will write one – feeling flies far to the the future fair Dear me drive to the darkest past fear Would be happy to know I overcome by constant care Let me celebrate cos I never been here If I wasn’t there – yeshey It’s more like message than a poem Everything u going through will pay u just remember not to give up
i dont know if what i do is called “poetry”, but maybe it is. i like to write freely, but i try to keep the poetic feeling to it. i think, if poetry is compelling, and makes a feeling, thats poetry. in my sence at least. to give u a rough guide, heres a poem i made recently: that blue feeling this isn’t a poem, but i feel as if it would be implied, that it tried its best, to be as poetic as i can make it, i meant to say, i like feeling nice, feeling clean, and warm, i like when i look soft, when i feel soft, or when my hair looks nice for once, and i like when my dog is warm, and on her back, i like petting her soft tummy, she feels so nice, and i love that dog, and i love that feeling, just the feeling of blue, but not a sad blue, the kind of blue you see in the clouds, not the pink of the sunset, but the blue, lighter than most, but still lovable, and it feels, can be light grey, can be white, or a nice orange, but it just feels, and i hope everyone knows that feeling, at least once, once is enough to remember, forever thank you
What is poetry? A sharp inhale a welling of tears stopped short an exercise in poetry an exploration of beauty in this world, something I find inseparable The human condition: the thrum of one vein ‘ba-bum … ba-bum’ feeling the isolated pulse of the universe coursing within Each cell, a living thing each hemocyte bespeckling the microcosm of Being To know we are never alone
I see we’re all sharing each other’s poems which is so cool! I’m going to put mine down too! Balloon dog- by me Colorful latex stretching and morphing Twisting with sounds of squeaking filling innocent ears Elongated shapes contort to delicate pieces “Don’t go changing” they all say The words wash me away with a tide I hold my wishes tight in a bottle Specks of red dotting the floor Gasps of air closing the space around me Broken news with pats of sorrow Delicate hands giving out brightly colored jewels Reaching into void for the slightest brace Mocks and laughs watch me scrape the surface The corners of my mouth pull A fragile figure brushing my fingers and gently rubbing marred fingertips Balloon Dog fill me with air, because I know you seem to care
Just to prove Poetry and Music are linked, just look at these composers quotes, “I tell my piano the things I used to tell you.” -Chopin “Music is the expression of the movement of the waters, the play of curves described by changing breezes.” -Debussy “My whole life has been a struggle between Poetry and Prose, or call it Music and Law.” -Schumann
Poems are complicated, Form distinguishes a poem from a piece of text, Then again poems may be a piece of text indeed. It’s hard to tell, If a poem makes you feel – makes you move and think, I would say that would be a poem too indeed, Then again, If one says it is a poem, I would say that would be a poem too indeed.
Like the morning sun I rise Through the hurt and the pain, I must survive Am I strong enough for this strength? Or is this my conscience pleading for them to repent? Is it fair for me to cast judgment? I mean, don’t we all sin each and every moment? Hurting people, hurt people, they say Forgive and God will heal, just pray Prayer never seems to work Like a baby being born, without actually giving birth How can I forgive without tackling the pain? How can I out this fire, without watering the flames? Yet still, like the morning sun I rise. Covering my face with fake smiles Burying my feelings and submerging the truth Like an unstable tree due to a fragile root Yet still, like the morning sun I rise Breaking through the darkness Giving light to everything it touches without promoting its greatness How does this sound guys?
Drummer drum The tin can drum on the old cement site. Dummer drum your pain into the concrete. Burning sticks flail in light’s absence, Signalling death, Playing on the strings that drummers never touched. Grunting faces looking through foggy glass. Maybe looking at itself more than anyone else. Drummer drum till the dawn breaks open And allow your eclipse to rise, above all. Drummer drum till your sane sticks can beat like Thrumming of my heartbeat. Drum till the fires go out On a nice sunday evening.
Sadness trapped in No one knows what my mind hides within The person they see is not real It is not possible to feel what I feel My thoughts are trapped within a safe That has a lost key I can’t see to find a place To let ny feeling flee I feel liek something is missing I perceive to have lost connections I trap my misery In fear of neglect and rejection -12 yr old girl going through pain and sadness 😔 (Dia raja)
The temple were thou heart strains… The wisdom and freedom to refrain.. The bliss i need to fill thy void…. The tears i hold to destroy… The pain we feel ebb and grow… So throw these seeds…our heartfelt greed…to feel pain thats follows thee and freedom to fly were there is no wants or need….. written by Rowl4nd99 on Instagram
Poems aren’t just words.. they are gestures written on paper, they are sceneries for people who never went out or travelled that far, they are a person’s heart in its rawest form, their lives confided in a few lines, they are the sharpest of weapons and the most healing medicine, they are someone’s will to die, inturn giving them life… they aren’t just words written on paper…