Rose+Knibbe

"Poetry...is...a speaking picture, with this end: to teach and delight." - Sir Philip Sydney


 * Rough Draft Memory Poem(** Imagery and Repetition)

"Rose we have to go we can not be late today". cross-legged in front of my door crumpled up to tie my shoe Exasperation Shoe tied Costume ready Christmas time Annual Christmas play first year Sheppard. No more sheep ears and black makeup on my nose. Rose Knibbe is better itchy scarves wrapped tightly around my neck. looked the part but stopped feeling the part. to hot Sick to my stomach tried to calm it, wouldn't listen finally time big performance walked sheep down the middle row perfectly grownups ooing and awing. time to sing “Away in a Manger” I knew the words it was my favorite song but the temperature got hotter and hotter my stomach was shaky more and more I looked in panic trying to find my mom I couldn’t find her next thing throw up in front of everyone rushed downstairs cleaned me up brought me home I guess I’m going to need to wait for next year to have a great performance.

Dejah: + I really could visualize what was going on + It was like I was reading a story ? Can u add a little bit more to what exactly happened at the end?


 * Ode to my goldfish (Rollo)**

I picked you out Winter cold Freezing night You stuck out to me Your beauty from a crowd of nobodies They took you out Put you in your own travel bag I looked at you Made sure you were healthy You weren’t Tattered and worn from the bullies in the tank They bite at you They took off your scales I knew you were going to be better off with me You were gonna be safe Clean and unabused

Seamus: + Emotions go from sadness to hope + Nice flow - Maybe change some nouns to metaphors
 * Found poem: Variations**

can i have a piece of dream variations its like a game people tell stories in different ways its opposite two seperate peoples dreams that connect get rich or die trying is this it come on im done

Ellen To: + Dreams are all different. +Nice idea with the peoples connecting. - The last part is a little confusing. is this it come on im done


 * I was raised by poem:**

I was raised by Coffee breathe smelling Picture book reading Spaghetti tasting Crazy story telling “don’t forget to clean that mess up” saying kind of Love

I was raised by Play-mobile life plotting Uncontrollable laughing hand holding beanie baby flying guitar strumming “you’re an odd one rosie dear” saying kind of Love

I was raised by cross stitching board game winning wild dancing Crazy music playing Elephant walking “you’re my favorite youngest daughter” saying kind of Love

+the repetition and the style works + your environment with the people + quotes described you -change the way you say kind of love at the end of each stanza switch it around a little - add some of the 5 sences

//With a line from: Sharon Olds// media type="file" key="Riff Poem Rose Knibbe.m4a" In the shock of the moment she learned me Found me out Learned my inner most devil Who I was alone The person I struggle to hide
 * Riff Poem:**

I was no longer the perfect person she knew No longer only joyful and simple She saw my weakness at it’s worst

How could I have been so foolish? So mislead in my own forgetfulness My guard was down And my sorrow was seen

What will she do when she sees me now Will she run and hide Scared of the person she saw? Or will she embrace me Tell me that everyone hurts and that everyone breaks

Will this be a start of a deeper relationship growing in each others faults taking off of each other learning from each others mistakes Or would this be the end the end of who we were the times we had

+flow is good +words go together nicely +more repition? +great use of metaphors?


 * Imagery Poem:**

Hot to the touch silver and squared attached to the stiff tan fabric Burning my hand as I try to be safe “Safety click?”

Teige Feedback- I like the way you describe the touch, the sound, and the feeling of security that it provides. One thing I think would be cool is if you put in something about what it looks like to link in the sight part of imagery.


 * Poet: Naomi Shihab Nye**