<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7407485</id><updated>2011-04-21T18:26:16.127-07:00</updated><title type='text'>(:</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://crossover-.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7407485/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://crossover-.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>tianwei</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09919205686895207720</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>18</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7407485.post-112531999990202975</id><published>2005-08-29T05:40:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-08-29T05:53:20.013-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;Cloony The Clown &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;by Shel Silverstein&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;I'll tell you the story of Cloony the Clown&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;Who worked in a circus that came through town.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;His shoes were too big and his hat was too small,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;But he just wasn't, just wasn't funny at all.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;He had a trombone to play loud silly tunes,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;He had a green dog and a thousand balloons.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;He was floppy and sloppy and skinny and tall,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;But he just wasn't, just wasn't funny at all.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;And every time he did a trick,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;Everyone felt a little sick.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;And every time he told a joke,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;Folks sighed as if their hearts were broke.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;And every time he lost a shoe,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;Everyone looked awfully blue.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;And every time he stood on his head,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;Everyone screamed, "Go back to bed!"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;And every time he made a leap,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;Everybody fell asleep.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;And every time he ate his tie,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;Everyone began to cry.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;And Cloony could not make any money&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;Simply because he was not funny.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;One day he said, "I'll tell this town&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;How it feels to be an unfunny clown."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;And he told them all why he looked so sad,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;And he told them all why he felt so bad.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;He told of Pain and Rain and Cold,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;He told of Darkness in his soul,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;And after he finished his tale of woe,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;Did everyone cry? Oh no, no, no,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;They laughed until they shook the trees&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;With "Hah-Hah-Hahs" and "Hee-Hee-Hees."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;They laughed with howls and yowls and shrieks,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;They laughed all day, they laughed all week,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;They laughed until they had a fit,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;They laughed until their jackets split.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;The laughter spread for miles around&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;To every city, every town,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;Over mountains, 'cross the sea,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;From Saint Tropez to Mun San Nee.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;And soon the whole world rang with laughter,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;Lasting till forever after,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;While Cloony stood in the circus tent,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;With his head drooped low and his shoulders bent.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;And he said,"THAT IS NOT WHAT I MEANT -&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;I'M FUNNY JUST BY ACCIDENT."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;And while the world laughed outside.&lt;br /&gt;Cloony the Clown sat down and cried.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.halley.cc/regina/stuff/poem.ss.Cloony_the_Clown.html"&gt;http://www.halley.cc/regina/stuff/poem.ss.Cloony_the_Clown.html&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ccccff;"&gt;I love the way Shel Silverstein writes, he writes in a casual way which usually able for him to convey his idea to the audience effectively. This poems rhyme smoothly and everything seems to be fitted so nicely together. I tend to search for short poems to read and skip those lengthy poems but this particular one had managed to catch my attention as well. This poem makes me wonder if ever at any time, I had hurt someone unintentionally. Through this simple illustration of Cloony the Clown, it makes me realize how easy it is to hurt somebody by reacting inappropriately to the plight of other fellow human beings. I think we should really be sensitive at times and not to disregard people for our own enjoyment as we never know how much our enjoyment may inflict pain on others.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7407485-112531999990202975?l=crossover-.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://crossover-.blogspot.com/feeds/112531999990202975/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7407485&amp;postID=112531999990202975' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7407485/posts/default/112531999990202975'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7407485/posts/default/112531999990202975'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://crossover-.blogspot.com/2005/08/cloony-clown-by-shel-silverstein-ill.html' title=''/><author><name>tianwei</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09919205686895207720</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7407485.post-112525252481775135</id><published>2005-08-28T11:05:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-08-28T11:10:53.423-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;To A Daughter Leaving Home&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;by Linda Pastan&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;When I taught you&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;at eight to ride&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;a bicycle, loping along&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;beside you&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;as you wobbled away&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;on two round wheels,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;my own mouth rounding&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;in surprise when you pulled&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;ahead down the curved&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;path of the park,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;I kept waiting&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;for the thud&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;of your crash as I&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;sprinted to catch up,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;while you grew&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;smaller, more breakable&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;with distance,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;pumping, pumping&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;for your life, screaming&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;with laughter,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;the hair flapping&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;behind you like a&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;handkerchief waving&lt;br /&gt;goodbye.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.loc.gov/poetry/180/075.html"&gt;http://www.loc.gov/poetry/180/075.html&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ccccff;"&gt;The poet describes a mother's feeling towards her daughter learning to ride a bike to eventually leaving her; a mother's feeling to a child's growing up process. I think the poet is trying to convey the message that parents have to learn to let of their children go one day. However, I feel that it is pretty contradicting as parents often teach their kids to be independent but at the same time they want to be needed, waiting for their crash and sprinting up to them. Children may grow to be independent but instead of parents waiting for their crash and tending to them, children should always turn their heads to look back at their parents letting them know that they are not forgotten, for the simple fact that they brought us up.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7407485-112525252481775135?l=crossover-.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://crossover-.blogspot.com/feeds/112525252481775135/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7407485&amp;postID=112525252481775135' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7407485/posts/default/112525252481775135'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7407485/posts/default/112525252481775135'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://crossover-.blogspot.com/2005/08/to-daughter-leaving-home-by-linda.html' title=''/><author><name>tianwei</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09919205686895207720</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7407485.post-112525233239660655</id><published>2005-08-28T11:03:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-08-28T11:05:32.396-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;God's Wheel&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;by Shel Silverstein&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;God says to me with a kind of smile,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;"Hey how would you like to be God awhile&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;And steer the world?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;"Okay," says I, "I'll give it a try.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;Where do I set?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;How much do I get?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;What time is lunch?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;When can I quit?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;"Gimme back that wheel," says God.&lt;br /&gt;"I don't think you're quite ready yet."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;a href="http://www.amandakjones.com/poems.html"&gt;http://www.amandakjones.com/poems.html&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ccccff;"&gt;Many times, we might envy people of certain position and status and wished to be like them but seldom did we take into consideration of their responsibility. People tend to marvel at how wonderful it is to be so and so but had neglect the fact that so and so will have his or her responsibilities that we might not be able to handle and they way of life is not like what we think it is. This poem had taught us to be ourselves, as each and every one of us has our own identities therefore it is always easier and simpler to be what we originally were. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7407485-112525233239660655?l=crossover-.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://crossover-.blogspot.com/feeds/112525233239660655/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7407485&amp;postID=112525233239660655' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7407485/posts/default/112525233239660655'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7407485/posts/default/112525233239660655'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://crossover-.blogspot.com/2005/08/gods-wheel-by-shel-silverstein-god.html' title=''/><author><name>tianwei</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09919205686895207720</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7407485.post-112525221394303675</id><published>2005-08-28T11:02:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-08-28T11:11:48.760-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;Best Witchcraft is Geometry&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;by Emily Dickinson&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;Best Witchcraft is Geometry&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;To the magician's mind --&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;His ordinary acts are feats&lt;br /&gt;To thinking of mankind.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.kalliope.org/digt.pl?longdid=dickinson200108301158"&gt;http://www.kalliope.org/digt.pl?longdid=dickinson200108301158&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ccccff;"&gt;While skimming through various titles, this poem had caught my attention. I love to watch magic shows, mainly because magic is simply amazing and leaves people to ponder upon how the magician managed to accomplish this and that. But actually, just like what was mentioned in the poem, to a magician's mind, magic simply means geometry for them to fool the audiences. However, it comes to show that how clever is mankind, to be able to compose such tricks. All in all, although magic are a pack of lies, and is simply geometry, I still enjoy being watching magic shows and be fooled by magicians! &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7407485-112525221394303675?l=crossover-.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://crossover-.blogspot.com/feeds/112525221394303675/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7407485&amp;postID=112525221394303675' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7407485/posts/default/112525221394303675'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7407485/posts/default/112525221394303675'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://crossover-.blogspot.com/2005/08/best-witchcraft-is-geometry-by-emily_28.html' title=''/><author><name>tianwei</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09919205686895207720</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7407485.post-112525213256875093</id><published>2005-08-28T10:56:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-08-28T11:02:12.570-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;Picture Puzzle Piece&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;by Shel Silverstein&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;One picture puzzle piece&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;Lyin' on the sidewalk,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;One picture puzzle piece&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;Soakin' in the rain.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;It might be a button of blue&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;On the coat of the woman&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;Who lived in a shoe.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;It might be a magical bean,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;Or a fold in the red&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;Velvet robe of a queen.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;It might be the one little bite&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;Of the apple her stepmother&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;Gave to Snow White.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;It might be the veil of a bride&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;Or a bottle with some evil genie inside.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;It might be a small tuft of hair&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;On the big bouncy bellyOf Bobo the Bear.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;It might be a bit of the cloak&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;Of the Witch of the West&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;As she melted to smoke.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;It might be a shadowy trace&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;Of a tear that runs down an angel's face.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;Nothing has more possibilities&lt;br /&gt;Than one old wet picture puzzle piece.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.americanpoems.com/poets/Shel-Silverstein/13485"&gt;http://www.americanpoems.com/poets/Shel-Silverstein/13485&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ccccff;"&gt;I have a special affinity with jigsaw puzzles and there are tons of jigsaws in my house. Jigsaws are amazing indeed as one is made up of little pieces forming a large picture. This poem reminds me that every little piece is a representation of something in the picture, and the poet makes it more special to give the jigsaw piece so many identities to let people see how much a jigsaw piece may mean to a certain drawing. I tend to link jigsaw puzzle to human's lives. As every one of us may seem to be an inconspicuous piece of jigsaw puzzle, our contribution to the whole population will be of certain significance and the different identities of each and every one of us will certainly come together and make a complete picture of the whole society. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7407485-112525213256875093?l=crossover-.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://crossover-.blogspot.com/feeds/112525213256875093/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7407485&amp;postID=112525213256875093' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7407485/posts/default/112525213256875093'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7407485/posts/default/112525213256875093'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://crossover-.blogspot.com/2005/08/picture-puzzle-piece-by-shel.html' title=''/><author><name>tianwei</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09919205686895207720</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7407485.post-112525179364123589</id><published>2005-08-28T10:53:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-08-28T10:56:33.643-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;Messy Room&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;by Shel Silverstein&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;Whosever room this is should be ashamed!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;His underwear is hanging on the lamp.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;His raincoat is there in the overstuffed chair,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;And the chair is becoming quite mucky and damp.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;His workbook is wedged in the window,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;His sweater's been thrown on the floor.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;His scarf and one ski are beneath the TV,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;And his pants have been carelessly hung on the door.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;His books are all jammed in the closet,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;His vest has been left in the hall.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;A lizard named Ed is asleep in his bed,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;And his smelly old sock has been stuck to the wall.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;Whosever room this is should be ashamed!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;Donald or Robert or Willie or--Huh? &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;You say it's mine? Oh, dear,&lt;br /&gt;I knew it looked familiar!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.halley.cc/regina/stuff/poem.ss.Messy_Room.html"&gt;http://www.halley.cc/regina/stuff/poem.ss.Messy_Room.html&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ccccff;"&gt;This seriously sounds like my room as well! Anyway, this poem appeals to me, as the poem seems to be something which you and I faced each day. The poem may be exaggerated but if we examine each line carefully, it seems to be a typical student’s room, with books and clothes all over the place. This poem is not very serious as compared to other poems but it is good in the way that we will not feel too distant from the poem. Well, I shall go and pack my room now. (:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7407485-112525179364123589?l=crossover-.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://crossover-.blogspot.com/feeds/112525179364123589/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7407485&amp;postID=112525179364123589' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7407485/posts/default/112525179364123589'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7407485/posts/default/112525179364123589'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://crossover-.blogspot.com/2005/08/messy-room-by-shel-silverstein.html' title=''/><author><name>tianwei</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09919205686895207720</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7407485.post-112525130393379262</id><published>2005-08-28T10:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-08-28T11:12:14.143-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;The Little Boy and the Old Man&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;by Shel Silverstein &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;Said the little boy, "Sometimes I drop my spoon."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;Said the old man, "I do that too."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;The little boy whispered, "I wet my pants."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;"I do that too," laughed the little old man.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;Said the little boy, "I often cry."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;The old man nodded, "So do I."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;"But worst of all," said the boy, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;"it seems&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;Grown-ups don't pay attention to me."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;And he felt the warmth of a wrinkled old hand.&lt;br /&gt;"I know what you mean," said the little old man.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mtco.com/~hwilkins/oldman.html"&gt;http://www.mtco.com/~hwilkins/oldman.html&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ccccff;"&gt;I think this poem is beautiful in a way that it shows the circle of life. I heard it from somewhere that when we are old, we will return back to how we first started and this poem clearly illustrates that to us. The understanding between the very young and the very old shows that they experience the same things which make them of each other's plight. This is a very sad poem yet touching at the same time.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7407485-112525130393379262?l=crossover-.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://crossover-.blogspot.com/feeds/112525130393379262/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7407485&amp;postID=112525130393379262' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7407485/posts/default/112525130393379262'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7407485/posts/default/112525130393379262'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://crossover-.blogspot.com/2005/08/little-boy-and-old-man-by-shel.html' title=''/><author><name>tianwei</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09919205686895207720</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7407485.post-112525111342826559</id><published>2005-08-28T10:37:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-08-28T10:45:13.430-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;Fireflies in the Garden &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;by Robert Frost&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;Here come real stars to fill the upper skies,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;And here on earth come emulating flies,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;That though they never equal stars in size,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;(And they were never really stars at heart)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;Achieve at times a very star-like start.&lt;br /&gt;Only, of course, they can't sustain the part.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.ketzle.com/frost/fireflie.htm"&gt;http://www.ketzle.com/frost/fireflie.htm&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ccccff;"&gt;If we have eyes to look at all things to explore their beauty, it does not matter if it just an imitation or it is real, for both look equally pleasing to the eye, and we know how to appreciate them. In the poem, in the skies, there are stars, on earth, fireflies exist, and although they can never be equal, but both are equally lovely. I have yet to see a firefly in my living years but if I had a chance, even though they could not be like a star forever, having a look at its most beautiful and brightest moment, the beauty of it will remain intact forever in my heart. Often, we looked out for the best of things but fail to see that there are actually things which are equally lovely as well. This poem is very amazing as it portrays true beauty of things which people tends to overlook. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7407485-112525111342826559?l=crossover-.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://crossover-.blogspot.com/feeds/112525111342826559/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7407485&amp;postID=112525111342826559' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7407485/posts/default/112525111342826559'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7407485/posts/default/112525111342826559'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://crossover-.blogspot.com/2005/08/fireflies-in-garden-by-robert-frost.html' title=''/><author><name>tianwei</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09919205686895207720</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7407485.post-112525064898545451</id><published>2005-08-28T10:34:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-08-28T10:37:28.993-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;If I can stop one Heart from breaking&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;Emily Dickinson &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;If I can stop one Heart from breaking&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;I shall not live in vain&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;If I can ease one Life the Aching&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;Or cool one Pain &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;Or help one fainting Robin&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;Unto his Nest again&lt;br /&gt;I shall not live in Vain.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.battus.net/If%20I%20can%20stop%20one%20heart%20from%20breaking.htm"&gt;http://www.battus.net/If%20I%20can%20stop%20one%20heart%20from%20breaking.htm&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ccccff;"&gt;There may be a deeper meaning to this poem, but personally, I think this poem is simply trying to let us understand being helpful and loving towards other people will certainly make our life more meaningful. It seems as though Emily is trying to express her desire to help people through this poem. I agree with her as life could be really tough if there is nobody to lend a helping hand when we meet with obstacles. Similarly, if our lives only consist of ourselves entirely, life would be completely pointless as there is no hint of love between people. I feel that if we hope to have somebody to help us when we are in need, why not we take the initiative to help people and while doing so, live a meaningful life.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7407485-112525064898545451?l=crossover-.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://crossover-.blogspot.com/feeds/112525064898545451/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7407485&amp;postID=112525064898545451' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7407485/posts/default/112525064898545451'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7407485/posts/default/112525064898545451'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://crossover-.blogspot.com/2005/08/if-i-can-stop-one-heart-from.html' title=''/><author><name>tianwei</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09919205686895207720</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7407485.post-112463935449907633</id><published>2005-08-21T08:44:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-08-21T08:49:14.500-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I Taught Myself to Live Simply&lt;br /&gt;Anna Akhmatova&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I taught myself to live simply and wisely,&lt;br /&gt;to look at the sky and pray to God,&lt;br /&gt;and to wander long before evening&lt;br /&gt;to tire my superfluous worries.&lt;br /&gt;When the burdocks rustle in the ravine&lt;br /&gt;and the yellow-red rowanberry cluster droops&lt;br /&gt;I compose happy verses&lt;br /&gt;about life's decay, decay and beauty.&lt;br /&gt;I come back. The fluffy cat&lt;br /&gt;licks my palm, purrs so sweetly&lt;br /&gt;and the fire flares bright&lt;br /&gt;on the saw-mill turret by the lake.&lt;br /&gt;Only the cry of a stork landing on the roof&lt;br /&gt;occasionally breaks the silence.&lt;br /&gt;If you knock on my door&lt;br /&gt;I may not even hear.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://plagiarist.com/poetry/2"&gt;http://plagiarist.com/poetry/2&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ccccff;"&gt;This poet seems to be living in her own world. This poem is presented in a beautiful way, as a matter of fact, I think life can be as beautiful as the way she composes this poem. She gives the idea that she is enjoying her life, in a simple way. In the beginning, she mentioned "I taught myself to live simply and wisely". Many might not agree that to lead a simple life needs to be taught. However, in my own opinions, I think that we need to “learn” to live a simple life. I feel that people nowadays are too self-conscious about the wealth and status they possess, in a way, the society takes control of them. But in this poem, the poet is living for herself, I think many of us are not able to do that as we are tied down by society demands, this kind of fairytale life seems to be unsuitable. I felt envious of the lifestyle the poet presents, and I wish someday, it would occur to me. The idea of a simple lifestyle is the most enjoyable one and indeed, I enjoy this poem very much.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7407485-112463935449907633?l=crossover-.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://crossover-.blogspot.com/feeds/112463935449907633/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7407485&amp;postID=112463935449907633' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7407485/posts/default/112463935449907633'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7407485/posts/default/112463935449907633'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://crossover-.blogspot.com/2005/08/i-taught-myself-to-live-simply-anna.html' title=''/><author><name>tianwei</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09919205686895207720</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7407485.post-112463727104106673</id><published>2005-08-21T08:12:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-08-21T08:38:00.313-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You&lt;br /&gt;By Pablo Neruda&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;I do not love you except because I love you;&lt;br /&gt;I go from loving to not loving you,&lt;br /&gt;From waiting to not waiting for you&lt;br /&gt;My heart moves from cold to fire.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love you only because it's you the one I love;&lt;br /&gt;I hate you deeply, and hating you&lt;br /&gt;Bend to you, and the measure of my changing love for you&lt;br /&gt;Is that I do not see you but love you blindly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Maybe January light will consume&lt;br /&gt;My heart with its cruel&lt;br /&gt;Ray, stealing my key to true calm.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In this part of the story I am the one who&lt;br /&gt;Dies, the only one, and I will die of love because I love you,&lt;br /&gt;Because I love you, Love, in fire and blood.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.eliteskills.com/c/9754"&gt;http://www.eliteskills.com/c/9754&lt;/a&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ccccff;"&gt;I like the way the poem was presented reflecting the idea of "love and hate lies between a thin line". The way the poet has written the poem in such a contradicting pattern makes me realise that love and hate can actually occur to us at the same time. Perhaps he is trying to convey the idea that the person we love might be the one that in the end who will hurt us more as we felt more for what he or she had done for us. This poem seems to be contradicting and in fact, difficult to understand, but I feel that it may a way of the poet trying to present "love" to us, love can be at times confusing, but in the long run, we will come to understanding it. The last stanza presented love with a self-sacrificial intent makes me impressed with how people could do so much for the sake of love. All in all, I think it is an amazing poem and just makes me wonder more about what love is all about. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7407485-112463727104106673?l=crossover-.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://crossover-.blogspot.com/feeds/112463727104106673/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7407485&amp;postID=112463727104106673' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7407485/posts/default/112463727104106673'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7407485/posts/default/112463727104106673'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://crossover-.blogspot.com/2005/08/i-do-not-love-you-except-because-i.html' title=''/><author><name>tianwei</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09919205686895207720</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7407485.post-111400878431784979</id><published>2005-04-20T07:50:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-08-21T08:37:21.536-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;color:#9999ff;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Metaphors&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;color:#9999ff;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;By Sylvia Plath&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;color:#9999ff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;color:#9999ff;"&gt;I'm a riddle in nine syllables. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;color:#9999ff;"&gt;An elephant, a ponderous house, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;color:#9999ff;"&gt;A melon strolling on two tendrils. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;color:#9999ff;"&gt;O red fruit, ivory, fine timbers! &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;color:#9999ff;"&gt;This loaf's big with its yeasty rising. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;color:#9999ff;"&gt;Money's new-minted in this fat purse. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;color:#9999ff;"&gt;I'm a means, a stage, a cow in calf. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;color:#9999ff;"&gt;I've eaten a bag of green apples, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;Boarded the train there's no getting off.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.angelfire.com/tn/plath/metaphor.html"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ccffff;"&gt;http://www.angelfire.com/tn/plath/metaphor.html&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ccccff;"&gt;I liked this poem very much! The ideas in the poem are never clearly stated but through the poem, there is this deliberate use of similar subject matters. The poet deliberately uses nine lines, with nine syllables in each line to illustrate the idea of nine months in a pregnancy. The pattern and the flow of the poem are simply amazing with the accompaniment of the metaphors that she uses to describe her pregnancy. She had used so many illustrations that seemed unrelated to being pregnant, she made the whole poem looked so ridiculous but somehow, looking at it carefully, we can roughly deduce what the poet is trying to depict. I liked the part where she mentioned "A melon strolling on two tendrils". I can almost picture what she really meant; the concept of metaphor is really represented successfully.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;However, as beautiful as everything is described, there is this sense that the poet is not favorable of being pregnant. The way the poet describes everything make it sounds as if she feel that her "cargo" is more important than she is. Comparing herself with her baby, she is an "elephant", a "house", a "melon", a "fat purse...", whereas the baby is considered as the "ivory" from the elephant, the "timber" from the house, the "fruit" inside the melon, and the "money" in the purse. The writer presented a sarcastic tone when she mentioned all of the above, as though she is being punished for choosing to be pregnant. I am not really aware of the consequence of eating "a bag of green apples", but it seems to be quite an unpleasant thing-to-do. Perhaps she is using this as an implication of the horrible experience to her pregnancy. The idea of no turning back is shown in the poem and struggle within her can be seen through the "metaphors" in the poem.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I enjoyed reading this poem very much but also at the same time, I resent her for not facing the music, her pessimistic way of looking at being pregnant. She does not see a child as a gift but a burden to her, something which she does not enjoy. She had effectively utilise the concept of "metaphor" but unfortunately the poet sees everything disapprovingly.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7407485-111400878431784979?l=crossover-.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://crossover-.blogspot.com/feeds/111400878431784979/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7407485&amp;postID=111400878431784979' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7407485/posts/default/111400878431784979'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7407485/posts/default/111400878431784979'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://crossover-.blogspot.com/2005/04/metaphorsby-sylvia-plathim-riddle-in.html' title=''/><author><name>tianwei</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09919205686895207720</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7407485.post-111372481754444546</id><published>2005-04-17T16:01:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-08-21T08:22:59.466-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;When you are old&lt;br /&gt;a poem by William Butler Yeats&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When you are old and grey and full of sleep,&lt;br /&gt;And nodding by the fire, take down this book,&lt;br /&gt;And slowly read, and dream of the soft look&lt;br /&gt;Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How many loved your moments of glad grace,&lt;br /&gt;And loved your beauty with love false or true,&lt;br /&gt;But one man loved the pilgrim Soul in you,&lt;br /&gt;And loved the sorrows of your changing face;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And bending down beside the glowing bars,&lt;br /&gt;Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled&lt;br /&gt;And paced upon the mountains overhead&lt;br /&gt;And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.poetry-online.org/yeats_when_you_are_old.htm"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ccccff;"&gt;http://www.poetry-online.org/yeats_when_you_are_old.htm&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33ccff;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff99ff;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6633ff;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff99ff;"&gt;The imagery presented here is simple but yet lovely illustrated. Many people may dread death but the poet actually depicts death as not a violent end but something one "falls into" as easily as sleep. The concrete image of "an elderly somebody nodding by a fire" is shown in the poem, the phrase "full of sleep" carries the broad connotation of death, and describes the sleeping that leads to dreaming. It gives me a very pleasant impression on how the poet viewed death at this instance when he described it with such attractive proposition.&lt;br /&gt;The second stanza is descriptive of her dream of the past. From this image of her youthful gaze she is reminded of those who loved her "moments of glad grace" and her "beauty with love false or true." The reference to the contrast between "grace and beauty" and "one man" who loved her pilgrim soul suggests of an unwavering love, willing to journey into age, still loving the "sorrows" of her "changing face" as she shifts through the years.&lt;br /&gt;The illustration of "bending down besides the glowing bars" perhaps is the suggestion of seeking of warmth and comfort, the desire and need for the fiery love she once rejected. Love is also suggested as very liberated when the image of an absolute Love, fleeing, effortlessly into mountainous distances. The poet also states love as "Love" with a capital letter "L" The idea of love as a thing on its own, or perhaps a living thing is implied, to a dynamic love.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Overall, i love the way the poet portrays everything admirably. From unwavering love to sorrowful death, everything is described in a very pleasant and beautiful way.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7407485-111372481754444546?l=crossover-.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://crossover-.blogspot.com/feeds/111372481754444546/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7407485&amp;postID=111372481754444546' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7407485/posts/default/111372481754444546'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7407485/posts/default/111372481754444546'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://crossover-.blogspot.com/2005/04/when-you-are-old-poem-by-william.html' title=''/><author><name>tianwei</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09919205686895207720</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7407485.post-111323425080302632</id><published>2005-04-11T08:42:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-08-21T08:20:25.450-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Desire - a poem by Samuel Taylor Coleridge</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#99ffff;"&gt;Where true Love burns Desire is Love's pure flame;&lt;br /&gt;It is the reflex of our earthly frame,&lt;br /&gt;That takes its meaning from the nobler part,&lt;br /&gt;And but translates the language of the heart. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.poetry-online.org/coleridge_desire.htm"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffccff;"&gt;http://www.poetry-online.org/coleridge_desire.htm&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ccccff;"&gt;I like the way this poem is presented. A short 4-line poem but yet depicts a very complete picture of the poet's definition of a passionate love. The poet also uses charming words to illustrate his own picture of the "languages of the heart". Phrases such as "pure flame", "earthly frame" and "language of the heart" leave a very deep impression in my mind. Often, we associate love or passion to a fiery fire but never did we think of love with another perspective. Never did we want to associates this wonderful piece to an unfaithful love. However, we take initiative to mention love from the "nobler part", the pleasing part that we want to believe. Through this poem, I can see the poet's intention to make us think of love in a pleasant way and translate it to our loved one. The poet had also inspired me to regard love as a gift bestowed us.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ccccff;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7407485-111323425080302632?l=crossover-.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://crossover-.blogspot.com/feeds/111323425080302632/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7407485&amp;postID=111323425080302632' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7407485/posts/default/111323425080302632'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7407485/posts/default/111323425080302632'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://crossover-.blogspot.com/2005/04/desire-poem-by-samuel-taylor-coleridge.html' title='Desire - a poem by Samuel Taylor Coleridge'/><author><name>tianwei</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09919205686895207720</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7407485.post-111053126500787300</id><published>2005-03-11T00:49:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-04-11T08:46:40.713-07:00</updated><title type='text'>haiku</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:webdings;font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="COLOR: rgb(102,255,153);font-family:georgia;" &gt;clean and shine&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="COLOR: rgb(102,255,153);font-family:georgia;" &gt;reflection&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="COLOR: rgb(102,255,153);font-family:georgia;" &gt;of heavy minds&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:webdings;font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: right"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span style="COLOR: rgb(255,204,153);font-size:100%;" &gt;inspired by the whiteboard :)&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7407485-111053126500787300?l=crossover-.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://crossover-.blogspot.com/feeds/111053126500787300/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7407485&amp;postID=111053126500787300' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7407485/posts/default/111053126500787300'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7407485/posts/default/111053126500787300'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://crossover-.blogspot.com/2005/03/haiku.html' title='haiku'/><author><name>tianwei</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09919205686895207720</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7407485.post-110829396613359457</id><published>2005-02-13T03:24:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-02-23T17:28:16.116-08:00</updated><title type='text'>hope is the thing with feathers</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"&gt;&lt;span style="COLOR: rgb(204,204,255)"&gt;Hope is the thing with feathers&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="COLOR: rgb(204,204,255)"&gt;That perches in the soul,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="COLOR: rgb(204,204,255)"&gt;And sings the tune without the words,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="COLOR: rgb(204,204,255)"&gt;And never stops at all,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="COLOR: rgb(204,204,255)"&gt;And sweetest in the gale is heard;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="COLOR: rgb(204,204,255)"&gt;And sore must be the storm&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="COLOR: rgb(204,204,255)"&gt;That could abash the little bird&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="COLOR: rgb(204,204,255)"&gt;That kept so many warm.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="COLOR: rgb(204,204,255)"&gt;I 've heard it in the chillest land,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="COLOR: rgb(204,204,255)"&gt;And on the strangest sea;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="COLOR: rgb(204,204,255)"&gt;Yet, never, in extremity,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="COLOR: rgb(204,204,255)"&gt;It asked a crumb of me.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="COLOR: rgb(255,204,255)"&gt;http://www.bartleby.com/113/1032.html&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="COLOR: rgb(153,153,255)"&gt;The poem examines the abstract idea of hope in the free spirit of a bird. The poet uses imagery, metaphor, to help describe why "Hope is the Thing With Feathers"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="COLOR: rgb(153,153,255)"&gt;The first line, "Hope is the Thing With Feathers," The poet uses the metaphorical image of a bird to describe the abstract idea of hope. By giving hope feathers, she begins to create an image hope in our minds. The imagery of feathers conjures up hope in itself. Feathers represent hope because feathers enable you to fly and offer the image of flying away to a new hope, a new beginning. In contrast, broken feathers or a broken wing grounds a person, and conjures up the image of needy person who has been beaten down by life. Their wings have been broken and they no longer have the power to hope.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="COLOR: rgb(153,153,255)"&gt;The third and fourth line mentions that "And sings the tune without the words" and "and never stops at all". The poet uses the imagery of a bird's continuous song to represent eternal hope. Birds never stop singing their song of hope. The fifth line,"And sweetest in the gale is heard" describes the bird's song of hope as sweetest in the wind. It conjures up images of a bird's song of hope whistling above the sound of gale force winds and offering the promise that soon the storm will end.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="COLOR: rgb(153,153,255)"&gt;The poet uses the next three lines to metaphorically describe what a person who destroys hope feels like. "And sore must be the storm" , "That could abash the little bird" and "That kept so many warm". A person who destroys hope with a storm of anger and negativity feels the pain they cause in others. Dickinson uses a powerful image of a person abashing the bird of hope that gives comfort and warmth for so many. The destroyer of hope causes pain and soreness that hurts them the most.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="COLOR: rgb(153,153,255)"&gt;In the first line of the third stanza "I've heard it in the chillest lands,". The poet offers the reader another reason to have hope. It is heard even in the coldest, saddest lands. Hope is eternal and everywhere. The birds song of hope is even heard "And on the strangest sea." Hope exists for everyone.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="COLOR: rgb(153,153,255)"&gt;In the last two lines, The poet informs us that the bird of hope asks for no favor or price in return for its sweet song."Yet never in extremity, It asked a crumb of me". It gives the idea that hope is a free gift. It exists for all of us. All we must do is not clip the wings of hope and let it fly and sing freely. It is a something that never ends as long as we do not let it.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="COLOR: rgb(153,153,255);font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"  &gt;&lt;span style="COLOR: rgb(255,204,255)"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7407485-110829396613359457?l=crossover-.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://crossover-.blogspot.com/feeds/110829396613359457/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7407485&amp;postID=110829396613359457' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7407485/posts/default/110829396613359457'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7407485/posts/default/110829396613359457'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://crossover-.blogspot.com/2005/02/hope-is-thing-with-feathers.html' title='hope is the thing with feathers'/><author><name>tianwei</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09919205686895207720</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7407485.post-110800915186244338</id><published>2005-02-10T12:18:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-02-09T20:19:11.863-08:00</updated><title type='text'>CNY</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;color:#ffcccc;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;HAPPY CHINESE NEW YEAR EVERYONE!!!!&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7407485-110800915186244338?l=crossover-.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://crossover-.blogspot.com/feeds/110800915186244338/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7407485&amp;postID=110800915186244338' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7407485/posts/default/110800915186244338'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7407485/posts/default/110800915186244338'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://crossover-.blogspot.com/2005/02/cny.html' title='CNY'/><author><name>tianwei</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09919205686895207720</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7407485.post-110708171825787747</id><published>2005-01-30T02:34:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-08-21T08:17:19.800-07:00</updated><title type='text'>english elective journal entry</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="COLOR: rgb(255,204,255)"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Buried Love&lt;br /&gt;By Sara Teasdale&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have come to bury Love&lt;br /&gt;Beneath a tree&lt;br /&gt;In the forest tall and black&lt;br /&gt;Where none can see&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I shall put no flowers at his head,&lt;br /&gt;Nor stone at his feet,&lt;br /&gt;For the mouth I loved so much&lt;br /&gt;Was bittersweet&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I shall go no more to his grave,&lt;br /&gt;For the woods are cold.&lt;br /&gt;I shall gather as much of joy&lt;br /&gt;As my hands can hold&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I shall stay all day in the sun&lt;br /&gt;Where the wide winds blow, --&lt;br /&gt;But oh, I shall cry at night&lt;br /&gt;When none will know.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="COLOR: rgb(255,204,204)"&gt;http://www.theotherpages.org/poems/books/teasdale/lovesongs01.html#5 &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="COLOR: rgb(153,153,255)"&gt;I dislike the way the author deals with her love life. In the first few stanzas, the author keeps trying to tell the reader she is giving up on her love life. However, in the last two lines of the last stanza, she mentioned that she would weep at night when no one is around. I disfavor the idea of contradictory that was conveyed through the lines. The form of denial that she presented seems to be an immature thinking of her part.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the first stanza, she brought up the issue of burying her love in the forest. The image that was illustrated seems to be that the poet is not trying to bury the love and forgetting the past but trying to deceive herself that she had given up on everything."Where none can see" sound as though she is trying to deny everything, her feelings, as though escaping from reality.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the second and third stanza, the way the poet phrases his lines seems to be a way of self-consoling. When the poet mentioned that she shall no longer care for the man anymore, enjoys for all she can and putting everything behind, it seemed to be a way of self-deceiving-the more the poet mentioned it, the more she will believed in it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the last stanza, she illustrates a contrast of what happens in the day and at night. In the day, everything is casual and breezy but in the night, she will hide and cry secretly. She appears to possess two different characters during different times. It is pretty ironic as she knows she need to put a stop to all these however, she could not bear to do it. In the night, then is she her true self, where she does not conceal her real feelings &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7407485-110708171825787747?l=crossover-.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://crossover-.blogspot.com/feeds/110708171825787747/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7407485&amp;postID=110708171825787747' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7407485/posts/default/110708171825787747'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7407485/posts/default/110708171825787747'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://crossover-.blogspot.com/2005/01/english-elective-journal-entry.html' title='english elective journal entry'/><author><name>tianwei</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09919205686895207720</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
