Loading presentation...

Present Remotely

Send the link below via email or IM


Present to your audience

Start remote presentation

  • Invited audience members will follow you as you navigate and present
  • People invited to a presentation do not need a Prezi account
  • This link expires 10 minutes after you close the presentation
  • A maximum of 30 users can follow your presentation
  • Learn more about this feature in our knowledge base article

Do you really want to delete this prezi?

Neither you, nor the coeditors you shared it with will be able to recover it again.



Poetry Portfolio by Brittany Normile

Britt Normile

on 10 May 2010

Comments (0)

Please log in to add your comment.

Report abuse

Transcript of Desolation

Desolation Brittany Normile Anthem For a Doomed Youth
by Wilfred Owen What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?
--Only the monstrous anger of the guns.
Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle
Can patter out their hasty orisons.
No mockeries for them from prayers or bells,
Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs,-
The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;
And bugles calling for them from sad shires.
What candles may be held to speed them all?
Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes
Shall shine the holy glimmers of goodbyes.
The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall;
Their flowers the tenderness of silent minds,
And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.
NO lover saith, I love, nor any other
Can judge a perfect lover ;
He thinks that else none can or will agree,
That any loves but he ;
I cannot say I loved, for who can say
He was kill'd yesterday.
Love with excess of heat, more young than old,
Death kills with too much cold ;
We die but once, and who loved last did die,
He that saith, twice, doth lie ;
For though he seem to move, and stir a while,
It doth the sense beguile.
Such life is like the light which bideth yet
When the life's light is set,
Or like the heat which fire in solid matter
Leaves behind, two hours after.
Once I loved and died ; and am now become
Mine epitaph and tomb ;
Here dead men speak their last, and so do I ;
Love-slain, lo here I die.
The Paradox
by John Donne When the philanthropist, with pensive eye,
Observes the horrors of th' ensanguin'd plain,
Counts ev'ry tear and numbers ev'ry sigh,
That falls or heaves in mem'ry of the slain;
Alike confus'd sees poverty and pride,
The humble soldier and the general fall,
In fate associates, lying side by side, Their grave the same, the same their funeral pall—
How must he comment on this waste of breath,
This senseless slaughter of the human kind,
How much lament that, prematurely, death
Should such a list of hapless victims find.
If life, at best, too short to us appear,
Why bring a crisis, distant else, so near?
Reflections on a
Field of Battle Crashing into walls,
Banging on your door,
So why'd you let me in?
Falling through the floor,
Diving in too deep,
Underneath your skin.

So good you got to abuse it,
So fast that sometimes you lose it,
It cheers you up when you feed it, but everyone needs to eat,
Am I too much for you?
'Cause you're too much for me,
Still wanna be corrupted.

Let's convince ourselves it's all under control,
A stone that we can break,
But is this what we want?
'Cause might miss the hate,
I know it feels so good,
To make the same mistake (mistake, mistakes).

Do you remember how it started?
The fairytale got twisted and decayed,
The innocence has all been broken,
How did we get this way?
by McFly Simile Personification A Song of Strangling

We have ten seconds left of this young life
Unfortunately, we can't seem to deal
With anymore of this real anal strife
There are wounds just too deep for us to heal

This predicament is just one big mess
An existence of pure desolation
And although we wouldn't like to confess
We'd rather die than live in isolation

Now, the life once lived is much better off
Spent with all those around us who once cared
Who now lay their eyes upon us and scoff
So we've moved on, we're not even that scared

We've moved on, there's nothing left now to fear
It's over now, gone, are those once held dear DESOLATION OF THE
WORLD Can't take the pain.... Falling apart, falling... He was always an interesting case
Forever lost, running the human race
Always learning what life has to bring
Always forgetting there are reasons to sing

This endless destruction coursing through veins
You'll never forget how it feels to hold the reins
Your control is always feigning, I can't seem to understand
This world, it brings more, far more than I can comprehend

Dropping to the ground, we take off running
Forget the world, we won't be any less cunning
In this life, there's far too much we have to hate
From living here, to seeing our terrible fate

This endless destruction coursing through veins
You'll never forget how it feels to hold the reins
Your control is always feigning, I can't see to understand
This world, it brings more, far more than I can comprehend

Reflected in glass, the blood drains too fast
We can't keep them hidden, it won't last
So we keep moving on and on and on and on
We can't fall anymore if we beat the con The Con Man Simile Enjambement Enjambement Caesura Analogy Alliteration Metaphor Imagery Caesura Symbol We’re only human but we think we’re the supremacists.
We're convinced we need to get a grip on everything.
It’s our job to make the world a better place.
But you’ve made it our job to save the human race. You may think it’s a fight but it’s just a red light.
You may think it’s a war but it’s just a closed door.
Just because it’s in your sight doesn’t make it right.
Just because you have the floor doesn’t bring us to the core.
It’s all talk until somebody loses an arm and a leg.
It’s all a cover to the ones who plead and beg.
It’s all talk, nothing that you say it’ll be.
It’s all something that we wish we would one day see. Illusion of
Control Internal Rhyme Allusion He closed his eyes and cast it out to sea
He watched it drift out to the fiery horizon
Maybe one day you’ll learn to make your own mistakes
Maybe someday you’ll see that giving up wont let you go
Don’t be afraid to hold on tight

Just watch your broken chances
Slip through your fingers
Don’t be afraid to bleed

Lying in the sand, he watches the tide roll in
Trying to push it away, he won’t budge
The moon taunts him, tries to drown him
But he still won’t move away from it all
And he watched it drift slowly up to shore
He closed his eyes, tried to pretend like it’s gone

Let me make my own mistakes
Let me fake my own new ways
Let me make my own mistakes Personification Imagery Fragments of Your
Chances des·o·la·tion (ds-lshn, dz-) n.
1. The act or an instance of desolating.
2. The state of being desolate.
3. Devastation; ruin: a drought that brought desolation to the region.
a. The state of being abandoned or forsaken; loneliness.
b. Wretchedness; misery. The feeling of desolation
is unmatched a moment where hope is lost... a moment caused by anything... affecting everything, everyone... It's a terrible feeling. But it can be released through writing. The End 1B
5/6/10 Interested in "The Con Man?"
Check it here: http://allpoetry.com/poem/6416393
Full transcript