Poetry

Harlem

BY LANGSTON HUGHES

What happens to a dream deferred?

Does it dry up

like a raisin in the sun?

Or fester like a sore—

And then run?

Does it stink like rotten meat?

Or crust and sugar over—

like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags

like a heavy load.

Or does it explode?

Which of the following is an example of a SIMILE?

• What happens to a dream deferred?

• And then run?

• Maybe it just sags/like a heavy load.

• Or does it explode?

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Which of the following is an example of free verse?

• Harlem by Langston Hughes

  
  

  What happens to a dream deferred?

  
  

  Does it dry up

  like a raisin in the sun?

  Or fester like a sore—

  And then run?

  Does it stink like rotten meat?

  Or crust and sugar over—

  like a syrupy sweet?

  
  

  Maybe it just sags

  like a heavy load.

  
  

  Or does it explode?

• Dog by Valerie Worth

  
  

  Under a maple tree

  The dog lies down,

  Lolls his limp

  Tongue, yawns,

  Rests his long chin

  Carefully between

  Front paws;

  Looks up alert;

  Chops, with heavy

  Jaws, at a slow fly,

  Blinks, rolls

  On his side,

  Sighs, closes

  His eyes: sleeps

  All afternoon

  In his loose skin.

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CCSS.RL.8.10

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The definition of poetry is

• A kind of rhythmic, compressed language that uses figures of speech and images that appeal to emotion and imagination.

• two lines of verse, usually in the same meter and joined by rhyme, that form a unit.

• a short story, typically with animals as characters, conveying a moral.

• a children's story about magical and imaginary beings and lands.

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Which of the following is an example of a metaphor?

• Anna is as sly as a fox.

• We're like two peas in a pod.

• I have not seen you in ages.

• You are my sunshine!

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Which of the following is an example of alliteration?

• Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;

• The breeze kissed my cheek.

• After the Rain Haiku By Kelly Roper

  Drip... drop... drip, drip... drop

  The water rolled off the leaf.

  And plopped to the ground.

• So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating`

  ‘Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door –

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CCSS.RL.8.10

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Which of the following is an example of onomatopoeia?

• Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;

• The breeze kissed my cheek.

• After the Rain Haiku By Kelly Roper

  Drip... drop... drip, drip... drop

  The water rolled off the leaf.

  And plopped to the ground.

• So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating`

  ‘Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door –

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CCSS.RL.8.10

CCSS.RL.8.4

CCSS.RL.8.5

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Which of the following is an example of assonance?

• Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;

• The breeze kissed my cheek.

• After the Rain Haiku By Kelly Roper

  Drip... drop... drip, drip... drop

  The water rolled off the leaf.

  And plopped to the ground.

• So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating`

  ‘Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door –

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CCSS.RL.8.10

CCSS.RL.8.4

CCSS.RL.8.5

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Which of the following is an example of personification?

• Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;

• The breeze kissed my cheek.

• After the Rain Haiku By Kelly Roper

  Drip... drop... drip, drip... drop

  The water rolled off the leaf.

  And plopped to the ground.

• So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating`

  ‘Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door –

Tags

CCSS.RL.8.10

CCSS.RL.8.4

CCSS.RL.8.5

CCSS.RL.7.5

CCSS.RL.9-10.10

Is Harlem written in prose or stanza?

Harlem

BY LANGSTON HUGHES

What happens to a dream deferred?

Does it dry up

like a raisin in the sun?

Or fester like a sore—

And then run?

Does it stink like rotten meat?

Or crust and sugar over—

like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags

like a heavy load.

Or does it explode?

• Prose

• Stanza

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Is ("The morning coffee.") written in prose or stanza?

("The morning coffee.") BY RON PADGETT

The morning coffee. I'm not sure why I drink it. Maybe it's the ritual of the cup, the spoon, the hot water, the milk, and the little heap of brown grit, the way they come together to form a nail I can hang the day on. It's something to do between being asleep and being awake. Surely there's something better to do, though, than to drink a cup of

instant coffee. Such as meditate? About what? About having a cup of coffee. A cup of coffee whose first drink is too hot and whose last drink is too cool, but whose many in-between drinks are, like Baby Bear's porridge, just right. Papa Bear looks disgruntled. He removes his spectacles

and swivels his eyes onto the cup that sits before Baby Bear, and then, after a discrete cough, reaches over and picks it up. Baby Bear doesn't understand this disruption of the morning routine. Papa Bear brings the cup close to his face and peers at it intently. The cup shatters in his

paw, explodes actually, sending fragments and brown liquid all over the room. In a way it's good that Mama Bear isn't there. Better that she rest in her grave beyond the garden, unaware of what has happened to the

world.

• Prose

• Stanza

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