Group Info Group Founded 12 Years ago 3,103 Members
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Introduction

:jsenn: Welcome to Heart-of-Poetry :writer: by arrioch



:lightbulb:

Purpose


We appreciate all genres and forms of poetry, as well as other works of literature. Whether you wish to submit your own writing or browse the work of others, this is the place for you. Our main purpose is to support, inspire, and encourage aspiring poets and authors.

:house:

Membership


Everyone is welcome to join -- all incoming requests will be automatically approved. Even if you're only here to support other artists' work, your presence is greatly appreciated!

:megaphone:

Rules


Please respect our community. Keep in mind that we reserve the right to kick-out all deviants found trolling, spamming, or bashing anything associated with this group. Any offensive or insulting comments to our members will be hidden and reported.

:emailsend:

Submission


Please be aware that this group only accepts works of literature. Additionally, we expect our members to submit to the proper gallery folders themselves. Due to an increasing number of submissions, a daily limit of two deviations has been set. (Please see the Gallery Notes for more information on submissions.)

:writersblock:

Prompts


Each week, a new group journal is published with a writing prompt. This helps encourage our members to stay active with their writing. (See the Journal Notes for more information on prompts.)

:points:

Donation


If you have some spare points, we would really appreciate your support through donation here. All contributions will go toward helping us become a Super Group.

Help us help you!
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Group Activity

Group Info

:writersblock: We are a very active and open community of writers. Though we mainly focus on poetry, this group is dedicated to all literature -- poetry, prose, novels, etc. Our main purpose is to support, inspire, and encourage aspiring poets and authors.

You're invited to become a member today! :email:
Group
Founded 12 Years ago
Jan 10, 2012

Location
Global

Group Focus
Art Collection

Media Type
Literature

3,103 Members
2,205 Watchers
83,360 Pageviews

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:note: Points--for--Groups is a new group-supporting group.
:note: Literature-Improving is looking for members.


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Recent Journal Entries

Journal Writers

CONTEST EXTENDED UNTIL NOVEMBER 7

Hello members, and let's welcome our newest contest, "At the Center" suggested by Prettykitty473.



:iconfloatingheartplz: At the Center Contest! :iconfloatingheartplz:

Theme: At the Center. What is at the center of your heart? The center of your soul? What truly lies in the center of the Earth besides molten rock? Anything could be there, and we want you to write about it.

Poetry and literature will be accepted in any form during this contest. There will be a limit of 100 lines for poetry and 10,000 words for literature.



:star:Rules:star:

1. Three entries per deviant

2. Mature content is allowed, but it must have a warning

3. Must be 100 lines or under for poetry, and under 10,000 words for literature.

4. Your entry must be written for this contest (published after this journal)

5. Please submit to the In the Center Contest 2014 - OPEN Favorites Collection. Entries to the gallery will not be judged.

6. Entries will be accepted from August 8th to October 15th.

7. Judging will commence from October 16th through October 22nd..



:heart: Prizes :heart:


**Please note the group if you'd like to offer any additional prizes! We are always looking for prize donations**


1st place: The entry will be permanently moved to the group's "Featured" folder. The artist will feature in a long mention in the group's blog. A literary request and 100 :points: from our Co-Founder, Oilux. A critique courtesy from the group on any piece

2nd place: The entry will be permanently moved to the group's "Featured" folder. The artist will be mentioned in the group's blog. A literary request and 75 :points: from our Co-Founder, Oilux.

3rd place: The entry will be permanently moved to the group's "Featured" folder. The artist will be mentioned in the group's blog. A literary request 50 :points: from our Co-Founder, Oilux.

Honorable Mentions (applies to all participants): Everyone will be mentioned for participating and receive a llama badge from karasoul



Leave a comment below if you have any questions, or contact our admins:
:iconscarletdevil1503: :iconoilux: :iconoctavias101:

:love: Have fun, everyone! :love:
More Journal Entries

Gallery Folders

Poetry - General FULL
Poetry - Dark
Checkered Squares: By the Black Petaled ManBy the wailing pool of black, sat a table, a table marble white. As white as the fountain pool, as sinister as liquid black. Upon this table white rested a checkered square, a checkered square of red and black to match the roses there. Many a game and many a night were lost atop these checkered squares, found on table marble white next to a pool of liquid black. And as the pool of liquid black sat on fountain of marble white, so did these checkered squares rest dolefully on blood spilled there. Many a man would wager there upon the checkered squares against the man of petal black. And many a many would lose more than he dared on games of checkered squares. What drove sane men to seek him there, he never knew. What stirred the men to wager more than dare and lose a flower there. A flower just discarded upon a checkered dare. Woe to the poor girls, for this isn’t fair, for they dared to not be there, now they shall lay bare. But a clever man, the petal’d man is, for a thought began to brew. He sipped black liquid from fountain pool and sat at the table white. He plucked a rose from beneath and placed her on the table there. But before she started her cries and wails, the man of petals hushed her and said: “Shh, if ye can play with well noted skill, I’ll take your seeds by honeybees and carry them to worlds of men. Back where ye were from and ye will play with men who sent you here and learn of the game.” “But Master, sir” replied the rose “If ye teach the game to me I may come to rue and unmake ye.” “Tis true fine lass, but the same chance lies from me to you.” The rose considered her master’s answer and replied “Teach me”....

Mature Content

Poetry - Family
Poetry - Fantasy
The ChangelingA gift to a woman with a barren wombA child born from a hawthorn bloomLeft on her doorstep in the nightFound in the morning to the woman’s delightThe fairy child is brought indoorsThe mother swears she will always adoreWithin the cottage the child growsAnd more and more its nature showsThe child stares with beetle-black eyesIt never blinks and never criesIt eats and sleeps all through the dayAnd at night it wants to playDancing in the cellar with the miceRolling little bones like diceWatching embers in the hearthAs if some wisdom they impartOutside the house, the neighbors talkEach day beside house they walkAnd more and more, the whispers growThey pile up like winter snowOne night, while the mother is asleepUp to the house the townsfolk creepThe villagers come with torches and hoodsWhile the child is playing in the woodsTogether they set the house alightIt forms a beacon in the nightThe child sees, and hurries backTo the scene of the attackBut when it comes, it is too lateTo save its mother from her fateFrom the shadows the child glaresYet the townsfolk are unawareThey return home, now feeling safeNot realizing their mistakeOnce they all have gone back homeAnd the child is sure it is aloneIt gathers up a dying flameAnd stokes it back to life againIt carries it back towards the townWhere murderers are sleeping soundAnd sets their houses all ablazeEach guilty one with their life paysThe others get out with their livesBut even they must pay a priceThey’ve lost their homes, and all they hadThey know their future could be badAs for the child, no one seesIt slip away into the treesAnd no one knows where it has goneThe child that the fairies spawnedAnd yet, though it has disappearedThere are still those who say they hearIts laughter, which they all rememberSounds just like a crackling ember
Poetry - Friendship
Poetry - Humor
The Street Artist's SailboatThere once was a well-known street artistWho was as clever as could be.He could make his art very lifelikeWhich was quite a sight to see.He liked tricking people with his artFor it was all too easy. One day, while walking down the streetWith his art supplies in hand,He couldn't help but notice that The roads just looked too bland.If only it had a bit more pizzazzWouldn’t that be grand?After staring at the street for a while,An idea came to his head.If there wasn’t anyone who could brighten the road,He would do it himself instead.Looking at his chalks, he thought "Why not?"He might as well go ahead.He stepped right onto the empty roadMaking sure no cars were coming by,It was time to set his plan into action,He might as well give it a try.He knew this project would be the best,Though he wouldn’t tell others why. With his chalk, he began to drawFor an hour, or maybe twoHe added some black, a bit of white,And just a few touches of blue.How clever he was, for thinking of somethingThat was completely unique and new. At last, he stepped back to observe what he drew,It was a small, modest sailboatSurrounded by a large puddle of waterWith ripples keeping it afloat.The artist thought this as his best workAlthough he didn’t want to gloat. Then he walked off and stood in a cornerWaiting for the action to unfoldHis masterpiece was sure to amuse others Both the young and the old.There was no way anyone could buy that sailboat,It would just be too good to be sold.After some time passed, a random passerbyWas taking a casual walk,When all of a sudden, the walker noticed somethingThat made him stop and gawk. What he saw was so peculiar,It gave him quite a shock. There was a sailboat in the middle of the roadFloating on a great big puddle.How on earth did it even get here?The sight made the man a bit muddled.Soon a whole crowd gathered aroundAnd near the sailboat the huddled. What were a small lake and a sailboatDoing right in the middle of the road?The boat looked incredibly lifelikeAnd all the details really showed. No doubt, if drivers saw this little boatTheir cars would definitely be slowed. But then a puzzled man took a closer look,And was he ever surprised?A few other people could see it, too,They just couldn't believe their eyes.Right next to this real-looking boatWere the artist's left-behind supplies. "Oh my!" They said. "This is not a real boatAnd that is not a real lake."The chalks left behind made it easy to tellIt was all completely fake.In disbelief, everyone cried out,"We've been tricked, for heaven's sake!" Suddenly, they heard someone chucklingComing from the back of a wall.They turned their heads and saw the artistsAnd suddenly they knew it all.They couldn't believe they fell for artSo simple and small. The street artist thought it was so funnyTo see the look on their faces. They wouldn't expect to see a sailboatOn the street out of all placesIt was so easy to fool everyoneAlthough he left a few traces. So, if anyone tried to conceive youThat something wacky was true,Be skeptical, and try to stop themBy finding a clue or two. Nobody ever wants to be fooledOr tricked easily - do you?...
Poetry - Life
What We HearLoosely keeping an open earHearing the new is always as closeAs seeing the new become more nearTime slides awayThe loose earNow only hears fearAnother generation of war heroesAnother year of keeping the open earIt actually gets easierStomach gets queasierPlease don't talk so nearI wish not to hear what my eyes have learnt to seeThat makes it seem double or more to meSuburbs swallowed urbanisation It wastes no timeNo time to both see and hear what is new or more nearI'm no fool fear is the cause of fearStill I can shut my eyes easier thanPlug my ears, music gets louderThe song of fear is now in my musicThe sight of fear is now in my moviesMakes it seem double or moreMy limbic nerve cannot sort it all outThese things are too frequent - too nearAgain the isotope decays And years become daysNow I can see for myself how to copeWalking in life on the tightropeNow my attenuation can absorb a nationOverload barred in my hindbrainMy friends gossip, so much to maintainWhat I see and hear returns to fearLiving in solitude is mostly less rudeI control my environmentUnderstanding what I hear, what I seeIs much too close to meYet I'd rather hear than see, since paranoiaIs only inside me, no one knows or can seeIt builds up until old ageTurning fear into denial ragePassively reading melts the alloyThat changed me from a man to a boyThrough new eyes, new earsHours pass as fast as the yearsI growl when it fills my earsI abate what I see with dismissing staresAt home I fight the tearsI haven't shed one in so many yearsI spite what I seeI disbelieve what I hearThe end is growing nearWhen did a year become a year againPlease answer me my friendI would like to know before the end.
Poetry - Love
Poetry - Politics
Oh These Horrible People Are DestroyersOh Nothing is worse than a Liberal They come at you with that high n' mighty attitude, coming down on you from an altitude with an aptitude for law suites and being obtuse. Make money, take money; Honey, what's the difference? Gentrify every Hood till it's all soy latte and bukakke and Walmart parking lots. Oh boy we give a fuck! Come and see it at the gala, where we serve deep fried chicken masala. They all own stocks and I don't mean the sexy kind. Because money makes more money than any hands could in a day's time. Business is booming, trade brings peace and sometimes that trade is war in the middle east. Or gentrifying a neighborhood till it's all Starbucks and anglo-saxons. "This place used to have culture!" Want me to tell you what happened? See, the culture goes away when the people who make it can't even cut it as a slave. Oh boy, why do I feel like I'm about to eat cake? Oh Nothing is worse than a Republican They come at you with that high n' mighty attitude, telling you to substitute your food with the straps from your boots. Swing a broom if that's what your birth has put you up to. We have shut any other door for you. Real blood is old money. Oh child, beware the old money. They got guns and their jokes aren't funny. They love to take the court to church and squeeze Christian sympathy for what it's worth. Because we don't sell solutions, we sell values. Struggle and abuse are the territory where I can watch a rough beast get deformed right before me. Gerrymandering is jerry rigging the red lines down the opposite blocks. As "they" shouldn't mark their vote, "they" should punch clocks, in and out and shut up. And that's just where it starts. Moral crusaders running laps around a farce. "You see, that Rebel flag fits the Rebel yell and it suits our heritage and pride (but mostly crimes) real well, but that Pride flag of yours is Satan waiting in the wings!" Sure, go vote for these people and give the Nazgûl more rings. Oh Nothing is worse than a Libertarian They come at you with that high n' mighty attitude, parading gun collections around the free market blues. You don't even need N9NE-0NE-ONE if you got a private militia standing by on your lawn. Jerk off to the apocalypse because your bunker is full beans and hentai and shit. Get hyped on your vape juice while pipe dreaming up new rules till your gold bars are your path to that world meets star arcana moment. What an opus. What a fan fiction of Atlas Shrugged. What a way to virtue signal by not giving a fuck. Suck my dick you Wastelandlords. You have never thought of someone else's meal in your entire life. All you know is unmarked cash and business moves akin to dine n' dash. The wild west wasn't quite like how it leapt at you from the silver screen. You should maybe stay somewhere safe where you can understand the scene and just play frontiersman in your dreams. Oh Nothing is worse than a Communist They come at you with that high n' mighty attitude, waiting for the day they take the throne as a group; buncha rubes. Hammer and Sickle treated like an ancient rune, yet no higher power steps up to stop the Famine and the Ruin. Sorry, but I'm just not seeing how humanity's whole future will be written between the oxen and the plow. Allegedly it's because from Stalin, to Pol Pot, to Mao no one has done right. No one has even tried to follow the instruction booklet, understand the romantics and appeal to the fullest. Oh Nothing is worse than an Anarchist They come at you with that high n' mighty attitude, while on that daily stick-and-move, futile youth; future soup. First it's fancy nihilism, then a path with vision and suddenly you got rules and leaders to cultivate the mission. So you basically join a cult because the bigger one is a bit hectic, and now you're dealing with some anemic Guru's antics till it feels like sepsis; ain't it fantastic? More like fickle and brittle. A movement that every issue splits in the middle. A unit of chaos that makes a lot from a little but still drops the ball as soon as it dribbles. Drivel. No end result to the flotsam if they buff the trains the same day the Graffiti Writers bomb'em. Oh Nothing is worse than a Centrist They come at you with that high n' mighty attitude, golden center, golden ratio, golden boy, golden goose. If that Runaway train comes absolutely loose, go blame the engine and caboose, and not the twirling mustache that whistles through his gilded tooth. Forsaken in mediocrity, a worshiped sense of normalcy and faith in a pressure valve that can clench eternally. "Come on everybody, just hold course! I'm sure the ocean and those rocks will soon get a divorce" and then they don't. And then the tides wash our splinters out onto the sand, but at least you had a time frame during which to flex your glands. Something here must have gone soft. To somehow believe a balanced scale will stop the nukes from going off. So before this poem ends,Let me quickly explain the joke:Politics are a corrosive acidThat makes my FUCKING Soul croakAnd I just want to acknowledge That all of us are horrible peopleAnd the whimper we'll fade out withWill have no cliffhanger or sequelBut we still love rape and tortureWe never let it leave the stage for too longIn spite of all the times we have saved the world with a song...
Visual Poetry
Queen Of The Enchanted Forest by Laima27TreeCrowns
Prose
I'm a Quitter.Midnight.December 27th, 2018.I'm sat on a plastic lawn chair on the stained front concrete slab of some Floridian duplex ceremoniously smoking the last cigarette I'd smoke.Half an hour later my blood pressure started steadily creeping back towards normalcy. Rays of sharp artificially yellow street light pie sliced this perfectly ordinary momentous occasion into bite-sized little shards. My very first cigarette really was a Lucky Strike, but knicked off my buddy's grandma rather than clichély off his dad. Lit in the woods, split four ways, tasted something foul. Instantly I'm swimming, guts churning, my brain floats me home and into bed.For a bit.Until I rose in a sprint to the wash basin to puke.My mother smoked on and off during all my formative years.Far more on than off. Many of my parent's friends smoked. It ran further back in the family, as well. I had crushes on musicians who smoked. My (only) friends wanted to try. I figured there had to be something to it if so many people I looked up to were doing it. I was 13.I knew all about the dangers of smoking from health class and D.A.R.E and those commercials that tried to deter youth from mind-alteration exploration with scare tactics.I was 13.I was way too young to think much other than, "None of that will happen to me". I'd crawl back into bed to sleep off the dizziness, thinking about these things and hoping not to get sick again. I slept many hours, woke, showered, ate, and eventually felt back to a teenage normal.It certainly wasn't love at first drag, but the seed had been planted in fertile soil.12 hours passed from falling asleep to feeling myself again. 12 hours after I put out that last American Spirit Menthol, my body had cleansed itself of all the carbon monoxide I had accumulated. My circulation and blood-oxygen levels were already increasing to a much healthier state. At age 14 an older boy who thought I was cute would buy me a pack of what he smoked from time to time. Marlboro Reds. Cowboy killers. By 15 I was hooked.By 16 I had a steady hook-up.1 year a smoker and not even old enough to buy cigarettes. 1 day after my last smoke my risk of having a heart attack was smoothly decreasing. I got my wisdom teeth extracted when I was 17. Before the sockets could even fully heal, I snuck outside to suck one down.By 18 smoking had become my new favorite full-time habit. And it was already taking a considerable chunk out of my meager full-time retail supervisor wages. 2 more years. I wasn't cognizant of the addiction yet, just the satisfaction. 2 days after quitting my damaged smell and taste receptors were beginning to heal.By 21 I was a smoker.It had become a facet of my personality. Another 3 years..3 days following the snuffing of my final butt, my bronchial tubes were starting to relax, my breathing was becoming incrementally easier, and more deep. I attended a (fantastic!) music festival during my twenty-first summer where I proceeded to indulge in 5 packs of cigarettes over the span of 3 days. I also imbibed many other substances that weekend, making for a gnarly come-down that would pleasantly cloud just how impactful those 5 packs were. Such is addiction.Through my 20's I pretty steadily smoked half a pack a day, sometimes more. I don't recall it ever being less.$5 every 2 days, minimum. Shall I do the math?After 2 weeks of abstinence, my heart was more easily pumping blood. My lung function was improving. A dive bar near my apartment hosted a "smoke out" night when the law passed to ban smoking indoors at public establishments, statewide. So many people packed in for the drink specials they enjoyed while shooting pool, throwing darts and puffing on cig after chain-smoked cig.Cilia are the hair-like structure that prevents mucus build-up in the lungs. In as little as 1 month after I quit smoking, these structures had begun to regain typical functionality. At 25 I realized I had been smoking for ten years and from then on couldn't quit the idea that I was far too young to have done anything so unhealthy for so long.. I tried to quit. My co-workers encouraged me. My, then-boyfriend dipped chew. A well-intentioned yet wayward relative told me one afternoon on the phone during my break at work that smoking was just, "what I do". Being wayward myself at the time, that was all the excuse I needed to jump right off the wagon. If it's just what I do...What's the harm in another year or two?It's funny how 1 year can slip into 10 when not being paid attention to. Time and reality are truly relative.When I was 26, my friend said to me, "..that's just how I think of you, you can do anything with a cigarette in your hand".I tried to take this as a compliment.Images of action figures and their accessories compressed under plastic packaging sprang to mind. I brushed these thoughts aside and kept on smoking until the tail end of that aforementioned late December day.If I thought 10 years was too long to stay stuck on the same bad habit, 12 years seemed like a perfectly round number to give it up.When I was 27 I quit smoking.I bought a vape and mods and tried to ween off the real thing.I used the vape for 2 weeks until..One sunny afternoon, walking down some suburban street with my then-boyfriend, I took a long chong on my vape in hopes of exhaling some of the chips on my shoulders. We approached a 4-way intersection as I tilted my head back exhaling a massive cloud as if I'd turned into a train. Suddenly, I could see myself with my own eyes, but from the perspectives of the folks driving the cars yielded at their respective signs. In this instant, I thought, "Wow, I look like a fucking tool."I had stashed a pack with a few cigs left in it, just in case. I smoked them throughout the rest of the day. That night, I plopped into that pre-molded plastic and inhaled for the final time everything Big Tobacco had to offer. My risk of coronary heart disease and heart attack was half that of a smoker after 1 year of not inhaling combusted tobacco.December 27th, 2023 marks 5 years since I chose to quit smoking. I recall at first it felt alien to not include a pack and lighter on my "pre-flight checklist" I mentally ran through before leaving the house. There were moments when I didn't quite know what to do with my hands, I missed the action of ashing.5 years smoke-free means my risk of developing mouth, throat, esophageal, and bladder cancer are reduced by half.My chances of cervical cancer and stroke have returned to that of a non-smoker.I am a non-smoker.I inhaled billions of chemicals via thousands of cigarettes between 2006 and 2018. A few more if you count my early days.I figure if all "good" things must come to an end, and habits are things, mustn't all "bad" habits naturally conclude one way or another?I miss nothing about smoking now. My hands are too busy tending my animal companions or gardens. They now hold that of my partner. Or snap photos. I very much enjoyed my time as a smoker, but my capability to enjoy my lung capacity fully when singing, swimming, hiking, or playing with my animals brings me far more joy than anything that comes in a pack of 20 could. Having decided to no longer partake in this series of actions, I'm now far more weightless and full of fresh air.
Chapter Stories

Mature Content

Writing Resources
So You want to be a writer...Each year I see high hopes squashed by not being prepared for what a writer faces. Remember, we all have a lot to learn. Many students have passed my way, intent on becoming writers. Each time this is expressed, it has me wondering how much they want it. It’s not exactly a job for those who need a full belly and fancy home.If your work happens to cross the eyes of a publisher, you may get lucky. Writing for the love of it may be all that you need, however the dedicated get educated, read, read and read more, and never give up.It may all depend on what you wish to writehttp://multigenre.colostate.edu/genrelist.htmlA Brief List of Genres: Journal Entries, Personal, LetterGreeting,CardSchedule/Things to Do,ListInner Monologue Representing Internal Conflicts,Classified or Personal Ads ,Personal Essay or Philosophical Questions,Top Ten List/Glossary or DictionaryPoetrySong Lyrics.Autobiographical EssayContest Entry, ApplicationBusiness ,Letter or Correspondence/Persuasive or Advocacy, LetterBiographical, SummaryCritique of a Published SourceSpeech or Debate,Historical Times, Context Essay,Textbook Article,Science Article or Report/Business Article or ReportLesson Plan,Encyclopedia, ArticleShort Scene from a Play with Notes for Stage Directions,Short Scene from a Movie with Notes for Camera of a Conversation among Two or More People,Short StoryAdventure Magazine ,StoryGhost StoryMyth, Tall Tale, or Fairy TaleTalk ,Show Interview or PanelRecipe and Description of Traditional Holiday EventsClassroom DiscussionCharacter Analysis or Case StudyComedy Routine or ParodyLiner NotesPicture bookChart or Diagram with Explanation and AnalysisBrochure or NewsletterTime Line or Chain of EventsMap with Explanation and AnalysisMagazine or TV Advertisement or InfomercialRestaurant Description and MenuTravel Brochure DescriptionHow-To or Directions BookletReceipts, Applications, Deeds, Budgets or Other DocumentsWedding, Graduation or Special Event InvitationBirth CertificateLocal News ReportPop-Up bookReview and Poster for a Movie, Book, or TV ProgramBoard Game or Trivial Pursuit with Answers and RulesComic Strip or Graphic Novel excerpt,Power Point Presentation,Informational Video,Web SiteFuture News Story,Letter to the Editor,Newspaper or Magazine Feature/Human Interest StoryObituary, Eulogy or TributeNews Program, Story or Announcement,Tabloid Article Requirements for an advanced literature class. Are you willing? You must know good writing, to write well.So You Are a Writer?ENG 402: Advanced Placement English Literature& Composition Summer ReadingDear students,Welcome to Advanced Placement English Literature and Composition! You have chosen a challenging, but rewarding path .This course is for students with intellectual curiosity, a strong work ethic, and a desire to learn. I know all of you have been well prepared for the “Wonderful World of Literature” in which we will delve into a wide selection of fiction, drama, and poetry. In order to prepare for the course, you will complete a Summer Reading Assignment prior to returning to school in the fall. Your summer assignment has been designed with the following goals in mind: to help you build confidence and competence as readers of complex texts; to give you, when you enter class in the fall, an immediate basis for discussion of literature –elements like narrative viewpoint, symbolism, plot structure, point of view, etc.; to set up a basis for comparison with other works we will read this year; to provide you with the beginnings of a repertoire of works you can write about on the AP Literature Exam next spring; and last but not least, to enrich your mind and stimulate your imagination. If you have any questions about the summer reading assignment (or anything else pertaining to next year), please feel free to email me(eyee@vdoh.org).I hope you will enjoy and learn from your summer reading. I am looking forward to seeing you in class next year! Have a lovely summer! Mrs. Yee Read: ·How to Read Literature Like a Professor by Thomas C. Foster(provided below)·All the Light We Cannot See by Anthony Doerro Please annotate as you read.·500 Words or Less by Juleah Del Rosarioo Please annotate as you read. Write:·On the first day of class, bring at least one complete college application essay. This essay needs to be a different and new topic from the essay you wrote during your junior year. ·Also due on the first day of class, your completed Study Guide for How to Read Literature Like a Professor(directions below).If you have the time and inclination, please select further summer reading from the attached list of College Board referenced works. Note: you will not need to know every work listed, but being familiar with as many great works as possible will only help you.How to Read Literature Like a Professor: A Lively and Entertaining Guide to Reading Between the Lines By THOMAS C. FOSTER Contents INTRODUCTION: How’d He Do That?Every Trip Is a Quest (Except When It’s Not)Nice to Eat with You: Acts of CommunionNice to Eat You: Acts of VampiresIf It’s Square, It’s a SonnetNow, Where Have I Seen Her Before?When in Doubt, It’s from Shakespeare......Or the Bible8. Hanseldee and GreteldumIt’s Greek to MeIt’s More Than Just Rain or Snow INTERLUDE Does He Mean That?...More Than It’s Gonna Hurt You: Concerning ViolenceIs That a Symbol?It’s All PoliticalYes, She’s a Christ Figure, TooFlights of FancyIt’s All About Sex......Except SexIf She Comes Up, It’s BaptismGeography Matters...20. ...So Does SeasonINTERLUDE One Story21. Marked for Greatness22. He’s Blind for a Reason, You Know23. It’s Never Just Heart Disease...24. ...And Rarely Just Illness25. Don’t Read with Your Eyes26. Is He Serious? And Other Ironies27. A Test CaseENVOIAPPENDIX Reading Listhttps://resources.finalsite.net/images/v1557927798/vdoh/kbr2bvj7ie7jisyzyfhq/2019SummerReadingENG402Complete.pdf© This One is About MeEvery day, some days, once in awhile, the photographs of my mind come into focus, bombarding my cerebral field with small glimpses of this time called mine, only mine with views shared with few, the most trusted who may see parts of me, never the whole.the entirety too complex, intricate to be understood, even by myself. Travels through life with feelings, emotions, thoughts, only mine alone, in a world too busy it overlooks a scream for help or to help, in the longing to be perfect; impossible for anyone called human in any age any year.Finally after watching, praying, dreaming as the passage of time takes me down good paths, pleasant trails, bumpy roads, am I able to look at the pictures as I am willing to see this person change. Memories of painful gym class showers, algebra class horror stories, first love, first pain, first hurt, first God awful death,help me to wade through what is good, what isn't or what needs changing, as aging passes through memories of becoming "a woman", then becoming, "a woman", a toiler, a wife, mother, whatever I wish to be; place a smile which helps fight the lines slowly forming around tired eyes, moving my thoughts on in this page of my life, never totally free of troubles, sorrow, laughter,pushing me to ignore some words spoken which just don't matter anymore, or never again. Things that changed just never to be restored will no longer cloud my vision from seeing the person who is finally at peace in this time and place where I can live with myself, free from the shackles, which I'll no longer carry, as I march with the army human tocapture happiness whenever possible, knowing whatever ache strikes my body or heart, will be interspersed with moments of laughter and love, moving me on in my journey to truly survive whatever is placed in my way, lingering only infrequently to view the pictures of the past which will remain with me, living in the photo album of a life never again wasted pondering everything that I might have become. I AM THIS.sjo/jazz  ©2010I taught school first and later went into freelance writing.

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Sharquelle Featured By Owner Jul 26, 2015  Hobbyist Writer
Is this group still active? My uploads only expire... :(
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TeenageDirtbag96 Featured By Owner Apr 16, 2015  Hobbyist Writer
Hello everyone, I'm new to the group and thought I'd say hi :) (Smile) Feel free to rummage through my gallery, any and all feedback is welcome ^^
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Monocephalized Featured By Owner Jan 22, 2015  Hobbyist Writer
Made a mistake in adding to the wrong folder, my poem "Bough" should be in the Religion section instead of Dark.  Sorry.
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Hades-Flower Featured By Owner Edited Dec 17, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
Is this a dead group? My submission expired. 
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