Explanation of the Pride

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The wheels are turning and the words start to flow, and thus the first stanza has been formed. The process in which a poem comes to me is the process in which a picture comes to an artist; this is not to insinuate that I am good a poetry, but that it is not something I plan out but something that just comes.
I love the way it feels to know that anything is a possibility and each creation is yours to claim. The flowing of words and the pattern, and shape in which they take closely resemble that of the poem they were copy changed for. The feelings that are exposed through poetry are feelings that tend to be hidden in every other form of writing. I can not say that I enjoy writing poetry, because I have learned it is not a forced process. It is something that you allow to come to you. One of my finest works that I feel I had achieved this year was a poem that I had entitled December—a copy change for Robert Frost. Robert Frost was a poet whom I greatly admire so in starting the copy change for his poem I carefully broke down each section, analyzing each line to further understand any hidden meanings Frost had planted within the poem. October was the original created by Robert Frost—a personal favorite of mine. The poem told of the wonders and mysteries of the fall season and wanting my to reflect what Robert had I also choose a month to create a poem around. After coming up with a topic I began to jot down the first things that came to mind when December came to mind. The obvious was always there—the snow and the holidays, but I wanted to go one step further, to really get my reader to understand the season of December. After creating my web, I wanted to give my thoughts a change to freely flow through the format given by Frost. I found that I quite liked the product that I was given, the flow seemed to have been established and the topic was well developed; but as Robert had in his poem I wanted to take mine to the next level, I wanted you to be able to feel the artic wind of winter through my poem. I wanted to help someone form California understand what it felt like to hold the most precious snowflake in your hand—only to watch it designate moments after. I wanted to help them feel the bone cutting wind of a five A.M. jog in the dead silence of winter; I wanted them to know what it felt like to be a child playing in a wonderland of snow. After moments of contemplating how to go about this I realized the only way to help someone truly understand something is to show them. I returned back to the poem that had been quickly jotted down and started to cram it full of sensory details; I tried to describe everything they may not have ever felt. The final product I was quite satisfied with. I felt as though I had to the best of my abilities shown what winter was truly like, and I felt that my copy change correctly represented the message brought across in the original written by Robert Frost.





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