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Sunday, 2 November 2014

Arts & Humanities: Poetry: “Question: Whittier's poem The Moral Warfare?” plus 2 more

Arts & Humanities: Poetry: “Question: Whittier's poem The Moral Warfare?” plus 2 more


Question: Whittier's poem The Moral Warfare?

Posted: 02 Nov 2014 04:24 PM PST

Whittier's poem The Moral Warfare?

Hi, I need help whith Whittier's poem The Moral Warfare....could someone please tell me the meaning of the poem?
I think it talks about mankind preparing to fight a war, against the evils and crimes of slavery, with God's help. But I need a mora detailed commentary...why it's called moral warfare? :(
Thanks

Question: What mood doea Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's use of repetition in "The Tide Rises, The Tide Falls" help to create?

Posted: 02 Nov 2014 08:54 AM PST

what mood doea Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's use of repetition in "The Tide Rises, The Tide Falls" help to create?

A. Acceptance
B. Joy
C . Optimism
D. Despair

Question: An Ironically Happy Thanksgiving poem, thoughts, critique?

Posted: 02 Nov 2014 08:13 AM PST

Cinnamon scents pervade the aura of
the crowded and boisterous Thanksgiving
dining table. Steam rises from the surface
of grandma's delicate homemade pumpkin
pie and catches the collective gaze. In
comes the bird, adorned in a plastic
dress. Dad strips the bird and summons,
"Are you all ready for the main event?"
He takes his shears and chops her up.
"Who wants the right breast?" "I do, I do,"
yell two boy cousins instantaneously.

Mom, in her bun, carries in the boxed
bread stuffing. Garlic cloves and parsley
flakes float atop a grease pond of
cornflakes or whatever that wouldn't
settle in the microwave. Grandpa won't
eat the store-bought mess, but mom fights:
"Just drip some gravy on top," and she
demonstrates. (Mom ate the whole
thing the very next day.)

Crooked photographs stand poised,
watching over the family's main event's
main event, participating by their gaze:
grandparents and great ones, together
on their wedding days, not a smile but
stern, secluded, and brave; little children
now grown, dead, or estranged, so
happy, so playful, so the family maintained;
myself as boy, so different this day.

I placed my chin in my hand, my elbow
on the table. "Where are your manners?
Please speak. You're messing up the
paper table cloth," warned mom. (Some
great uncle spit out a bone on the cloth.
He asked for more drink, and all laughed,
knowing his traits.) "Why are you so quiet?"
she nagged. "So [name]" inquired an
uncle, "do you yet have a special little lady?"

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