Hey EMC! Today I'm hosting a contest for all you english fanatics out there! Basically, I want you to analyse this poem and find every poetic device in the poem, when you find a device simply put in brackets next to it what the device is. Then explain to me what the subject matter, theme, emotions, poetic devices and purpose of the poem is. Whoever does this successfully within the next 4 - 5 days will win an unused ore buster as soon as I have verified their answer! This shouldn't take you too long to do! GOODLUCK! http://www.australian-information-stories.com/epic-poetry.html P.S. Scroll down a little bit to get to the poem, you must analyse it all!
Don't be lazy, do your homework If you can't find anyone to do it, here's some stuff to help you out I should warn anyone that from what I can interpret in the OP, the winning of this contest is based off of Joshy's teacher's decision, not his. That being said, there will need to be honesty from Joshy and if necessary, staff involvement for the authenticity of the answers given. I'm also going to discuss the contest in general with other staff
Thanks for the tips Alex really appreciate it! Just an FYI for every else, this is the poem and please disregard the other 59 pages! There's a tale that begins in the sand hills That I would like to tell, Built from myth and many legends, And my pen it does compel. The desert's a hot, a hostile place, Nothing's changed since time began, There's a hazy unreality there As if it, in the dreamtime was planned. The noon of the day is so hot and still, And over all an expectant hush, Like a canvas that's waiting impatiently For the touch of the artists brush. The fire of the day can change swiftly To the night of startlingly cold, Many legends are told of the people Who live in this land so old. The people who live there are wanderers, Are constantly moving around In search for a way of existence, Staying briefly where water is found. They know of the permanent waters, And the places to which they return, But as rain doesn't fall very often Conservation is their main concern. The desert's a place of stark beauty, A place that grips at the heart, A place of which these nomads Are a living, breathing part. Each tribe has a tract of country, And on this others don't poach, Though they meet on far horizons They warn of their imminent approach. This tale tells a warriors story, From the magical day of his birth, Tells his happiness and his sorrows, Tells his days upon this earth. Many hardships he experienced, But there was joy and laughter too, Where the desert is of hot red sand Where the sky is a perfect blue. And if you ask me where I got them, The tales, the stories that unfold, I will tell you in the desert Where the sands are never cold. From the wanderers who at sundown Would appear there as if waiting For those intruders self destruction, Never trusting, always hating. From the stars that in the night sky Saw it all from its inception, From the sun that beats relentless, From the desert sands deception. From the trees, the shrubs, the flowers, From the birds in the branches nesting, From the snakes, the ants, the insects, From the lizards quietly resting. From the winds that swept the sand hills, Blowing twisters in the sky, From the wild dog and the emu, from the eagles wary eye. From the hush that spreads so endless Over the plain in the early morn, From the chorus of the voices That are heard as the daylight dawns. Some breathed from the very heat of This timeless, silent land, Some told in song and dances, In the movement of a hand. Yes, I gathered of these legends When I lived in that far, lonely place, When I knew of Bimi the warrior, Though I never saw his face. Much of what I tell is authenic, Is the way life used to be, And I put it down on paper The way it was told to me. But some is shrouded, deep in mystery And I had to guess at most of that, Though I gathered,with some innuendo, That, basically, these are the facts. Many times in the distance I've seen them As they wandered about the land, And often, in silence, they'd be there Where to touch them I'd stretch out my hand. But these times were so seldom and fleeting, That a dream they would seem to me, Then they'd melt in the hazy horizon, As if they'd ceased to be. At these times I'd be left with a feeling Of intrusion, so hard to dismiss, I should leave, go far from the desert, And I knew they were waiting for this. I knew that the sense of belonging Was theirs and theirs alone, I knew there were many disasters For which we would have to atone. Hence this story I am telling And somehow it may repay Those proud people of the desert, In some small, humble way. So come with me on a journey, To a time that was long, long ago, To where Bimi had his beginning, To the land where the sand hills grow. Read with me this ballad of Bimi, Know his troubles and his joy, Come back, lets start on the dusty plain, At the time when he was but a boy. - See more at: http://www.australian-information-stories.com/epic-poetry.html#sthash.ILIq6ZdV.dpuf
when your finished send it to me in private message and if I think its well done then congratulations you've won yourself an ore buster
