AmbassadorChinchillaMaster496
Cthe poem listed below. go through the poem carefully, word by…
Cthe poem listed below. go through the poem carefully, word by word, and consider the following:
which words or phrases stand out ?
which images or ideas are most meaningful or important to the poem?
which words or concepts are confusing?
which ideas or words would yu like to learn more about?
Highlight the words or phrases that meet the criteria listed above in the poem and create clickable hyperlinks (right-click to “insert hyperlink” if you are composing in a Word or Google document; use the “links” key picture like this if you are composing in the textbox in our discussion forum). Please use links to open-web materials only–avoid links that involve a paywall, subscription, or login.
Your poem text should include at least 12 hyperlinks. They should all be directly pertinent to words/phrases that they are linked to. Among these 12 hyperlinks, you should include:
a link to at least 1 relevant, appropriate video
a link to at least 1 relevant, appropriate image
a link to at least 1 relevant, appropriate web page
a link to at least 1 interesting definition
a link to at least 1 interesting etymology (word origin)
Part 4. Underneath your created hypertext poem, write a reflection of at least 100 words on how and why you chose what to link to and what kinds of links to include. Discuss what you learned as you made this project.
Craig Morgan Teicher”The Chorus”
1.
It’s, you know, the part that repeats,
the bit you’re supposed
to remember, the bit that bears
repeating, the part that means
something new
each time, something different,
and the same thing, too,
the thing you can’t forget,
that gets stuck in your head.
So, like, childhood
is endless and over
almost as soon as it begins?
Yeah, like that. Ten years
shrinks like the pages
of a water-damaged book.
No, the pages don’t really shrink
or shrivel, they crinkle, get kinda
crisp and brittle, but
time’s like that, a wrinkle,
and suddenly you’ve been
married as long as
you were ever a kid,
ever awash in the interminable
Thursday of your first ten years, when
three months was an aeon, when,
like, childhood was endless
and over as soon as it began.
See what I did there? Shifted
the refrain into the middle.
Yeah, time is like that, and
2.
suddenly your newborn
is ten and your wife
is celebrating the birthday
only grownups do,
and you must be older
than your mom was
at your age, and it’s not
Thursday–was it ever? And the two
pills you have to take every night.
How is it Sunday, I mean
Monday, this morning, your alarm,
your coffee grumbling, thunder,
and the kids (two of them,
suddenly) are out the door, and
their childhood is
endless and already over
as soon as it begins, and
you’re on the bus to work. See what
I did there? I don’t. The four
pills you have to take three
times every day, you might
3.
as well be already
at your desk, your deathbed,
holding your daughter’s
grownup hand, you
hope, the hospital calm and
clean, like the one your mother
died in, and there’s hopefully
money somewhere to take care
of everything, and this
is like childhood, endless
and over as soon as it begins,
or as close as you’ll ever get
again–see what I did
there? Did you
see? Did anyone?
