poetry what is poetry? look at the following slide

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  • PoetryWhat is poetry?Look at the following slide

  • My Cat

  • Which is the poem?Neat circle of cat.Pink pawsSelf-satisfied smileDappled sunlight on tabby fur.A soft cushionOf coiled springBathing in laziness.My cat.My cat is lying on the path in the sunshine. He is perfectly still except for the slight movement he makes breathing. He appears to be asleep, but if there is a sound, his ears twitch. My cat is so lazy, hell lie there all day.

  • How can you tell its poetry?Write down all your ideas

    Have you found at least 5 different reasons?

  • My CatNeat circle of cat.Pink pawsSelf-satisfied smileDappled sunlight on tabby fur.A soft cushionOf coiled springBathing in laziness.My cat.My cat is lying on the path in the sunshine. He is perfectly still except for the slight movement he makes breathing. He appears to be asleep, but if there is a sound, his ears twitch. My cat is so lazy, hell lie there all day.

  • Poetry is an idea put into wordsHere are some other definitions. Have you found some of them already?POETRY is : A form of creative writingIt sometimes has a shapeIt sometimes uses rhymes It sometimes uses rhythms in the wordsIt gives a point of viewIt sometimes doesnt follow grammatical rulesIt sometimes follows rules of number of lines

  • Poetry is:Lyrical ( some poems can be sung)It has versesIt sometimes doesnt use punctuationIt can be remembered and recited easilyA picture in words

  • The best words in the best orderColeridgeCopy this definition down and highlight it!

  • Poetry or Prose?One day, in Winter, I leaned on a gate next to a small wood in the country, and looked at the frost.Which of these is a poem? How do you know?Which of them gives a stronger image?

    I leant upon a coppice gateWhen Frost was spectre grey,And Winters dregs made desolateThe weakening eye of day.

  • ImageryThe Darkling Thrush

    I leant upon a coppice gateWhen Frost was spectre grey,And Winters dregs made desolateThe weakening eye of day.The tangled bine-stems scored the skyLike strings of broken lyres,And all mankind that haunted nighHad sought their household fires.

    Thomas Hardy

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