poetry hw

do following things for every single line

1 determine strong/weak strees.(accent) ex) between, Radio. Do this every single word in the poems

2 what is verse? couplet, triplet quatrain, sestet, octave etc?

3 rhythms lamb, trochee anapest, dactyl etc?

4feet? trimeter, tetramater? Pentameter, Haxameter etc?

first poem is in red and second one is in blue

Oranges

The first time I walked

With a girl, I was twelve,

Cold, and weighted down

With two oranges in my jacket.

December. Frost cracking

Beneath my steps, my breath

Before me, then gone,

As I walked toward

Her house, the one whose

Porch light burned yellow

Night and day, in any weather.

A dog barked at me, until

She came out pulling

At her gloves, face bright

With rouge. I smiled,

Touched her shoulder, and led

Her down the street, across

A used car lot and a line

Of newly planted trees,

Until we were breathing

Before a drugstore. We

Entered, the tiny bell

Bringing a saleslady

Down a narrow aisle of goods.

I turned to the candies

Tiered like bleachers,

And asked what she wanted -

Light in her eyes, a smile

Starting at the corners

Of her mouth. I fingered

A nickle in my pocket,

And when she lifted a chocolate

That cost a dime,

I didn't say anything.

I took the nickle from

My pocket, then an orange,

And set them quietly on

The counter. When I looked up,

The lady's eyes met mine,

And held them, knowing

Very well what it was all

About.

Outside,

A few cars hissing past,

Fog hanging like old

Coats between the trees.

I took my girl's hand

In mine for two blocks,

Then released it to let

Her unwrap the chocolate.

I peeled my orange

That was so bright against

The gray of December

That, from some distance,

Someone might have thought

I was making a fire in my hand

A valentine for ben franklin who drives a truck in california

I cut the deck

and found a magician

driving a mack truck

down the California grapevine.

His eyes were glistening Japanese beetles,  

and his hands were surveyors of the moon.  

He pulled a carnation

out of his sleeve,

and offered me a ride.

I took the flower and said I was leaving  

to be an illusionist. He said

he specialized in cards

and sleight of hand.

I touched his mouth and ears

with my lips,

                   “Keep on truckin,”

I said.

But he laughed and told me a bedtime story.  

His body was an elm.

His mouth was filled with grapes.

His hands turned my body into new honey.

Now I am home alone,

reading directions

for sawing a beautiful woman in half.  

First you start with a mirror … .

Before I turn down

the crisp sheets of my bed,

I shuffle the tarot deck.

But the magician is missing.

Is he

still driving the freeways of California?

Or is he

only an illusion

in my own  

magician’s  

head?