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The theme we picked was about animals. The poems we picked represent this theme very well. Both Jade and I love animals so this was a great theme.
Kaylee- I did the abstract art, the blackout poem, the favorite song, the music, i posted all of the poems and the monologue, and work cited page.
Jade- Did the recording of the reading.

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https://youtu.be/Kqo1qT6ry18

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Short Sad & Happy Piano Instrumental Music (Original)

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At first I was going to make a new sad piano song, but then this song kind of evolved after I started improvising and the tempo changed and it turned quite happy. This is quite a weird song, it started in D-minor and ended in E-minor haha!

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http://ottertail-labradors.blogspot.com/2013/03/colorful-blue-dog-is-black-labrador.html

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Writer(s): Rodney Roy Jerkins, Lashawn Ameen Daniels, Jerkins Fred Iii, Beyonce Knowles, Letoya Luckett, Kelendria Rowland, Latavia Roberson, Daniels Lashawn Ameen
http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/destinyschild/saymyname.html
Destiny's Child
"Say My Name"

[Chorus:]
Say my name, say my name
When no one is around you,
Say baby I love you
If you ain't runnin' game
Say my name, say my name
You actin' kinda shady,
Ain't callin' me baby
Why the sudden change?

Say my name, say my name
If no one is around you,
Say baby I love you
If you ain't runnin' game
Say my name, say my name
You actin' kinda shady,
Ain't callin' me baby
Better say my name

[Beyonce:]
Any other day
I would call, you would say,
"Baby, how's your day?"
But today, it ain't the same
Every other word is "Uh huh", "Yeah, okay"
Could it be that you are at the crib with another lady
If you took it there
First of all let me say
I am not the one to sit around and be played
So prove yourself to me
I'm the girl that you claim
Why don't you say the things
That you said to me yesterday

[Pre-chorus:]
I know you say that I am assuming things
Something's going down, that's the way it seems
Shouldn't be no reason why you're acting strange
If nobody's holding you back from me
'Cause I know how you usually do
Where you're saying everything to me times two
Why can't you just tell the truth
If somebody's there, then tell me who

[Chorus]

[Beyonce:]
What is up with this
Tell the truth, who you with
How would you like it if I came over with my clique
Don't try and change it now
See you've gotta bounce
When two seconds ago,
Said you just got in the house
It's hard to believe that you are at home by yourself
When I just heard the voice, heard the voice of someone else
Just this question why do you feel you got to lie?
Getting caught up in your game
When you can not say my name

[Pre-chorus]
[Chorus]

[Rodney Jenkins]
Where my ladies at
(Yea yea yea yea yea yea)
Can you say that, come on
(Yea yea yea yea, yea yea yea yea, yea yea yea)
All the girls say
(Yea yea yea yea, yea yea yea yea)
What? I can't hear you
(Yea yea yea yea)
All my ladies say
(Yea yea yea yea, yea yea yea yea)
All the girls say
(Yea yea yea yea, yea yea yea yea)
Break it down
(Oh woo, oh)
What what what
D.C., take it to the bridge Come on

[Pre-chorus]
[Chorus]

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http://www.churchplanting.com/taking-the-hard-road/#.WK8uUlUrLrd

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https://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/sure-my-little-dog

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Audio Recording on Tuesday afternoon by KAYLEE MCINVALE

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Stream Audio Recording on Tuesday afternoon by KAYLEE MCINVALE from desktop or your mobile device

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No Fear Shakespeare: Romeo and Juliet Act 1 Scene 3 page 2
http://nfs.sparknotes.com/romeojuliet/page_40.html
NURSE

Even or odd, of all days in the year,

Come Lammas Eve at night shall she be fourteen.

Susan and she—God rest all Christian souls!—

Were of an age. Well, Susan is with God.

She was too good for me. But, as I said,

On Lammas Eve at night shall she be fourteen.

That shall she. Marry, I remember it well.

'Tis since the earthquake now eleven years,

And she was weaned—I never shall forget it—

Of all the days of the year, upon that day.

For I had then laid wormwood to my dug,

Sitting in the sun under the dovehouse wall.

My lord and you were then at Mantua.—

Nay, I do bear a brain.—But, as I said,

When it did taste the wormwood on the nipple

Of my dug and felt it bitter, pretty fool,

To see it tetchy and fall out with the dug!

“Shake!” quoth the dovehouse. 'Twas no need, I trow,

To bid me trudge.

And since that time it is eleven years,

For then she could stand alone. Nay, by the rood,

She could have run and waddled all about,

For even the day before, she broke her brow.

And then my husband—God be with his soul!

He was a merry man—took up the child.

“Yea,” quoth he, “Dost thou fall upon thy face?

Thou wilt fall backward when thou hast more wit,

Wilt thou not, Jule?” and, by my holy dame,

The pretty wretch left crying and said “ay.”

To see now, how a jest shall come about!

I warrant, an I should live a thousand years,

I never should forget it. “Wilt thou not, Jule?” quoth he.

And, pretty fool, it stinted and said “ay.”

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Another reason why i don't keep a gun in the house

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Another reason why i don't keep a gun in the house

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https://www.poemhunter.com/best-poems/billy-collins/another-reason-why-i-don-t-keep-a-gun-in-the-hou/
Billy Collins
The neighbors' dog will not stop barking.
He is barking the same high, rhythmic bark
that he barks every time they leave the house.
They must switch him on on their way out.

The neighbors' dog will not stop barking.
I close all the windows in the house
and put on a Beethoven symphony full blast
but I can still hear him muffled under the music,
barking, barking, barking,

and now I can see him sitting in the orchestra,
his head raised confidently as if Beethoven
had included a part for barking dog.

When the record finally ends he is still barking,
sitting there in the oboe section barking,
his eyes fixed on the conductor who is
entreating him with his baton

while the other musicians listen in respectful
silence to the famous barking dog solo,
that endless coda that first established
Beethoven as an innovative genius.

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https://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/sure-my-little-dog
Eleanor Lerman

Yes, indeed, that is my house that I am carrying around
on my back like a bullet-proof shell and yes, that sure is
my little dog walking a hard road in hard boots. And
just wait until you see my girl, chomping on the chains
of fate with her mouth full of jagged steel. She’s damn
ready and so am I. What else did you expect from the
brainiacs of my generation? The survivors, the nonbelievers,
the oddball-outs with the Cuban Missile Crisis still
sizzling in our blood? Don’t tell me that you bought
our act, just because our worried parents (and believe me,
we’re nothing like them) taught us how to dress for work
and to speak as if we cared about our education. And
I guess the music fooled you: you thought we’d keep
the party going even to the edge of the abyss. Well,
too bad. It’s all yours now. Good luck on the ramparts.
What you want to watch for is when the sky shakes
itself free of kites and flies away. Have a nice day.

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https://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/deer-hit
Jon Loomis

You’re seventeen and tunnel-vision drunk,
swerving your father’s Fairlane wagon home
at 3:00 a.m. Two-lane road, all curves
and dips—dark woods, a stream, a patchy acre
of teazle and grass. You don’t see the deer
till they turn their heads—road full of eyeballs,
small moons glowing. You crank the wheel,
stamp both feet on the brake, skid and jolt
into the ditch. Glitter and crunch of broken glass
in your lap, deer hair drifting like dust. Your chin
and shirt are soaked—one eye half-obscured
by the cocked bridge of your nose. The car
still running, its lights angled up at the trees.
You get out. The deer lies on its side.
A doe, spinning itself around
in a frantic circle, front legs scrambling,
back legs paralyzed, dead. Making a sound—
again and again this terrible bleat.
You watch for a while. It tires, lies still.
And here’s what you do: pick the deer up
like a bride. Wrestle it into the back of the car—
the seat folded down. Somehow, you steer
the wagon out of the ditch and head home,
night rushing in through the broken window,
headlight dangling, side-mirror gone.
Your nose throbs, something stabs
in your side. The deer breathing behind you,
shallow and fast. A stoplight, you’re almost home
and the deer scrambles to life, its long head
appears like a ghost in the rear-view mirror
and bites you, its teeth clamp down on your shoulder
and maybe you scream, you struggle and flail
till the deer, exhausted, lets go and lies down.
2
Your father’s waiting up, watching tv.
He’s had a few drinks and he’s angry.
Christ, he says, when you let yourself in.
It’s Night of the Living Dead. You tell him
some of what happened: the dark road,
the deer you couldn’t avoid. Outside, he circles
the car. Jesus, he says. A long silence.
Son of a bitch, looking in. He opens the tailgate,
drags the quivering deer out by a leg.
What can you tell him—you weren’t thinking,
you’d injured your head? You wanted to fix
what you’d broken—restore the beautiful body,
color of wet straw, color of oak leaves in winter?
The deer shudders and bleats in the driveway.
Your father walks to the toolshed,
comes back lugging a concrete block.
Some things stay with you. Dumping the body
deep in the woods, like a gangster. The dent
in your nose. All your life, the trail of ruin you leave.