a particular subject, written in varied or irregular meter.

After the Sea-Ship by Walt Whitman 

After the Sea-Ship—after the whistling winds;

After the white-gray sails, taut to their spars and ropes,

Below, a myriad, myriad waves, hastening, lifting up their necks, 

Tending in ceaseless flow toward the track of the ship: 

Waves of the ocean, bubbling and gurgling, blithely prying,

Waves, undulating waves—liquid, uneven, emulous waves,

Toward that whirling current, laughing and buoyant, with curves, 

Where the great Vessel, sailing and tacking, displaced the surface;

It is not growing like a treeIn bulk, doth make man better be;
Or standing long an Oak, three hundred year,
To fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sear.
A Lily of a day
Is fairer far, in May
Although it fall and die that night;
It was the plant and flower of light.
In small proportions we just beauties see;
And in short measure, life may perfect be.

Fog by Carl Sandburg

The fog comes

on little cat feet.

It sits looking

over harbor and city

on silent haunches

and then moves on.

Feelings, Now by Katherine Foreman

Some kind of attraction that is neither

Animal, vegetable, nor mineral, a power not

Solar, fusion, or magnetic

And it is all in my head that

I could see into his

And find myself sitting there.

because there is no rhyme scheme or

rhythm.

On Ship! New billows sweep thee outSeaward. What wilt thou? Hold the port, be stout
See'st not thy mast
How rent by stiff Southwestern blast?

Thy side, of rowers how forlorn?Thine hull, with groaning yards, with rigging torn,
Can ill sustain
The fierce, and ever fiercer main;

Thy gods, no more than sails entire,From whom yet once they need might aid require,
Oh Pontic Pine,
The first of woodland stocks is thine.

Yet race and name are but as dust,Not painted sterns gave storm-tost seamen trust;
Unless thou dare
To be the sport of storms, beware.

O fold at best a weary weight,A yearning care and constant strain of late,
O shun the seas
That girt those glittering Cyclades

6th period, my teacher's name is Mr.Barro, he is the one

that teaches me grammar for at least five minutes a day.

My partner in this project has a name, it's Dustin Price. His

favorite color is blue, mine is purple. My teacher calls me 

luna-una it means moon-one get it cause my name is Sundos!

Well yeah thats my life story...BYE

"Ode to the Confederate Dead" 

Row after row with strict impunity

The headstones yield their names to the element,

The wind whirrs without recollection;

In the riven troughs the splayed leaves

Pile up, of nature the casual sacrament

To the seasonal eternity of death;

Then driven by the fierce scrutiny

Of heaven to their election in the vast breath,

They sough the rumour of mortality