- Go through the TP-CASTT analysis handout with your group members. Start with the title – when you have analyzed the title, ask Mrs. Kokoski for the rest of the poem.
- Designate someone to type your responses into the TP-CASTT Chart.
- As a group, write the TP-CASTT Analysis Paragraph. See the example Mrs. Kokoski posted on Edmodo.
- Your poems are posted below. It is your responsibility to post your TP-CASTT analysis as a comment under your poem.
- As a group, read another group's poem and their TP-CASTT analysis. Post a comment that adds to their analysis.
1 Comment
`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe: All mimsy were the borogoves, And the mome raths outgrabe. "Beware the Jabberwock, my son! The jaws that bite, the claws that catch! Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun The frumious Bandersnatch!" He took his vorpal sword in hand: Long time the manxome foe he sought -- So rested he by the Tumtum tree, And stood awhile in thought. And, as in uffish thought he stood, The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame, Came whiffling through the tulgey wood, And burbled as it came! One, two! One, two! And through and through The vorpal blade went snicker-snack! He left it dead, and with its head He went galumphing back. "And, has thou slain the Jabberwock? Come to my arms, my beamish boy! O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!' He chortled in his joy. `Twas brillig, and the slithy toves Did gyre and gimble in the wabe; All mimsy were the borogoves, And the mome raths outgrabe. Lewis Carroll (from Through the Looking-Glass and What Alice Found There, 1872) When every pencil meant a sacrifice
his parents boarded him at school in town, slaving to free him from the stony fields, the meagre acreage that bore them down. They blushed with pride when, at his graduation, they watched him picking up the slender scroll, his passport from the years of brutal toil and lonely patience in a barren hole. When he went in the Bank their cups ran over. They marvelled how he wore a milk-white shirt work days and jeans on Sundays. He was saved from their thistle-strewn farm and its red dirt. And he said nothing. Hard and serious like a young bear inside his teller's cage, his axe-hewn hands upon the paper bills aching with empty strength and throttled rage. Alden Nowlan |