I would like some help. I need somebody to explicate (explain) this poem and using TPCSSTT (title, parapharse, Connotations, speaker, shifts, tone and theme) The poem is To Althea From Prison by Richard Lovelace. If anybody could help thanks. Email to Notandrewboyd@yahoo.com
200853
sorry boss.  u have 2 do it yourself.\n\nBEST OF LUCK...!!!!
421888
It's interesting, as a poem I would have stopped at struggle to change as a song its fine to continue, Some grammatical and punctuation errors, I would accept it as a work in progress. :-) good luck and keep writing
203704
AWESOME WORK.I AM A POET MYSELF AND I BEEN WRITING A LONG TIME AND I CAN SAY THAT YOUR POEM WAS SPECIAL.YOU ARE TALENTED YOU SHOULD SUBMIT SOME OF YOUR WORK ON POETRY SITES.ALL OF MY WORK IS AT LOVELANDIA UNDER THE NAME VALKATVAL.GO CHECK IT OUT AND START YOUR OWN PAGE,ITS A GREAT SITE,YOU'LL LOVE IT.
59824
been nowhere, did nothing, stole the t shirt.\ncome to the dark side, we have cookies.\nback with a vengence... and a mug of cocoa.\nsaw it, wanted it, threw a tantrum, got it.\na pat on the back is only a few centimetres from a kick up the backside.\nof course i dont look busy, i did it right the first time.\nalways remember that you're unique, yust like everyone else.\ni started out with nothing and still have most of it left.\nDo unto others…then run.\nYes I missed you. But my aim is improving.\nSupport your local medical examiner - die strangely.\nThe main reason Santa is jolly is that he knows where all the bad girls live.\nLife’s a beach, and then you drown.\nLife in a vacuum sucks.\nGot kleptomania? Take something for it.\nRomans didn’t find algebra challenging because X was always 10.\nLife’s short and hard - kind of like a bodybuilding elf.\nTwo wrongs don’t  make a right, but three lefts do.\nI’m not afraid of the dark…it’s the stuff in the dark I’m afraid of.\nEven if the voices aren’t real, they come up with some good ideas.\nRock is dead…long live paper and scissors!
366332
Awesome poem! I like the way it flows, and how you put feeling into the poem. Kick-A**-Tic. Let me know if you write any more. ROCK ON!!
323967
well, if u wrote it, CONGRAGULATIONS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!, if not i think this is just a ordinary poem, probably written to impress a lady or something. I have a friend who published poems, and this poem would be an B- or 7.5/10 grade, which would not make it to the poem industry. But as I said, this poem has a lot of rich text that is exceptionally enriching. It takes great skill to write that, and that is why we are not all writers.
277150
Well... You can look for the website yourself, really, but maybe you could put up the poem so ppl can read it and give you some commentary on it, might be easier.
310779
I love your poem.  It's very, very deep.  Keep it up! =)\n\np.s.\nDon't worry about grammatical mistakes.  No such thing when you're writing what you're feeling! =)
400061
I don't know for sure if the one you are looking for is here, but there is one that sounds like it.   I can't believe how many versions I found of this poem!!!
606255
Welllll...I belong to a poetry workshop online, and if I reviewed your poem, I might say something like this: Your poem is filled with obvious pain and honest emotion, however I feel in some places your creativity is compromised by the rhymes...by which I mean you are stretching to achieve rhyme in places, using things that otherwise might not fit the best, like "hardware in his ears" and watching him like a "bear". The repetition of bloodstain and drip are a bit much. The image of red blood on your white shirt is good-you should play that up a bit maybe. Poetry is hard work-keep writing and good luck! And please don't cut yourself over a guy, or anything else, btw. I hope that part is just poetic license. :)
449872
ok summer here is the best i got:\n\nThis poem is (obviously) a lament, or some sorrow for something lost, also known as an elegy.  In this case, the poem is a woman's song.  She is lamenting the loss of her lover (it is possible that he is simply not there, or absent).  \nHowever, it appears as if "her lord" is the same lord that governs the people in this poem.  Therefore, for some reason they are isolating her from him.  Her lord himself tells her to take up a "dwelling" that he has apparently appointed for her.  \nOnce there, she meets a man and falls in love with him, claiming that "death alone" would separate them.\nFor the remainder of the poem, the woman is expressing her deep grief as she is in exile in what seems to be some type of cave or tunnell in the ground.\n\nhere is a paragraph by paragraph analysis:\n1.  \nHere she is introducing her lament as a sorrowful tale of her utmost woe; that never before has she experienced any distress as dire or excruciating as this.\n\n2.\nhere she explains that her lords family/ gentry sent him on a sea journey.  "Dawn-cares" can be interpreted as she either worries about him so much, she is losing sleep, or she wakes up in the morning, and her 1st thought is her husband.  [These compound words are famous in anglo-saxon poetry.]  She decides to go into exile, which was a custom of women to do who were w/o there husbands.  She may have disgraced him and is thencforth banishing herself.  It seems that she is turning to his people for advice, and they have their own plans as to where she should go.  The scheme and plot to send her away and put her in a position which will forever keep them apart. \n\n3.\nHer lord confirms the dwelling place she is to go to.  Where she went for exile, she knows few people.\n\n4.  \nShe falls in love with a man who is depressive and well taken care of.  He also seems to be in exile w/ a broken heart...he may even be suicidal.  They vow together, that, in their exile, they will have eachother.  But, he kills himself, destroying their pact.  she is back to where she stared in her sorrow.\n\n5.  \nFillied with longing, she is sent to live in a cave or some sort of underground hovel.  \n\n6. She describes her surroundings as dismal and "briar-choked".  She bemoans that fact that loves walk the earth and experience joy, while she is condemned to despair.  She explains that she can never gain composure because she used to be so full of hope, promise, and she was enthused for life.  Now that everything is taken from her, she is torn.  She takes a turn to curse her lord and wish upon him sorrow and grief, that he may become lost and wandering in his journeys.  She wished upon him a brooding heart and "breast cares" (broken heart). \n\nWell, I really hope this helps you!! Good luck with everything!  I will also email this to u so u get it.
336257
Better yet, why don't you try reading them yourself and offering your own insights. If you keep relying on websites to do the work for you, you will NEVER learn how to analyze a poem or story yourself!!\n\nBy the way, your teacher is to be commended for having you read some excellent literature and by doing so requiring you to THINK!! Don't disappoint him or her. Do the work yourself!!
635235
Hiya.  Here's one of my own.  It's depressing, but happiness wasn't a prerequisit.  (By the way, you forgot the "Unstressed/stressed" syllable pattern!)\n\n"Sonnet of Mourning" by Sine Nomine\n\nIt pained me to see others sorely pained;\nLove bade me eagerly to take their stead,\nAnd were I thousand miles away, I strained\nTo loose the tie of anguish, loss and dread.\nNow as I sleep, please know I love you still.\nThough wordless glory crowns my aching heart,\nI'll never sleep and dare to dream until\nYou let me leave and to sweet Grace depart.\n\nDo not weigh down my restful mind with guilt\nThrough heavy tears and lasting mourning sighs,\nFor Heaven's like a finished patchwork quilt\nWith all God's blesséd knots securely tied.\n\nPlease hear my plead and let your crying cease.\nAs I love you, now let me be at peace.
376519
In the last line change you'll to YOU. It sounds like your forcing this person to stay in ur life.\n\nOtherwise, it's a good poem. Very straightforward and whatnot and it has a universal theme so everyone can relate to it.
276572
The world needs more Poets.\n\nI agree grammar is important..unless misuse is deliberate.\n\nI did get a laugh over someone chastising you for poor \n\ngrammar by stating one word was "more correct"!!!\n\nCheck my poems on my Yahoo 360 and let me know what you \n\nthink by posting a comment and voting for favourites.\n\nA 360 site would be a good way for you to post your works \n\nas well.\n\n\nGood Luck\n\nJimmy
237789
All the above answers are correct.\n\nCheck my yahoo 360 and test your new knowledge by determining which is poetry and which is prose.\n\nVote and leave a comment.\n\nGood Luck\n\nJimmy
274224
The following is a Gaslight etext.... \n  A message to you about copyright and permissions \n \n\n--------------------------------------------------------------------------------\n \n\n\nTHE THREE STRANGERS\nfrom _Wessex tales_ (1903 ed.)\nLondon\nMacMillan and Co., Limited\nNew York: The MacMillan Company\n\n\nby Thomas Hardy\n\n\n--------------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\nAMONG the few features of agricultural England which retain an appearance but little modified by the lapse of centuries, may be reckoned the high, grassy and furzy downs, coombs, or ewe-leases, as they are indifferently called, that fill a large area of certain counties in the south and south-west. If any mark of human occupation is met with hereon, it usually takes the form of the solitary cottage of some shepherd. \n\n  Fifty years ago such a lonely cottage stood on such a down, and may possibly be standing there now. In spite of its loneliness, however, the spot, by actual measurement, was not more than five miles from a county-town. Yet that affected it little. Five miles of irregular upland, during the long inimical seasons, with their sleets, snows, rains, and mists, afford withdrawing space enough to isolate a Timon or a Nebuchadnezzar; much less, in fair weather, to please that less repellent tribe, the poets, philosophers, artists, and others who 'conceive and meditate of pleasant things.' \n\n  Some old earthen camp or barrow, some clump of trees, at least some starved fragment of ancient hedge is usually taken advantage of in the erection of these forlorn dwellings. But, in the present case, such a kind of shelter had been disregarded. Higher Crowstairs, as the house was called, stood quite detached and undefended. The only reason for its precise situation seemed to be the crossing of two footpaths at right angles hard by, which may have crossed there and thus for a good five hundred years. Hence the house was exposed to the elements on all sides. But, though the wind up here blew unmistakably when it did blow, and the rain hit hard whenever it fell, the various weathers of the winter season were not quite so formidable on the coomb as they were imagined to be by dwellers on low ground. The raw rimes were not so pernicious as in the hollows, and the frosts were scarcely so severe. When the shepherd and his family who tenanted the house were pitied for their sufferings from the exposure, they said that upon the whole they were less inconvenienced by 'wuzzes and flames' (hoarses and phlegms) than when they had lived by the stream of a snug neighbouring valley. \n\n  The night of March 28, 182-, was precisely one of the nights that were wont to call forth these expressions of commiseration. The level rainstorm smote walls, slopes, and hedges like the clothyard shafts of Senlac and Crecy. Such sheep and outdoor animals as had no shelter stood with their buttocks to the winds; while the tails of little birds trying to roost on some scraggy thorn were blown inside-out like umbrellas. The gable-end of the cottage was stained with wet, and the eavesdroppings flapped against the wall. Yet never was commiseration for the shepherd more misplaced. For that cheerful rustic was entertaining a large party in glorification of the christening of his second girl. \n\n  The guests had arrived before the rain began to fall, and they were all now assembled in the chief or living room of the dwelling. A glance into the apartment at eight o'clock on this eventful evening would have resulted in the opinion that it was as cosy and comfortable a nook as could be wished for in boisterous weather. The calling of its inhabitant was proclaimed by a number of highly-polished sheep-crooks without stems that were hung ornamentally over the fireplace, the curl of each shining crook varying from the antiquated type engraved in the patriarchal pictures of old family Bibles to the most approved fashion of the last local sh