Hey everyone! Below is my poem about Phillippe Petite and the time he walked across from the very top of the Twin Towers, with nothing but wire. The process I chose, may or may have not been more complicated than the rest of my classmates, was to break it down into four parts: taking notes, rough draft, edit, final copy. The first part was to take notes on the YouTube video we watched in class. I wrote down anything I heard including important dates and statistics, quotations from Petite himself and other spectators, and anything I found interesting about what Petite was doing. By doing that, I had more information than I needed to begin the poem. The second part was to write a rough draft of the poem; which I did by writing it out with pencil and paper. By doing this I had the chance to scribble out and easily erase and rewrite/insert different phrases that fit into the poem. The next part was to edit the rough draft. Since both my sisters love poetry and admire the different techniques of poetry, I asked one of them to look over my poem, revise it, and give me suggestions on how to make the poem better. The final step was to type out the final draft after all the revisions were made. This "final" draft ended up being another rough draft because after reading the poem we read in class, I decided there was a little more touching up to do. I hope this is that last copy of this poem, but if more revisions are needed, I will be happy to re-edit this poem. I hope you enjoy it!
Impossible is Just a Word
I admire Philippe
Petite.
Twenty-four years
old.
Eight months prior
planning.
Anxiety filling his
head and stomach.
This is impossible. This is impossible. This. Is. IMPOSSIBLE.
One thousand three
hundred sixty three feet up.
Nothing but thin
wire.
August 7, 1974.
A day to be
remembered.
High Wire Artist,
Philippe Petite takes on the Twin Towers.
Looking like a small
speck to the hundreds of curious spectators below
Petite performs
outrageous, dangerous tricks.
A quarter mile up.
Bowing.
Saluting.
Lying down.
J
U
M
P
I
N
G.
Dancing.
Kneeling.
Applause.
How long was the
irrationality going to continue?
Eight Rounds.
Forty-Five minutes
later.
Insanity escapes
Petite’s mind
and reality pours in.
“My intuition told me
it was time for me to close the curtain of this intimate performance,"
Petite was let off
with a penalty to perform to children.
Shock.
Inspiration.
Respect.
Persistence for my
dreams.
I admire Philippe
Petite.
I can definitely tell that you put a lot of time into creating this poem, as you stated above. And I love your poem because it ties together most of the details from the experience Philippe Petite had on the high wire, and in order to do so you utilize in your poem many different techniques used in poetry. The design and wording of your poem is very beautiful and unique and I definitely enjoyed reading your poem!
ReplyDeletei love how you used the word jumping and wrote it as if he was coming down from the jump. i love the poem in general too really ties together all the things that happened
ReplyDeleteI think it's pretty interesting, the way you wrote the poem. Truly putting emphasis in those specific times of the whole thing.
ReplyDeleteThis poem is amazing! not only did you have really good word choices but you also made it even better by adding style or shape to it. I really liked it and good job!
ReplyDeleteWow you definatly got creative with this i really like the jumping lines and how you centered the poem on the page it gives it a different feel.
ReplyDeleteNice creativity,Lilyan. I like the structure and especially like how you wrote "jumping"!
ReplyDelete