I was Born in Guatemala,  I moved to Columbus whe i was seven. Ive gone to St anne pacelli from 1st-9th grade. I want to play soccer for college when i grow up.

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Between my finger and my thumb
The squat pin rest; snug as a gun.

Under my window, a clean rasping sound
When the spade sinks into gravelly ground:
My father, digging. I look down

Till his straining rump among the flowerbeds
Bends low, comes up twenty years away
Stooping in rhythm through potato drills
Where he was digging.

The coarse boot nestled on the lug, the shaft
Against the inside knee was levered firmly.
He rooted out tall tops, buried the bright edge deep
To scatter new potatoes that we picked,
Loving their cool hardness in our hands.

By God, the old man could handle a spade.
Just like his old man.

My grandfather cut more turf in a day
Than any other man on Toner’s bog.
Once I carried him milk in a bottle
Corked sloppily with paper. He straightened up
To drink it, then fell to right away
Nicking and slicing neatly, heaving sods
Over his shoulder, going down and down
For the good turf. Digging.

The cold smell of potato mould, the squelch and slap
Of soggy peat, the curt cuts of an edge
Through living roots awaken in my head.
But I’ve no spade to follow men like them.

Between my finger and my thumb
The squat pen rests.
I’ll dig with it.

Well in this poem Seamus watches his father and grandfather work planting potatoes out side his window, he realizes that he is not as good as his dad and granpa in digging for potatoes but he is good in writting which is like his digging for potatoes.

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I sat all morning in the college sick bay
Counting bells knelling classes to a close.
At two o’clock our neighbours drove me home.

In the porch I met my father crying -
He had always taken funerals in his stride -
And Big Jim Evans saying it was a hard blow.

The baby cooed and laughed and rocked the pram
When I came in, and I was embarrassed
By old men standing up to shake my hand

And tell me they were ‘sorry for my trouble’
Whispers informed strangers that I was the eldest,
Away at school, as my mother held my hand

In hers and coughed out angry tearless sighs.
At ten o’clock the ambulance arrived
With the corpse, stanched and bandaged by the nurses.

Next morning I went up into the room. Snowdrops
And candles soothed the bedside I saw him
For the first time in six weeks. Paler now,

Wearing a poppy bruise on his left temple.
He lay in a four foot box, as in his cot.
No gaudy scars, the bumper knocked him clear.

A four foot box, a foot for every year.

Seamus is sad about his brother dying and he is exprexxing himself in this poem. This is what i got out of it.

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‘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 a while 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 hast thou slain the Jabberwock?

Come to my arms, my beamish boy!

Oh 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.

I think that the jabberwocky represents temptations in live and the boy is trying to beat temptation, and at the end he does deafeat it and he celebrates with his father. I think he wrote this so people are inspired to beat temptations.

3. (a)The hero searches for him but doesnt find him for a long time, then he thinks of what he is going to do.(b) I dont think they are making fun of heroism.


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When God deigns to watch soccer

He sits on the fence

While you clasp your palms in prayer

He looks askance.

The referee mouths his whistle

He rules the verdict on the field

While the player, in despair, knows

To his card, he has to yield.

The spectators scream in frenzy

And the fans ape their heroes

While the arena is ablaze

With a kaleidoscope of painted faces.

Cries of ‘goal’ fill the air

It’s a month of living soccer

While, at last, the winners hold the Cup high

The losers gasp in disbelief and horror.

Four years of waiting has to pass

For this season to come round again

While the players run and sweat

Both punters and rookies hope to make a gain.


This poem is good it talks about soccer.  This Poem talks about the world cup.

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Real Madrid clinch eigtht straight win, with a win over Valladolid 4-1. They are trying to become the team to score the most goals. in the past 8 games Real Madrid has scored 29 goals.


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Real Madrid are still number one as they clinch thier eighth straight win 4-1 over Valladolid. Gonzalo Hiuguian scored three goals and now he’s onle three goals behind  Messi who has a total of 22 goals in la liga. The other goal was scored by Cristiano Ronaldo.

Higuaín celebra uno de sus goles en Zorrilla

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The legendary club Real Madrid is elimnated from the champions league to french club Lyon with the score of 1-1.  could this be the end Of manuel pellegrini’s career in Real Madrid?

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