English 11: Writing Portfolio    
Essay the First

Essay the Second

Essay the Third

Essay the Fourth

   

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In the town of Adrigal in Ireland there is a house that has long been in the Sullivan Family. I have always heard it called "The Rock House" but I never knew why it was called that until I saw a picture of it.
The Rock House is exactly what it is called. It is a house built by my ancestors and is completley made of rock, except for the thatched roof. It is only one story high, has very few windows and no landscaping except for the rocky soil and tall straw-like grasses.
 
 My father told me that this house has been in the Sullivan Family for over 100 years and all of my grandfather's fourteen siblings grew up there.It is the 1st house goin back taht my family had used. As these Great Aunts and Uncles grew up, and married, some moved to the United States and some remained in Adrigal. It was the first house that the Sullivans felt a close bond to in Ireland.  Those that came to America would always talk to their childrean about the Rock House and everyone felt that it was a pieace of land that belonged to everyone of the Sullivan clan.
 
One of my grandfather's youngest brothers remained living in the house with his wife and as many did, he married late and they never had any children. When this Great Uncle died, the Rock House and land passed to his wife and she continued to live in it. Shortly after the husband died, she passed away also, and because there were no children the Rock House and land passed to her family. This was the first time that the occupants, were not blood-relatives.
 
The Sullivan clan, which is my father's generation, was devastated. No one in Ireland had put the property in a document that would legally keep the Rock House in the Sullivan Family. The relatives who live in the United States must have assumed everything was taken care of, or maybe they never even thought of it when the Great Uncle died.  I wish this hadn't happened, because maybe I could pass this house on to my children.  
 
All of my Grandfather's siblings, both here and in Ireland, have passed away, but whenever any of the Sullivan relations who lived who live in the United States visit Ireland, they can never return without a visit to Adrigal and the Rock House. My father and I hope to take a trip to Ireland in the future and he will bring me to see the Rock House when we visit. My only hope is that we are able to visit inside the house and not just see it from the outside.  I want to go inside and stand where my ancestors once stood.  
 
I think this changing of hand of the Rock House is so devastating to my Boston relatives because it was part of their history. It gave them something to connect them with relatives they may have just met, or just heard about, in Ireland.  Now it is someone else's. As Americans we all have to lose something to actually be American whether it is someone being Hatian, or French, everyones ancestors gave something up so that we could live in this country with freedom and happiness
 
Now it does not make a difference too much to me, but I think that when I see it I will feel differently. Last year one of my cousins went to Ireland and I know they were very upset after they visited the house. I guess, like me, if you are of Irish descent, you would want a little but of Ireland to call your own too.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  There is this place that no one goes.  I see no one there, ever.  I will sometimes that an occasional wallk through it, but it is scary here and I worry about my safety.  It is on a corner at a street called Morton and Clearwater Drive.  There is about an acre worth of land, good for planting yet good for children to play games.  The trees are high with brush all around, a field of tall grasses with rocks in certain areas. The pavement that has sat unused for so long is cracked and unfinished.
     I slowly walk over to "the woods" and enter. The wind is at my back and I can feel it in my hair, on my skin, in my heart and deep within my bones.  As the wind whips around to my face it hurts me to smile. It is almost like cracking ice.  The windburn will come.  It is around seven o'clock at night, pitch black, there are no lights here.  I imagine it is dark as if I were sealed in a box.  I can not see very far into "the woods" and give it seconds thoughts about walking farther than the entrance where I now stand.  I know I must walk farther, I must get over fear, I must stand up to it.  I walk about eighty-four steps and take a three-sixty to look around me.  Light would cast a giant shadow around me but there is none.  I step forward and strike a bush with my ice cold hands.  It hurts me.  I think to myself that I must walk back and go home.
   It is day two around three-fifteen between non and the eve.  It is a drizzle of cool rain and windy once again.  God has dressed the sky in gray today and it is only a little warmer.  The spirit of nature and "the woods" comes together.  I walk onward and I can see the rocks, I can see the grass, the trees.  I head over to the rocks of "the woods" and I decide to sit down.  The rocks are sharp and are hurtful on my bottom.  I can see their deep crevices with dirt and pebbles sitting inside.  The blacks and grays that God has combined to form this piece of nature is supporting me.  I can feel the bumps and the sharpness in my back as I lay down.  My body higs tha rocks with passion for God's nature, our nature, we must care for it.  I stand up and climb on top of the rocks.  I jump off onto the the hard dirt like a child would.  I go to the edge of "the woods" and leave this place, to go home.
  Silence is around me. God has covered "the woods" with snow, a soft blanket of two feet of whitness.  For some reason it does not feel like the thirty-two of a usual winter night.  I enter "the woods" and see the rocks I once sat on as they stick their heads above the snow.  I run and fall.  It is a time of peace and serenity at "the woods".  No one is out around this nine o'clock hour at the end of the day.  I try to listen to the sounds mother nature usually makes, a crow making noise, a whistle of the wind but it is stillfully silent.  Then as I stand alone the silence is broken by the sound of a solidary car passing by.  I want to stay here longer by the snow is coming harder now and it is smothering me to the point I feel a wet burning.  It is time for me to turn and walk back through the snow and go home.
  I walk to "the woods" on a beautiful day with the sun up, but it is freezing.  I fall on some ice and break through the crust that has formed.  The sun it straight above me, it feels good warming me, but it is still cold out.  As I walk around "the woods" the snow clings to me.  Under the top crust the snow is soft.  It is beautiful art created by God.  There is a boundry around "the woods" that holds in this part of nature in.  I have become fond of "the woods" and want to come here more.  I lay down in the field where there was once grass but now snow.  I feel warm as my skin drinks up the rays of the sun.  I lay there for at least a half hour pondering life.  I get up from my time of leisure and walk to the trees barren of their leaves, now a skeleton of nature.  At the trees I kneel down and dig down into the snow and I find the leaves at the bottom of the snow. They are brown and rotted and alone.  They lay silent now, resting, no wind playing with them and rolling them happily through the filed. Now they remind me of death and loneliness.  This vison in my mind makes me qiver and I walk away and go home.      
   The last day as I walk over to "the woods". I am glad but sad at the same time. I must be leaving this place that I have grown to care about. The birds in the tree, the winds in the air that made the tress naked and the bumpy rocks that I layed on, I must leave it all. Nature is good, nature is beautifull, nature is for us to care for and we must be ones who value this land given us by God. I give "the woods" one last look and then I turn, I must go home.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Emily Dickinson is best known for being one of the most brilliant poets of her time. She wrote about many different themes, such as death, love, and a women's  point of view. She was born on December 10th, 1830, and was a recluse, rarely venturing from outside of her home in Amherst, Massachusetts. I chose her work "Departed by the Judgment". I chose this work of hers because it explains one of her very popular themes, death. Emily Dickinson, I believe was one of the greatest of the 18th century.
 
While "Departed to the Judgment" is brief, each individual word is loaded with allegorical meaning. The "story" switches from the conjuring up images of a day ending, a storm coming, and an audience leaving. While it is clearly about death, the poem also relates the  cyclical nature of all life. This and many of her other works were inspired by the many of the poets of England.  
 
This poem describes how how someone is put to the test of life, and how death comes about every life. This poem hints to what the poem means more than most of her poems. She uses lines such as, "Great clouds like ushers leaning...", meaning death is coming upon us like clouds come everyday. "Departed to the Judgment" unlike others refers to her reaction against conformity. She says a lot in a few words in this poem, such as, "A mighty afternoon...", meaning the end of each day can come a death.
 
"Departed to the Judgment" has a tremendous about of the useage of the letter L. In lines such as, "The flesh surrendered, cancelled...", or "Great clouds life ushers leaning...". I believe that this poem gives the reaction that Emily has on death. Although it uses one of her more popular and useful themes, this expresses the most detailed way of speaking in other words about death.
 
This poem gives me a good feeling of how Dickinson worked, and how she related a lot of her life, and the lives of many of the people around her, to her poetry. She is an artist of fame, and intellectual qualities of the 18th century.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The world renound sport of golf has been around for centuries. Created by the Scotish in the fifteenth century. King James wanted to lower this game so that the people would aware themselves of a sport that would help them in defense, archery. Most people that I have spoken to thought the sport is boring and pointless, others say that it iswas made for the man of today.  
 
Golf begins with a different variety of rules, one equipment, legal or not, the type of balls you use The USGA(United States Golf Assosiation) takes big role in all these rules to help prevent cheating. The USGA writes, makes easyily known and keeps control that the rules of golf. They do this not for just the professionals but the amateurs as well. The USGA performs tests on golf clubs and  the balls being used to make it all offical. Golf as I had said is a gentlmans sport, played by men with respect, following these rules are just simple tasks to be used to make golf the right way.  
 
My favorite and probally one of the most famous players of today, Tiger Woods is as famous as the sport itself. I found an interview discussing the a win that Tiger had after the famous PGA tour. The interview between him and commentor Julius Mason. He talks to him about the course and how calmly Tiger took each tee-off. Also talking about techniques he used and the clubs he used and how he used them wisely and not so.  
 
There are many different sponsoring companies all over the world that make golf possible. Famous companies such as Nike, Wilson, or Callaway Clubs. Famous for all professional golfers. The sport has become one of the most respected and popular sports in America. I find it to be a respected and profound sports in the world.  
 
 So I ask is golf a proposed solution as an American sport? We use the words golf and America in the same sentences many a times. Such as the America Golf Association, or tounaments such as the American Century Golf Championship having to do with famous American celebrities or sports athletes. These two words are together for representing the truth behind what we have made golf around us into. The true American sport for us.