Arts and Humanities Commons^™

Alliteration As A Literary Device, Zebo Nizomova

Mental Enlightenment Scientific-Methodological Journal

This article is devoted to some literary and theoretical views of Alliteration in English, giving a stylistic analysis of some literary passages in which the word master in the text of a work of art uses repetitions of individual consonants or their combinations. Alliteration is a method of euphonic repetition in one voice, tuning one or two similar sounds. It is a beautiful musical unity of the author’s thought inherent in poetry and high prose. Usually the semantic words of a sentence are alliterated. The article emphasizes that for alliteration to be effective, alliteration words must be consistent. If there …

Semantic Analysis Of Literary Terms By Literary Types In “The Concise Oxford Dictionary Of Literature Terms”, Muhayyo Saidova

Philology Matters

The scientific research shows that literary terms in the Germanic languages were not studied uniformly. Literary terms, which were the subject of our research, have hardly been studied in the Slavic, Roman and Germanic languages. Objectives and methods: Therefore, it is relevant to study the terms of philosophy, culture and spirituality, ethics, aesthetics, religion, linguistics and especially literary criticism. The degree of study and significance of literary terms are carried out in the given article. The article also gives information about the dictionary of Chris Baldick –The Concise Oxford Dictionary of Literary Terms and the significant aspects of literary terms. …

Have You Ever Looked At A Walnut Shell, Matthew E. Davis

The Tuxedo Archives

Have you ever looked at a walnut shell… all up close and personal I mean. You get so close your eyes crawl into the grooves until they become gorges and then the rest of your body follows in.

For The Boy Who Broke, Yvonne Bamba

The Tuxedo Archives

You were the boy who broke.

Broke into laughter. Broke into song.

Broke into a smile.

Broke into brokenness.

You had this terrible habit of breaking things, especially people.

Especially yourself.

Excerpt From Jaki's Tale, Kayla K. Etheridge

The Tuxedo Archives

We cooked macaroni and cheese. It was the perfect time to have a girls’ night. Candace loved to stir the block of butter, milk and packaged cheese in the pot once I finished draining it.

“Okay,” she grunted. “It’s done, Mommy.”

She walked over to the sink and washed her hands. I plucked a noodle from the pot and licked the cheese from my fingertips.

“Get the lemonade,” I told her.

I picked up the pot and separated it into three bowls while Candace filled two glasses with lemonade. “Grab some napkins.”

“I got them,” she answered. “Come on. It’s …

Book Review For Caribou, Emily Moran

The Tuxedo Archives

No abstract provided.

A Letter To A Future Bridezilla

The Tuxedo Archives

No abstract provided.

You Would Do Anything, Kevin Coates

The Tuxedo Archives

You are driving on the interstate, and your daughter says, “Look, Mommy! A polar bear!”

You are not so far gone that you think it really can be a polar bear, but you can not in that split second think of much else that it could be.

“A polar bear?” you say, stalling.

“Polar bear, polar bear, what do you hear?” she says.

You remember vaguely that those are the lines of a book you read to her at night. You don’t know what the polar bear hears. What do polar bears hear? You imagine white noise, winds filled with …

The Bone Train, Pamela Livingston

The Tuxedo Archives

Standing inside the shadow of the dying gum tree, Gadje counted the curses. There must be one for every misshapen god Ashtong’s coffins had offended and the train of coffins was long. Very long.

Brittle bone prayers swayed, clicking in the crisp breeze that broke through the branches of gum forest everywhere but where Gadje stood. He only had to toss some bone dust into the wind and mumble his request to make the wind god understand, they had worked around each other for many years. Crushing the shards of broken prayers in his palm, Gadje refilled the stiff gator …

Seven Taverns To The Schoolhouse, Ellen Six

The Tuxedo Archives

The day that I was born my parents looked at me and said, “You will go to college,” a noble ambition to fulfill when you are only two hours old. To both of my parents, who had emigrated from Lithuania, education was the magic key that would free me from the life that they had to live.

Mother had received only three years of schooling. She was third daughter in a family that would have twelve children; six would live and six would die. She learned to read and write but that was enough for a girl who was needed …

One Page Sentence, Kevin Coates

The Tuxedo Archives

I knew it wasn’t going to be easy, and by easy I mean a piece of cake, a cake walk, even though the one time I had actually tried to make a cake from scratch, it was not all that easy – in fact, it was one of the hardest things I did during my four years in college – making an orange sponge cake that baked into a hideous color, a color like the left over snack bags in the dollar aisle at Wal-Mart after Halloween, when all of the candy is fake fruit shapes and all of the …

Old Woman, Erina Lynch

The Tuxedo Archives

She sits across from me in all her purpleness. Same table, same drinks on the table. Each and every day the same. Three drinks each day at 11:45A.M. – one venti caramel frappucino, one venti mocha with whip and one grande iced coffee. She isstrange. The drinks, ordered together, sit on the table slowly being sucked dry as the old woman holds court at her two-seater, window, table for hours. She is strange, arriving at the local McDonald’s version of a coffeehouse referred to as Starbucks on her purple beach cruiser bicycle that is seriously tricked out in some sort …

Digressing, Kylie Walsh

The Tuxedo Archives

James sat up when Death knocked on the door. He was there to collect James the way children collect laughter. James opened the door; he was not very bright with things like this.

When he was younger his sister smashed a vase over his head after his provokings grew into gaping creatures. After numerous X-rays and MRIs the doctors told them all, “We looked at his head, there’s nothing there.”

Much amusement among the brothers and sisters at this. He could do Calculus problems in his head and tell you about wars that your great-great-great-grandparents fought in when they lived …

Dandelion, Jane Muir Greene

The Tuxedo Archives

The old man was hunched over his walker on the garden path, having a tug of war with the wheels of his walker and the pea gravel that barely delineated the pathways in the overgrown, weed strewn expanse of planting beds that hinted of a former hey-day. He was a short man whose middle had increased with every decade, now giving him an egg shaped profile, a ridiculous outline for such a dignified person, dressed in a three-piece suit with a white carnation in his button-hole, a uniform he had worn every day since he first started at the law …

Things My Father Taught Me, Casey Waits

The Tuxedo Archives

They say every man grows up to be his father. I’m pretty sure they say the same thing about women too. They also say how life is all about the little things. The devil is in the details and what have you; body language, facial expressions, clothing, ticks, mannerisms, habits, speech patterns, sayings, tones, opinions, and patterns. These are what make up a person. These are what make up me. I learned them from my dad.

Futile Attempts, Melissa Graveson

The Tuxedo Archives

I don’t know why I remember waking up one morning, and getting ready to go to the mall when I was five years old. The morning started just as so many others had. I crawled out of my bed, reluctant to leave the warmth, and comfort, it provided. Soon after I made it over to the dresser, where I found an outfit to wear. The shirt and pants I put on were indicative of a child’s wardrobe. These items were not unique, or original, by any means. Having put on traditional children’s clothes I then moved onto adorning myself with …

8 Weeks, Aiyana Beck

The Tuxedo Archives

I get to his office tired. My prefect dark ringlet curls dripping wet from the rain. I start to his office not paying attention to the fact that his secretary is trying to stop me.

“Miss Brown,” his secretary is saying, “he is on a conference call right now. If you wait I can let him know you are here.”

“I don’t have time to wait David.”

“Miss Brown,” he shouts at me, but I am already at the door to Joe’s office.

As I walk in, I swallow hard.

“So we are going to build this building in stages,” …

The Preservation Of Semantic Variety In The Prose Exposition, Ozoda Tojiboyeva Phd

Philology Matters

The article deals with a comparative analysis of Alisher Navai’s novel the “Sabai Sayyor” and his first prosaic narrative in the Uzbek literature “Nasri Xamsai benazir”. It focuses on the issues as the restoration of the elements supporting the semantic colorness such as seven novels, seven colors. The comparative analysis of the preservation of the meaningful layer in the prose indicates the peculiarities of both texts. The sequence order of chapters of the poem is of great importance in the context of the meaning according to compositional layout. Since the role of part in the discovery of the essence of …

How I Came To Dominican, Lisa Wagenhurst

The Tuxedo Archives

I remember like it was yesterday. It was late on a hot Friday afternoon in mid-
August and the sun was shining with the fierceness that August is notorious for, even in Northern California. Everywhere I looked there were trees and flowers and beautiful lawns. ~excerpt from short story

The Frog Pond, Valerie Silver

The Tuxedo Archives

Each January, the frog pond calls to me. I drive across town to the Discovery
Center parking lot, put on my mud shoes, breathe in the damp, leafy air, and step away from my everyday world. ~excerpt from short story

Sonoma County, Jim Metzger

The Tuxedo Archives

“It’s coming, a calmness of thought. It has to be.” These were often Tom’s words and most certainly always his thoughts. “The critical mass of media cannot sustain its frequency.” So for that we will be grateful, and for Tom’s final wishes, I am grateful too. ~excerpt from prose

Just Dial Zero (Excerpt), Megan Lynn

The Tuxedo Archives

Welcome to Paradise.

The scent of stale booze, fresh urine and dejection washed over her as she opened the glass door with a crack carefully patched by a duct tape diagonal slash. A small bell jingled above her head. She wondered where anyone would go. ~excerpt from prose

Paris, Cooper Scollan

The Tuxedo Archives

Oh to be in Paris. Paris, just like the movies. Just like the image. Just like the romance. It is as beautiful as one could conceive, and as inspiring as one wants it to be. As you visit the sites, eat the food, and try to become a part of this breathtaking city, you are left in a state of constant emotional tickle. But to be in Paris, you must try to act like a Parisian. Not a tourist. ~excerpt from prose

The Seven Forgotten Modern Wonders Of The World, Amy Fagan

The Tuxedo Archives

The Gateway Arch is the “gateway” to Saint Louis, Missouri. The Arch is a feature of the Jefferson National Expansion Memorial Park, and standing at 630 ft., is the nation’s tallest memorial. The stainless steel structure took four years to construct and was dedicated in 1966. Now, millions of visitors take a tram from one leg of the Arch to the top to get a glimpse of bustling St. Louis. ~excerpt from prose

A Cautionary Tale: Exploring Myths On Dominican Sponsored Trip To China, Alexis Mcbride

The Tuxedo Archives

I am submitting this cautionary tale to the wary traveler. Be prepared for some surprises and be open for new ideas.

These are a few things I learned:

1) There is no such thing as an easy credit.
I admit that it was naive to expect easy credits. I should have predicted extensive reading for class preparation, a trip journal that would swallow two weeks of my life and a fourteen page paper that would entail hours of research and writing. ~excerpt from prose

Testimonies From Ireland, Brianna Youmans, Katie Ross, Denise Cetti

The Tuxedo Archives

This summer, nine of Dominican University’s students involved in B.A.S.I.C., traveled to Northern Ireland where they worked with children and young adults, encouraging them to become “leaders of peace and hope.” ~excerpt from prose

View From A Hill, Jennifer Curtin

The Tuxedo Archives

My mother and I drive up Parnassus Avenue in the hills of San Francisco. Listening to our iPod, I sing along to “Gold Dust Woman” by Fleetwood Mac. Usually, my mother would join me, especially since this song is one of our favorites, but she seems ashamed of her weakening voice. The pulsating rhythm of the song enhances the nervous tension as we charge up the Victorian-lined incline. ~excerpt from prose

Not Far From Home, Serianna Pearson

The Tuxedo Archives

I flew out of the San Francisco International Airport with a group of essential strangers to travel out of the country for the first time. After a bumpy ride fully-equipped with a lightning storm, we landed in Quito, Ecuador. I highly anticipated this trip, collecting handouts and attending group meetings, but I was somewhat confused when, standing in the customs line, I saw two pictures: one of San Francisco and one of Quito, with a slogan basically saying “Quito, the sister-city of San Francisco.” Apparently, I hadn’t traveled as far from home as I thought. ~excerpt from prose

Find Yourself By Looking In A New Place, Christopher Leeds

The Tuxedo Archives

Making the choice to leave a very successful, established life in the corporate world and enter academia was an easy one for me. The opportunity to help students find some direction, to find a path to start their lives or change already established ones, was irresistible. ~excerpt from prose

Churros, Julia Van Der Ryn

The Tuxedo Archives

We are here in the middle of a country. At night I anchor myself to my husband as if we were surrounded by water instead of a flat, dry plane of land. I hook my foot around his ankle and breathe in dust and the smell of other people's kitchens. Frying foods fuel my dreams. ~excerpt from prose