Thursday, January 22, 2015

Midterm Exam Pieces

Essay 1
Grey Daisy

"Do things for yourself," my father had told me as a little girl, "not relying on others is living. All other things are weakness. If you can't learn to live without depending on me," he blew a puff with his cigar between his words, "then quit living." It was then I saw just how weak dependence was. From then on I did everything myself.

I started living that day.
Nothing I ever got came from another person; I grew up knowing I needed to stand on my own two feet, no leaning on others for support. I wanted to be worth living. I wanted to prove to my father I was worth having a life. And well, here I was a full grown woman, standing on my own two feet for sure, but not really moving, just standing.
I had not done all too much in the past few years. Mostly, but not limited to, sitting, sleeping, drinking, smoking, more drinking, and the occasional popping of a few pills. Not a real full life or anything, but it didn't matter too much.
That afternoon it had been my fifth cigarette and my fourth drink... I think. I lost track pretty quick of these things. My doc's fed up with all the drugs, those being the lightest of drugs I've done in while. I guess he's got reason to be so bull with me, his job is to keep me from dying, but I wouldn't really care if I dropped dead this moment. I might even be a little happy, you know? I think that's 'cause I would get to see Nel again.
Nel was my boyfriend, longtime boyfriend, and the kids' father. I loved him, still do, he was the only person I've ever loved. I can't say I needed him to be happy, because I don't need people, but he sure was nice to have around. The night I found out he had been killed in that car wreck almost made me put a bullet in my head. Though I didn't, that would have meant I depended on him, and like I said, I'm better than that.
My front door creaked open some and the sound of little footsteps could be heard. Jody and David were home from school, the kids, my kids. They slipped off their coats and hats, stomping the snow from there boots, and running straight up stairs. No hellos between us, but it was fine that way. 
Jody was nine and her brother was seven. That was as much as I really knew about them. Me and the kids didn't speak all too much, we just kinda shared a house. Before Nel died we used to at least hang out together, after that though I stopped talking, started drinking, and they learned to do what all people have to do; they learned to live without help. Some could argue it is a little early for them to be taking care of themselves like they do, but that's the age I learned, and hey I turned out fine. 
They make their own food, they wash their own dishes, they even do their own laundry. They didn't need me much less than I had needed my father. Or Nel.
Jody and David I could at least tolerate the presence of. Most children I can't stand.
Eh, kids. I don't know why people like 'em so much. They're just another bother, another burden, they take so much out of you 'cause they rely on you for everything. Hell, I didn't want them! Kids are just annoying little brats, I hated myself as a kid even.
It was pretty slow for most of that day, like all days went for me, slow and quiet and even slower. I sat there with drink in hand and a cigarette pressed to my lips when I noticed something moving behind me out of the corner of my eye. I got up and took a look outside, the bones in my back cracking into place as I did.
There was small ashy colored cat lying on the concrete slab out there that was supposed to be some kind of a patio. The thing could not have been more than a couple months old. A big puff ball of fluffy fur with big eyes and push pin needles for teeth.
I didn't mind it there, it wasn't bothering me really. Well, it hadn't bothered me for a long while, then not too long later the started pacing. Next was it's face pressed to the door. And lastly, came the meowing, and the more meowing, and the more insufferable meowing. 
After some time of it, I felt like I was going insane. Eventually, I started to get a little frustrated.
"Shut up!" I screamed from my chair in the living room. "Shut up, you imbecile!" It kept on going. "My god! Quiet you ******* *******, piece of ****!"  I believe I had hit my ninth drink by then, my colorful vocabulary was starting to show. Up from my chair now, I was at the door. "What do yah want! What? What is it! Food? Is it ******* food you want! Well here! Here!" I took the first thing from the pantry I could find which ended up being a bag of chips and threw it out the door, slamming it shut. "Happy?"
It wasn't. Stupid thing didn't eat. "Oh, COME ON!"
"She doesn't like chips," a little voice had chirped. I whipped around to find it was Jody, David peeking out from behind her shoulder. "The kitten, she likes cheese." She spoke quiet like a little mouse or something, looking me dead in the eye. I was realizing then that I hadn't heard her speak to me in weeks, my own daughter's voice unrecognizable until paired with a face in my own house. But hey, nobody's prefect. With David though, it probably had been years. The kid never opened his mouth. I'm not sure if I know what he sounds like. 
"What do yah mean about the cat liking cheese?" I said. "You been feeding it?" 
She nodded her head, silently, those massive deep set eyes of hers staring coerce to make contact with mine. "She's been coming to the door often now, but you're usually sleepin' when she does, and we'll go outside and play with her too. We've tried giving her all sorts of foods, the favorite is cheese." 
I looked back at the cat, clawing my sliding glass door. "Well then give it some cheese so it'll get out of here!" They jumped up at my words and rushed to the fridge and got a slice of cheese I didn't even know we had, I sure as hell didn't buy. They used their combined strength to get to push the door enough they could get a hand through. The door jammed a lot, I was the only one who could get it open really.  

A few hours passed and it was still at my door. Not meowing anymore, thank god, but just resting. Then it started to rain. It was light at first, only drizzling, but not before long the drizzle became a pour. The cat then finally got up from my patio, however only to go stroll through the goddamn rain. What the hell is it doing! I thought, It's winter! It's like 35 degrees out there! I wasn't going to be scooping a dead animal off my yard any time soon. 
I forced open the sliding door and ran into the rain. "No, no no, you stupid animal!" I yelled at that little fur ball, running out into the rain. My now soggy cigarette burnt out so I just flicked it away. "Do yah got a death wish or something? Only a complete idiot would think its a good idea to go prancing in a storm in February! You're gonna get yourself hypothermia! You want that?" It made no response, barely even a turn of the head. I sighed.
"Look. You seem to be missing a great deal of sense, and I don't like helping others and all, but I'm just gonna give you some guidance, some direction. Don't think I'm necessarily doing stuff for yah, I'm just giving a hint sorta, but you gotta do the rest. Okay?" I leaned down and picked up the slippery wet cat, the fur clinging to my fingers. Gross, I tell you.
Holding it up, the kitten gave me this look of all innocence and stuff. Then it went on purring and pawing at me. "Nice try," I told it, "but I'm not gonna fall for that 'love me I'm so cute' crap. It may work with the rest of the damn population, but not with me." I brought it to the front of my shed, put it down, and opened the door. "There. That's all I'm gonna give you. Nothing else from here." I began to walk away, looking back every couple of steps to make sure it went in.  
But the stupid thing didn't go inside; it just sat there looking at me. I could have just continued on with my life, ignored the cat, yet something came on to me, a weird feeling that just would not let me turn my back. I gave in to it and started back to the furry thing. "C'mon, get!" I yelled, pointing to the shed. I was soaking now, drenched from head to toe and not very happy either. "Look see the shed right there, that nice dry place to stay in a storm? Yeah, you see that!" It turned and glanced at the shed before coming around right back towards me. "Don't come to me! Ugh!" This thing was driving me crazy, it was so retarded it couldn't even figure out the basics to survival! "Fine fine!" I hollered at it. "Do you know what!" I picked it up and trudged through the mucky grass back to my house. "I at least know you won't get yourself killed in here."
I plopped the cat on the shag carpet in the living room, closed the sliding door best I could and then poured myself another drink. I could change out of these wet clothes after. 
The cat was so fascinated by the house, it explored every little part of it, such a curious thing. When it was done checking out the downstairs, it went up.
When I put down my then emptied glass, I went up to go change into something dry. At the top of the stairs I could here the kids giggling over something. Wondering what all the commotion was about I made my way to their room and carefully creaked open the door enough to see inside but not disturb them. They were playing with the cat, giving it things to toy with while they stroked its soft fur. It was, kinda sweet actually. I watched them together a bit more. They were so happy with that cat, but also with each other. Quite shortly I forgot about getting changed.   
I continued watching from outside the door. I must not have been as non-disruptive as I thought I was because eventually they noticed I was there. I felt sorta weird just watching now they saw me, and I launched up and pretended I was not paying attention to them. Though before I finished standing up, Jody opened the door. 
"Do you wanna come sit with us?" She asked, a smirk curling up the side of her lips. 
I'm not sure if I answered her out loud, but I walked in and sat down on the floor in my damp clothes with my back to a bookshelf. David watched me hesitantly, squeezing the cat to his chest. Jody came in after me and sat down too. There was an awkward silence in that since I came in, and after watching them I had a question, so I broke the ice. "How do you two get along so well?"
David remained silent as usual despite seeming like he had something to tell me and Jody answered for him. "You learn to get along with the people you need," she said.
This sat with me for a while. The people we need. That was an interesting philosophy. Does she think we all need people? But that would mean we were all weak. That didn't make sense to me. "No, not all people need people, some are fine on their own. Those are strong people. Needing and helping others is dependency, a weakness." 
Jody appeared to find that funny, I didn't know why, then she started talking. "I don't think it's a bad thing to help and need people, the strongest people need a hand every now and then." Her big eyes shifted to David, snuggling the fur ball to his chest. "And the youngest need it the most. I take care of David, David takes care of Daisy. And David and Daisy together take care of me as best they can."
She lost me for a moment. As far as I know I only had two kids. "Who's Daisy?" I asked. 
Jody ran her fingers through the cat's thick grey fur. "She's Daisy, mama. Daisy taught us all that about helping others.
She got her ways of thinking from a cat, and yet they sounded logical. Her words were in every way the opposite of what I'd been telling myself my whole life. 
"Mama, I think now that daddy is gone, you'd be happier if you let us take care of you? It's hard for him to do it from all the way up above our heads."    
That hurt to hear. 'Daddy' they still remembered Nel, and as their father. Daddy was a phrase no one in my house had muttered since he died. I felt tears rolling down cheeks, my face getting kinda hot. I tried to wipe them away with little success. "I didn't need Nel. I'm not weak." 
"Oh no, of course not! You're not weak." Jody told me, a mother's instinct in her voice. But she was only a child, my child. I'm supposed to be the mother, right? Why was this not me? I was the child and the adult but not the mother. I was never the mother. "Needing every now and then isn't a weakness I'd say. It's living. Without it, you might as well not be alive at all."
With her sweet, wise words the world made sense to me. What I needed to be alive, to be happy; it was a family. 
I started living that day.

Essay 2 
The Oven House Synecdoche Essay 

It is an old door. Bound by rusty, loose hinges and rotted out wood, iron nails that barely had a purpose anymore, bent and twisted so out of shape they were more Tetanus hazards than hardware. Yet despite it all, the big sheet of aging maple with two dead bullets buried at its center still remained in place.

That door has weathered a lot of storms in its time, ones of the sky, and ones of others. The others are what wears it down the most, they are always blowing through it's chipped paint frame. Sometimes that door is left wide open, the cool air coming in to push the hot air out, or as much as it can. There is a lot of hot, suffocating air behind that door. Other times the door is shut and locked, a barrier between the house and the rest of the world.

Often the door is opened with careless swings, big and wide, the brass little knob warmed to the fingers grasping it; those times are in the day. But then evening comes and cold makes the tumblers sticky only to be nearly ripped off the hinges with a single thrusting motion. The knob smeared in skin oils and sweat, and the friction of a too-tight wedding ring burning heat on the brass. This was contrary to soft and gentle push received after midnight, and again before dawn. It was where the knob shook timidly, no warmer a touch than the night frost already made its metal, later razor scuffs and blood wedged in fingerprints patterns find their way on the brass. They will be rubbed off to prepare for the first careless swing of morning when the evening's hot air can start to be pushed out.

Essay 3
To the Attempts of "Lightening Up" Angry Letter Essay

 I understand fully that it is the interests of both of you that I am happy and healthy in my childhood, I am fully and totally aware of that. However, there is a piece to this parental behavior that I must make clear is a frustrating one in my eyes, and this behavior is the one of touching or moving of my possessions without my forewarned knowledge and/or consent.

   It has been, since I was very little, that I have liked to place personal belongings in specific places to enhance my own environmental comfort. Although, when said items are tampered with, it can leave me rather frustrated and distraught. I place things where I place things because I want them there, not because I am "too busy" to move them or am "too lazy", it is simply that I thought no more a convenient and appropriate spot for those objects to be. There is also the fact of how I remember quite clearly the particulars of where these belongings have been place, rearrangement of these could lead to catastrophic effects to my organization.

   If something of mine is to be borrowed without my knowing, I would appreciate if it were to be placed back from where you had taken it. Otherwise, to be in my shoes and come home from school (being the first one in the house after a five hour period roughly) only to see objects moved out of place leaves me question what might have occurred while the house was kept unattended. You two, of all people, know I am a very anxious person with a overactive imagination to say the least about it and would prefer not to feel obligated to rummage the house in attempt to discover what might have been stolen from us. Not to mention the two people in which this high leveled anxiety was inherited, *cough cough* yourselves, therefore meaning you may and should sympathize with what, through experience I have learned, appears crazy to most outsiders of our family.

  This I have described is only a last resort, however, because ultimately what I am wanting of is for my belongings not to be touched without my permission overall. That is most candidly what I desire. It is not enjoyable to get back from summer camp to find my closet rearrange, or my toiletries awkwardly placed at the bottom drawer of our vanity. These things bother me greatly, and I am deeply sorry if this comes across as a form of "sass" to you, that is not intentional, all that is intentional is me trying to get my point across. At this point in my letter, you are probably associating me with Francis (Psycho) from the movie Stripes, honestly I do not blame you. I must sound like him, and also much like him I probably need to "lighten up" as the famous quote goes, yet that is not an easy task without your cooperation. Thank you for reading.

Love, Your Daughter,

Wednesday, January 14, 2015

"Modest" Proposal (Satirical)

   For many years now there has been controversy over gun laws in the United States. Most recently of these controversies revolves around the many shootings, particularly of schools, that have taken arise in this nation. We have lost so many of our country's youth to these shootings; all it takes is one disturbed individual with access to a weapon and countless lives can be lost; young and often defenseless lives that are taken too soon. Imagine being a parent to one of those victims. Imagine having to bury your child. Imagine going through something so inconceivably tragic and know that it was not a once in a lifetime chance, that you are only one of hundreds and hundreds of mothers and fathers and guardians that go through this. Imagine that one morning you forgot to kiss them goodbye was the last morning you even had a chance. Imagine this, but can you?

   Now try to imagine a world where this horror does not exist; imagine a world where every child is truly safe in their schools, where no parent ever has to worry of such things, where no child ever has to walk in on the news to see the headline "Children Slaughtered in School Shooting". Think about it. Think about how nice it would be.

   Since 1992, there have been 387 school shootings in the United States alone; the number of victims even higher and the number of shootings only increasing per year since 2011. There has been many different attempts at solving the issue such as increasing security measures with cameras and locks, more lock-down drills for student prepping, and tries to fix our guns laws here. I as well have my own proposal for a solution.

   A way I believe could help prevent the deaths of school children and adolescents is to have them wear bulletproof suits all the time. We have already begun producing bulletproof backpacks for children and little shields for them to carry around, why not just produce an item that can reflect bullets at all angles!

   The design of this suit would be simple. It would cover completely from neck down in a thick, pressured material also that is machine washable. At the area of the chest and back and the front/sides of the neck there will be strong, bullet impenetrable padding; the arms, legs, and other remaining regions will have thinner, softer padding for more efficient movement and more comfort. The stiffness of the main padding provides posture adjustment while also evenly distributed weight in the front and back; this design may ultimately decrease the effects of scoliosis. The use of these suits potentially lead to the end of the "should all schools have uniforms or not" debate through the sleek one-piece design in either only black, white, or navy blue.

   Now one may counter that buying bulletproof suits, or uniforms, for children would be far too costly, but I have a solution to that as well. As it has been done for many other things, there would be several major corporations will to donate money for these uniforms assuming, of course, that they would be recognized for their charity through the use of schools campaigning their businesses. I am sure companies like Coca-Cola, Mars, and McDonald's that have a target focus audience of children will surely take advantage this offer.    

   The concept of the bulletproof child suits have many significant positives to the design that only add to the overall idea, these being comfort, style, support and ingenuity upon many other things. Although, despite these, it is also important to show exactly how supreme this plan is indeed by comparing it to its contending plans.    

   Some may believe there are other ways of solving the issue. One that I have heard is that there should be psychological testing done for a gun license is received; however, this is how I see it: it is going to be far too difficult and complicated to hold psychological analysis tests for all people who register for a gun licenses, and many people feel as though psych testing is too invasive. Another popular idea I have heard is simply to restrict guns in general, although, as the original document of the American Constitution states, all citizens have the right to bare arms, and that would then easily be proved unconstitutional in court and change to the original laws would be reinstated. So why don't we just bulletproof our children? Then the amount of guns and psychotic shooters does not matter, right? I see this as all very simple.

Sunday, December 28, 2014

Hybridized Fan-Fiction: The Drop-Off

Excerpt of Finding Nemo in the style of Edgar Allen Poe

It was a place at the cease point of the reefs; there was no safety, no security, where all factions of comfort vanished within the moment the eyes were set upon it. It was titled, and with most accurate depiction embedded, the Drop-Off. There bordered the frontier to a world unexplored for Marlin, a clown fish significantly inadequate of risibility.

The Drop-Off was a bluff ledge that separated the coral reefs -the ones of which the clown fish had lived, and all else. At the cliffs peak, it was an experience surreal, an edge to an abyss, nothing more than the Sea and darkness for near eternal bounds. This, Marlin stared into, vigorously admonishing his bairn: Nemo.

He was in constant fear for his gimped and sole son. The young fish was deformed from hatch, his right fin unmatched in size to the other; a tragedy induced this as well as the murder of his mother and many siblings. None but Nemo and his father survived the brutal assail, and writhed with fright had Marlin thus been since.

And now this father had arrived to witness his child treading directly before the impending nothingness. Upon alarm, he rushed for him.

"Nemo!" he cried, embracing him tightly. The young fish squirmed in his father's tight hold brimming with bewilderment and vexation. "Why would you tempt fate as to venture into the uncharted? Surely, you know better!"

"But not was I to venture," Nemo pursued to clarify; "for only did my glance meander in awe, not wanderlust-"

"Enough!" Marlin bellowed. "You of all I have never known to be wanton, and yet, we are here, at the doors to certain peril. You know you are handicapped."

Nemo's voice grew with rage. "I can swim fine, father! Do not speak of me with such inequity; am I not fish like rest?"

To his reason, Marlin only reflected fear. "You engrave these thoughts into your mind that you have such capabilities, but you do not. You are frail and insufficient a swimmer; as your father it is my duty to protect you, so listen child when I establish that you cannot do these things, Nemo!"

Nemo abstained his eyes from his father's, his cold-blooded heart boiled. "I detest you," he murmured.

Melancholy contorted Marlin's features; he sighed with utmost despair and his fins drooped instantly to his sides, lifelessly.

The ray fish that had been Nemo's class professor took cognizance of their dispute. He approached Marlin offering to assist them of any troubles.

As the two spoke artificial palaver, it was spotted and exclaimed by another young fish -of noticeably sizable dentition- the sight of Nemo swimming profusely off the great ledge. It was indeed what Marlin turned to find.

Nemo moved upon excessive force to have as much ocean water between them as possible; not once did he look back. Marlin reprimanded him, shouting for him to come back, though he did not.

No amount of course language could turn him back in the direction of his father's arms. It was futile, none the less, Marlin continued. It was not until the fate he feared had arose did he silence; a most vile and massive beast emerged directly in the presence of Nemo. Nemo shrieked and wailed at the sight of the monster. Helpless, he swam mad in attempt of escape as the devilish brute clasped him.    

With immense horror, Marlin screamed. His heart was pounding upon his breast as though it were to burst. The strange and monstrous creature abducted his son and fled with him in their grasp! Marlin charged only to find in his path a second fiend, one with a box of ebony color that released a light as of Aether's. The heavenly flash blinded him; the stinging of his eyes seeping in to his brains. He floated aimlessly in a circular pattern, unaware to the lack of frontward progression, for the spinning in his head made it difficult enough attempting not to tip to his side.

Slowly and wearily, his sight returned and he caught glimpse of a craft. He swam as swiftly as he could muster towards it. Oh, but alas! the mechanical vessel had absconded into the vast and salted waters.

Sunday, December 14, 2014

Talk About A Grand Entrance!: Humor and Satire Essay

This I am about to tell you, is the entirely true story of a very messy, stressful, and overall chaotic day, otherwise known by my family as the day I was born. 

And no, I am not kidding.

I wish I was.

Actually, no I don't. This is hilarious. 

It was a cold but clear autumn morning, comfortable yet not too comfortable. My father paced excitedly back and forth across the driveway as the car warmed up, making the calls that I was on my way. Now keep in mind, this was 1999, a time before things like social media and such, when news traveled slower than it now does. Despite this, in some way still unknown to my parents, by the time they reached the hospital, my mother's brother Uncle Mike had already been there for some time. He lived ten minutes farther away and was not even the first person to get the call; it's an enigma, then again so is he. 

My parents checked in and were given a room. They sat for some time, my mother's patience beginning to chip away and my father hooking her up to the machine through his past knowledge other recent trips. Soon the doctor entered and only with news that my mother was not very far along and that they should just go home and wait. She would not take this, however. Rather, she went out of the room and walked the halls, and walked, and walked. It was her attempt at moving me along. 

A good mile and a half later and... nothing. This was the moment in which my dad now wishes he took as a sign of how long it was going to take me to get ready in the morning. 

It was now the grandparents began to arrive. And it was one, my father's father Pa, that was especially nervous. He, much like my father, and my mother, and my mother's father, and my mother's grandfather, and his father, and my little brother, and myself; he had crazy anxiety. Pa also happened to be in the process of quitting smoking, so without the cigarettes it was even worse. To help, he applied a nicotine patch, though this was not enough. What had helped before apparently was caffeine. To get some food and drinks, now several hours after arriving with little sign of myself arriving as well, the grandparents went to go get some food. Luckily there was a Pizza Hut right across the street, so they went. Pa ordered two ice coffees and two large diet cokes to caffeinate himself. The rest just had pizza. As they ate, bickering could be heard from over their shoulders. It was a customer and the manager; they were arguing. The little skirmish grew louder and louder until all other chatter ceased and all other eyes were on them. A screaming match had begun.

Suddenly, a chandelier in the pizza place crashed and shattered on the floor, no warning to it either. Everyone in the Pizza Hut was inspected for injuries; no one in my family was hurt. But that did not stop one of them from being sent to the emergency room... 

Pa's caffeine was now starting to take effect, all of it. Now I am still not sure why he thought caffeine would help calm his nerves, maybe because he's addicted to that too, though the only effect it had on him was hyper activity. This would be usually not all that life threatening simply to be on a crazy sugar rush, only if it weren't for the fact the he also was on the nicotine from the patch. You're not supposed to do that, and it seems he had learned the hard way. All of the chemicals in his body evidently gave him heart palpitations and this was believed to be a heart attack. Pa spent what ended up being a several hours in the emergency room just a few floors below my parents. 

Meanwhile, my other grandfather we refer to as Poppy was called by a co-worker and went to find a quiet spot to converse with them. Unfortunately, the maternity wing itself was filled with nothing but the sounds of screaming soon-to-be mothers and newborn children, occasionally scared spouses as well. Since of this, Poppy took the call from inside the nearest elevator. 

This went from a pretty good idea to a really bad one rather quickly.     

Not too far into call, the elevator got stuck. This situation is not a fun one, no matter who you are, but to make it worse for him, he already has anxiety and can easily to made jumpy plus someone in the elevator with him whom just happens to be very fond of elevators. At all. 

The other man in the elevator was in a state of pure panic and immense fright. He walked in tight circles, his hands on his temples, then on his cheeks, then in his hair, then over his eyes, then back to his temples. The stranger was having a nervous breakdown. Minutes later, the security guards of the building were able to open doors enough to squeeze a person through, but then also realized that the elevator was frustratingly place between two floors. They could not climb up either, so they had to jump down. Poppy did not waste any time getting out of there once they let him jump. The other guy, however, was too freaked out to, so Poppy stayed to help talk him down. 

It had been 10-12 hours by the time we finally had everyone in the same place, which was great, but not the end of the story. Because when you have been sitting in the hospital for 10-12 hours, suffering from not only immense irritation as a whole but ceaseless pain and hunger and thirst. These go along with several other things too. You are not happy person at this time, rather you are a monstrous and frightening being because you are just that 100% done with everything. If my father never feared my mother before, he sure as hell did that day. 

It was as if she had been possessed. Her eyes molded into a look of Death; her teeth were gritting enough ultimately crush each other or anything else that got too close; her voice may have even dropped a few octaves in her growling shushes and roaring "SHUT UP!"s. Her trigger happy clicks for more morphine were the only sounds she aloud. Whispers were too loud. Eating was too loud. Walking around was too loud. Breathing was becoming too loud. And then-!

Well before anyone actually got a chance to be killed, I finally decided to show up. So in the end, it was all good. And now my family can look back at this crazy day and, well, sort of.            

Tuesday, December 9, 2014

List Slam Poetry

To the child in the corner too shy to speak
Whose head is dropped with their eyes to their feet because they fear making eye contact
Your voice is worth hearing
Do not be afraid of what to say
Do not be afraid of how they will react
Do not put it in you head your that you are not worth your voice
Do not let others put it in your head that you are not worth you voice
Do not doubt that what you want to say is not worth saying
Do not doubt that that your words can change something, anything, everything
Do not let yourself remain unknown to the world around
Do not let yourself remain unknown to the person sitting next to you
Do not let yourself remain unknown to yourself
The quietest people have the loudest thoughts
Speak your mind
Do not regret it

Thursday, November 20, 2014

Student Poem Form: D-Mck Thingamajig

This poem follows the rhyme pattern:

There is such sweetness to a love like thine
I am a winter warmed by new sunshine
Where a life divine resurrects to anew
What was lost long once in an icy frozen brew
The buds then grew so tall and sweet
As the blooms awoke from their snowy retreat

Wednesday, November 19, 2014

Free Verse Poem

 He had tears dripping down his puffy red cheeks,
 And he had burns lined in rows on his thighs.
 And I tried not to cry.
 At least I tried. 

 It was going so well,
 This little battle of ours,
 Bodies remained standing even in the clouds of smoke. 
 So busy enjoying the success we became Napoleons,
 We let our guard down and suffered a crushing blow. 

 And it was times like these when a soldier questions their battles,
 He was placing ponder to his own. 

 He wanted to raise the white flag,
 Take execution if he had to.
 He wanted to surrender,
 And I couldn't blame him,
 But I couldn't let him be defeated either. 

 I told him:
 The battle is almost won.
 Yet, it is only a battle. 

 When it's won you receive nothing more than a few days peace before boots are only shined to be bloodstained again.

 For the wars of which every man fights is endless.
 There is no true victory to it,
 The smoke never clears until we lie defeated, 

 But we continue to fight. 

 Because these wars are not about victory or succession,
 Rather keeping our chins up and our eyes glaring proud even when you know you have no chance to leave the battlefield alive. 

 Not backing down,
 Not giving up,
 Not surrendering.

 We fight for our army,
 Our supporters,
 The people who won't let us surrender.

 We fight to see their smiles each day,
 And love them,
 And cherish them. 

 So I say once more the battle is almost won,
 And I shall polish my boots and bayonets,
 Only to tarnish with blood and dirt and gunpowder,
 To stand with chin raised and eyes glaring 

 In preparation to fight another day.