Original Poems III

(The following poem is a Recipe for me)

"Sweet, but Bitter"

A large cup of intellect
mixed with a dash of sweetness and elegance
drops of sociable and witty
and why not add some talent and passion to the mix
and don't forget the compassion and ambition
mixed together with the great pure spoon
all thrown together they make a great mix
but not perfection
there was too much anger, disappointment,
lost opportunities, and misfortune added
this gives a sour and bitter taste to the product
but it is still great, just need to get used to the taste

(The following poem is an Alternative Self)

"Rumors"

Have you heard?
the gossip she has spread
obnoxious, false, unbelievable. It's surprising
the things that go on in that devious little head

Snobby is an understatement
preppy or stuck up, all the the same
she takes cruel and rude to a whole new level
and she is the only one to blame

gold-digger, slacker!
parents pay, dependent upon everyone else
seems like the friends are endless but when she is really alone,
she was wishing she was someone else

everyone turns one her
you thought they'd stay?
for most it was not a surprise
for your acts, you must pay

for you were disloyal, stubborn, and selfish
even the closest pals could not stay
after being backstabbed by the "greatest"
there, you have gotten your way

and now you would like to turn
around and start again
for all you really needed
was a true friend

(The following poem is a I Am )

"Waiting for Perfection"

I am that hopeless romantic that is still waiting for you
I see a beach, full of sand and endless possibilities
I hear the tides crashing against the shore
I feel your warmth, as you lean closer

I see a 5-star restaurant, an elegant dress, and a glass of wine
I see your bright, youthful, joyous eyes gazing into mine
I hear classical music playing softly behind us
I try to make this night last forever

I feel the warmth of the newly burning fire place
I smell the greatness present in your home cooking
I see the gentle movements of the fire rise from vanilla candles
I touch your smooth hands, as you pull out the ring

I know I will find you and that ring
those summer nights, restaurants, and your sweet home cooking
I know I will find find you, I won't and can't stand for anything less for
I am that hopeless romantic that is still waiting for you

Original Poems II

(The following poem is an acrostic poem)

"The True Meaning of DRAMA"

Displayed through various movements and expressions
Repressed feelings are set free
Among us is true talent waiting to be recognized
My dreams are to be upon the stage performing for a large crowd
Actors are given a precious gift everyday, being able to act

(The following poem is a Terzanelle)

"Summer Nights"

The pretty pink hummingbirds sang
when your gentle subtle gaze met mine
while shiny silver bells rang

I realized then I was fine
everything was soon going to be okay
when your gentle quick gaze met mine

You took graceful steps I'd say
swift, sweet, elegant, and
everything was soon going to be okay

I pictured us alone laying on a blanket in the sand
you leaned in so confidently, I was taken
swift, sweet, elegant, and

that kiss. Took my breath away, and with my heart now positively shaken
you began to speak passionately, romantically
you leaned in so confidently, I was taken

by those words. That face. You. My heart once again beat, frantically
The pretty pink hummingbirds sang
I could see us together forever. Two teenage hearts, basically
while the shiny silver bells rang

(The following poem is a ladder)

"The Teenage Dream"

handsome
light eyes
lust filled me
his deep voice vibrates
encasing me in overwhelming bliss
everyday I'm granted the
precious gift, seeing
that handsome
face

Original Poems I

(The following poem is a Where I Am From poem)

"I Know Where I've Been"

I am from laptop computers,
from Apple and micro-bites.
I am from the that house four feet from the road
(loud, dangerous, grungy smell of gravel)
I am from the lilies, the tall green grass.

I am from TV Tuesdays and grand stature,
from Bill and Harlow.
I am from the lets-not-talk-but-yell
and the procrastinators,
from the stop fighting with your siblings
and go clean your room.
I am from the son, father and the holy spirit.
Amen.

I am from Belleview and Ireland,
pasta with rich meat sauce and french toast.
From the nickels my grandfather pulled out of my ear,
the squeals we would make in relation to his magic,
and the intelligence of such a great man.
I am from the memory bins,
lying deep within my drawer
underneath my television, laptop, and micro-bites.

(The following poem is a concrete poem)

"Bounce"

Bounce!

In the air, 10 feet high

I say “bounce!” as high as you can

Swift, strong arms thrust the rubber ball

To the ground, and the ball just does as it was told

The ball always does and always will do what it is told

The schedule never fluctuates; it is unyielding, even obdurate

There is not a thing the ball can change about the day or itself

You bounce I say, and all the rubber knows how to do is blindly

Respond with how high? To the sky to the moon, I will go the

 Distance for you, I am yours for I have been taught to do not

 A thing but bounce endlessly till you grow terribly tired of

Me and my outside grows worn, I am yours with no choice

Or say so I might as well be happy to be somebodies,

To feel warmth in ones’ hand you say bounce

 And as planned I happily say

How High?

(The following poem is a Stream of Consciousness)

"I was JUST singing, and look where I've gotten"

I was just singing

Singing what a beautiful thing, expression through sound

Sounds, oh so many sounds flooding my head

Head, my head, is cluttered

Cluttered like the 10ft-by-10ft room in which I reside

Reside, residence, we all have our place

Places fill the earth some with good-and others bad-intentions

Intentions, everyone has them, but we can never decipher what they are

Are you? Who? Me? Who am I?

I’d say I like you but then I’d be bluffing

Bluffing, such a funny word, reminds me of Fluff

Fluff and peanut butter was my lunch every day in Pre-K

Pre-K the odd things all the kiddies did there, surprise!

Surprise! And Happy Birthday, hope you liked your gift

Gift? For me? Oh you shouldn’t have

Have to? I have to? I’d rather have lice

Lice, nasty little buggers

Buggers rhymes with huggers

Huggers gotta love em’, they are always bringing a positive attitude

Attitude I have that a lot

A lot of time I have not, I must go

Go must I, Bye!

Bye! Now

Now Bye

Bye.

Vocabulary On My Mind

Deep with in the frivolous labyrinth an unobtrusive toady became sluggish and remote. Before he was contemporary, exuberant, fervent, cordial, convivial, munificent, and obsequious. His personality would have been unyielding if it wasn't for that day. He faced a debacle. When an adversary could  not help but be ambivalent to the toady. This cryptic, penurious, phlegmatic, fastidious, insolent (arrogant), sly/stealthy, pretentious, recalcitrant, superficial, narcissist, volatile, sagacious, heedful, DEVIOUS, fastidious (you get the point) man. He was definitely a character. This man gingerly (but trying to be nonchalant) swaggered to the toady. Although it was puzzling to the toady how this man could seem so lavish, epicurean, and confident when he was really so austere. He seemed willful and never ominous. Being even in the proximity of this man the toady felt obtuse, petty, indigent, subordinate, trivial, and absent-minded. Basically anything but who he actually was. These feelings filled the toady and soon they turned into him becoming skeptic. And he later became disputatious and pugnacious because he wanted to make the terrible feelings and pain go away. He was nothing but impassioned with anger and disappointment!
Now it being obvious that the mysterious man wanted to aspire to vaporize every single hope and dream of the toady. And hamper his success in everything subject of his life, but with no true inception to his desires. He wanted to intimidate and castigate the toady because there was this strong discrepancy. Confrontation (a battle even) was inevitable. First he acted accessible. Saying he wanted to coalesce with the toady, and make a team. He played mind games by eulogizing the toady making him feel important. This confused the toady, he pushed aside his old accepted feelings because the man was too charismatic and spoke with great eloquence and a rhetorical, grandiloquent language. But of coarse all of the things said to the toady by the man, all of the talk about becoming a team, it was all just an illusion. Their relationship was virulent, acute, even deleterious. The toady had never been vigilant, sly, or any of the characteristics that embodied the mysterious man. But then the toady came to his senses, and the feelings all rushed back.
Their intense confrontation resulted in din, and after each blow both of them made strident, raucous yelps from pain. The mysterious man was stronger than the toady, and fought till the toady could not take anymore. Scared and beat up the toady fled.
Now toady is terrified and itinerant, a glutton and a nomad, trying to stay away from the puzzling character that he found him self losing a fight to. Still to this day it is hard for him to ever fully recount the story with no relic existing from the pithy moments.

What I Need to Know about WRITING AND WRITERS to Become a Better Writer

My topic for this project is How is your upbringing relevant to your writing?, I plan on just keeping the question that I had before for now. I chose this topic because I have always wondered if the profession of writing has always been an individual decision/ choice or if environment and the upbringing of a child can breed  a writer. If I wanted to I could also go into the styles/ genres of writing that writers specialize in and why they have chosen these areas.

The pieces from the video that I plan on using are the pieces that obviously involve the questions that I had asked- the ones relevant to my topic- and any background information about the writers childhood that they may have spoken about. I will also trying to expand by pulling out facts and stories from the books me and my partner have chosen.

1/17 Speaker= 4.5

Round Four= Marni Gillard

In Gillard Story High Dive Word I liked how the character never gave up, and the writer really put great importance on that subject by repeating the event of the character going up to the high dive board and saying yes I can do it and then failing, but once again going back up until she finally built up the courage to do a 'big kid dive'. Here the story displays that determination;

"I chickened out.

'Next time, Daddy,' I shouted toward the shallow end without meeting Dad’s eyes. I sat down fast and slid into the familiar rhythm of the rocking-horse dive. I rocked waaaaaay back, then just fell off…… big splash."

She promised her father that she would keep trying, and then later in the story she is seen making efforts to change her form and become better so she can achieve the dive;

"I swam to where my brother was playing with his friends. "Jimmy, how'd you do your first high dive? How is it different from the low board dive?"

Playing tag, he didn't want his little sister bugging him. "Not now, Marni, I'll tell ya later."           "Pleeeeze, Jimmy? Just tell me quick.” Then I remembered Grandma’s words about catching more flies with honey. “You're so good at diving.”

He grinned and scrunched his forehead. "Well - you hold the swan longer." He held out his arms to demonstrate."

She asked her brother for advice to improve.

I also liked the way the author elongated words, for example, "I got back in line, all shiiiiiiivery.", "I rocked waaaaaay back", and "Pleeeeze, Jimmy? Just tell me quick.” This gave the story a more realistic feel which was necessary considering the story is based upon a real event from the authors past, and she sometimes presents the story orally.

In Gillard Artist's journey 'High Dive' what I feel worked was,

"That day my colleagues in the writing class applauded my reading of 'High Dive,' I felt a surge of determination. I would begin telling my stories, not just writing them privately and filing them away. No one was going to stop my autobiographical explorations again."

I feel it is important to leave that small turning point in there. The point where the author decided to present her story orally and to never stop writing autobiographies. I also like how the piece tends to sum up everything and how the story has reflected upon her life.

And what I feel didn't work was, 

"Many of Irish-American clan chose stoicism over self-reflection. They carried emotional scars from two World Wars and a genuine fear of alcoholism and suicide, both of which had touched our family. 'Leave it be,' and 'Don’t be airing your dirty laundry,' were mantras they’d learned to repeat." 

I didn't feel like it was relevant to the story enough it just seemed like extra information meant to aid in understanding, but I feel it did not reach that goal enough to have it remain in the piece.

Overall I felt both stories were great and I am glad the author decided to share her story.

1/12 Speaker= 3

Round THREE = Mary Moriarty

[http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/176996]
Within the poem "One Art" by Elizabeth Bishop. I noticed that there was a very obvious rhyme scheme. I found that 'aba' was the rhyme scheme that filled the 3-lined stanzas.
"The art of losing isn’t hard to master;

so many things seem filled with the intent

to be lost that their loss is no disaster."

What also happened was the first line was repeated throughout the poem over and over again in multiple places.
"Lose something every day. Accept the fluster

of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.

The art of losing isn’t hard to master."
and
"I lost my mother’s watch. And look! my last, or

next-to-last, of three loved houses went.

The art of losing isn’t hard to master."
Bishop also tended to keep the syllables in each line relatively around the number ten.

"The art of losing isn’t hard to master;          10 syllables

so many things seem filled with the intent    10 syllables

to be lost that their loss is no disaster."         11 syllables

From the poem I learned that the writing style  villanelle consists of; the rhyme scheme 'aba', first line having repetition, and the first, second, and third lines in the first stanza are repeated (last words-ending the sentences).
The pattern is (lines 1,2, and 3);

"The art of losing isn’t hard to master;                              original first    

so many things seem filled with the intent                        original second

to be lost that their loss is no disaster.                               original third

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster                  new (rhymes with original first)

of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.                             new (rhymes with original second)

The art of losing isn’t hard to master.                                original first (whole sentence)

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:                        new (rhymes with original first)

places, and names, and where it was you meant              new (rhymes with original second)

to travel. None of these will bring disaster.                       original second (last word)

I lost my mother’s watch. And look! my last, or               new (rhymes with original first)

next-to-last, of three loved houses went.                          new (rhymes with original second)

The art of losing isn’t hard to master.                                original first (whole sentence) 

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,                         new (rhymes with original first)

some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.                new (rhymes with original second)

I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster.                                original second (last word)

—Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture                 new (rhymes with original first)

I love) I shan’t have lied. It’s evident                               new (rhymes with original second)

the art of losing’s not too hard to master                         original first (whole sentence)

though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster."            original second (last word). 

[http://www.poetryinternational.org/piw_cms/cms/cms_module/index.php?obj_id=14920]

In the poem "The Back Seat of my Mothers Car" the author, Julia Copus, uses a mirror image of the poem and restates it portraying a slightly different story the second time you read it. She does the slight change by changing punctuation;

"I was calling to you - Daddy! - as we screeched away into..."          original

"I was calling to you, Daddy, as we screeched away into..."               repeated

Also she uses breaks within the lines to change the story, because when everything is restated the line that follows differs from the line that was following the line in the original,

"...for the slit in the window where the sky streamed in,

cold as ether, and I could see your fat mole-fingers grasping            original

the dusty August air. I pressed my face to the glass..."                     

"...the dusty August air. I pressed my face to the glass,

cold as ether, and I could see your fat mole-fingers grasping            repeated

for the slit in the window where the sky streamein..."     


The poems "Fatherland" and "Track Photo" are both about Mary Moriarty's young father. I like both the
poems because; both are relatively short, about the past, and reflect upon how these memories have effected
her in the future.
[Fatherland]
"Now you are missing,

your urn pushed

into a stone wall

by your youngest son. 

How could we abandon you

in a wall

when all you wanted to do

was run."

[http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/176442]

In the poem "I Go Back to May 1937" the author, Sharon Olds, uses many adjectives to describe the

surrounding and feeling of the picture fully;

"I see them standing at the formal gates of their colleges,

I see my father strolling out

under the ochre sandstone arch, the   

red tiles glinting like bent..."

Her poem takes a suprising turn after she sets the scene, she starts talking about the regret that this too young

of a couple will feel in the future. She wishes she could go up to the too and say no! stop it's not time you are

not right for each other, but if she did that then she would not be alive to tell the story.

"I want to go up to them and say Stop,   

don’t do it—she’s the wrong woman,   

he’s the wrong man, you are going to do things

you cannot imagine you would ever do,   

you are going to do bad things to children,

you are going to suffer in ways you have not heard of,

you are going to want to die. I want to go

up to them there in the late May sunlight and say it,

her hungry pretty face turning to me,   

her pitiful beautiful untouched body,

his arrogant handsome face turning to me,   

his pitiful beautiful untouched body,   

but I don’t do it. I want to live."


MY POEMS:

"Thoughts Full of You"

For every second of every minute of every day

I imagine us kissing in the lavish venue

and the moment you would turn to me to say

something romantic, I look and have no idea what else to say

maybe that I think about you

For every second of every minute of every day

I wait for you to notice me, to go "Hey!"

for that one word to

be the only one I ever want to say

Oh and by the way,

every once in awhile I think we are through

For every second of every minute of every day

And to get to you, shunning isn't the way

because next you do something that is to

adorable for words and I ask if I was to say

That even if you are flawed I'd take you anyway,

and "I Love You"

For every second of every minute of every day

Would you run a stray? 

What would you do?

Would "I Love You Too!" be the next words you'd say?

For if they are not, I might just have too stay

waiting and loving you

For every second of every minute of every day

"Will this always last?"

The memories

The friends, the popularity

Does it all last?

Hopes and dreams

and unicorns eating candy canes

Do they all last?

The times when you know

you done good

Does that last?

The pure joy 

of walking downstairs on christmas day

Does that feeling remain the same?

Or does everything 

just fall to jagged pieces?

and, 

Do you have to pick them up?


1/10 Speaker= 4

Round Two= Marilyn Kemp – Mystery Writer

http://www.mekempmysteries.com/mather_excerpt.pdf

The characters present in the exert were; the minister, Jailor, Sailor, Mariner, and Gammar.

First was the minister; it was known that he was young, "...He was only twenty-six years old!" And the exert started with in a dark, mysterious, creepy chamber. "His heart beat so loud in his ears he thought the other two must hear the pounding." This gave me the idea that the minister was not as brave as a leader should be, he also seemed anxious and terrified. Though he did have little courage to keep going knowing that he had to meet with the creature. When the minister had crime face to face with the creature he said, "'Can she speak?' the minister whispered." But it wasn't exactly what he said that caught my attention, but the way he said it. He whispered, and this showed that he was uncomfortable or scared with the surrounding people in the room (I'm thinking its the creature...no surprise). Towards the end of the exert the creature decides to do some voodoo magic and talks to the spirits but while she is doing this the minister eagerly stops her, "'Enough!' The young minister cried out, dashing the stone from the aged hands. 'No more of these hellish demonstrations! Oh what a direful thing is it to fall into the hands of the devils!'" This got me thinking that he was very religious and lived in a time when witchcraft and magic were seen as signs of the devil or they were brought from hell. To complete the exert the minister arrives back in Boston where his home is, "The young minister felt a quick moment of cheer at the sight of his comely wife...", this made me think that the minister was possibly a family or home man that was away on business for the time being but would rather be in his safe home. And this also shows me that the minister was definitely scared when going to see the creature because he was glad to be back at his safe home, with his beautiful wife, in the safe state of Boston.

The next character mentioned was Jailor; "Neither of his two companions seemed to notice the foul odor, both Jailor and Sailor oblivious to the stench." This shows mew that the Jailor was used to the stench or scent of the chamber and probably came down to see the prisoners often. This is also shown here, "'Come Gammar, there's a good girl.' The Jailor chirruped with his lips much as he would call a dog. He set the lantern upon the stool." Gammar is the creature and Jailor seems fairly comfortable around the Gammar, and more importantly Gammar seems comfortable or trusting around him. Being trapped in a dark cell makes you fairly anti-social and distrusting, so I found it interesting that Gammar seemed so close to the Jailor.

"'Bless you, yes,' the Jailor chuckled."

Sailor was mentioned along with Jailor in the beginning; "Neither of his two companions seemed to notice the foul odor, both Jailor and Sailor oblivious to the stench." This gives me the same hint that it gave me for Jailor, he seems to come down to the chamber often. Then, "...the minister instructed his interpreter, the stripe-shirted sailor who stood beside him." This explained it all, the sailor is an interpreter therefore he is in the chamber often translating for the prisoners and visitors.

Next introduced was a small and fairly inimportant character, the mariner. "The mariners body exuded fumes of rum. He spoke Gaelic in a thin, lilting cadence." This gives me the feeling that the mariner is an alcoholic and probably faced some post-war (marine) trauma, or was faced with a great amount of stress, or he just hates his job and life.

And last, but certainly not least Gammar! Introduced last this old lady/ creature looking thing is stuck down in the dungeon and meets the minister. "The thing grinned at him with black, gaping mouth. The minister's flesh quivered with goosebumps. A witch! A confessed witch!" This sentence also helped me confirm the witchcraft era theory that I earlier had. Gammar looks like; "The skeletal figure in wretched rags crept forward, drawn to the light." And "The minister stared at the withered face, her beak of a nose curving like a bird of prey to meet a pointed chin. Black eyes darted from one man to another with the rapid flick of an adder's tongue. She grinned at them through toothless gums." And "The creature did not respond; she starred at him with her black adder's eyes."

Marilyn Kemp in the beginning gives us a detailed setting; "The smell of urine-soaked straw and overflowing pot...". She then hints on the characteristics of the characters through dialogue or actions (seen above). Lastly she sets the scene with an interesting plot. The plot made me wanting more, and the exert left me with many questions like; Why did the minister have to meet Gammar? Why is Gammar in the chamber? Why don't the Jailor and Sailor have real names? Is that just because the minister does not know there real names? Why did the minister just immediately leave after meeting Gammar? Why didn't they elaborate more on the scene there? Why wasn't Gammar killed if she was a confessed witch? I thought in the Salem Witch trials, or any witch trials for that matter, that the witches were drowned or hung. Anyway I might even pick up this book and begin to read so these lingering questions can soon be answered.

Questions:
1) What made her want to get into Mystery specifically?
2) Was her background (way she grew up) and active ingredient in the reason why she became a writer?
(ex. parents supportive, house filled with books, education important in household, creativity supported and cherished, etc.)


1/6 Speaker = (4)

Round One = Susan Cominos

Susan Cominos is a greatly successful young woman. Even at her age, she has already become “the winner of the 2010 Yehuda Halevi Poetry Competition run by Tablet Magazine.” Cominos poetry was shown as a success when previously “her poetry appeared in Forward, Lilith, Tikkun, Judaism, Calapooya and The Blueline Anthology (Syracuse Univ. Press, 2004), among others.” and “her fiction recently debuted in Quarterly West.”

[ http://m.triquarterly.org/bios/susan-comninos]

Cominos’s writing style is basically, from what I noticed, the same in every poem of hers. She breaks the sentences down not by punctuation but by dramatic pause. In “pecan, rodef, clam” her style is well shown;

“like any nut zipped up

tight in its shell. like a clam’s

clipped momser, the locked

maw talked open

by fire — by burly water

waitressing flesh, flat as a tongue…” [http://www.forward.com/articles/113731/#ixzz1iePKR1sL]

Cominos uses many foreign words from different languages in her poems, for example Yiddish and Hebrew she uses a lot. Within the poem “Beached, or dementia” she uses the word “tsimmes ([which is Yiddish and means] confused agitation; a stew made from meat, potatoes and fruit.)” The word in context is;

“for fizzy friskness.  for persimmon
taste, for tsimmes.  woe
to the freak snail, the squid”.

[http://hospitaldrive.med.virginia.edu/hospital-drive/issue-6-summer-2011/beached-or-dementia/]

Cominos then uses the words “rodef ([which is Hebrew and means] a fetus posing a threat to its mother’s life. According to Jewish law, it may be aborted up to the point of crowning.)” and “momser ([which is Yiddish and means] an illegitimate child.)” The context for this word is;

“like a clam’s

clipped momser, the locked

maw talked open”

[http://www.forward.com/articles/113731/]

            Cominos is a big firend to literary devices and adjectives, one of my favorite lines is from her poem “Deconstruction Workers”. The context is;

“Termites
have the idea; they take
what’s hard to a
softer state.”

[http://m.triquarterly.org/poetry/deconstruction-workers]