Surrealism and Line

This weeks poem was to be based off Surrealism. And using lines to create suspense. So, here is what we got!

'In a Moment

I met a man the other day, while walking home from work.

He was covered in (dirt, debris, filth of the streets) stars and

begged for a moment of my time. 'Can't talk (Mr. Beggar Man)

Sir, I am late (so late) for a (very important) date.'

There was sorrow in his eyes as he begged like a puppy

searching for a (cat, rope, throat) Milk Bone

'Please, (beautiful lady) Ma'am, just a moment (so busy, so busy, always rushing

towards death) of your time.'

His eyes were the most startling color, a shock of beauty

stuck in a miasma of pain

I should call them (amber, bronze, mahogany) cocoa

flecks of gold (his only wealth) floating along the iris.

I think I could not resist those eyes of his, so

(beautiful, stunning, terrifying, moving)

deep and inspiring. I felt myself falling (down, down the rabbit hole

little alice fell)

I stood so still and he so close, even the reek of his breath

(death, oh death, nothing but the rotting death)

couldn't break the spell. 'Oh beautiful lady

(madam, princess, queen of all I survey)

just a moment of your time?'

He touched me then and my world (collapsed, expanded, reacted) exploded

a kaleidoscope of colors, an avalanche of sensation

(pain, terror, anger, frustration, hate, misery)

as I fell into his eyes (such lovely eyes, such perfect peepers)

I met a man the other day (oh god, please no, please stop)

while walking home from work

He was a filthy beggar man (not that, never that, please...)

covered all in dirt

He begged (push, shove, hit, bite) me for a moment

of my oh so precious time

He gave me gifts (red, glisten, shine) and showed me things

and took my soul in kind.

I wonder where I am now (I never believed in heaven)

as I float along in space

and if they ever found me (pieces, shattered, scattered)

In that lonely, filthy place.

New York, New York

This was one of our first assignments for my Creative Writing class last semester. We were given a short story to read, and we were asked to imitate the story in writing our own. This is my Wharton Imitation piece.

“Amy? Amy Rhoades?” The voice held a tone of shock and amusement, the words carrying over the crowds.

She was a beautiful woman in her early 30's. Her strikingly good looks had mellowed some and her perfect figure had softened somewhat after three children, but she was still able to turn heads, especially when she took some care with her looks. She looked up at the name she hadn't gone by in a decade, her brilliant eyes widening in shock at the familiar face.

“James Anson...I...never thought to see you again...” She tried to keep her voice light and airy, tried to hide the jolt of shock and the momentary ripple of fear she felt.

Her husband Anthony slipped an easy arm around her waist. They had been married for 10 years, and the early jealousy he had often felt when another man greeted his lovely wife had faded like the summer heat. Now, he only felt a touch of amusement at the lengths some would go to try to entice her away. For all of her faults, Amy was unwaveringly loyal to him, as she had proven time and time again. She looked up and granted her husband a brief yet stunning smile, before looking back to her old friend.

He practically drug a young woman behind him, a plain waifish thing Amy could only surmise was his wife. She was not unattractive, but her plain face, bored expression and dowdy dress made her stick out like a sore thumb amongst the glamor and glitz that surrounded them. 'We're in New York City,' Amy thought, 'I don't know how anyone can be bored in this place...' She quickly turned her attention towards the couple, pasting on her best dazzling smile.

“Good lord, Amy...you look exactly the same as you did in College!” She saw his eyes traverse her body, and she felt slightly uncomfortable being encased in the clingy dress she had bought specifically for their outing to the theater. She leaned closer to her husband, using his presence to fend off her own feelings of anxiety at being eyed by him in such a manner.

She pushed aside her fears, and the memories that threatened to overwhelm her. 'Be polite, Amelia. You can hate him, but for gods-sake, be polite! His father is still your parents' Pastor. The last thing you need is a frantic mother, wondering why you are so uncouth.' She shook her head and gave a soft, tingling laugh, her eyes looking up and away from him, admiring the sparkling lights of Broadway, “I suppose the years have been kind to me.”

He leered and his wife gave a little sad sigh, pointedly looking away from Amy and finding some item of great interest in the gutter. She could feel his eyes undressing her, slowly stripping her out of the slinky dress and down to the unmentionables that even Anthony hadn't seen yet. “Yeah, they definitely have been. What have you been doing? I haven't seen you since school. I've asked your parents, but they say you don't come home very often.”

“No, I don't get home much these days. I left town after we graduated, and I did some traveling. That's where I met Anthony...” she smiled and looked up at her husband, feeling her heart constrict in her chest, “This is my husband, Anthony. Anthony, this is James. An old... acquaintance from college.”

James' face wrinkled in a frown and he looked at Amy, “Acquaintance? We were more then that, Amy!” he glanced up at Anthony and smirked, “What she doesn't tell you is that we dated for a year and a half.” James winked, trying to share some manly bonding moment with her husband. His wife looked up sharply, looking at Amy and narrowing her eyes just slightly.

Amy looked away, and her face colored. The perfect evening, her ten year anniversary gift from her husband had quickly turned into a nightmare. She could feel her mind turning, trying desperately to find the words that would make it all end. Her husband, her very own hero in a fine-cut Armani suit, swooped in, his voice holding just the slightest edge that she knew meant business. “No, but Amelia and I never discussed our past relationships overly much. We never had the need to compare our lives together to those who came before.”

James let out a raucous laugh, and she could tell that he had been drinking. Heavily. She shot a furtive glance towards his wife, who only continued to look at her like she was the Whore of Babylon reborn. The wife finally spoke up, her voice little and tinny, “James – we have to get back to the hotel. Mother will want to get some sleep, and the boys have terrorized her long enough.”

James finally tore his eyes away from Amy long enough to give his wife a disdainful look before giving his crows laugh again, “That's my boys for you, always out terrorizing the ladies.” He gave Amy one last lustful wink and then turned with his wife, weaving down the street.

Amy watched after them for a long moment, her eyes filling with tears. Anthony turned her and looked down at her, his nut-brown eyes filled with concern, “Amy, what was all of that?” Reaching forward, he brushed the tears from her cheeks with his thumb, “Who was that?”

She sighed uncomfortably and looked away, her eyes drifting towards the New York City skyline. She had always longed to come here, to see the lights and to lose herself in the throngs of beautiful people. He rested a hand on her lower back comfortingly, rubbing small circles there. She took a moment to ruminate on how lucky she had been in life – she had landed herself an amazing job, an amazing husband, and three amazing children. The few low points were far outweighed by the bright ones.

Turning back to him, she looked up into his eyes, his face ablaze with the bright lights of Broadway, “That man...we dated, for some time.” She let out a deep sigh and closed her eyes, gathering her own inner strength. The downside of having a life blessed like hers, is no one thinks you should have your darkness. No one realizes that every bright star has it's heartbreak. Her mind drifted towards her children, her oldest daughter in particular. The star of her life, that brought with her more darkness and pain then most could imagine.

He nodded and frowned slightly, and she knew him well enough to practically read his thoughts. He was trying to puzzle out why she would let herself be weighed down by a man like that. He looked at her with a piercing gaze, “And?”

“He raped me, in a drunken stupor, shortly before we graduated. He always drank too much, I could never get him to stop...I broke up with him the next day but...I had a reputation, and I thought no one would believe me...” As her words trailed off, she felt her husbands rage ignite as he turned, moving to take a step after the man.

She sighed heavily, leaning out to rest a hand on his arm. He looked down at her, his brows knit together in fury. Her voice was soft, but she knew that her words would reach him on the wind, just as she knew how they would cut to his heart. “Anthony...he's Marissa's father.”

Tipping the Velvet

Oh! I remember what I was going to talk about!

One of the books we've been assigned in my Intro to Lit class is Tipping the Velvet by Sarah Waters. It is an absolutely beautifully written novel based in Victorian England. Here, this tells you a bit about it... WooHoo Wiki!

Anyway. One of the things about this novel is that it does have sex scenes. As far as literary sex scenes go, these are very tame. There is no 'throbbing man meat' to be found anywhere. Well...of course not...it's about a young lesbian...anyway. You get the idea. I've read some very racy books - the Kushiel series is one of my favorites, and I have a healthy love for the Sookie Stackhouse books as well as the Merry Gentry series. Don't judge me, sometimes I just like smut! So yes. The scenes in Tipping the Velvet...not bad at all. They aren't nasty, they aren't overly explicit...they are tame, and pretty sweet (well, for the most part.)

Several of the students in the class have expressed their utter disgust in the book. One student went so far as to say, 'I am so disgusted in the sex scenes in this book that I'm not going to finish reading it.' Unfortunately, many of those who have said they were disgusted or repulsed by these scenes have also made it very clear that their disgust really comes from them being lesbian sex scenes.

Oh Noes! We can't take a literary piece and enjoy it, despite portions that make us feel uncomfortable! We can't stretch our imaginations and our comfort zones to find the amazing themes and the beautifully crafted story!

Earlier today, there was a post by a classmate who made the comment that, 'I find it hard to believe that the strongest connection in a lesbian relationship would be the sex...' He essentially said he hated that Waters made all lesbian relationships seem like they are all about sex.

Hey! I read a book once about a husband who abused his wife. That means that all heterosexual relationships are abusive, right? Uh no. Wrong!

So, I called him on it. One of my comments made mention of the fact that it didn't matter that the characters were lesbians - that this story could have very well been about a heterosexual couple who experienced the same issues. Another classmate asked why she wouldn't have just written about a heterosexual couple instead...

All in all - I've been very amused by my classmates responses to this novel. Some of them loved it, some of them were ambivalent, and a few of them absolutely hated it. I keep trying to ask them why, to poke at their brains and make them actually step back and examine what makes them hate the book. I've gotten a few responses, which have been very interesting. Though now that I think about it, I wonder if I shouldn't leave those thought provoking questions to the professor to ask...

At the end of the day, I highly recommend this novel. It is amazingly well written. The characters are robust and believable, and it made me tear up at the end. All in all - it gets 7 out of 10 stars on April's Scale of Novels.

A snippet of the crazy

Today, for the most part, was a pretty fantastic day.

On Tuesday, we start our Cam/Anarch game. This would be awesome, except for the fact that I was convinced to storytell for the game. EEEP! I have never run a game in the Camarilla. I've never even been an aVST (well, except for Colin's Forsaken game, but that was mostly cause it was in my living room.) Needless to say - I'm a bit terrified by all of it. I don't know the rules as well as I should, and I am worried my stories will all be boring. Good thing I know my players, and I know they'll make their own plot.

Anyway, I got a lot of work done on the game today. News articles, some information about Missoula in the World of Darkness, some plot ideas, and IC justification for game on Tuesday. I don't really feel much better about it...I'm still nervous as hell. Oh well, I'm sure it will be ok, right?

Tomorrow, Colin has an interview at St. Pat's for a position that would be PERFECT for him. Chaplain. Wait, a job where he gets to use his master's degree? NO WAY! YES WAY! It's a phone interview, the first step, and hopefully it will go well. Keep your fingers and toes crossed.

I start training tomorrow afternoon as well. I head down for a few hours of NextGen training. NextGen is the program we'll be using for all of the data entry and chart imaging. While I've never used it, I've seen it in use...it's not hard. Then again, after working in two different hospitals that had VASTLY different systems...they are all similar enough that I can figure it out. I've got two hands, a good brain, and an innate understanding of how medical records stuff WORKS. If I were more passionate about it, I could totally make this my life's work. Alas, I am not...English however, that I am passionate about.

Game tonight was awesome. Pathfinder is always fun. It's like DnD, but better. I totally approve of better.

So that is pretty much what is going on with me. How about you?

Memory and Image Poem

I am having a lot of difficulties in my Creative Writing: Poetry class. I think that I'm going to be talking to the dean, because this is just ridiculous. I'm not going to go into it right now...but needless to say, I am a frustrated panda.

The poem we had to write this week had to include memory and images. One of the problems I'm having with the teacher is lack of feedback of ANY kind. It's difficult to write and write and write - and not know if any of it is good.

Anyway. Here is my offering for the week.

'Coming Home'

I left Montana at 20, looking for a new great adventure.

Drove off into the mountains with my boyfriend

and my life, all loaded up into a U-Haul.

I left, hoping I could run away from our past,

thinking maybe that if we left Montana, he would love me.

He never did.

Colorado was beautiful, even when my heart ached.

The mountains were stunning and soothed my soul,

but it wasn’t home and they couldn’t fix it all.

I left him at 22, hoping that a break would finally make me happy.

It didn’t.

I found some happiness in Colorado,

but my heart never fully healed.

I limped home at 24,

with a broken heart and an empty bank account.

Montana welcomed me with open arms,

bringing me back to the farm where I had spent my childhood.

I was so afraid my family would be angry,

turn me away for the things I had done and the life I’d lived.

They didn’t.

The moment I turned down that hard-pack dirt road,

I felt my eyes start to well up,

and I had to will myself not to cry.

My parents embraced me, my dad eyed my piercing,

“What the hell did you do to your face?”

It was all good-natured, as I teased him right back about

the hippy hair he’d let grow down his back.

My baby brother was thrilled that he would have me home,

someone else he could beat at board games.

He had been so young when I’d first left,

he’d gone from an obnoxious kid to an all right teenager.

It hurt that I had missed so much of his life.

I thought he wouldn’t remember his big sister,

who had been like a second mother to him for so many years.

He did.

I was gone for 4 years, only visiting home twice

and in four years, nothing changed.

The house was still a home, filled with knick-knacks

and do-dads and various junk acquired over the years.

I wandered a lot the first days of my arrival,

reacquainting myself with the hidey holes of my childhood.

It was early October, the fields were in for the year,

the equipment all put away for the season.

They never asked for the details.

Why I left, what I did, where the pain came from,

and I was happy to leave them in the dark.

All Montana cared about was that I was home,

that I was safe, and that I was happy.

And I was.

As an aside...

I imported my other blog here. So not only will there be actually bloggyness...but there will also be various creative writing endeavors. So, HAH! Take that! Like it or not!

Muwahahahahahahahaha!

Who says you can't go back?

I've spent a lot of time over the past few weeks really thinking back about the past.

When Colin and I decided we were moving back to Missoula, I was thrilled. I called everyone and sent them messages on Facebook, and I started getting ready to go home. I didn't grow up here, but it has always been 'home' for me. Eventually, that initial euphoria started to fade and was replaced by fear.

It had been almost 8 years since I had left...and I'd only been back to visit a few times. And then, of course, I started to worry about the social structure.

You see, in the long long ago, in the before times...Adrienne and I met 'The Guys.' We met them LARP'ing. We went from LARP'ing with them to table top gaming with them to just generally hanging out. And then she started dating her husband and I started dating my ex. For the most part - it was really awesome.

And then the ex went to a convention, and cheated. Even though I was upset and unhappy, I stuck with the relationship. See, I was afraid that if I left, I would never find someone else who wanted me. I had this ridiculous romanticized ideal of love that said that since he was my first, we would eventually get married. And have children. And live the picture-perfect cookie-cutter life. So I stayed. Even being a little unhappy was better than being totally alone, right?

After a trip to Colorado, I had a brilliant idea. We'd move to Colorado! It would make everything all better. We'd have a new start and a new life and I would finally be able to forget the past. And it had the added benefit of getting me out of Montana and satisfying my silly roamer blood.

No one tried overly hard to talk us out of it. I think they all knew that I was set on it. I told him then, 'I'm going, even if you don't come with me.' He did, and I figured it would all be ok. I thought it would fix the issues I had with trusting him and that it would fix the issues he had with commitment.

Yeah...I was very, very wrong.

Needless to say, things in Colorado didn't go quite the way I had expected them to. We made some friends (some of them are still very dear to my heart, and will be my friends forever.) Things were great, at first. I don't really know when they started going south, but they did. We both lost all contact with our friends in Montana...to the point where we'd talk to them MAYBE once a year. Maybe. Hell, I totally lost contact with my parents. I would go for months without talking to my mom. Sure, I had freedom...but I was horribly lonely.

The break up was inevitable. I'll go into that later...but it was a long time coming. I realize now that we were both using each other. I didn't have a car and I was terrified of being alone. So I stayed until I just couldn't stay anymore. I'm not proud of it...but I stayed until I found someone else who showed me and told me that they were willing to be in a relationship with me...and that they were willing to love me.

I visited Missoula once after the break up. It wasn't bad, but I kept waiting for things to be awkward. I talked about the break up in passing, but I tried not to dwell on it. At that point, even a year later, everything was still pretty difficult for me to talk about without crying.

Fast Forward to current day. We were preparing for the move, and I started freaking out. What if everyone was as different as I am, and we didn't get along anymore? What if they were all disgusted by the choices I've made in my life and didn't want to associate with me? What if they all blamed me for taking their good buddy away, and wouldn't give my husband a chance? What if the person they expected to return was the person I was 10 years ago - not the person I am today? In short - I was terrified. Colin did a very good job reassuring me...he just kept reminding me that everyone in Missoula had been nothing but excited when we said we were coming back. And that even if everyone else didn't want to associate with me, our roommates still would.

It was still kind of a scary thing. Returning to a place after being gone for so many years. But the first night we were in town, we went to the New Years party...and it really was like coming home. There were a few new faces and a lot of old ones...and everyone was friendly and welcoming. We're still adjusting, but I think it's going really well.

Long story short...it's been amazing coming home. It isn't the same as it was when I was 19, but I didn't really expect it to be. I am a very different person, but we all are. On one hand, it makes me sad that I left and missed so many memories with my friends - my chosen family. On the other hand, at least now I have a massive repertoire of stories that no one here has heard yet.

And while Colin isn't my ex...and won't ever take his place...I think he's been accepted as well. At least no one has kicked him yet. :)

10-Minute Spill

Our assignment this week - well, the first one, I don't know if there will be more - was a little...strange. I'm not sure that I cared for it, at all. So here is what our assignment was -

THE TEN-MINUTE SPILL (original lesson by Rita Dove, former US Poet Laureate)

In this exercise, you will be asked to take an adage or proverb ("a penny saved is a penny earned," "a stitch in time saves nine," etc.) that you have changed in some way ("a penny saved is a rat's fortune," "a stitch in time saves Biggie from the bullet," etc.), and combine it with five of the following words in a ten-line poem: blackberry; cloud; mother; nick; whir; needle; cliff; spell; run; thought; will.

The hitch: You have ten-minutes. Go.

Of note: trust the music of the language; trust improvisation; don't worry if it makes sense at first; look at how many of the words can be either nouns or verbs; have fun!

Please email your results to me by close of day Tuesday.

Yeah, it was a little odd. Oh well. Here was my response, using the proverb, 'Familiarity breeds Contempt'

"Family breeds contempt." Nine years old and in a school for the first time. Children are unforgiving, and I hear the titters before I finish the phrase.

The hated 'tsk' from our teacher cuts through the air, casting an eerie spell over the room. A thousand eyes bore into me like needles.

Her voice is dry, like the sour blackberries from the bush in our yard.

"Mae." she ignores the laughter from my classmates, and I will myself to look at her. "The word is familiarity, not family."

I nod and I feel my eyes cloud with tears as she continues, speaking slowly as though I am a child, "Do you understand me, Mae? FA-MIL-IAR-I-TY?"

I nod again and she sighs heavily, "Do we have to call your mother again, Mae?"

I shake my head and close my eyes. "Familiarity." I hear the laughter again, and the whispers, the harsh words of my classmates.

She nods once, satisfied with my answer, "You may sit, Mae. Nick, continue..."

I sit and sigh, looking out the window. I can hear their whispers all around me as they stare, wondering at my intelligence.

They all think I am stupid. I can't tell them I know the words in the book, and that my mistake was intentional. I can't tell them it was my only way I knew to cry for help.

(Note - I realized that I'm an idiot and screwed up some tenses in there. Fixed.)

How to piss off a Mad Woman

Saying I am frustrated is a massive understatement.

One of my biggest pet peeves is being lied to. If you tell me you are going to do something, then you had damn well better do it. And if you tell me you are going to do something? I expect it to be done in a timely manner. If you have no intention of doing something promptly, then tell me. If you tell me you'll do something just to appease me, you are just going to piss me off. I value honesty. If for some reason you really want to piss me off...just promise to do something and then never do it. I might threaten to run you over with a bus if you do it enough.

My poetry teacher is starting to piss me off. When he first posted our syllabus, I sent him an e-mail asking for something a little bit more...thorough. The syllabus he sent us is effectively, 'We're going to do this, and then maybe some of this, and then possibly some of this. You'll stay really busy! Oh, and you have to write a paper and do this and this.' And that was it. No dates when things would be due, no expectations for our papers, no guidelines on when we would be doing what.

I e-mailed him and asked for some clarification. For anyone who knows me, I don't really work well like that. I want firm deadlines. I don't need to be micro-managed, but I want to know what you WANT from me. I'm not a damn mind reader. He promised up and down he'd get something better to us.

That was 3 weeks ago. We still don't have anything.

One of our assignments several weeks ago was to write a poem on the purpose of poetry. I kinda liked mine. He said he'd be posting some of those on the discussion board for us to read and discuss. He still hasn't done that either. I mentioned it in an e-mail to him, but we'll see.

The assignments he gives us are oftentimes confusing. I feel like he is pulling shit out of his ass and just slapping it on the board. We've written one poem to this point. He is completely unorganized.

Oh and best yet? When we e-mail him we have to e-mail his personal hotmail account, because he has difficulties with his school e-mail.

I am massively frustrated. I don't really want to e-mail the Dean, because I'm concerned about shit rolling downhill. I know that means I have to just suck it up and deal with it. I know this is a Poetry class...but it is still a class. It's only a 200 level class...but it is still a college course. How in the world can this guy be a professor? It just feels so damn unprofessional. Or maybe I just need to pull the stick out of my ass, I don't know...

Gah. Just got to suck it up and deal and try to enjoy it, I guess.

I Live! Really!

What have I been up to? Well, I've been staying pretty damn busy.

First, and most exciting - I got a job! It's a pretty awesome job too, and one that I know I'm going to enjoy. I will be working at a local hospital here, in the clinics, transitioning them from paper charting to online charting. My job is going to consist of - go to work, take pile of charts, data enter the shit out of them, scan important stuff, and move on. At least, I think that is how it will go. I'm the first person of 3 they hired to do this in 11 clinics...they haven't worked with the EHR system yet, so no one really knows yet what/how this is going to happen. I'm going to be making $11.38 an hour, plus I'll get benefits! Not bad. Not bad at all. The job is technically only a temporary position, for 6 months, but I'll be doing it until the work is done.

So yeah. Very excited about the job. I had only wanted to work part-time, due to school and the rest of life. But thats ok. The money will be good, and we'll make it work. Colin also has a line on a really good job at St. Pats as a Chaplain. I'm keeping my fingers crossed that he can land that...if he does, life will be good! I don't even know what we'll do with ourselves with both of us having jobs. Oh wait. I do. We'll pay off all our bills. :) WOOOHOO FINANCIAL FREEDOM!

Second, and almost as exciting. Earlier this week, I spent a few days in lovely Kalispell with my roommate. You see, she makes art for a living. And her art goes to 11! I went with her while she was working her super sekrit project... http://www.optimysticalstudios.com/product-lines/zombalert/. Ok, maybe not so sekrit. Anyway, the highschool there has some equipment she needed to use, so I came along as an extra set of hands, eyes, and brains. Let me tell you - they came out AWESOME. When they start selling these things commercially, I think they are going to fly off the shelves. They are just a lot of fun. Once the ordering system is up and running, I'll share it. They are going to be fuuuuun!

As a note, if I get bit in the Zombie Apocalypse...Double Tap is my death of choice. Quick and Clean, please!

Third, and not exciting at all. My laptop bit the dust. Like, hardcore death. A friend was fabulous and tried to help me bring it back to life, without any luck. He was unable to find out what was wrong with it. It had a virus, and I thought I got rid of it, and then it wouldn't boot up. We did a quick format of the hard drive using his external hard drive cool thingey bobber...but whenever we tried to load XP on it, it would say there wasn't a HD installed. But the BIOS was recognizing there was a HD there. Basically, something isn't working there, and we can't figure out how to fix it. :( One of my roommates has an old hd I'm going to pop in there, and we'll see if that works. If it does, eventually I'll get a new hd and turn it into a desk top machine for playing WoW. If not, well...then I guess I'll have something to bring to smashing day this year! The other roommate has an old laptop she is letting me borrow for a few weeks. Which is awesome...checking e-mail and such on my phone was getting frustrating! Now I can do homework and IRC until our taxes get back in a few weeks. And then - netbook, baby!

So yeah. I guess that is it for now. I know you all missed me desperately!

There are days, where I feel like I'm juggling a house of cards

Pulled in a million different directions

so much to do

not enough time to do any of it

Everyone wants a little piece of my soul

but I just don't have that much to give

What happens to me when I give it all away?

And have nothing left for myself.

The Purpose of Poetry

Our poetry assignment this week was to read a poem, and then write our own. Regarding what we feel the purpose of poetry is.

The purpose of poetry is to open our eyes

to the greater world surrounding us.

To remind us to stop and smell the roses,

to show us something we otherwise may have missed.

The purpose of poetry is to further our experiences,

to expand our horizons.

To remind us that some rules in our lives

really are meant to be broken.

The purpose of poetry is to force us to think,

to look past the surface and into the heart of the matter.

Words that seem so confusing at first

hold a universe of meaning beneath them.

The purpose of poetry is to paint us a picture

or sing us a song.

Without ever pulling forth the palette,

or uttering a single note.

The purpose of poetry is to tell a story

one that will pull at your heart and soul.

The story, often, is not in what you read,

but in all that is left unsaid.

The purpose of poetry is more than anyone can put into words,

it is joy and love, sorrow and anger, every emotion and none all at once.

The purpose of poetry is to capture life.

Wherever it may dwell.

Haiku

Our first assignment was to read through Robert Hass' essay Images and then answer some questions. One of them asked us to form images in our minds and then offer up a poem, if we were so inclined.

Everything so still
Lost in the white and quiet peace
Up where the giants walk

Poetry Class

Guess what I'm gonna do? Inflict my poetry on you all! muwahahaha!

For that matter, I think I'm going to post some of my creative writing pieces from last semester here as well. So there.

Eventually, I'll put more of the novel up. You'll just have to wait (I know you've all been waiting anxiously, but...tough.)