Week 6, Discussion 3

Boundary Waters
Water passes over my feet as I droop them over my kayak,
the lake's silk robes soft and cool. Embedded lone islands jut out
like elegant jewels, mountains underneath the surface.
Small flowers bloom between each boulder, fine perfume
swimming through crisp air, reaching the noses of royal subjects,
like myself, who only wish to lay on fallen pine needles and listen
to the song of each passing bird.

I turn the corner and am met with playful wind, strong wind.
Smooth lake turns to white-capped waves
as I pull my feet back inside the kayak
and peddle for dry land.
I reach a small island, magnificent and proud,
and anchor myself to the ground.

Week 6, Discussion 2

Midnight on the Farm

Day's work is done, yet I am awake,
staring at yellow wallpaper peeling like waxing strips off dry legs.
A picture of my late wife sinks into the dresser, dustier each sunrise,
dull eyes staring, unblinking, out our bedroom window, as if she too realizes
the potatoes still grow without her.
The cows will wake again soon and under the cover of night,
graze on young grass, complacent by years of life surrounded by sturdy fencing
and endless food. The hens, high on their coop fast asleep,
dream about clouds and treetops, breathless heights and even then,
only in a few short hours,
the rooster will crow.

Week 5, Discussion 2

Anti-Gravity

The moon, a giant glass eye staring at the sun,

the stars, a heavy dusting of fine crystal over a navy blue dress;

a perfect mirror to the one my prom date had on.

We left the gym-turned-ballroom to be alone outside,

away from loud seniors,

drunk from hidden flasks under Burlington wool blazers, concealed garters,

and finding a soft patch of grass nearby the school's baseball field,

laid down our tired bodies.

We searched for constellations,

falling into the endless expanse of the universe,

holding each other's hand tightly,

afraid to let go in fear of being lost to the dark,

alone.

I grabbed at the ground's feathery surface with my free hand to stay anchored,

trying to keep myself from lifting off the ground,

flying past houses, light posts, trees,

losing my chance to hold onto something,

anything, that will keep me from floating into the night sky.

My date's narrow finger enters my vision, pointing at a star cluster,

suddenly reminding me of earth and soil.

She comments that Libra looks like a peeled potato and we laugh,

our voices leaping into the darkness.

Week 3, Discussion 4

Diana as Goddess of the Hunt
by Cornelis Cornelisz. van Haarlem

A bare breasted woman smiles off to the distance,
the thud of a slain animal catching her attention.
Her shoulder's relax, she has taught the men well
and no one of her subjects need starve again.
Like the moon itself, she is revered.
Even the tuft on her spear sways towards her,
longing to caress her pale skin.
Yet she holds it away from herself,
she did not come for that. She is
an unstoppable force, a strong root
breaking through man-made roads and houses.
She is Diana, Goddess of the Hunt.

Week 3, Discussion 1

I had some rules to follow with this one as well. I would definitely remove the last line now that I can. Maybe I'll revise it

Every morning, I roll out of bed and
hear mother,
voice like pine needles,
whirring over clouds and cliffs;
water and rock that lick gold, silver,
oil.
I fall forward, collide with earth,
and realize that money is like grass,
endless, plenty. I look down at mother and she tells me,

"A penny saved is a blackberry earned."

Week 2, Discussion 3

Binging on Internet Waves

My Dell computer,
a seventeen point three inch hypnotist;
service I don't need,
convinced I do.
A metallic blue black hole
that sucks up hours like lines
of cocaine.
YouTube, YouTube, YouTube,
Netflix, Solitaire --
forty tabs using so much data,
a video won't play without
a pause,
a "stop script" message followed by
a frozen web page.
Cracks on the corners and filtration,
cracks like its speakers, spontaneous and old,
and for some reason,
lay underneath the armrest.

Week 1, Discussion 1

Some of my favorite words:

1. Portmanteau

2. Consecutive

3. Malignant

4. Truncated

5. Troglodyte

Dear Troglodyte,

The pandemonium you caused last night ended up burning my poor sister's forged prism, among other things. She weeped for hours after you left! Throwing hot grease in the fireplace then trying to put it out with water were all ineffable actions! You claimed it would provoke the Rain God to water the land, increase our food, and leave a nice petrichor over the land. Well, I call shenanigans! I will give you an opportunity to redeem yourself, but I swear, if you cause any more trouble, I will give you a mighty fernweh to go somewhere far, far away.

Sincerely,
you're best friend.

A/N: This was fun :) I'm a mad-lips kinda gall, so this fit nicely with my character!

Why I Am Who I Am

My childhood memories are as follows; Mountain Ash, sunny living room, warm hardwood floors, kitchen table, blue birds, house-wren, cardinals, birdfeeder, backyard, grass, playground, coloured pencils, cell phone, Courage the Cowardly Dog, Halloween Candy, toy horses, Barbie, Bear-Bear, Mittens, Najha, airplane noise, velvet skirt and shirt, carpet, house plants, Valentine's chocolate from Dad, Valentine's Bug Love book, bunk beds, costume mouse tail, candle wax, beanie babies, and a roll top desk. I also remember there was always a strong cigarette smell in the garage. I didn't know what it was, though. It smelled smoky and dull, like someone threw a mysterious spice in a campfire that made it's way to my house. I remember opening the garage door and taking in a deep breath before school and after. It reminded me of Mom and home and I loved it. Fifteen years later, my boyfriend's puffy pink lips, don't smoke anymore. My Mom's blackened teeth, a telling sign he should stop. My Nephew's small torso, the reason to. The garage still smells like smoke and I can't help but wonder if my Nephew pokes his head into the garage. Our lives are already so different, he with one parent, me with both. Yet we were raised in the same house. In the livingroom, I see him play video games instead of colour and still the memory of my Mom's loving voice comes to mind. "Hey, what are you up to?"

A/N: Yeah, I consider this a freewrite. I think it could turn out to be a good memoir or something someday.

Mason Jar

Here's a poem I wrote from last semester where I used an American Sentence to get inspiration for a poem. This isn't a part of the homework, I just wanted to share it.

The Mason jar on the fading table is full of once hot black tea. 

I sit on this chair,

also fading and just as old;

90's green paint, chipped -

bite marks from when I was teething.

Moving my sister's child therapy reports,

internet bills, credit card advertisements,

my father's old grey laptop,

I can see where the polyurethane

is rubbed off.

At the other end,

where my second oldest sister used to sit,

the varnish remains mostly intact;

used now by unsorted mail

and my nephew's soiled clothes

in plastic grocery bags.

I lift up my jar and notice a ring of condensation,

endlessly circling like a small

two dimensional

earth.

I love feedback of any kind - comments, critiques, whatever. Feel free to say something!

Chapter 8 Freewrite and Poem

a rundown house - boards slanting from the walls like dough, windows broken, screaming mouths, bricks from roof like missing children,

a scene in a store - a woman, clearly annoyed by the service, tells her friend in an audible tone how she received great attention at the store across the street, a man looks down at his purchase without saying something or looking up, a different woman stands in the corner shaking her head, a child runs around chasing a small bouncy ball, a book falls from the shelf and a young girl trips on it, two lovers, hand in hand, stroll the shop looking for a new tea set, a refined older gentleman asks to have a pair of silver-plated spoons gift-wrapped.

Playing with syllables:

Two women look at old books, savoring the feel of their dry pages.

A brightly dressed woman complains about her neighbor. How will she live?

The child's orange bouncy ball reminded the old man of when he was young.

Tripping on a book, the young girl giggles. Life is full of surprises.

A veil of snow
covers shoulders of young kids,
the rest go inside.

An old woman stands,
her coat billows in the wind,
eyes glare back at her.

The blooming lilac
sends fragrant promises, to
bad the bees are gone.

Yelling at a scared shopping attendant,
a middle aged woman waves an expired coupon around
like a war flag. A mother, looking at new teas to try,
shakes her head as if the air around her were a magic lamp
that she could use to wish the woman away.
An old man wearing a black cotton overcoat,
waits for his new purchase of silver spoons to be gift wrapped,
as he eyes the new Sports Illustrated catalogue, scoffing at it as customers walk by.
Two lovers walk hand in hand,
quietly feeling embroidered hot mitts and ceramic tea pots.
A young boy scampers around, chasing a small yellow bouncy ball,
knocking books off a shelf.
A five year old girl stumbles over them and smiles at her father,
frantically trying to pick up them up
as an impatient employee looks over at the scene.

(I didn't really have an aim here. I just wanted to paint a picture.)

Chapter 11 and Discussion 3 Post

Bright

A colourless picture of my Mom and a newborn she holds

stare in opposite directions of the lens.

The newborn's hair stands straight to attention,

focused like its eyes, able to pierce armor.

Its mouth, a small bow

the tongue would later learn to shoot arrows from,

is arched open, unsure if exposed is good.

The baby clings to my Mother's white v-neck,

cradled between her and its blanket like a fetus in an egg.

My Mother's demeanor glows love and relief

as her shoulder's relax to form soft curves,

a canopy enveloping the small infant she holds.

I pause and take the photo to the kitchen

where a much older Mom tells me the baby is me.

I look back at the photo and notice how

my Mother's gaze falls softly on what I imagine

is the road ahead of her,

bright and clear in this moment.

Miss Universe

A woman,

dressed in lucky red,

bears a white ribbon reading Hong Kong.

The white women behind her smiles,

almost mischievously,

looking around at her adversaries.

Miss Hong Kong displays herself,

desperately wanting the title to Miss Universe,

as she rests one hand on her hip,

never removing it,

walking like a cardboard cut-out.

I imagine I am that women.

Fill me with plastic and venom,

give me a white ribbon with some name from some country I suppose

I belong to. Let me chisel my face with talc and lead

and if I get poisoned, let me get surgery to look like Miss America.

Fill me with plastic and tell me

I will stay young forever.

(This took a weird turn. I didn't give myself enough time to revise it, so there it is in the raw.)

Chapter 7 Freewrite and Poem

my room is a treasure cove full of fiction novels and dirty clothes, or clothes I haven't yet hung up stationary box decorated as an antique but actually quite new Barbie doll, collectors, out of the box from when I was 6, hair still perfect, candle wax and stands scattered over my nightstand and dresser white foldable table, eyesore, predominant brown on furniture queen bed, white covers plastic bags from china stuffed full of other plastic bags and receipts

I'm so full of writing, I'm just going to focus on sound. I've bolded what I noticed were either examples of assonance, alliteration, partial consonance, or perfect rhyme. I'm sure I missed some.

Full

My room
is a treasure cove
full of fiction novels
I have yet to read
and dirty socks,
muscle shirts,
some clean
hanging off the end
of my queen size bed.
Used tissues,
torn and thrown
in the direction
of an overflowing trashcan,
litter my untreated
hardwood floor;
where they are inevitably stolen
by dust bunnies
to live for ever
under the firm support
of my mattress frame.
The same floor
that bears an unbelievable
burn hole
the size of a grow light
I forgot was on.
A collectors Barbie doll,
stands at relaxed,
elegant poise
by my dresser mirror,
hair still perfect
even after the 17 years
of her unboxing birth.
Somehow she survived
hot wax spills
from when I couldn't help
but fondle
the softening paraffin,
smearing it over
beige carpet,
now long gone.

Chapter 4 Freewrite and Poem

I was born in Log Gatos California September of 1992. Moved to Minnesota to the house I live in now two weeks after I was born. It took us two weeks to drive across half the nation with two parents and two young sisters. When I was four we got two kitties. Katie named one Najha, Christina named the other Mittens. Najha died at the age of seventeen, I was 21. I had her since I was 4. Mittens is still alive and pretty darn healthy for a 19/20 year old cat. When I was 16 on Valentine's Day I started watching DBZ to treat myself since I didn't have a boyfriend. I got hooked and secluded myself to my bedroom to watch DB/Z/GT fanatically. When I was 18 I went to Alateen with my best friend. When I was 16 I didn't take a shower for a month.

1992: a golden haired child was born. They nick-named her Elle.

1996: two kittens are adopted. Elle doesn't get to name either of them.

1997: Elle puts on a black leotard, tail, and has her Mom paint her face. She licks her cat's back every week.

1999: Elle's room is painted her favorite colour, purple. She misses the light beige.

2000: Katie, Elle's oldest sister, introduces Dragonball Z. They watch it every week.

2001: Pokémon boxed macaroni and cheese comes out in stores. Elle cuts the Pokémon cards out.

2003: Katie goes off to band camp. Elle and her Mom buy Final Fantasy X. They can't get Elle off the TV.

2006: 7th grade begins. All of Elle's friends move away.

2008: Elle drops out of public school. Her Mom cries for only a second.

2009: Elle goes through her old things. She finds cardboard Pokémon cut-outs.

2010: Caden is born. Katie is a new mom. Elle feels burdened.

2012: Elle receives her GED. Two weeks later she starts classes at Normandale Community College.

2013: a man named Em texts her if she wants to be his girlfriend. She wants to throw her phone out the window.

2013: She says yes.

2014: Elle joins Phi Theta Kappa. Her parents congratulate her.

2015: Elle's sisters start watching Dragon Ball Z for old-times sake and invite her to join them. Elle brings the snacks.