Picture Day

          I realize I'm doing a pretty poor job of posting book reviews and other things. Don't worry! I'm reading two/three new books! So you should expect at least one new book review (hopefully before the month is over!) I do have one poem for you, from my creative writing class. I believe I told you about it in one of my earlier posts. Sort of...I think I mentioned having a poem that I couldn't share because I turned it in. Well, I got it back and now I can share it. Before I do, I'm just going to warn you that I wrote it ten minutes before class and I didn't really have the time to actually attempt to make it good. (So I suppose that means, if one were to truly try to 'Make it Good' as the title of my blog suggests, time would be a determining factor. Hmm...that'd be something to write about.)
          Anyway, here it is:

Picture Day
By: Me

A plain backdrop
blue as the ocean at dawn
Behind, a wall
as empty as my mother's lawn.
The line of students,
faceless and plain
await the few moments
when they get a turn
to stand in front of the ocean
at dawn.

          Like I said, I wrote this in ten minutes or less. Please don't judge my horrid poetry writing. I am not a fan of writing it and I'm sure that translates into my poems. I wrote a horrible villanelle yesterday, which I don't think I'll be sharing with you. It was really bad. I don't even think I'll get full credit for it, it was so bad. On the plus side, we only have a few more weeks of poetry and then we get to move on to prose. Finally!! And now I'll leave you with a quote.


"Stars are beautiful, but they may not take part in anything, they must just look on forever." -Peter Pan by J.M. Barrie

The Food of Love

          My life for the past few days has been poetry. Reading poems, writing poems, and listening to poems. I happened to find a brilliant playlist of British actors (such as Tom Hiddleston, Richard Armitage, Matthew Macfadyen, and Benedict Cumberbatch) reading prose and poetry, which I've been slightly addicted to. I also wrote one more poem as well as a couple unrelated stanzas. Here's my complete poem:

Super Bowl Sunday
By: Me

It is Super Bowl Sunday.
We ate pizza and popcorn.
There were no wings
this year. No guests and
no laughter.
The screen was on and
two teams without names
played a sport that I cared nothing for.

My brother, on his iPod, took a couch.
My parents, playing cards together,
on different devices,
sat on the other.
I sat on the floor and wrote this poem.

The football teams played for us,
a family who didn't watch TV
together.


          I feel like that is one of my better poems. I also did a stanza using alliteration.

Sometimes I see the sky
in colors so sweet and shy.
Sometimes I smell the stars
So cold and so distant
and yet, so very, very close by.

          And one on assonance.

I was told, by one very old,
that to hold a love too long
would be for both, very wrong.
The love would grow cold.
It wouldn't last, if held too long.
Or so I was told, by one very old.

          I personally like my stanza on alliteration better than that on assonance. Well, actually, I much prefer my Super Bowl Sunday poem. That one actually felt real to me. And since I'm just assaulting you guys with poetry crap today, I'm also going to leave this video here for your enjoyment. (It's just an audio, so if you would like to read along with the poem, I've also left that here too. Regardless, press the play button. It's better with sound. Oh, and Tom Hiddleston is reading it.)


Desiderata (Max Ehrmann, 1927)

Go placidly amid the noise and haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence.
As far as possible without surrender be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even the dull and the ignorant; they too have their story.
Avoid loud and aggressive persons, they are vexations to the spirit.
If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain and bitter;
for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.

Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.
Keep interested in your own career, however humble; it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.
Exercise caution in your business affairs; for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals;
and everywhere life is full of heroism.

Be yourself.
Especially, do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love; for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment it is as perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness. Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself.

You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be,
and whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.
With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.


"You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here." -Desiderata by Max Ehrmann

The Boy and I

          Hello everybody. This semester I am taking a creative writing class and the first half is on poetry. I know, I know, I used to write poetry all the time. But that was back when I was a gloomy 'oh poor me' kid. I liked to write sad poems about how my life sucked. (Which is a lie. My life has actually been incredibly blessed.) Anyway, I'm sort of panicking about trying to write poetry, even though that's all I used to really write. Well, I wrote one and I don't think it's half bad. (Still, not that great. But not that bad either.)

The Boy and I
By: Me

A day ago
Or maybe more
I knew a boy.
We laughed at him
and we teased him.
He was not smart
and he was not kind.
But then,
neither was I.

A day ago
Or maybe more
I thought of the boy
Our cruel words
and our malicious grins.
He must have been lonely
and he must have been lost.
But then,
so was I.


       So that is the poem I wrote. Like I said, not that good, but not that bad. Maybe I'll improve. Regardless, I will continue to share with you the things I write for this class. (Unless it's absolutely dreadful, in which case, I won't.)

"Well, sometimes home is a person." -A Million Suns by Beth Revis