post 11, the last.

since im in need of another something for my chapbook, im going to try my hardest to write something of my own. i cant sit here and try to think of something to write, and as it may be odd to say, i dont have problems in my life at the moment that i can write about, or nothing thats on my mind thats worthy of writing about. im just going to go off the top of my head, sitting here in my room drinking tea, while its snowing outside. this wasnt meant to sound corny or some sappy "love" poem, or whatever is it. it wasnt meant to be a poem either. im not sure what it is, i just wrote, and it actually took me quite a bit to try and put something together. im not sure how good it is, or if its even considered "readable" but i tried.


the feeling with you is pure comfort
i feel safety, and connection, i feel myself
the adoration and affection is strong
the trust is secured
the emotion is enduring
these days are infinite

black ice

black ice was a strange video. i was definatly not expecting what is was, but i didnt really know what to expect anyways. i didnt really know what to think of the video at first, and i still really dont know what to think or say about it. my first thought was that it reminded me of the movie "the butterfly effect" for some reason. i dont even really remember the movie i watched it such a long time ago, but that movie popped into my head seeing the colours flashing. the dark blues and blacks and the bright whites flashing and moving around. i was going to try and write about something and what the video made me feel, but when i think of black ice, all i can think of is the air freshener called black ice.

scene/sound experiment

4:50am my alarm goes off for work, before i turn over to grab my phone, im hoping its only text and its actually only 1am, which gives me another 4 hours to sleep. i debate on getting up now or hitting the "9" minute snooze option Iphone gives you. if i get up now, ill have time to stop at tim hortons for a half english toffee, half coffee double double. as usual though i think an extra 9 minutes will help my tiredness, and i press snooze. i completely fall back asleep again. 5am when it goes off again, it feels as if i went back to sleep for another half hour, and im also twice as tired as i was 9 minutes ago. i whine to myself, and want to shed a tear as i wish i could go back to sleep. its so warm and cozy under my duvet. first thing i do is check the weather, to see how cold my vehicle is going to be when im forced to go outside and drive to work at 5:20am. i check my facebook, knowing not much will have happened since i last checked at 10pm the night before, anything to stay in bed longer. finally, its time to pull myself out of bed.

this experiment was quite easily actually. my routine for work is the exact same every morning i work. i liked it because it was easy to write about. so many thoughts come to me in the morning and so much to say about how much i hate getting up that early, i could of went on and on about my work mornings. it was kind of like writing a short story about myself and what i experience. it was alot different when i read it aloud. it wasnt nearly as descriptive, nor was it as long. by writing it out, it gave me more time to think about what i was going to say, and i was trying to make it longer so i was able to keep adding on once more thoughts came to me. reading it out loud was just basic, and i thought of the most important things, like im tired and want to go back to sleep, and without pausing for periods of time, i wasnt able to think of my thoughts in detail.

"The Old Theater was empty..."

The old theater was empty. I felt alone and I was alone. It was silent and cold. It was dim and I was lost. Im not sure if the building was empty but I felt nervous as if I wasnt alone. Suddenly the theater doors creaked open and I turned to see who was there. It was man, he looked lost as well. He was tall, black hair and wearing a long black coat. I got a shiver. As I waited for him to say something, he started slowly walking down the aisle toward me. Standing on the stage, I said "who are you?" and he started walking faster. I slowly started moving toward the opposite side of the stage and worked my way down the stairs. He cut arcoss the front row and was now running after me as I ran up the aisle towards the double doors of the theater. I swung open the door and bolted out. Before I could stop myself, I saw that the movie theater lobby was packed with people. I could smell the popcorn, and see little kids running around. I heard the arcade games ringing and dinging. There were staff standing at all the theater doors like usual, and people walking into all the theaters getting ready for their movie. I just stood there and looked around. I wasnt sure what had just happened. I looked behind me and there was no one there. I thought to my self, what if this man had caught me in the theater, what would he have done? Did that even just happen? I was tempted to go back into the theather and see if that man was in there, see if the theather was empty. But I left instead, I didnt know what to think..

Treated Text

My treated text isnt very long, but it was kind of difficult to make it long with only a little page out of a book, while making it into a different "text". I thought this assignment would of been easy at first, but once i got started it was more difficult. I did enjoy it because it was like putting a puzzle together. The original page didnt make much sense to me when i read it, but as soon as i saw the word paris and painting, an image appeared in my head, and a story came to me. From there it was a little easier to put the words together, but still hard to try and make the text longer than just one line. The ending i put together is a bit confusing, but leaves enough room for you to make sense of it in your own way and decide what you think is happening to the painter.

The painter of paris had to flee to England. It is remarkable his art remained unchanged. Engaged to his beautiful friend, whose eyes read the editorials of Vanity Fair. T.G. Bowels saw his position gradually altered and he put more and more motives through the siege of Paris for all his dandyism and the complacency of his paintings.

the five abstractions

The air smelt of warm salt, it was hot and humid out, 42 degree. There was faint breeze that made it just right to lie on the white sanded beach under the shining sun. Not a cloud in the sky, it was flawless. I lie there gazing at the perfect mixtures of turquoise in the water, watching the wave’s splash onto the beach, endless ocean. It is the only sound to hear, along with the swaying sound of the palm tree leaves in the breeze. I love this place and never want to leave. It is pure relaxation.

I dont know if im supposed to say which abstraction word i used but it was "beauty". The story was supposed to be 100 words, mine is 98. I found this assignment enjoyable because of the abstraction words we were given. I chose beauty because when i think of that word, i think of our ocean front property in Belize, Central American, which is what i described. That being easy to write about and I could go on and on about Belize.

writing process

Over the course of this class so far, I feel I have improved my writing process to an extent. After hearing all the class discussions and what people have to say about poetry and what not, I have gained a better understanding of it all. I have also learned to express myself a bit more than what I used to be comfortable with. Everyone says what they feel in this class, and no one is afraid of people will think. I do admit I care about what other people think about me in what I have to say when it comes to reading personal things in front of the class, but Ive learned to write what I feel and to feel more comfortable reading in front of people. Its still difficult for me to write on the spot and think of ideas to write about, especially poems, or my opinion on authors work, but I feel like I have improved a bit on being able to do that, and I still do get nervous when I have to read aloud, but Im getting more used to it along the way.

the worst poem ever

"the worst poem ever"

once upon a time, there was little puppy, a little golden retriever puppy
she wasnt much of a puppy anymore, but she sure acted like one
she sleeps on the couch and has a variety of babies (toys) laying all around the house
she has a little puppy friend, who is also golden, but a golden lab, they run around
the property all day, sometimes she comes home covered in mud and burs, sometimes
she comes home still clean. she sleeps in the house at night and howls in her sleep
shes friendly with the kitties, but doesnt prefer them. she loves her doggy cookies and treats,
she also loves left over dinners.

this assignment was easy and i enjoyed it because i was able to write whatever i wanted. the story is actually about my puppy. its the worst poem ever because its about a dog, a dogs life. its not very entertaining or exciting. it kind of sounds like a child wrote the story, which i think a child is completely capable of writing this, maybe even doing a better job. it ends awkwardly and says "she" to many times. it was an interesting assignment, because i didnt really try to make it the worst poem ever even though that was the whole point, i think i could of made it worse, but the topic is silly and its a true story.

poem 3

S/N+7

I missed the class for this assignment, but my friend explained it to me. This seemed like it would be something easy to do for once in a poetry and writing class, just taking out the nouns and replacing them with dictionary words. Its interesting how even though you sort of redo a poem with certain different words, it still somehow makes sense. This was a bit time consuming searching through a dictionary for all the replacement words, and not all the nouns that needed replacing were in the dictionary. I just found this random poem online, I have no favorite poet or author or anything, I couldnt even name someone off the top of my head. This poem is called Silver, by Walter de la Mare

Slowly, silently, now the moon
Walks the night in her silver shoon;
This way, and that, she peers, and sees
Silver fruit upon silver trees;
One by one the casements catch
Her beams beneath the silvery thatch;
Couched in his kennel, like a log,
With paws of silver sleeps the dog;
From their shadowy cote the white breasts peep
Of doves in silver feathered sleep
A harvest mouse goes scampering by,
With silver claws, and silver eye;
And moveless fish in the water gleam,
By silver reeds in a silver stream.

Edited Version

 

Slowly, silently, now the moot point
Walks the nightlife in her simpleton shoon;
This way, and that, she peers, and sees
Simpleton frustrate upon simpleton trenches;
One by one the caskets catch
Her beastly beneath the silvery theme;
Couched in his kettle, like a logistic,
With payroll of simpleton slender the dogsbody;
From their shadowy cote the white breeches peep
Of downcasts in simpleton feathered slender
A hast movement goes scampering by,
With simpleton cleavage, and simpleton eyesight;
And moveless fist in the waterline gleam,
By simpleton referee in a simpleton stress.

poem 2

For our second exercise, we were to write a "6 end words, 7 stanza poem" using the words
1. coffee crumb balcony miracle sun river
2. river coffee sun crumb miracle balcony
3. balcony river miracle coffee crumb sun
4. sun balcony crumb river coffee miracle
5. miracle sun coffee balcony river crumb
6. crumb miracle river sun balcony coffee
7. evnoi - crumb/coffee
                    river/sun
                    miracle/balcony


Hot steam rolled off my coffee
as I ate my muffin, the tiny crumbs
fell onto the table top as I sat outside on the balcony
Today I felt like a miracle
was going to happy, as the sun
shone on my face, I thought about going to the river


When I arrived at the river
the woods smelt like musky old black coffee
It was warm and the sun
was still shining bright.

This is unfortunatly as far as i could get on this poem..
When we were first shown the example in class, it looked like something fun to do and something that wouldn't be very difficult. As i started to work on it, it was a lot more harder than i thought. It could be easier if i didn't care if it didn't make sense, but that bothers me to much and i get the feeling like I should try harder to make it sound better, but after several days of trying add more onto this poem, it just wasn't happening.

poem 1

I forget the author and title of this poem, but it was the first exercise we did in class. We were to write in our own line for every second line of the original poem. Surprisingly this wasn't as difficult as I thought it would be. I'm not much of a writer, and therefore it is usually hard for me to come up with things to write, especially on the spot. The words November, and police made me feel like it was some type of cold, dark poem. The police looking for the suspect in the brisk outdoors. Being able to see their breath. Winter coats and gloves. It was like a scene Ive seen in a movie or TV show before. Maybe that's because all I watch is Criminal Minds and Law & Order SVU. I find those shows, the ideas and the minds of sociopaths fascinating. Not in a creepy way that I may be one..its just very interesting. The authors lines are black, mine are blue.

it was always november there, the farms

were emtpy and cold. the man and wife

were a kind of precint; a certian control

there days

had been exercised. the little birds

were silent and

used to collect along the fence.
the sun shone across the snow covered fields.
it was the great 'as though', the how the day went,

as time slowly passed

the excursions of the police

soon ended abruptly with a loud bang.

as i pursued my bodily functions, wanting

air, neither fire nor water, i felt

vibrating to the distant pinch

as every muscle in my body tensed

and turning out the way i am, turning to great you.