tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-39966663123446426502024-03-13T12:39:29.329-05:00Introduction to Poetry WritingA collection of poetry from Jonathan Holden's Introduction to Poetry Writing (ENGL463) at Kansas State University. Fall 2008.Alyssa Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13784542795143039711noreply@blogger.comBlogger108125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3996666312344642650.post-77930820105742789552008-12-12T10:30:00.020-06:002008-12-12T12:36:03.705-06:00What the Dust Seems to be Saying - Claire JacksonWhat the Dust Seems to be Saying<br /><br />She sits in the house alone.<br />The sun trickles in, but she's always in a dark room.<br />Her eyes have long spent all the tears in her body.<br />A pain so deep her bones are weak and hurt to the touch.<br />A chill runs through the house and through her body,<br />but it doesn't matter -- she's always cold now.<br />She slowly closes her eyes and thinks back--<br />Back to a time when she smiled.<br />Back when the house was beautiful<br />and smelled of lavender and Pinesol.<br />Nothing was dull. Everything was in its place,<br />shiny and clean. Fresh flowers always on the table.<br />Something always baking in the kitchen<br />for when he'd get home.<br />But now -- all light, hope, and love is gone. Done.<br />Or at least that's what the dust seems to be saying.Alyssa Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13784542795143039711noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3996666312344642650.post-26996000319427027082008-12-12T10:30:00.018-06:002008-12-12T12:33:16.481-06:00The Silent Storm Inside My Arms - Ben HedgesThe Silent Storm Inside My Arms<br /><br />Don't smile,<br />You haven't won.<br />My will is not dominated,<br />My resolve is not weakened.<br /><br />You struck first,<br />My back now against a wall.<br />A cup, tipped over,<br />But not all of the liquid has escaped.<br /><br />I pick myself up.<br />There is a silent storm inside my arms.<br />You shoved me, I should break you.<br />It's push come to punch in my own mind.<br /><br />But I won't, because I care.<br /><br />I care for the people I love,<br />there now, resisting my intent.<br /><br />I care for my environment,<br />And the negative effects that would be brought upon it.<br /><br />But mostly I care for you.<br /><br />I have been trained many years of my life,<br />in ways of doing harm.<br />And though you have mistakenly judged this book by its cover,<br />it's merely a story I want you to read.<br />Though I am confident that your hurt would be greater than mine,<br />I will let your territorial pissings hold.<br />But don't smile,<br />Because I have won.Alyssa Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13784542795143039711noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3996666312344642650.post-84435483417892596272008-12-12T10:30:00.017-06:002008-12-12T12:30:20.289-06:00What Dead Birds Listen For - Peter SeilerWhat Dead Birds Listen For<br /><br />In the silence, the cold silence,<br />A glazed eye begins staring,<br />The shallow moon reflects,<br />Making the black pool seem alive.<br /><br />There was a song before,<br />It went something like:<br />I want to live today,<br />For the sun is shining.<br /><br />The eye can seemingly see,<br />But cannot possibly hear<br />The song that before was sung<br />And what dead birds listen for.Alyssa Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13784542795143039711noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3996666312344642650.post-85673165781332680752008-12-12T10:30:00.015-06:002008-12-12T12:23:27.328-06:00The Way the Sky Would Like to Touch the Snow - Ruth PatrickThe Way the Sky Would Like to Touch the Snow<br /><br />Falling away, frozen, I think that's how it feels<br />sort of like your heart, I guess<br />when you gave up on me<br />last year<br /><br />but I drifted down slowly, light and geometric,<br />scattering on the winds swirling eddies<br />trying, hoping against hope<br />to climb back up into your frozen grace<br /><br />My tears<br />froze into spider web rainbows<br />on the face of the clock which counts down the time<br />between then and now<br /><br />and now<br />white winter rages again<br />but your rage has never cooled<br />cold as your soul, cold as the tears I cried<br />when they from into frost ferns on the windshields of my eyes<br />rendering my sight<br />barred and smoky like jail room shadows<br />thawing slowly<br />in the warmth of the ashes that fall<br />from my cigarette's ember<br />like pale soft snow, swirling in my warm breath<br />as I blow them<br />away from the pages of my book.<br /><br />They rise, reluctantly,<br />fall heavy and soft<br />the way the sky<br />would like to touch the snow<br />and I finally realize it really was already over<br />even then.Alyssa Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13784542795143039711noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3996666312344642650.post-87547352189632105882008-12-12T10:30:00.013-06:002008-12-12T12:20:16.110-06:00Death Trap - Cynthia GomezDeath Trap<br /><br />Can I add a minute to this day?<br />I've worried enough to create molecules of time.<br />They grow with each thing I can't control.<br />Reproducing faster with each debt I must pay.<br />They diminish with each carefree moment I have,<br />And keep me still from taking risks.<br />What Death wears,<br />His cloak drenched in minutes gone by<br />By people like me who beg for more<br />Let me add a minute to this day.<br />It will blur and slow down time<br />I will slowly blur down time.Alyssa Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13784542795143039711noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3996666312344642650.post-36130015604728613952008-12-12T10:30:00.010-06:002008-12-12T12:18:31.888-06:00What I Thought to Myself on a Dark Interstate Between One Home and the Next - Robert TippinWhat I Thought to Myself on a Dark Interstate Between One Home and the Next<br /><br />In fourteen years I will be old.<br />I do not know what the future will hold,<br />When I am old,<br />In fourteen years.<br /><br />Come find me and tell me<br />What it was like to be young.<br />But I won't remember,<br />For I will be old.<br /><br />I am horrified,<br />And bitterly cold;<br />For in fourteen years from today,<br />I will be old.Alyssa Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13784542795143039711noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3996666312344642650.post-40192887175016979332008-12-12T10:30:00.007-06:002008-12-12T12:14:46.432-06:00The Concealed Weapon in a Smile - Mike HodgeThe Concealed Weapon in a Smile<br /><br />The one that was there for you since day one,<br />just wanting to know,<br />and be helpful in every situation possible.<br />Grasping life at every<br />moment just to let it go.<br />Yeah, you talk a good talk but<br />can you walk a good walk?<br />Your kindness is a syndrome with no cure.<br />As good as you can make a person's day<br />It makes me realize that you have a<br />concealed weapon in a smile.<br />It has been used in many murders<br />but the cases always ran cold.<br />Trust me. I know.<br />The games you play will no longer exist<br />and I will win this battle.Alyssa Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13784542795143039711noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3996666312344642650.post-17064003183862358682008-12-12T10:30:00.003-06:002008-12-12T12:12:10.055-06:00In Death's Library - Cassandra KaulIn Death's Library<br /><br />There is a stillness about the room<br />as sunlight attempts to cut<br />through the layers of dust<br />covering books that outline<br />the births of nations<br />and the fall of empires.<br /><br />It's a quiet place that holds<br />the secrets and stories of humanity's lifetime.<br />The light shifts as a cloud blocks<br />out the sun and there is a change<br />to something far more sinister. The library<br />becomes a macabre display of history<br />shrouded in pain. A table in the corner<br />is revealed by shadows peeling away<br />to show its secret.<br /><br />Lying innocently on the blood red<br />table is a book containing a delicate<br />script describing the lives<br />and death of humanity. Each page<br />is a temptation, a desire to know<br />the end of the next life.<br />As the shadow steals back its prize,<br />the light penetrates and the haze recedes<br />into another library with a book lying<br />innocently in the corner,<br />in death's library.Alyssa Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13784542795143039711noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3996666312344642650.post-12188396611741974572008-12-12T10:30:00.002-06:002008-12-12T12:11:56.920-06:00My Heart's Narcotic - Hayley DarpelMy Heart's Narcotic<br /><br />After the third or fourth break<br />your return slowly sickened me.<br />I knew you weren't the answer<br />but the past's relentless achings<br />told me otherwise.<br /><br />I was young and love was<br />complicated.<br />How many time would we<br />hurt each other before it would end?<br />Then you'd come back, oh so sweet,<br />my heart's narcotic.<br /><br />I needed nothing more<br />with you around.<br />And when I<br />left you in the end,<br />our very end,<br />the pain couldn't be dulled.<br /><br />For you made me crave you.<br />I thought I needed<br />your love to have love at all.<br /><br />There are times when<br />I yearn for you.<br />But then I remind myself,<br />the side effects are far more<br />brutal than the love I got<br />from my heart's narcotic.Alyssa Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13784542795143039711noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3996666312344642650.post-21837411165091906342008-12-12T10:30:00.000-06:002008-12-12T12:11:23.184-06:00the silent storm inside my arms - Alyssa Reevesthe silent storm inside my arms<br /><br />The lightning struck where thunder failed to give warning:<br />a harsh blow in springtime afternoons.<br />We are all left<br />with smoking trees<br />and towers<br />and TV antennas.<br /><br />Where tall cliffs once stood straight and strong,<br />the rocks now rest in a crumbling pile.<br /><br />The clouds stooped low and blinded out the sun,<br />so I embraced the tempest as it mutely raged.<br /><br />Steaming geysers release hot streams over rolling hills;<br />cold rain falls on even the most beautiful of roses.<br />The distant quake erupts without a sound,<br />a shudder detectable only when you hold your breath<br />and feel the shifting in the gentle breeze.<br /><br />The breaking heart is still the beating heart.<br />We’ll pray on these tears for years,<br />and I’ll hold tight<br />to the silent storm inside my arms.Alyssa Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13784542795143039711noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3996666312344642650.post-14569983296485608162008-12-01T10:30:00.012-06:002008-12-12T12:28:01.754-06:00How Do You Spell Love? - Mike HodgeHow Do You Spell Love?<br /><br />Throughout life I always<br /><div style="text-align: right;">wanted 2 know the answer<br /><div style="text-align: left;">2 this question. I sometimes ask myself, "Do<br />people actually know how<br /><div style="text-align: right;">2 spell this word?" I gave it a lot<br />of thought and it took me<br /><div style="text-align: center;">4-ever 2 realize that,<br />it's not as hard as it seems.<br />To you it's spelled L-O-V-E. To me,<br /><div style="text-align: left;">and throughout the struggles<br />that I have seemed to overcome,<br /><div style="text-align: right;">it's spelled T-I-M-E. That's all I ever<br />wanted from you, and you never<br /><div style="text-align: center;">gave it to me. I sometimes think about the ways<br /><div style="text-align: left;">you say you loved me,<br /><div style="text-align: right;">but did you actually mean it?<br /><div style="text-align: center;">In today's society you must <span style="font-weight: bold;">show</span> love to get love.<br /><div style="text-align: right;">The pressures that I face and<br />the daily struggle of your presence frightens me.<br /><div style="text-align: left;">Will it ever change? I think not because<br />Through my whole life<br /><div style="text-align: right;">the way <span style="font-style: italic;">YOU</span> spelled love . . . was wrong!<br /></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>Alyssa Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13784542795143039711noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3996666312344642650.post-72777122507222232182008-12-01T10:30:00.011-06:002008-12-10T13:08:12.560-06:00A Day Lost - Michael HemmerA Day Lost<br /><br />The winds break against the glass<br />with a soft, screeching whistle.<br />The glass responds with a low moan<br />as it flexes from the strain.<br />I feel a slow cold creep in<br />as the air filters through.<br />My gaze is set.<br />The white mess<br />still fills the air outside,<br />no end in sight.<br />This blessing turned curse.<br />A sip from the spiked drink,<br />a whisper in my head,<br />I am stuck.Alyssa Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13784542795143039711noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3996666312344642650.post-81729003229531022792008-12-01T10:30:00.010-06:002008-12-09T23:07:20.874-06:00Heaven's Relief - Hayley DarpelHeaven's Relief<br /><br />Snuggle's off-brand breezed my nostrils<br />as the last clean shirt left stroked my hair<br />and bounced over my nose.<br />8 am is too brutal for the tranquility of Saturdays<br />but Mom and Lance chose to paint<br />outside my basement window that morning.<br /><br />Turning to pick up my basket of laundry,<br />the brown pillowcase veiling the small view<br />I had to the world saved me<br />from seeing more than I could manage.<br /><br />Metal ladder rungs<br />collapsed<br />as my heart<br />plunged into my stomach.<br />The scaffolding,<br />my step dad,<br />shadow silhouettes forebode<br />dark and doom.<br /><br />"Oh, God, help! Help,<br />God, help!" His voice rang<br />behind the crash. My legs<br />functioned so fast<br />I can't remember screaming,<br />"Lance!"<br /><br />A dozen stairs were few to none;<br />the front door made of foam.<br />His body lay<br />seizing,<br />shocked.<br />Fresh blood<br />shook my body hard with fear.<br /><br />Mom ran to his side<br />slowly speaking sagacity to my shuddering.<br />As I grabbed flustered, frightened,<br />dialing,<br />my brothers waked<br />and their tired eyes tried<br />to make sense of the scene.<br /><br />Time held destiny<br />as the screaming sirens calmed me.<br />But they took so long and the bleeding<br />went on. He moaned and neighbors<br />watched like museum spectators.<br /><br />When trucks matched the shrieks<br />and lights brought all forms of relief,<br />the traumatic flash-back<br />brought comfort through panic<br />as his stifled cries stung my strength.<br /><br />"Oh, God, help!"<br /><br />Then I knew whose tender hands<br />would calm his trembling fingers.Alyssa Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13784542795143039711noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3996666312344642650.post-8877896569884413392008-12-01T10:30:00.009-06:002008-12-05T17:36:40.716-06:00The Language of Poetry1. Pick one of the phrases below and write a poem in which:<br /> a) the phrase you’ve picked is the poem’s title<br /> b) the phrase you’ve picked occurs at least once in the body of the poem<br />2. The poem should not be end-rhymed, but it should observe the basic conventions of free-verse prosody.<br />3. The poem should be less than 30 lines in length<br />4. In addition to using the phrase you’ve selected, the poem should try to coin at least one truly memorable epigrammatical statement: a statement which is:<br /> a) rich in metaphorical meaning<br /> b) has the ring of wisdom yet is fresh, not hackneyed<br /> c) is abstract (which has the breadth of a generalization) yet has a concrete “feel” to it<br />5. Although the poem should be in the riddling, epigrammatical language of poetry, it should have an air of authority; it should make a kind of sense yet not be easily paraphrasable or interpreted. In other words, it should have “poetic meaning.”<br /><br />Phrases:<br />1. The long odds in the evening<br />2. The heart’s rust<br />3. Cold bacon, cold eggs, cold potatoes<br />4. The left-handed daydreams of the missing ski (shoes, hat, etc.)<br />5. The slow kiss the spider gives the fly<br />6. The way the sky would like to touch the snow<br />7. The thief who is also the locksmith<br />8. At Death’s picnic (funeral, party, etc.)<br />9. At the starling’s wild parties<br />10. In Death’s library<br />11. What Death has for breakfast<br />12. The silent storm inside my arms<br />13. The patient ambushes of the shadows<br />14. The habits of the clouds (stones, grass, etc.)<br />15. Mr. Joy (Mr. Fear, etc.)<br />16. What the dead birds listen for<br />17. What the dust seems to be saying<br />18. Why (how) the moon divorced the earth (the sun), (the ocean divorced the land, the sky divorced the ground, etc.)<br />19. The heart’s hot climate<br />20. The franchise of the night (the moon, autumn, etc.)<br />21. The concealed weapon in a smile<br />22. The secret that wears an old suit<br />23. What Death (Time, Boredom, etc.) wears<br />24. The erratic weather reports of the heart<br />25. The metaphysics of cockroaches and kings<br />26. The moon’s white shares we (I, you, etc.) own<br />27. Dragging the sea for your shadow<br />28. Bribing the river<br />29. On the right side of the sun<br />30. The blameless life, complete in its white packageAlyssa Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13784542795143039711noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3996666312344642650.post-46601295671605368632008-12-01T10:30:00.007-06:002008-12-05T13:23:01.493-06:00Seasons - Cassandra KaulSeasons<br /><br />As the temperature drops,<br />her leaves turn.<br />It is time for change.<br /><br />A quiet descent brushes<br />along her face in a delicate<br />whisper. It is time to slow down.<br /><br />The snow blankets<br />her limbs as she begins<br />to yield under the pressure.<br />It is time to stop, just for a moment.<br /><br />When the cold and darkness<br />seems eternal, the sun<br />emerges and warms her.<br />It is time to grow.Alyssa Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13784542795143039711noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3996666312344642650.post-70491874329949470332008-12-01T10:30:00.005-06:002008-12-05T13:18:08.200-06:00Swish - Kaela McWherterSwish<br /><br />After forty minutes of pure<br />Energy-draining commitment<br />A few seconds is all that is left to endure<br />As the ball bounds<br /> From the shooter’s hand<br /> Through the net<br /> And to the floor with ease.<br />All that is left<br />Is the sweet sound<br />Of the soft shifting<br />Of the net<br />In the aftermath of that final shot;<br />Leaving one team ecstatic<br />While the other devastated.Alyssa Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13784542795143039711noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3996666312344642650.post-90671225235816006212008-12-01T10:30:00.004-06:002008-12-05T09:54:47.469-06:00rebel's resignation - Ruth Patrickrebel’s resignation<br /><br />you ask for sound and sense<br />but there is no sense and thus the sound is all<br />nothing for nothing<br />nothing is all I have sometimes, it’s what you acquire<br />by having too much, no true desire<br />I give you sound in randomness<br />so I’ll scrabble together this random mess<br />as I float smooth and light like a thistledown<br />down ragged raging torrents that tumble down<br />and around and drown my sorrow in salty spray<br />shattered then spattered and flung too far<br />far away<br />tearing my heart apart<br />to acquire in this dark sweet release forbidden to me in<br />days dark depth, drawn too dense to see<br />these humble sounds as I stumble down dizzy<br />and death defying, crying and dying and not really trying<br />reporting resorting, in sport or in sorting my sins<br />and the fringes I fail to relate to<br />raise rabble and laughter and shatter the soul of<br />my hope blending blameless as blood<br />in passive pools, plain in pale plaintive puddle of pain upon pitiful paths<br />paved like grave graves’ graven images<br />fallen in flames<br />and remains as an after taste<br />shaded and jaded and faded inane and insane<br />say the way will be clear<br />clearly I’ll never escape<br />but my soul still shatters<br />in patterns<br />in fragments<br />in fractures of cracks in the blackness<br />in beads on a string all in order and order begins<br />to assemble againAlyssa Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13784542795143039711noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3996666312344642650.post-15117352250606541362008-12-01T10:30:00.003-06:002008-12-05T09:47:46.131-06:00lost at sea - Alyssa Reeveslost at sea<br /><br />the pounding waves explode<br />over my deaf ears and<br />salt dumps into my veins.<br />a frantic impulse invades my limbs<br />when the surface fails to break<br />and I am lost in the tide,<br />hidden deep beneath the sparkling blue:<br />death disguised as paradise.<br />the sharp sea erupts in my lungs<br />and slices without mercy through fragile fibers.<br />up above, the heavens split<br />as ambition slides beneath the swell.Alyssa Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13784542795143039711noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3996666312344642650.post-19528968908426444382008-12-01T10:30:00.002-06:002008-12-05T09:21:03.634-06:00Below a Christmas Snow - Robert TippinBelow a Christmas Snow<br /><br />A lonely road through scattered leaves,<br />The forest darker than you please,<br />Snow that falls will ever play<br />With nature’s lows and shorter days.<br /><br />A mother’s child may sled with ease<br />Upon that hill, upon the leaves,<br />That scattered but a month ago,<br />Are covered now with Christmas snow.<br /><br />But far below,<br />Down deep below,<br />The snow so dripping wet,<br />Lie leaves<br />Once covered in winter snow<br />That we, so soon forget,<br />That we so soon forget,<br />That we so soon forget.Alyssa Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13784542795143039711noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3996666312344642650.post-1437538398503311542008-11-17T10:30:00.016-06:002008-12-12T17:13:55.231-06:00Waiting - Kaela McWherterWaiting<br /><br />With each passing second the world changes<br />Along with those in it. All these changes<br />Bring about decisions we all must make.<br />People can choose to spend their time doing<br />A variety of things, only some<br />Are worthy of capturing the precious<br />Seconds we are given in our short lives.<br />Many choose to waste this limited time<br />Choosing to wait for things to come to them,<br />Instead of them making a difference.<br />Much change could be made if all chose action<br />Instead of waiting for acts to happen.<br />All want change, but seem content while they wait<br />For others to act while they just complain.Alyssa Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13784542795143039711noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3996666312344642650.post-71410830427916183502008-11-17T10:30:00.015-06:002008-12-05T17:34:59.914-06:00Sound and SenseUsing whatever prosodic resources that you need -- line breaks, rhyme, alliteration, rhythm, spacing, stanzas, line-length, internal or end rhyme, repetition -- write a poem in free verse whose prosody, as defined above, conspicuously governs the reading of that poem. In other words, the poem's "sound" should conspicuously echo its sense, somehow; so that if asked you could convincingly demonstrate the poems prosody functions. The effects which you achieve must, ideally, be reasonably subtle yet not so subtle that you alone can perceive them.Alyssa Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13784542795143039711noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3996666312344642650.post-10168766311803870172008-11-17T10:30:00.014-06:002008-12-05T16:32:13.652-06:00Porch Perception - Hayley DarpelPorch Perception<br /><br />I tried something new early this morning.<br />Sitting on my front porch, or lack thereof,<br />with my Pike’s Place coffee and enjoying<br />the wind rustling leaves about in the air.<br />Everyone is on a morning mission.<br />On my small concrete porch, I was alone<br />with my mug of coffee, just as people<br />were in a bubble of peace on their walks.<br />The only difference was I was viewing<br />them on their journeys and they had no clue.<br />However, they weren’t my only interest.<br />I saw the colors blowing from the branches.<br /><br />As each piece drifted apart one by one,<br />these people’s eyes were distant like the sun.Alyssa Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13784542795143039711noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3996666312344642650.post-86377904602323638242008-11-17T10:30:00.013-06:002008-12-05T16:25:49.585-06:00Call of the Sea - Kara EngelkenCall of the Sea<br /><br />I’m closing the chapter in my book,<br />Life, I say good-bye to and step away.<br />Leaves change and so does my heart.<br />There is nothing left for me to stay.<br />A new dawn breaks within my soul,<br />An estranged awakening that I see.<br />Beams clear thoughts and fade the dark,<br />Longing for something I have never seen.<br />The yearning has been too long ignored,<br />No longer will I pretend not to see.<br />As sailors long for the ocean’s waves;<br />So away, too, my new world beacons me.<br />Embracing the adventure of my dream.<br />Away from the prairie; away to the sea.Alyssa Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13784542795143039711noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3996666312344642650.post-46507795492306840792008-11-17T10:30:00.011-06:002008-12-05T14:10:55.046-06:00The Sonnet - Ben HedgesThe Sonnet<br /><br />The words on this paper form a sonnet,<br />an intricate, yet structured display of<br />one’s thoughts, understanding and emotions.<br />The words won’t tell you outright, their meaning.<br />But there is depth to them, you must agree.<br />For language speaks more than what is spoken.<br />Beauty is hidden from the surface so,<br />you must dig, discover what has been said.<br />In just fourteen lines, an epic is told,<br />something so large encased into something<br />so small, and precise. The sonnet is a<br />quarter that gives you only a brief ride<br />into the author’s soul. This is where the<br />sonnet will end. Have you learned anything?Alyssa Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13784542795143039711noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3996666312344642650.post-30467647214908827342008-11-17T10:30:00.010-06:002008-12-05T13:49:44.207-06:00My Street - Michael HemmerMy Street<br /><br />As I walk down this dark road, I look<br />Back to the lights behind me and prepare<br />For the cold, silent mystery ahead.<br />As the warmth from the light behind me fades,<br />I know all I can do is continue<br />Walking or stare back into the past,<br />But the past has its wounds so I must walk.<br />The dark unknown before me is daunting,<br />But I must not fear what I cannot see<br />And do all that I can to reach the next<br />Light that is hidden up in the distance.<br />Just as the warmth fades from behind me,<br />I know that the warmth will soon be here to help<br />But that makes the cold bite so harsh in the dark.Alyssa Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13784542795143039711noreply@blogger.com0