Here is one of the Exqusite Corpse from team Ashley.

The fresh pineapple was juicy
The orange was very fresh
I love to harass the sasquatch
The smell of poop is disgusting
Baracudas remind me of legends of the hidden temples
The mysterious man hiding in the cave
adn decided to fly a kite
That was orange
and dying
the milky way is burning
From the flames pushing up higher
all in its path was burning.

I really like doing the Exquisite Corpse exercises they are alot of fun.They sometimes turn out crazy, but like my team said it is odd how they sometimes all fit together. Great job team Ashley!

I am putting up those walls again.
So you will not really see.
That I am uncertain of the feelings,
That are overcoming me.
I feel like I have given you.
All access, the open door.
But I am haunted by
New confusing feelings.
So this door will be no more.
I can not allow this new addition.
To gain its control of me.
So pretend you never knew me.
Turn around and let me be.

I just wrote this up quickly but this could be an interesting piece. I will have to continue working on it.

Here is a piece I was working on over the last weekend. I have not thought of a title for it yet.

The wind across the field,
The grass across our skin.
We lay here looking upward,
To stars, moon,and the heavens.
The stars happy to see us,
Wink at us and we smile.
The moon looks on as it moves downward.
It will be gone in just a while.
The trees humming us a lullaby.
The wolves add to each song.
I wish we could just lay here,
And listen all night long.
I never really understood,
The beauty of the night.
To stay here in this moment.
Would be so incredible.
Who knows we just might.

Here is another awesome picture from deviant art. It is called Silent Scream and is by S. Gamze Guckiran

Well I have been trying to finish pieces that I have started writing. I have found bits and pieces of them all over in different books. I am not sure if this one is finished but here it is anyway.


See this unemotional being
trying to be free from her way of living.
Searching for the power to feel some sensation
To cry, to fear, to be slave to exhaustion
she feels no love, no true emotion
only that hunger for life she desires
the life all others have, the live she needs
but no, she remain as the life were all feed.
Through the darkest streets and with this fight
she travels alone through the night
searching for one thing , searching for life.
to feel loved , to feel whole
to erase what she is that is her goal

I just wrote this while I was at work. So I figured I might as well put this on my blog to see what everyone thinks. I still have a few things to work on with it but any comments are always welcome.

The cool night breeze runs over us,

As we lay there in the grass.

The sounds of night mysteriously

Interest us as they float past.

The wolves on a midnight hunt,

In the distance we hear them run

Other creatures they sleep soundly

There day is finally done.

The moon is shining brightly

It makes a walking path,

If we want to go that way

We will never have to come back.

In the corner of my eye a shadow,

Teases at my thoughts

Could it be danger or another

Curious to see what else has come

Out into the night

The shadow moves much closer

Curiosity floods me and I find

I reach out and fell a gentle coat

And it looks into my eyes

Its eyes look deeply at me

And you laugh as you look on

These two creature play in front of you

Like two children in a soft green lawn

Soon its family comes and joins

And we play on into the night

Running, Jumping, rolling

As the moons gives us its light

I come out of this surreal dream

And find myself in bed.

But that peaceful place I went to

Will always play on in my head

I found this incredible picture on Deviant Art. It is awesome. It was done by S. Gamze Guckiran. If you all get a chance go to the site and look at all the great pictures she does.

Well I really hope that I did this right. Oh well here I go!

1. I get all stressed out and angry, or sometimes hurt and sad, and in those gushing emotions my mind flows with thoughts that just won't be silent. These thoughts want to be let out, not bottled up in there. In this moment mind meets tip of pen and words are written down. These words flow onto a piece of paper, napkin, cardboard or whatever you have at the time. That piece of cardboard has scribbling of emotion and expression written all over it.

2. Writing down poetry is a way of, for a moment, being able to let go. You can say whatever you are feeling and you don't have to feel like you are talking someones head off. Writing poetry is relaxing and it feels good. When writing down something you are thinking it takes it from your mind and turns it into a beautiful piece of work.

3. Poetry can be seen in alot of places. Poetry is used alot. One place you can see alot of poetry is in a card section at a store. They have pieces for cards that say .... I Love you...I am Sorry....even Happy Birthday.

4. Poetry has many "ingredients" it just depends on how you feel in the moment you are writing. For me my main "ingredient" is usually stress, sadness or anger. I use poetry as a way to let things go. Poetry may have a bit of experience in it.... a family memory..... a break up..... a mistake.... a death. Poetry can be like a movie in a way...... a picture of life. Huh wonder what my movie would be called?

5. If someone could get in my head and hear my mind think it would probebly sound like alot of crazy mumbo... jumbo. But writing poetry feels like floating on the ocean. It is relaxing and invigorating at the same time. Poetry may not look like a perfect, straight paragraphed piece. It may not read like a book either. I have seen poetry that was like a bunch of words that I did not understand but when I read the last sentence it makes perfect sense to me.

6. There are even different types of poetry: Free verse, ballad, haiku, limerick, sonnet... well I like all of these.

7. I can't believe she wrote that and handed it out for people to read...... Oh my god is she like suicidal....I couldn't imagen that she really felt that way.... I never have...........ya, ok you get sad too and don't tell me you have never felt like you just wanted to let the whole would know how you felt.... Ya ok but I wouldn't let the world know I felt like that, she is too brave.

8. I my own experiences I have written alot of poetry. Though some of it still has never been see by anyone but me, I have been more open to letting people read at my pieces. The creative writing class I am in definitely has helped too!

going under

now i will tell you what i've done for you
50 thousand tears i've cried
screaming deceiving and bleeding for you
and you still won't hear me
don't want your hand this time i'll save myself
maybe i'll wake up for once
not tormented daily defeated by you
just when i thought i'd reached the bottom
i'm dying again

i'm going under
drowning in you
i'm falling forever
i've got to break through
i'm going under

blurring and stirring the truth and the lies
so i don't know what's real and what's not
always confusing the thoughts in my head
so i can't trust myself anymore
i'm dying again

i'm going under
drowning in you
i'm falling forever
i've got to break through

so go on and scream
scream at me i'm so far away
i won't be broken again
i've got to breathe i can't keep going under

Lyrics of Evanescence Written by Amy Lee

DREAM LAND
Christina Rossetti

Where sunless rivers weep
Their waves into the deep,
She sleeps a charmed sleep:
Awake her not.
Led by a single star,
She came from very far
To seek where shadows are
Her pleasant lot.

She left the rosy morn,
She left the fields of corn,
For twilight cold and lorn
And water springs.
Through sleep, as through a veil,
She sees the sky look pale,
And hears the nightingale
That sadly sings.

Rest, rest, a perfect rest
Shed over brow and breast;
Her face is toward the west,
The purple land.
She cannot see the grain
Ripening on hill and plain;
She cannot feel the rain
Upon her hand.

Rest, rest, for evermore
Upon a mossy shore;
Rest, rest at the heart's core
Till time shall cease:
Sleep that no pain shall wake;
Night that no morn shall break
Till joy shall overtake
Her perfect peace.

We have been having alot of good writing exercises in class but I never feel like my stuff is really ready for reading. Well I am just going to put some of it one my blog anyway. This is my recipe for the subject I picked in class for our worksheets. My subject was death. It may not be completely finished but here it is.

~Recipe for DEATH~

To prepare add the following in a large pot:
1 cup HURT
1/2 cup STRESS
3 tablespoons MISTAKES
1 stick of NOT CARING
Heat this over medium heat until it boils.Once it begins to boil add in the following:
1 1/2 cups FORGETTING
3 cups TIREDNESS
3/4 cup LONELINESS
1 cup HOPELESSNESS
8 teaspoons GIVING IN

Bake for 12 1/2 years over SORROW and then pour over RAGE. Accent with a lite BITTER sause and garnish with a pinch of IRONY.
Then there you have it ~ DEATH

This week in our text we looked at chapter seven. When I was reading the chapter I was thinking ok I'm not going to be able to find an essay in our poetry book. But as I looked through the pieces I found an interesting poem that to me seems like an essay because it is descriptive and persuasive.

What the Living Do
By Marie Howe

Johnny, the kitchen sink has been clogged for days, some utensil probably fell down there.
And the Drano won't work but smells dangerous, and the crusty dishes have piled up

waiting for the plumber I still haven't called. This is the everyday we spoke of.
It's winter again: the sky's a deep headstrong blue, and the sunlight pours through

the open living room windows because the heat's on too high in here, and I can't turn it off.
For weeks now, driving, or dropping a bag of groceries in the street, th bag breaking,

I've been thinking: This is what the living do. And yesterday, hurrying along those
wobbly bricks in the Cambidge sidewalk, spilling my coffee down my wrist and sleeve,

I thought it again, and again later, when buying a hairbrush: This is it.
Parking. Slamming the car door shut in the cold. What you called
that yearning.

What you finally gave up. We want the spring to come and the winter to pass. We want
whoever to call or not call, a letter, a kiss- we want more and more and then more of it.

But there are moments, walking, when I catch a glimpse of myself in the window glass,
say, the window of the corner video store, and I'm gripping by a cherishing so deep

for my own blowing hair, chapped face, and unbuttoned coat that I'm speechless:
I am living, I remember you.

I just feel like this piece is trying to get us to listen to it and to show us a reminder of what life is all about. It is trying to get the reader to think about his or her own life. At least that is what i felt when I was reading the piece.