a talking soul

2006-04-21T20:43:00.000-07:00

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!

2006-04-21T20:01:00.000-07:00

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.

2006-04-21T19:51:00.000-07:00

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.

2006-04-07T11:51:00.000-07:00

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

2006-04-07T11:28:00.000-07:00

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

2006-04-04T20:04:00.000-07:00

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

2006-03-30T21:09:00.000-08:00

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.

2006-03-30T19:09:00.000-08:00

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!

2006-03-28T20:06:00.000-08:00

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

2006-03-24T10:53:00.000-08:00

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.

2006-03-23T19:29:00.000-08:00

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

2006-03-23T19:06:00.000-08:00

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.

2006-03-22T19:32:00.000-08:00

In chapter five our text described the Story. In The Autumn House Anthology of Contemporary American Poetry I looked for a piece that was like a story. The following piece I believe is a story of a journey. The protagonist I believe are the parents and in the piece they are missing a child who has gone to school. Then the piece shifts to a memory of the parents in their earlier years and how the only loss they knew then was the loss of each other. The piece is very interesting and I think the author was using a sort of story telling voice which made it even better.

The Empty Room

by Sue Ellen Thompson

Unable to sleep, my husband gropes
for his reading glasses and book.
He tiptoes into our daughter's room-
the bed freshly made in the wake
of her leaving for college, the windows
stripped of their curtains for washing-
and draws back the dinosaur sheets,
slipping into the cresent shape of her absence.
I think of him there:
middle-aged, the gray with its fingers
laced deep in his beard, little half- glasses
crouched low on the ridge of his nose.
Just before dawn, I go to him,
lowering my body into his
backwards, pressing my shoulder blades
into his chest, my hips
into the hollow of his, the curve
of my calves against his hard shins,
lashing my body to his as I did
in the tumult of our twenties, when all
we longed for was an end to the storm,
when all we knew of loss was to turn
in the night and find the other one gone.

2006-03-19T18:29:00.000-08:00

TEARS, IDLE TEARS

Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean,
Tears from the depth of some divine despair
Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes,
In looking on the happy Autumn-fields,
And thinking of the days that are no more.

Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail,
That brings our friends up from the underworld,
Sad as the last which reddens over one
That sinks with all we love below the verge;
So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more.

Ah, sad and strange as in dark summer dawns
The earliest pipe of half-awakened birds
To dying ears, when unto dying eyes
The casement slowly grows a glimmering square;
So sad, so strange, the days that are no more.

Dear as remembered kisses after death,
And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feigned
On lips that are for others; deep as love,
Deep as first love, and wild with all regret;
O Death in Life, the days that are no more.

~LORD ALFRED TENNYSON

2006-03-19T17:30:00.000-08:00

Sonnet 060- Like As The Waves Make Towards The Pebbled Shore

Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore,
So do our minutes hasten to their end;
Each changing place with that which goes before,
In sequent toil all forwards do contend.
Nativity once in the main of light,
Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crowned,
Crookèd eclipses ‘gainst his glory fight,
And Time that gave doth now his gift confound.
Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth,
And delves the parallels in beauty’s brow,
Feeds on the rarities of nature’s truth,
And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow.
 And yet to times in hope my verse shall stand,
 Praising thy worth despite his cruel hand.

~William Shakespeare~

2006-03-16T10:54:00.000-08:00

This is kind of crazy but I was goofing off at work and wrote this. It isn't very good yet but I hope to finalize it soon. Hope it makes some sense.

See this unemotional being
trying to be free from his forever living.
Searching for the power to feel some sensation
To cry, to fear, to be slave to exhaustion
he feels no love, no true desires
only that hunger for life he conspires
to remove from the life he longs to live in
but he will forever remain in this life he was given.

2006-03-11T10:29:00.000-08:00

I was shopping the other day for a greeting card and saw a whole selection of cards by Maya Angelou with her poems on them. So I desided to look some of her pieces up and I found that they are very good. Here is one of them.

Alone
by Maya Angelou

Lying, thinking
Last night
How to find my soul a home
Where water is not thirsty
And bread loaf is not stone
I came up with one thing
And I don't believe I'm wrong
That nobody,
But nobody
Can make it out here alone.
Alone, all alone
Nobody, but nobody
Can make it out here alone.
There are some millionaires
With money they can't use
Their wives run round like banshees
Their children sing the blues
They've got expensive doctors
To cure their hearts of stone.
But nobody
No, nobody
Can make it out here alone.
Alone, all alone
Nobody, but nobody
Can make it out here alone.
Now if you listen closely
I'll tell you what I know
Storm clouds are gathering
The wind is gonna blow
The race of man is suffering
And I can hear the moan,
'Cause nobody,
But nobody
Can make it out here alone.
Alone, all alone
Nobody, but nobody
Can make it out here alone.

2006-03-11T10:06:00.000-08:00

I have been having such a horrible time this week getting my thoughts and ideas on paper. This happens to me every once and a while but usually I can get right back into the swing of things. Well I have written down some ideas but they are very rusty yet so they make little sense. I hope to be able to make it into something at some point.

Hope buries itself in her eyes.
Hiding in every corner
It holds on to her like a child holds its mother,
afraid to let go, to be consumed by its fears.

Her careful eye watches the doorway.
The footsteps outside pound on her thoughts.
Pushing out and playing back,
the happenings of just moments ago.

2006-03-11T07:26:00.000-08:00

I found this poem in The Norton Anthology of American Literature. This was my literature book last semester. This poem is very interesting to me. I am not really sure what all of it means or what all of it is suppose to be symbolizing. I do however think it is very descriptive.

The Starry Night

The town does not exist
except where one black-haired tree slips
up like a drowned woman into the hot sky.

The town is silent. The night boils with eleven stars.
Oh starry starry night! This is how
I want to die.

It moves. They are all alive.
Even the moon bulges in its orange irons
to push children, like a god, from its eye.
The old unseen serpent swallows up the stars.
Oh starry starry night! This is how
I want to die:

into that rushing beast of the night,
sucked up by that great dragon, to split
from my life with no flag,
no belly,
no cry.
~Anne Sexton

2006-03-04T19:12:00.000-08:00

Hello everyone! I love music and when I heard this song I just loved it. I wanted to share the lyrics with everyone. The song is Right Here By Stained.

Right Here Lyrics
by Staind
I know I've been mistaken
But just give me a break and see the changes that I've made
I've got some imperfections
But how can you collect them all and throw them in my face
But you always find a way to keep me right here waiting
You always find the words to say to keep me right here waiting
And if you chose to walk away I'd still be right here waiting
Searching for the things to say to keep you right here waiting
I hope you're not intending
To be so condescending it's as much as i can take
and you're so independent
you just refuse to bend so I keep bending till I break
But you always find a way to keep me right here waiting
You always find the words to say to keep me right here waiting
And if you chose to walk away I'd still be right here waiting
Searching for the things to say to keep you right here waiting
I've made a commitment
I'm willing to bleed for you
I needed fulfillment
I found what I need in you
Why can't you just forgive me
I don't want to relive all the mistakes I've made along the way
But I always find a way to keep you right here waiting
I always find the words to say to keep you right here waiting
But you always find a way
To keep me right here waiting
You always find the words to say to keep me right here waiting
And if I chose to walk away would you be right here waiting
Searching for the things to say to keep me right here waiting

2006-03-02T20:36:00.000-08:00

Hello everyone I wrote this poem a month ago and forgot all about it. Usually I write what I am feeling on anything available at the time so I sometimes come across a piece weeks later. Hope you all enjoy this piece.

Do you know how I despise you,
And the way you make me feel.
This battle we fight inside me
Is no game, it is so very real.

Why do you have to own me?
I can not hide or run.
You will always find me,
This battle will not be won.

All you do is push me,
and throw me to the ground.
In this corner all is dark,
I find no one else around.

Your hold on me is tighter,
As you gain more power over me.
Your voice is so loud in my head.
It is so dark I can not see.

If I lose this furious battle,
I want it to be known,
I fought with all my strength,
It was not my choice to go.

2006-03-02T20:17:00.000-08:00

I was looking at some poetry online and found this poem. I liked it and found it to be written with alot of feeling. The poet, John Donne, wrote this poem with alot of power and will. When I was reading this piece I felt like a battle was going on between the poet and Death.

Death be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so,
For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,
Much pleasure: then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.
Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell;
And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well
And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.
~John Donne

2006-03-01T19:30:00.000-08:00

I found this poem in The Autumn House Anthology of Contemporary American Poetry and I like this piece very much.

The Promise~ Sharon Olds

With the second drink, at the restaurant,
holding hands on the bare table,
we are at it again, renewing our promise
to kill each other. You are drinking gin,
night-blue juniper berry
dissolving in your body, I am drinking Fume,
chewing its fragrant dirt and smoke, we are
taking on earth, we are part soil already,
and wherever we are, we are also in our
bed, fitted, naked,closely
along eachother, half passed out,
after love, drifting back
and forth across the border of consciousness,
our bodies buoyant, clasped. Your hand
tightens on the table. You're a little afraid
I'll chicken out. What you do not want
is to lie in a hospital bed for a year
after a stroke, without being able
to think or die, you do not want
to be tied to a chair like your prim grandmother,
cursing. The room is dim around us,
ivory globes, pink curtains
bound at the waist-and outside
a weightless, luminous, lifted-up
summer twilight. I tell you you do not
know me if you think I will not
kill you. Think how we have floated together
eye to eye, nipple to nipple,
sex to sex, the halves of a creature
drifting up to the lip of matter
and over it-you know me from the bright,blood-
flecked delivery room, if a lion
had you in its jaws I would attack it, if the ropes
binding your soul are your own wrists, I will cut them.

This poem is very interesting to me. The setting of the piece follows along with setting as an action. The setting is in the background to the characters in this piece, but does peek out in the poem quite a bit.I my opinion it starts out in a sort of bar ,club kind of place. Then it switches to a bedroom, back to the bar( lines14-15), and then a slight turn to a hospital(line31-32). The poem itself is mysterious to me. While I was reading it over and over i felt like there was almost a secret message like a symbolism that was hidden inbetween its lines. Not really sure so if anyone has any thought I would love to hear them. I do really like the poem because to me it is intriguing.

2006-02-15T17:40:00.000-08:00

Hello everyone!What beautiful weather we had today. These are a few of the pieces I did in creative writing class for my workshop writings about my characters. It is so awesome to see everything pulling together.

I've been a different person since that cataclysmic day. All I do is flash back and forth, in and out of the sounds and scenes of the room. Looking through that small hole in the closet door I saw my life change and become empty at the same time. The cries now echo through my dreams and the very thought of my dreams make me frightened. How could this happen to me and why did she do this? Will I ever be able to move on? Will I ever be that person I was before? These questions eat away at me. Honestly I can't find any hope and that scares me. I don't want this to happen to me. Can I even stop my thoughts from killing me? Can I stop me from killing me?

2006-02-10T19:51:00.000-08:00

~Hello, everyone! Here is another piece I wrote several years ago. I actually found this one and the last one I wrote packed away in a box. Hope you all enjoy this piece. ~

My head is spinning and my heart is racing,
Standing confused I think,what turn is my life taking?
When will I find my purpose?
Where will I go?
Why does it seem like there is no one I know?
Everything is black, as dark as the night.
Where should I turn?
To the Left or to the Right?
Someone come and help me, before I lose it all.
Someone save me, before I let go and fall.

2006-02-07T18:38:00.000-08:00

I thought I would share this sonnet by William Shakespeare. I personally find that Shakespeare was an incredible writer. I love his pieces and I love to one day see one of his plays. Enjoy!

Sonnet 116

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O,no! it is an ever- fixed mark,
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come:
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error, and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

~ William Shakespeare~

2006-02-04T09:25:00.000-08:00

Hello everyone! I could not sleep last night at all. It was so crazy. Instead of going into a long, sad conversation. I will bluntly say what I need to. There is no real introduction for this piece. I kind of put it together in complete exhaustion so I'm not really sure it will flow well. I have written this for a wonderful person I know. He has made my life so great and been there for me when ever I needed him. I honestly do not know where I would be if we had never crossed each others paths. If he ever reads this he will know it is for him. And I hope he knows I still love him.

My Mistake

I feel so lost without you,
I guess I never knew,
How sad I would feel
While losing you.

You took that fire inside you
And gave some to me.
That fire is slowly draining,
Now darkness is surrounding me.

You gave me the strength to see,
That I can battle all my fears.
Now those fears are back.
And they are suffocating me.

You have given me happiness to make me smile,
And a hand to wipe my tears,
I have been crying so much,
Your hand is no where near.

Please do not think I am blaming you,
It was my own stupidity,
That pushed your spirit and happiness,
So far away from me.

Now I finally realize,
Something I never knew,
I know I can not live my life
Alone, or without you!

2006-01-31T08:52:00.000-08:00

Here is a poem i wrote on October30, 2000. I have been writing for a while but this is the first time someone other then family has read anything I have written so I am a bit nervous.

Somebody please save me,
I beg you to hold my hand.
Is there anyone here for me?
Can't anyone help me stand?
Hold me when moments are sad,
Talk to me when I am more than mad.
Please help me smile, now I frown,
Lift me up because I have fallen down.
Can't anyone hear me?
Doesn't anyone even care?
Please do not ignore me!
Isn't anyone there?

2006-01-30T12:10:00.000-08:00

hello everyone!