Though only a Senior in High School, I have already found myself in a soul killing English class. I have been assured by various veterans of the class that the teacher, Ms. Fishback, easily rivals anyone they have seen so far in college. One of things we did in the class was poetry (on Fridays, usually). We are publishing a book made up some poems from each of us. I just have to share mine:



The assignment was a quartet:

A Simple Desire

Remembrance lasts.
Monuments last longer.
Immortality is eternal.
A simple death is what I desire.




a poem to someone I love:

Now and Always

My body,
my mind,
my spirit,
are my own to control.
now and always

My soul,
my passion,
my nights,
are pledged to the art of the dream.
now and always

Sleepless nights,
racing thoughts,
unnoticed alienation;
my love is bought by the ultimate of highs.
now and always

Progressing stories,
sudden thoughts,
twists of plot,
leave my arms cold--
my imagination freed.
Now and Always




a poem about the future: (and no, I wasn't taking cold medicine when I wrote it).

Flitting and Unanswered

Life?
Is not life a question by nature?
Surely it has not been answered yet,
and if I had not yet asked,
I be pathetic dullness, murky tears, drugged gaiety.

So... life
But what part of life?
Past? Only painful research.
Present? that's surreal, just shapes and colors and gasps and giggles.
Future? Let me look at that.

Future. Six degrees or six children, what does it matter?
They are the symptom, perhaps barely a reason, but not the state.
Future will be...
What is the difference between a child and a degree?
but I aside.
Future might even be mine.

Does this even make sense?
Why should future make sense?
Does past or present
Ordered answers are not for life.
So, my answer...
A lottery. The possibilities all there, 1-40.
What is pulled, is future.
It is the combination that matters, and cannot be predicted.

my possiblities...
openedequatedworriedweirdfancied
eagergrittedwilledwhinedgiggled
fortunatehoardedlovedchuckledreasoned
crieddisgustedgaywildmild
freakytorturedenjoyedsensedbuilt
&destroyedforgedunderstoodbloodyraged
skirtedignoredmadwiredintense
jealouslyenlightenedscreamedwhisperedfelt

Future?...Life?...
St best, at worst, it could be these lines:
flitting, vague, nearly formless, meaning sodden, and in the end...
unanswered.




This had no assigned subject. I wrote it to my classmates who didn't like my poems, and whose reasons for not liking them weren't really reasons at all. I think they were just mad because I wasn't writing the same doggerel they had been writing their entire lives, and I wasn't getting dressed down by the teacher for breaking their expectations.

Response In Kind

It's all about death,
You expect nothing less.
My poems are all depressing,
A social crime, I confess.

The verses last for much too long,
The themes are never easing.
It's read without a singsong meter,
Horror! You don't find that pleasing.

Your complaint is of the depth,
Only to the thought's destruction do you lend.
Do you care which I prefer?
A poem to make words bend?

You don't care for what might be hidden,
Only about how the cliched lines flow.
Because, for you, it's all about the surface;
Thought is remembering what little you already know.




This poem might have caused an incident in the class (I'm not quite sure though; I'm a very oblivous person by nature). I wrote this--not about who I think people might think I wrote it about--after I listened to a friend of mine talking about how much she loved someone. I started mulling on how similar someone who had been bewitched would sound compared to someone truly in love. Then, after that got me on the subject I wrote this about what my response would be if my friend had been spelled instead of really in love. For the class, I changed the "she" to "he" because I knew it sounded sexual, and I didn't want to feed the common belief that I am lesbian. This town is too small for rumors like that. I forgot to think who they might think that he was.... Who knows, maybe I was just imagining things anyway.

Forewarned

Why can you smile that way?
Knowing what you are?
Lines move and blacks gray,
but this is where pain sings blood.
Don't you see what is so obvious?
This falling star is not a plane.
You don't know why you must bleed?
I will tell you: She's my friend.
You ruthlessly shredded this mind you trapped,
but this is a rage I will no longer endure.
Child, you perverted love in your play with magic.
But remember: I, too, can take someone's soul.




Have I mentioned I have rheumatiod arthritis? I have now. That's what this is about

Such is Courage

Sickness in my life,
resilience in my image.
Lethargy in my veins,
movement in my doings.
Ache in my sitting,
patience in my stance.
Screams in my bumps,
annoyance in my voice.
Storms in my stomach,
smiles in my mouth.
Fear in my questions,
flippance in my words.
Pus in my joints,
fun in my plans.
Such is courage...
I promise it someday will be mine.




I really hope David never gets around to reading this. But he deserved it.

David

From my shell--
my own placid hell--
you have drawn me forth.
I feel emotions,
and know devotion;
there is love in my world.








This is other stuff I have done, for reasons ranging from just for the fun of it to for other classes:

Other Poems

Roses, Violets, and Plagiarism

Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
Plagiarism is easy,
So why don't you?




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