Ideogram Poem

S A thin chord or tube tangled among itself

C A horseshoe, with a tip broken off of one end

O A large hoop, being lit on fire

T A nice, square table on a small stage

T A large arrow pulled back in a bow, pointed upwards

Writing Starter #32

My shadow walks the floor beneath me

It knows where I have gone

It knows where I rise to the occasion

It knows right where I fall

The thought of it is quite uneasy

The patronage is long

My shadow understands every sensation

Better than them all

Synesthesia Poem

Green is growing and flourishing

It is bright, it is hopeful

Green is delicate, holding on by a single thread

But green is strong

Green holds up the weight of the world with its bare hands

Yet tastes sweet, tastes crisp

It tastes like wet fuji apple picked from the top of a tall tree in the country

Green is a sign of better days to come

Of ambition and of progress

Green brings the hope that things have been changed, so they can be changed back

Writing Starter #31

No one quite as daring as the man named Christoph Towne

He searched for the greatest art collection, till his world came tumbling down

A hotel lobby came from the clue, it must be there, this he knew

But he sank through the floor and hit like a rock, the treasure he had found

His whole life's work was validated, for right before his eyes

Littered the floor, coming out the door, Da Vinci's enterprise

The paintings began to bustle about, and without pause Towne let out a shout

For in that moment, they stole his life, and the art began to arise

Best Thing Poem

"Rhode Island"

The best part is that it rests
So loosely into the ocean

Or perhaps the boats between the two,
which are constantly in motion

Maybe the smell is the best part
of fish and clams and beaches

But the beach itself is oh so great
where the gentle ocean reaches

The rocky terrain along the beach
where hikes and jogs don't end

But the best part truly is who is with me:
my father, my best friend

Writing Starter #30

Dear Tree,

Your bark is the roughest in all of the land.

You outstretch your touch with your leaf of a hand.

What do you think, or do you only just grow?

You can't seem to talk so it's difficult to know.

Yet you remain steady, day after dar.

To be just like that, is what I pray.

Quiet/Noisy Poem

A meth-head crushed by an ATM machine.

A cancer patient in the crawl space goes completely mad.  

An acid soaked body melts through the ceiling.  

And I sit at home watching Breaking Bad.  

A redneck handcuffed to a ceiling.  

A zombie turns a white man red.  

A samurai gouges a governor's eye out.

And I sit at home watching the Walking Dead.  

The stock market rises, then falls again.  

An olympic hero with a blood stained knife.  

The threat of the world going up in flames.  

And I sit at home not concerned with real life.  

Writing Starter #29

Barfs.
Always dirty.
Eats my food.
But Roxy does much more.
"Protects" our home.
Sleeps quietly.
Pleasant.

Writing Starter #28

1. A maple leaf

2. The maple leaf looks very old, but still firm and still holding on to life, like an old man who goes jogging every morning.  It is delicate, but not willing to give up.  It feels smooth with the occasional wrinkle here and there.  It feels dry, like your hands when you wake up from a nap.  It smells not like maple syrup on your pancakes, but perhaps a teaspoon of maple syrup mixed into a gallon of gravel.  The scent is faint, but it is certainly there.

3. Soft maple leaves litter the ground
Faint and weak, so easily torn
But when they fall, they make no sound
For to be broken, they were born

Writing Starter #27

Verse:
You think that you got problems
Why don't you look out the window
People running around
But they don't know where to go
Don't focus on yourself
And don't do it for attention
Just try to pretend
It didn't need to be mentioned

Chorus:
Just because it matters doesn't mean it's the world
Quit taking yourself so seriously
There's a hell of a lot that people need some more of,
So get out there and help the world be free

Song Lyrics

Verse:
It was an early, breezy morning
Underneath the trees
My feet were all but rested
My mind was so at ease
I don't know where it comes from
Or who could make a choice
The world comes crashing down on me
And I can't find a voice

Chorus:
There ain't a place in this world
Where life is not worth livin'
But just to make livin' work,
We're gonna let the world keep bleedin'
I'll try to speak up now and again
But all I can get out
Is the faint, sad whisper
Of hopeless doubt

Verse:
Walking through history
You feel the history inside
Of a life that came before you
Filled with dignity and pride
I don't know where it comes from
Or who could make a choice
The world comes crashing down on me
And I can't find a voice

Chorus:
There ain't a place in this world
Where life is not worth livin'
But just to make livin' work,
We're gonna let the world keep bleedin'
I'll try to speak wup now and again
But all I can get out
Is the faint, sad whisper
Of hopeless doubt

Bridge:
Beneath a grey and gloomy sky
The owls and the rabbits will shudder and hide
Then out streaks a beam of solid white

Chorus:
There ain't a place in this world
Where life is not worth livin'
But just to make livin' work,
We're gonna let the world keep bleedin'
I'll try to speak wup now and again
But all I can get out
Is the faint, sad whisper
Of hopeless doubt

Writing Starter #26

Courage abundant in Jessica Kemp,
he still could only wonder
what lied inside the blood red cave:
a dog as loud as thunder

Writing Starter #25

I run out my morning but the clock was still 
Turned out some hours to waste my time 
I keep myself writing a thin song 
I fathom my head and it slipped my mind 

It's worse than your feeling 
(More scarce a famine) 
When you hear your old dream they dared to see 
(More lost a dream) 
I remain dreaming 
(More slippery a salmon) 
'Til you see animals walk me 
I am my own, walkin' me 

Writing Starter #24

Protected by the shudders of red
On my car I once cut my head
From the pets I run away
Every single day
To the safety of my very own bed

Writing Starter #23

Once I ate a chocolate bar
Then threw up so very far
It hurt so bad that I'd cry
Tasted awful, my oh my
Once I ate a chocolate bar
Then threw up so very far

Showing vs. Telling

Telling: The black dog was terrified of strangers, especially those who wore hats.

Showing: Roxy leapt onto Mr. Snare, bringing blows with her paws one by one to his torso.  Her dusty, charcoal fur bounced around, occasionally falling out.  She persisted, bringing him up against a wall, until his Cleveland Indians ball cap was pushed loose and fell to the floor.  She dug her teeth into the brim of the hat and sprinted off to the living room.  Rips and tears could be heard across the house, as well as aggressive snarls and growls.  She returned triumphantly once the hat was completely shredded.

Telling: The old teacher spent most of his days yelling at his class.

Showing: Mr. Burton flailed around his chair, which was clearly not made for those who struggle to sit up.  Two teenage boys in the back of the class were throwing balls of paper across the room, hitting everyone but each other.  His hoarse voice called out at them.  They picked up their heads and sat up to pay attention.  Mr. Burton continued on to describe the process of mitosis as he was struck in the head by a large eraser.  He lashed around in frustration, still incapacitated from more than simple rotation by his chair.  A young girl in the front row began to giggle, amused by his inability to appear intimidating.

Telling: The young man had a way of making those around him always feel good.

Showing: Christopher strolled the hall with a certain confidence, the kind of confidence that could only come with a great deal of humility.  He darted a welcome greeting to Mrs. Wilk, the elderly physics teacher.  As he passed up the stairway he doled a number of pats on the back and high-fives, each just as sincere as the other.  Arriving at his next class, he commented on the shirt of his government teacher Mr. Fragen, who burst out laughing, clearly amused by the young man's presence.  As he sat down a few teenage boys his age arrived to ask him for his brilliant insight on the latest episode of The Walking Dead, and left satisfied with what they were told.

Writing Starter #22

I cruised down the street in my old Subaru

I looked around, not one car, but two

Their sirens blaring, I tried to sneak through

What happened next? Well I wish I still knew

Writing Starter #20

If I were to only listen to one song for the rest of my life, I would have to go with "The Sound of Silence" by Paul Simon and Art Garfunkel.  I'm very hesitant to pick this song because I just started listening to it, but I have a feeling that it's one of those songs that never gets old.  The song goes on about the "sound of silence" and how people seem to be worshipping it and "no one dared disturb" it.  It talks about how people are doing great things but can't communicate them so that they can preserve the silence.  In addition to the meaning and substance behind the lyrics, it also is a terrific song, filled with great harmonies.  In addition, I think it grasps the situation of only being able to listen to one song for the rest of my life pretty well.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BvsX03LOMhI

Writing Starter #21

None of my neighbors are nearly as enthusiastic as I am about St. Patrick's Day! There isn't even a hint of green on anyone's house, except for the Hendersons', but it's just the green shutters they've always had, and even then they're more of a puke-green than a St. Patty's Day-green.  I march over to my next door neighbor Chris Morgan and ask him where his Irish spirit is.  Chris goes on to explain to me that people just aren't that into St. Patrick's Day.  They'll go out and celebrate put they just aren't going to put that much work into a minor holiday.  He also seems to get a little annoyed that I apparently freak out like this every year about the lack of Patty's day spirit.  Well I won't take it.  There are far too many free loaders on this, the mother of all holidays.  I'll just have to make sure they learn their lesson this time around.

Memoir Draft

Growing up, I'm not sure that I understood how quiet I used to be.  I always found peace in keeping to myself and conversing with my thoughts.  I didn't find the need to speak up unless I specifically needed something, and even then I often didn't feel like going to the trouble.  However, I never comprehended how strange I might seem.

If I were to take a few days and tally up how many words someone were to say, and then compare them to my own, perhaps I would have realized the difference between the rest of the world and me.  Actually, I'm surprised I didn't.  Statistics were sort of my thing back then.

Once I became more comfortable with someone or somewhere, I tended to open up a little bit, letting the endless thoughts pacing through my head leak slightly out of my mouth.  By the time I had been going to the same school with the same 15 kids in my grade in Portsmouth, Rhode Island for seven years, I had become pretty comfortable.  Not comfortable enough to share any words with actual substance with anyone, but enough to occasionally make conversation.

Then, one day, my mom sat me down to tell me that we're moving to Michigan where the rest of her side of our family lived.  Though it never managed to make its way out, one thought continue to circulate in my head: here we go again.

We moved on October 21st, 2006.  My first day of fifth grade at this new school was October 25th, a wednesday.  I hated moving, and I hated wednesdays.  Combining them only made sense.

When I arrived to my first day of school, I wasn’t too sure of what to expect, and it didn’t matter much to me what presented itself.  I had a simple strategy, don’t say anything.  I never knew how to say the right thing, so I wasn’t going to try.  Just keep to yourself until you manage to become comfortable with them, I thought.   

I was sent to Mrs. Dutcher's class, immediately bombarded with other students who didn't seem to comprehend that I wasn't in the business of talking to them. Why did they find it so difficult to understand that I wasn't going to talk to them? I'm the new kid, I'm not gonna talk for a while, that is that.

Well, in years to come I would realize why they found it so difficult. In my years to come I would encounter more new students, who were just as social and talkative as they would ever be. They were eager to make a good first impression, whereas I wanted to simply let one sink in over time. I realized from them that I was the strange one, that it wasn't the norm to stay in solitary for weeks before opening up to someone.

At the time, however, I stayed committed to the game plan. I'd let them try to be my friend, because to do otherwise would require confrontation and, well, talking. And talking of course was completely out of the question.

At one point I was approached by a student with a camera, apparently making a video for a class I had yet to experience. He started asking me questions about all kinds of stuff. Stuff I had no answer to. I mean I probably had some kind of answer, but not the kind I would talk about! Stuff like, where I used to live, my old friends' names, my siblings, it was a little ridiculous. But the worst part is that he had the nerve to record it, to document my declination to talk, so that people will remember it once I've conquered my shyness.

One day, Mrs. Dutcher sent me out into the hall to work on something with another student. She wanted Graham and I to measure out the lengths of the Nina, Pinta and Santa Maria, the three boats that Columbus took to the new world, so that the class could see just how big they were. While we were out there, Graham got out of me that we lived in the same neighborhood, had a few of the same interests, and told me that he was actually new to Dexter that year too, arriving just a couple months earlier. Mrs. Dutcher must've had a feeling about us, because we went on to become great friends, and still are to this day.

Writing Starter #19

I have thought a lot about the future, and how different it could be.  With nuclear missiles seeming increasingly unstable and with the world becoming more and more dependent on technology, it's obvious that our population could, in theory, disappear in an instant.  In terms of medicine, I certainly think that doctors will continue to be necessary.  While some diseases may be cured by then, others will certainly remain, and I believe that we will not put delicate surgery into the hands of machines, especially when the slightest error could cause something to go horribly wrong.  Doctors will also be extremely necessary in emergency rooms, as well as simply observing patients to try to figure out what is wrong.  However, machines could start to take the jobs of doctors in terms of diagnoses, if they could simply plug in symptoms, and the machine would prescribe the correct medication.  As far as withholding cures goes, I do not believe scientists are likely to keep cures for themselves.  If this information is put into the hands of an individual at any time, I believe that either the moral obligation or the financial incentive would be enough for them turn it over to the public.  At that point, I believe it is only the information that matters.  Whether the company may have a right to the cure or not, if people know about, they will find a way to make it work.

Writing Starter #18

My favorite book, or books, was the Magic Treehouse series.  I was never a huge reader as a little kid, but these books were pretty short and very easy to comprehend so I didn't have much trouble with them.  I really enjoyed how every story brought a different element to the plot.  I liked all of the different settings that it took place in.  My favorite parts were wen the stories tied together to explain more of what was going on.  It was the first time that I ever read something like that.  It was pretty much the first time I read anything remotely significant.  I blew my mind how it could all come together like that.

Writing Starter #17

I feel most comfortable when I am alone at my house, sitting on my couch, watching TV.  The only other people there are my dog Roxy, and Walt and Jesse from Breaking Bad on my TV, or maybe Rick and Shane from The Walking Dead.  I have a can of Diet Sunkist and a bowl of Cheez-Its.  I have my red striped pajama pants on, the thermostat is set to 65ºF.  I sit on my couch endessly watching my favorite TV shows on Netflix, but I've never seen them before so every plot twist gets me.  This is the place where I can really unwind and just relax.

Writing Starter #16

Gripping the rubbery, bumpy handles of my first bike, I began to put my legs in motion.  I began to pick up speed and the air seemed to be whisking by me.  It blew into my ears under my helmet, encapsulating me in what I was doing, completely immune from all other sound, like I was on top of a jet turbine.  The air carried from the field at the end of our street, and I could smell it getting closer to me.  I looked straight ahead, focused only on where I was going, with every one of my neighbors brushing by me.  I tasted the fresh air rushing into my mouth, filling me up.