Culminating Poem

ghost faced, rooms I paced,
hyper breath, close to death,
sweating, shaking, oh no,
what have I done? where should I go?
Only so much time, until
my soul is burnt in torturous hell
but I'm
forgiven
forever
though I am a sinner
Love has saved me


Explanation: As the poem turns in a positive direction, the lines are shorter. I also used alliteration with "forgiven" and "forever". The Poem has kind of an open end, the last line not really rhyming with anything. I guess this could possibly symbolize how we humans are all unsure of faith and where we will end up.

3 activities involving End Stop, Enjambment, and Caesura

Activity A: Mr. Cheng's Poem
Is there a tune more happy than a daughter’s windchime laugh? 
A silence more crushing than her rolling tear? 
Is there a breeze more cooling than a son’s slumbered sigh? 
A thought more awesome than the question that he asks?  
And is there a truer joy when I am the clown?  
Shame when I accuse and rage?  
Peace when I pull up the sheet?  
Pride when I strike the flint? 
I made these kids and I make these kids.  
And they make me.

Activity B:
Members of the Westboro Baptist Church of
Topeka, Kan. appeared with
signs bearing messages like
“America is Doomed” and “God Hates Fags.” The
intentional infliction of
emotional distress involving
the Catholic clergy are not
moral, But the verbal attacks that
severely wounded the father of
the fallen homosexual Marine cannot be
restricted even if it is upsetting or
arouses contempt?


Link to article: http://www.nytimes.com/2011/03/03/us/03scotus.html?_r=1&scp=1&sq=rallying%20at%20homosexual%20funerals&st=cse


Activity C: Extended Freewrite, then poem
My mind wanders all over the silken moon, thinking of nothing of importance, yet of complete importance of in the eyes of my Lord? I hope so though the muffin baskets never came from the couple sitting on the loveseat in the lamp light as I lay in my imaginary hospital, a combined psych ward and surgery recovery unit to stitch my heart back together. Next tomorrow I will remain here, waiting until this magical spirit saves my soul, until I feel and I fly and adoration is mutual. When I feel love for this being whom I honestly do not know, but I've heard loves me and will save and protect me.

Silken moon and
spirits, my Lord, save
my heart, stitch my
soul, so that when I feel
imaginary, I fly through the
recovery

10 ways of looking at driving

I
The two girls drove over the rolling grassy hills and into
the tiny town with its friendly sweet people
away from their pasts
II
He raises his middle finger and flashes his brights at the
troubled old lady, driving slowly and carefully down
the highway
III
The man and the woman
sit in the dark, cold, cab
ashamed of what they have done
IV
She hurries
in her beat up minivan
not bothering to flip the turn signal on
careening left and right in a dizzying
freaky unreality
V
Rolling slowly
we follow the hearse
passengers, awkward and silent
the deep blackened clouds letting through
small beams of golden sunlight
and tears almost subside
VI
Those crazy kids
they race and speed
acceleration nation
they know the risks,
they've heard the warnings
and one is left alone
one is left, staring at
the blood stained shattered windshield
the eerily silent and motionless bodies
of those she loved the most
VII
Tired, stomach sick,
I turn into her driveway.
She gets in and closes the door lightly.
I force the clutch into reverse
and head towards high school
VIII
Heads throbbing,
Tired of arguing,
the road trip continues on.
IX
In the arcade room
the farthest corner
holds the racing simulation
children alone
sit and stare
at the dark screen,
imagining
X
The tiny girl
whose dream is
of a bright pink ride-on hummer
under the Christmas tree
Even though she's old enough to drive
a real car

Show, Don't Tell

She smiles
and looks up at the clouds,
the sunset,
orange and gold, pink and blue, reflecting off of clouds,
in the smooth cool white sand
she lays,
with the cool foamy, tickling water
swishing up over her feet and ankles
shells lay in her hands,
smooth and swirled,
unclenched, simply cuddling against her palms,
sleeping
protected

e.e. cummings inspired poem

                         

Modernist-imagery inspired poem

With steps that lead up to glass doors, covered in cracks and scratches, you enter the solid brick hallway of Edina High School with its white ceilings and gray-flecked floors and walk into class, sit down in your assigned seat and listen, listen, listen.

Free Verse Elegy

Dear Sanity, your cold swift arms of steering reason are gone. Your reality and logic of the left hemisphere that for so little a time ticked like an atomic clock, right on. The clarity of your voice, you pulled me in the correct direction.

For now I don't distinguish what's here from what is not. Fight or Flight is non-stop and my spirit is not shown to me through the transparent glass, but through a fogged and dusty window that will not open on my will. I overthought and overthought until what is not my dream is now top priority. What is at the tip of my mind, seeping in with unstoppable gravity, is everything that is not. Every item that has no meaning, no purpose. I will not say what I speak of for you know so well. It is what you've fought off for years until the agonizing bearing wore you down, down, now to nothing but dust at the bottom of my skull.

The right side is trying its best to help. It is learning to take your place, as if I've had a hemispherectomy. It's alright. Don't feel bad. I may not be sitting at the top of my hierarchy of self actualization, but I'll find a shortcut. I always do.

Rondeau

The golden eyes * on face so clear
their sharpness shine into me, sheer
of all men that can be so bold
I look beneath for a true soul
and hair that curls above his ears

Love poem of no truth lives here
only lust a beautiful mare
whose story's ending's unfelt cold
or golden eyes

For this story of care, my dear
is not what I asked for, unclear
surely his face is sevenfold
but never will you get to hold
his face, his arms, his hands, his fears
or golden eyes

Metrical Breaks and variations

Shut up Nicole, I'm trying to
submit an application to
Gustavus school so I can say
that "I've applied, leave me alone!"

I feel so sick that I might heave
I really want to up and leave
but I can't I am stuck here
listening to all these angry birds type I can
distract myself get on with life
and poems that I need to type

Same Poem

Form 1:
holding too much stress
so i sit at home and type
while watching tv
it's cool because Friends is on
my non serious poem

Form 2:
I hold my stress in a weighted heart
Relax and take a freaking break
It works, because I feel alright
my first new poem, that isn't deep

Form 3:
I sit at home and stress just melts
TV is pulling stress away
It's wierd that this is how I'm helped
but if it works, "that's cool", I say

Form 4:
freaky anxious stress will leave as
Ross and Rachel act for me and
I'm at home but it's OK cause
I don't like school anyways now

Form 5:
Missing my band class to sit on my bed, I can
stay and relax, watch TV in my room so I
Think on the fact that my poem's not deep enough
Feeling no stress as I watch the show Friends at home

Form 6:
In my room at my house as I sit and I type
I can feel all my hurt and my stress melt away
now I'm getting so sick of this freaking assignment
I'll watch Friends cause it's bearable, comfortable, nice

Final Comment:
I like form 6 of my poem best because it flows better that the others. I also like it because it shows my true colors; I use the word freaking while describing the assignment. Teehee. As I was rereading my poems, I had to do a TON of editing, so I hope I did it all right.

8 lines Anapestic Tetrameter

for the cool and the weak, for the shining white week
intertwined in the sanctity marriage for life
are we gathered for love and unusual things?
do we realize the truth in the spirit within?
are we blind to the sights of our partner's great flaws
is it all worth the risk and the promises too
can I ever be true to my heart, much less you
but I'll cover my face with the netted white shawl

8 lines Trochaic Tetrameter

Driving forces can't begin, for
we have conquered all within us
poetry and symphony and
everything that comes to mind, we
slash the worry, fear, and strife, that
we can find our wings to fly so
high above us in the rain we
stop the misery and pain.

The day and night of forrests wild

Outside, is mystery the source of hate,
The day and night of forrests painted wild
create an image past and now in blank
of memories of things unseen and tried
but yet there seems to be a longing peace unknown
imagine love with none of all this safety now
us all intimidated, darkness flows
when we can find the lighted sky somehow
and still our warmth and faith and happy minds
we're wild beyond our wildest dreams and thoughts
that forrest calling, nature with its finds
and everyone that teaches us is taught
so when we look, the trees, the sky, the limbs
will move and hold us with our deepest hymns

First Blog Entry on Blogging

Blogging is a useful form of communication, but there are so many websites and things on the computer that I have to keep track of, there should be 1 universal website with everything on it, and all other websites should be completely optional.