Keep the Commandments

     Yesterday I had yet another eye opening lesson in church that lifted my spirits. It was about being a good person and trying to please God by obeying his commandments. That seems to be a major point of many Christian religions that deters people. Why would God restrict people so much if he sent us down here to make our own choices? Some people mockingly call it an oxymoron.

     But just think about it. How many tests have we had throughout our lives that have had certain simple rules to them? Some seem rather trivial, yet we don't question them. Don't write with a red pen, be prepared with your assigned homework next class period, and for goodness sake never forget your binder, lined paper, and plenty of pencils.

     Why then, when we so regularly follow ordinary rules, do we question what God asks of us? Commandments aren't in force to restrict us, and it never hurts to follow them. I know that I have a hard time following rules, countless times I've fallen below the standards that I've set for myself.

     The Parable of the Kite helped to remind me of how easy it can be to go astray, and how God with always help us despite our inconsistency in following his few rules.

The Parable of the Kite

There once lived a girl, so faithful and true,
With so much potential, so much she could do.
Her favorite past time was spent in the park-
Flying her kite, from dusk until dark.
Her father had built it, a bright, sturdy frame.
It seemed to hold up when the strong whirlwinds came.
It had a long tail, and what joy it could bring,
As it flew through the air, tightly held by the string.
Her father had warned her, to hold on quite tight,
The trial of the wind could put up a big fight.
This daughter grew restless, just watching it fly,
She wanted to see it soar deep in the sky.
One day she decided that it wasn't fair,
To punish this kite, and to hold back the air.
This kite deserved more than the same point of view,
If she just let it go, it could fly away too.
Because she was struggling- life was so hard,
She longed for the freedom to let down her guard.
Rules and commandments were causing such strife,
They just held her back, there was much more to life!
In just a brief instant, she cut off the string,
She took a deep breath as the air caught the wing.
It spiraled, it turned, and quite soon she had found
Her precious kite mangled and crushed on the ground.
She then heard her father, his voice calm and true,
My Child, these commandments are given FOR you
To help you and guide you and keep you in flight,
Just as the string has preserved your invaluable kite.
I love you. I need you. You're precious to me.
If you keep my commandments,
They help make you free!
Free to fly high, free from the sorrow,
Free to awake without guilt for tomorrow.
My daughter, please know that I'm sending my love,
I'll guide you; I'll hold you with strength from above.
As I hold your string, I won't let you down,
I promise, in heaven, that you'll get your crown!

Stacy Schofield Hair


On another side note, I believe it's also important to not be high and mighty about the way you live or what you believe. Sometimes it can be easy to be stuck-up and arrogant when you see how fortunate and blessed you are... Don't forget to spread your blessings to others.

"I dreamt I was a butterfly, or was I a butterfly dreaming..."

Lit wings
Reflected,
Captivating.
Awed, I reach out to her,
sighing.

Graceful,
Silently
Fascinating.
Diamond drops cascade down.
Tears.

Ever
Enchanting,
Pale shimmering;
Somehow she cannot see
Her Wings.

Joyful,
Entrancing; I lift her chin.
"With such wings you can fly!"
I try.

Glowing,
Delightful;
She wipes her tears.
Downcast wings start to
Flutter.

Smiling,
Suddenly
Remembering.
Enrapturing in her
Found Wings."

Poetry

I ended up rewriting and creating a few poems today; although I prefer to put my poetry on my private blog, sometimes it's nice to share it. Some part of me feels as if poetry is just so personal. Reading a poets work is like stripping a writer down to her core and glimpsing the soul within.

Truth be told, I've never considered myself to be a great poet, even though writing poetry is one of my favorite hobbies. Lately I've been writing a lot more than usual

(Pantoum)

Do I Dare to Dream?

I now stand silently at a forked road,
But do I dare to Dream?
My sun-filled soul screams to be free,
My heardened heart whispers conformity.

But do I dare to Dream?
Still, the question gnaws at my fleeting hopes.
My heardened heart whispers conformity,
Wishing answers were as light as leaves.

Still, the question gnaws at my fleeting hopes;
My sun-filled soul screams to be free...
Wishing answers were as light as leaves,
I now stand silently at a forked road.

(Acrostic)

My Advice
Mind not the past, not a thing can change;
You are unique, don't think it's strange.

As often as ever give love to all;
Don't be rude, that may be your fall.
Vicarious living- steer clear away
I know only you can lead the way.
Calm yourself, don't let life pass by
Every piece of advice- a hypocritical try.

(Choka)

Firefly
Mouths gasp in wonder-
mystical lights dance in tune,
breathless concourses wonder
As God creatures glow.
Brighter than cool, darkened nights-
Seas of fireflies ignite

(Free Verse)

Whirlwind
It was bright Red,
My blush.
My jacket.
My racing, pacing blood.

It was Halloween night,
Supposedly scary.
Supposedly different.
Supposedly dating was easy.

It was my first date.
Just couldn’t wait.
Just teenage ‘”fate.”
Just Dad driving us, embarrassingly.

It was so fast.
We were unprepared.
We teenagers assumed our calm.
We were fearsome pirates for a night.

It was a dance.
Who remembers the songs?
Who saw our discomfort?
Who knew we were stifling our immaturity?

It was an awkwardly normal door.
Why the sudden silence?
Why the bashful hug?
Why the inwardly sung victory?

(Diminishing Hexaverse)

Fade to Night

When Day fades to Night,
Eyes give up their Plight.
Turning in Sweet Sleep;
Then, the Poet Dreams.
Banishing Logic.

Songs in the Dark,
Strolls through the Park.
Soar above Life,
Without a Strife.

Walk Alone.
Fly Free.
No Home.

Give in,
Dreams win.

Soar.

(Diamante)

Regained Memory

Amnesia
Gone, Diminish
Confusing, Forgetting, Regretting
Name of Kids, Place of Keys, Clear Sight, Lucid Mind
Encircling, Penetrating, Remembering
Vivid, Immense
Memory

(Alliteration)

Enveloped

Eyes enraptured enveloped
Toe touching toe
Hand holding hand
Mouth meeting mouth

(ABC)

Love
Achingly
Beautiful
Courageously
Deft
Energetically
Frivolous
Gaily
Happy
Ignorantly
Joyful
Kind
Lovely
Magnanimously
Noble
Open
Precious
Queenly
Rare
Splendid
Terrifically
Unsuspected
Voraciously
Wicked
Yearningly
Zany

(Couplet)

Libra's Charm

A small speck of dirt on my floor
is worse to me than brutal war.
Gritty grime and nauseous noises;
ruin perfectly prime poises!

Once you're put together we'll talk,
I'll watch your details like a hawk.
Oh, us early birds get the worm;
if you are late, you'll make me squirm!

Foul bluntness never held my charm,
radicals cause so much alarm...
Life should be like a golden scale,
Beautiful balance never fails!


If you'd like to see more of my poetry click on the words in quotations "My Poetry on PoetrySoup" I hope you guys liked this post!

A.P. English Literature

     I haven't posted a blog post in a little over a month. Fortunately, I can't attribute this to personal laziness. Lately I've become totally consumed with studying for my three AP tests this month: AP Psychology, AP English Literature, and last but not least, AP English Language.
Although I haven't posted much writing on my blog, practice essays have become a ritual of my daily life for the past week.
Yesterday I timed myself to a random poem prompt for the literature test; it took me a half an hour to dissect two poems and scribble my own piece of mind on the paper.
I'm going to type out the two poems that the essay was written about, along with the instructions and my own essay in the hopes that it might some other struggling souls going through AP English Lit or Language.

2005 AP ENGLISH LITERATURE FREE-RESPONSE QUESTION (Form B)
ENGLISH LITERATURE AND COMPOSITION
SECTION II
Total time--2 hours

Question 1
(Suggested time--40 minutes. This question counts as one-third of the total essay section score.)

Carefully read the two poems below. Then in a well-organized essay compare the speakers' reflections on their early morning surroundings and analyze the techniques the poets use to communicate the speakers' different states of mind.

Poem 1:

Five A.M.

Still dark, the early morning breathes
a soft sound above the fire. Hooded
lights on porches lead past lawns,
a hedge; I pass the house of the couple
who have the baby, the yard with the little
dog; my feet pad and grit on the pavement, flicker
past streetlights; my arms alternate
easily to my pace. Where are my troubles?

There are people in every country who never
turn into killers, saints have built
sanctuaries on islands and in valleys,
conquerors have quit and gone home, for thousands
of years farmers have worked their fields.
My feet begin the uphill curve
where a thicket spills with birds every spring.
The air doesn't stir. Rain touches my face.

Poem 2:

Five Flights Up

Still dark
The unknown bird sits on his usual branch.
The little dog next door barks in his sleep
inquiringly, just once.
Perhaps in his sleep, too, the bird inquires
once or twice, quavering.
Questions--if that is what they are--
answered directly, simply,
by day itself.

Enormous morning, ponderous, meticulous;
gray light streaking each bare branch,
each single twig, along one side,
making another tree, of glassy veins...
The bird still sits there. Now he seems to yawn.

The little black dog runs in his yard.
His owner's voice arises, stern,
"You ought to be ashamed!"
What has he done?
He bounces cheerfully up and down;
he rushes in circles in the fallen leaves.

Obviously, he has no sense of shame.
He and the bird know everything is answered,
all taken care of,
no need to ask again.
--Yesterday brought to today so lightly!
(A yesterday I find almost impossible to lift.)

2005 Free Response- Poetry

In "Five A.M." and "Five Flights Up" the respective poets allude to their own interpretations pertaining to the dawning of a new day. "Five A.M." is a flowing and metaphorical description that interprets the mysteries of allusions from the past, signifying that every day is a mystery to be embedded into the past. However, Five Flight up is a more literal interpretation. The poet uses broken enjambment and colloquial language to create a portrait of a less interpretive world as the poem explores how mornings begin, which in turn, complements a more modern state of mind.

In Five A.M., the poet uses personification to make his interpretation of the world come to life. "The early morning breathes a soft sound..." and "Rain touches my face." Not only create a tone for figurative interpretation, but also appeal to the senses of not only sight, but touch and sound as well. The poet creates rhythmic meter with long sentences with little to no breaks in between lines. This flow adds to the effect and tone of the mysterious allusions portrayed in the second stanza. The poet communicates a state of mind in which he or she views every morning as a scene of beauty, mystery, and unanswered questions as the author is enveloped in eloquent natural surroundings.

In the poem "Five Flights Up", the poet conveys the morning as a literal happenstance that is easily observed and can be described substantially with little to doubt or question. "Questions- if that is what they are-// answered directly, simply, by day itself." The poet then proceeds to use adjectives to describe how the morning appears to the world. Using enjambment, the poet creates a sense of blunt description, leaving the impression that like the poem's sentences, a morning lacks any eminent complexity and can be interpreted with little awe or wonderment.

"Five A.M." is a masterpiece communicating a mystery, surrounded by the dawn of a new day, defined by the personification of Earth's elements, complemented by flowing parallel syntax, and completed with allusions tracing back to the history of former mornings. "Five Flights Up" is a literal interpretation of a morning that is self-explanatory and presents itself bluntly through the use of juxtaposition, visual imagery and modern language that conveys the morning as a predictable, direct, and simple element to the every day flow of a provincial life.

Feel

I sigh, like a tree in a cold, unrelenting breeze
I try, like aching Atlas to carry the weight of the world
I cry, like a solitary wolf howling for her lonely dark moon
I lie, like a masked man who can't look in the mirror.
I reply, like a flimsy facade trying to conceal any pain.

A Broken Heart

These poems are another form that Mrs. Gray taught us today. Basically you ask a very serious question, and then attempt to describe the answer by using your own questions and comparisons. Each question should get progressively more thought provoking/ serious throughout the poem. It's almost like a Shakespearean poem with the two lines of A-B-X-B rhyming form, but the last three lines are A-B-B format instead! Confusing much? Maybe the poems will enlighten you to this unique format.

What happens to a broken heart?

Does it shrivel and shrink like toes under water?
Or blister and break apart—
Like sunburns getting ever hotter?
Does it feel crushed like a battered rock by the sea?
Or bleed like a wound—
That soon ceases to be?

Maybe it painfully crumbles
Like a man hit by a sharp spear

Or does it simply disappear?


What happens to a sad memory?

Does it fade like white-out against paper,
Or harden like a dark stone of emery--
Absorbing every other thought like a black hole?
Does it feel like a blue bird that could freely fly away,
Or like a whale trapped on the beach—
Imploring the sea in dismay?

Maybe it destroys every good memory it touches
Like a flood filling every space

Or does it die without a trace?

The Night

Today the happy wait
Is quickly passing like a stream
And the glitter gathers everywhere
Resting softly like moon’s gleam.
Oh, do you remember?
The tinkling song still lingers,
It’s sound dancing like the wind.
The smooth voice of Song,
And how her deep tone
Moved everyone to dance.
Us, dancing,
Laughing boisterously like children at our lack of skill
Or apologizing as we tripped,
Girls glaring in unison
As we brushed their shining diamond dresses.
You held my hand
And were unafraid,
Despite the sullen surprise of whispering friends.
Oh see the vibrant purple dress
That cascaded softly like the rain,
And the way it flashed, luminescent
Like a brilliant lion's mane
While happiness happiness
Happiness that I had never known engulfed my mind.
This was where the sound began;
With its profound ring
Opening my broken heart like a key.
And then the key disappeared
Into the black,
Forever flying out of reach.
I remember the color of music,
And how you
And all of your goodness
Were part of me for a breathless moment.

Impressionist Poems

     Today in English we were learning about the old impression style of poetry. At first, I was really really skeptical. The very first poem we had to read in class was by William Carlos Williams, it was called "The Red Wheelbarrow." It goes like this:

so much depends
upon

a red wheel
barrow

glazed with rain
water

beside the white
chickens

     I was astonished! There was no punctuation and very little description.. It's so simple that a kindergartner could do it (or a caveman.) If that's really all the work it takes to get a poem published in a school book read by millions of American children every year, then sign me up!

Somehow, despite the lack of overall creativity and style, the poem serves the purpose that the author made it for. Can't you see the red wheel barrow surrounded by chickens despite the few details? That's a pretty cool effect if you ask me!

Well my English teacher had us write a few poems based on William's style. So here's my rendition of it.

So much depends
upon

a bright white
smile

mysterious like full
moons

rising into our
eyes


So much depends
upon

black tick-tock
clocks

counting like cocky little
children

inside time's vast
expanse


The next poem we read totally made me laugh. It was a poetic note from William's apologizing to his family for eating all of the plums out of the family icebox. So of course I had to write a few. One day I'll cut them out and tape them in the cupboard to see my family's reaction.

I have eaten
the cereal
that was in
the cupboard

and which
you were probably
looking
for breakfast

Forgive me
it was heavenly
so crunchy
and so refreshing

I have eaten
the marshmallows
that were in
the pantry

and which
you might have
eaten
while camping

I'm sorry
they were delightful
so gooey
and so sweet

Rather bizarre, but it's rather fun to write zany little things like that sometimes! And now for the most confusing poem at all. See if you can find the meaning of the broken up words. Hint: try reading the words in parenthesis and then the broken up words before and after parenthesis.

B(E
A S
T E
R)U
N N
Y(E
G G)

You should find "bunny," "Easter," and a combination of either "runny egg" or "Easter egg" depending on the way you're looking at it.

Spring Haikus

You might have guessed this from the unusually happy way in which I decided to write Haikus outside of class, but in case you didn't notice, I am so excited for Spring! I've missed playing soccer, and I'm totally getting a different kind of kick from the sunny weather. It's amazing to wake up to the bird's chirping and the bright light leaking in through my window!

Hot, bright light illuminates;
green arms are stretching,
embracing the sky above.





Penetrating tears fall down--
Trickling from heaven,
the sad blue drops giving life.


Bright colors shoot from the ground
Dancing with the wind;
Laughing at the hot, white sun.

A Reflection of Forever

There’s a certain crash of sound--
Aquamarine waves.
Like the Life that’s all around,
The Ocean’s song wakes.

The Sea stretches forever,
Like stars out in space.
Our own concept of never—
Hardly has a place

Heaven and Earth meet far off—
Their colors blending;
Sometimes harsh and sometimes soft—
Always Reflecting.

The good of Life can be seen,
Looking out to Sea—
It’s constant, sparkling blue sheen
Shows what we can Be.

A Parody Mocking Twilight Fans

Sorry about this blog post, my dear readers, once again I prove how bad I am at poetry! I did this poem in the format of Edgar Allan Poe's "The Raven," it was required for English.
The second, fourth, fifth, and six lines rhyme, (the other two don't.) I figured that I would have to write about my hatred for Twilight sometime, so enjoy!
If you do like Twilight(like most of my friends,) then I most heartly apologize. Unless you are like the following women mentioned...

Once upon a sullen silence, I sighed, I sighed about the Cullens.
Crazy, dreamy, drowsy fans, oh how it made me sore;
Muscular, masculine vampire men with shiny skin gave me chagrin.
Their paleness, ageless, alter less lives gave me such a bore.
Guys abhor this whole love lore, “where’s Harry Potter?” I implore.
This Twilight book girls opt for.

Meyer’s tale is mildly cheesy; Edward makes love look so easy.
Edward sinuously stalks our dear Miss Swan, which many girls adore.
When suddenly there came a tapping, tapping, tapping on the wide window;
Our happy Edward leaped right in, in black Goth clothes galore.
His ominous outlook, his empty stare; surely he needs a councilor.
Only this and nothing more.

Since when did vampires sparkle in sunlight, why are young werewolves so cute and cuddly?
These addling attempts of harrowing humor make my head too sore.
Rabid fans now buy icepacks, and glitter, Volvos, old trucks, t-shirts and such.
Meyers has made gobs of cash from movies, my mother, and more!
Please stop these callous and crazy cults of women I implore,
No Twilight anymore!

Continued/ Poems #2

I don't have much to say now days, so I'll keep posting my poems that I'm required to write.

This next poem is called a "found poem." It's actually kind of cool, but it took me forever to make. All you have to do is pick some lines out of already written books and make your own poem out of it! It's not plagiarism, because every "found poem" is titled "found poem" (thus informing the reader that none of the words in the poem belong to the author of the poem, if that makes any sense.)

My first found poem was written with a crazy variety of books which included The "Three Musketeers", "The Last Olympian", "Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince", and, "Love, Stargirl."

Found Poem
Both remained suspended, motionless;
The storm began to subside
But still the sea was disturbed.
“Come! Come courage!”
As I said it, I knew it was a naïve hope.
Who are you if you lose your favorite person?
A sheer drop, black and faceless
It was a bleak, harsh view, the sea and the rock unrelieved by any tree or sweep of grass or sand.
Will we ever meet again?
I will sail into the future on mystery’s wings and I will not look back.

I wrote a second Hokku for fun, so you'll have to put up with it... Sorry! A Hokku is much like a Haiku, but about something other than nature.

Hokku
Light step follows light step,
A set of eyes bore into me;
I am being followed


This is an ode to eyes that crinkle when they smile. I wrote it, at first thinking about my friends, but in the end I started writing it about my cousin. So if you're reading this, I love ya "cuz cuz!" (Sorry about the blue eye thing, very few people have green eyes and not many things rhyme with green either... Except for mean, but that doesn't really fit!)

Those eyes that are so bright, they shine,
A caring, compassionate sign.
Eyes belonging to my best friend,
A friendship that will never end.
Her eyes are like an open book,
I understand with just one look;
Deepened shades of both green and blue,
Exuding happiness, like so few.
Eyes that make my entire day,
My cares are simply washed away.

I have two epitaphs to write now to entertain you all... Unfortunately you'll have to wait for another time, I just can't force myself to write another poem!

Turn it around

I thought that I'd start the year off with a nice little poem, so I looked for one that was positive; one that has to do with being happy, and turning things around.

Let's start the year off on a nice clean slate everyone! What do you want to accomplish this year? Don't give up on your goals, even if you miss a day. Make 2009 your very best year!

When life becomes more than you can stand
When all you need is a helping hand,
Hands might not be there to help you out
But don't ever give up in your time of doubt.

When the glass seems half empty and dry,
You have to give it another try!
Be happy, see life from a brightside,
Then life's worries will be cast aside.

When drama has reached the highest peak,
I know that life can seem pretty bleak.
Just improve the lives of those around,
Then your own life can be happy and sound.

When friends are filled with the harshest scorns,
Their words can be sharper than rose thorns.
Kill them with kindness, that's what they all need,
Become helping hands through your acts and your deeds.

Sonnet 1 Does he love me?

     For Honors English, we had to write a sonnet. Yeah, that's right, a sonnet! A poem that is as mushy gushy as you can make it! Sounds fun right? It's not my normal style of writing that's for sure... When I mention "azure" eyes I'm not really thinking of one specific person. This is written in the basic Shakespearean format, "ABAB CDCD FGFG HH." Every line should have ten syllables if my calculations remain correct. The first eight are meant to be a question, line eight is the transition, and the rest are of the lines are the answer. Enjoy!




As the leaves of fall descend upon me,

A new love blooms like the blossoms of spring.

Was it meant for this blooming love to be?

My heart is mending like an old bird’s wing.

A once broken heart is once again whole.

I look into his eyes in puzzlement,

His azure eyes are windows to his soul.

Does he feel the same, this angel heav’n sent?

Sighing, I hope, begging the stars to know.

Our love is not seen or heard, only felt;

Springing up from the ground where seeds do sow.

His eyes drift away, I feel my heart melt.

What can be, what may be, cannot be told,

I love his heart which is as pure as gold.