Tag Archives: 302poetry

Journal 6: anaphora

I remember back when

Grandpa used to take us fishing.

He was so full of life.

Our trio sitting in the boat.

Bass basically jumping in

How simple the day had been.

If only the three could be

together again.

Old Reynold is gone.

The third is off in college

and Ryan is just barely

getting into his own.

Journal 4

Version 1
The cows stand
under the trees in
the wet grass,
lifting their necks
to pull leaves down.

We slow the truck,
pull over to the side of the road
to watch them.
How graceful they look,
how unlike themselves.

We get out and
lean on the fence.
The cows don’t seem to notice
we are there.

In this version traditional stanzas make each section feel like its about something important. The first is the cows, the second how the speakers view them, the third about the existence of both entities.  The rhythm is slower then the prose but faster then version 3.  I think it captures the serenity of the situation better then the other versions as well.

Version 2
The cows stand under the trees in the wet grass,
lifting their necks to pull leaves down.
We slow the truck,
pull over to the side of the road to watch them.
How graceful they look,
how unlike themselves.
We get out and lean on the fence.
The cows don’t seem to notice we are there.

This version of the poem uses only end stop lines for each line.  It gives the poem a feeling of finality, every line ends with a thought and pause.  It also makes the rhythm much more straightforward, almost how a cow is a much more straightforward creature.

Version 3
The cows

stand under the trees in the wet grass, lifting their necks to pull
leaves down.

We slow the truck, pull over to the side of the road to watch them.

How graceful they look, how unlike themselves.

We get out and lean on the fence.

The cows

don’t seem to notice we are there.

In this version the line breaks and single stanza’s emphasize the cows as something much more unique then they are in the other poems.  The disjointed nature makes the rhythm much clunkier and makes pauses frequent.  It also gives more weight to the more mundane lines of the truck stopping.

Journal 3

Version 1

They told me not to adventure in this dungeon
but screw them.
I’m as dumb as the boy in class eating glue.
Now I’m cornered like a mouse in an angry Nan’s larder.

Evil gleams in the creatures eys like hot fire
Its mouth hangs agape with a hunger like a starving village
Hot breath burns my skin like fire
his teeth sink into my sword arm like a greedy fire engulfs wood.

Pain shoots throughout my body
The flame like feeling lick their way from the wound to my arm
The howl from behind me tells me that this one is not alone.
Well at least I wont be a fool for long.

Version 2

They told me not to adventure in this dungeon
but screw them.
I’m as dumb as a man who argues with his wife.
Now I’m cornered like a sad dog in the kennel.

Evil gleams in the creatures eyes like lighthouses guiding ships home
Its mouth hangs agape with a hunger like a bear in the spring
Hot breath burns my skin to cinders
his teeth sink into my sword arm like a greedy man digs into coin.

Pain shoots throughout my body
an agony like the burning hells seeps from the wound through my body
The howl from behind me tells me that this one is not alone.
Well at least I wont be a fool for long.

The Next Thing Always Belongs

The dreary night hangs over Port Island City.
A clock strikes 12 with a thunderous clang in the distance,
a boy crashes to the ground from atop a tree,
Hmph gravity is one mean mother.
The somber night is rent in two like a shack in a hurricane.

The backbone of America revel now,
who knew that this dark hour was when happiness flourished?
It’s only 12:02 slurs a man driven mad by drink.
I want to paint the town in beer!
I wish I could pause time and live in this simple, heavenly night

a flash of orange light is all that remains of cat that bolts away.
Aren’t plantains just depressing bananas?
Gangstas desperately attempt to look cool in the club
A lonely glass of water is left by an inattentive patron
Why can’t time just speed up and end this god-forsaken night!?

Did you know that there are actually 25 hours in each day?
An old worn clock, paint peeling with age, has the proof.
Emily would believe me, she’s naive still.
Time is as quick as a cheetah and slow as a snail,
I can’t stop seeing the clash of perspective.

The boy broke his leg on that fall,
he lays there and curse the tree, the clock, and the night.
The nights grows darker then Wes Craven’s films.
Still the clock ticks agonizingly by with sharp, metallic tangs.
Oh just end it already!

Personal Universe

Taste: Vinegar, Sand, Steak, Tomato, Salt, Copper, Butterscotch, Vanilla, Ramen, Burnt Popcorn, Stale bread, Subway, Chocolate, Eggs, Alcohol, Bitterdrink

Touch: Silk, Controller, Fire, Metal, Rubber, Mahogany, Cashmere, Fuzzy hair, Dog, Cat, Screen, Pokemon, Steel, Dishwater, Syrup

Smell: Ocean air, Sea-salt Ice Cream, Popcorn, Petstore, Coca-Cola, Alcohol, Ramen, Rancid Crab, fresh rain, pollen, New books, musty, Febreze, Casino, Arcade, Coffee

Hearing: Chirping, Whirling, Buzzing, Shouting, Pure Silence, Serenity, Pitter-Patter, Calm voices, Twang, Bowstrings, Clash, Cry, Whine, Grace, Dice

Sight: Flashing, Lightning, Stillness, Racing, Sunset, Bright White, Pitch Black, Kingdom Hearts, Moon, Tracks, Snow, Hail, panic, Sunlight, Royal Purple

Motion: Running, Swimming, Fighting, Game, Park, Beach, Debate, Write, Sleep, Play

Abstractions: Happiness, Zen, Life

Other: Heather, Lancer, Halo, Payload, Meme, Mom, Matt