Sonnet- State of Gray

State of Gray

Splintered wood of a rigid barn floor

Tilt a whirl that keeps on spinning round

Through the ribcage deep inside your core

Drifting above like clouds, watching the ground

Plaid shirts, dirt and gun smoke fill the air

Broken bottles shattered without heed

Winter takes the sun and leaves trees bare

Lost in twilight blind to what you need

Disappearing innocence and grace

Somber remarks through a hollowed mind

Volumes speak as they look upon your face

Life not lived and yet left to rewind

The sparkles of the shadows move the day

Leaving solitude forever state of gray  

Ekphrastic Poem Revised- Time to Come Home

The sign on the door stated “Please close”,

the hands roll slowly round the clock.

Golden locks curled to perfection,

spiraling about in their flawless manner.

Bold is the name of the game,

canary colored dress and scarlet lips.

Surrounding her the hustle of daily routines,

on the corner of Broadway behind the scenes.

The red light indicated a stop in the traffic,

the “One Way” sign  pointed in her direction.

5 years risked her heart on the line,

the tug of war of love has ended.

Reunited in joyful bliss alas,

one last time for a first impression. 

"Check- Up" - Douglas Warner Gorsline

Concrete Poem- Revised

Stares

Don’t look up they will see,

Look down. Only down.

The floor becomes your only comfort.

The bitter, charcoal tiles, that reflect no warmth.

Much like their stares.

You become that tiny speck of dust on the floor.

No one even notices the speck.

It gets swept away by a broom, quickly out of sight.

But you are left in the moment.

With their stares.

One day, they will forget.

But you will not.

Not the feeling.

And not the bitter, charcoal

 Stares.

Epistolary Revised

Dear Future Brother in Law,

Farmer’s daughter brought up Ford tough

Days spent skating on the freshly frozen pond

Mud stains carelessly made permanent

Never dreamed of princesses and Barbies, just the Stanley Cup and forewheelers

Freckles, short dirty blonde hair, almost as dirty as her denim cutoff jeans

One of the boys until the boys wanted one of her, nevertheless a crew member

Baseball caps became bobby pins, Tee shirts turned into tank tops

However never losing her collection

Always loved animals, the rugged upstate weather, and her daddy

The first man who took her heart

And protected her from boys like you

Just a farmer raising his baby the only way he knows how

Mom’s thick, stubborn hair misguidedly flowing

Those freckles that splash her face from the other side of the family

Enchanting features of those who love you

Effortless beauty, meticulous mind set

With the knowledge on an encyclopedia, an admiration

How can so much be in such a small figure?

Earning her rightful place as my own hero

A stampede of strength radiates from her core

Defending the slap shots of the world with eloquent poise

Her Grace promising a thriving future

The only person who knows me more than myself

My world revolving through her gentle concern

She is not your average run of the mill girl

A quick glance at her petite build will deceive, for she is a contradiction

She was raised to be strong and sturdy but not to close doors on those who love her

She can stand on her own but her heart opens to new adventure

Someone who can understand everything you are saying with a sense of completion

Her tiny stature being able to love you with her whole being

Heres to you

You shot, you scored

Admire your win

With pride and appreciation

Take this golden trophy as all that she is

Yours forever

Emma

Sestina- (Revised)

On the Road to Your Heart

The endless road leads you far away

Both hands on the steering wheel

Rolling down the windows for fresh air

Nothing on your mind but a lot in your heart

Underneath the wheels, the rough pavement

Your favorite song blaring on the radio

The bass seeps into your soul through the radio

The feelings within you do not go away

Your thoughts as blank as the pavement

A left hand turn approaches, turn the wheel

The rush of a new road sparks a beat in your heart

All around you excitement fills the air

Turn on the heat as a chill breathes in the air

The song depresses you on the radio

You think of all the things that broke your heart

All the reasons you are running away

Your hands loosen the grip on the wheel

You speed up along the desolate pavement

Loose gravel brings you to reality on the pavement

Oxygen enters your lungs as you breathe in the air

You reassert your hands at 10 and 2 on the wheel

The time reads endless on the radio

You are miles, turns, road signs, away

However home lingers within your heart

What led you on this journey was your heart

Indecisive as you took to the pavement

You wanted to leave to find a way

You needed to experience a new air

Just you and the music on the radio

Turning emotions like turning the wheel

Straighten out the worn out wheel

Found a destination, followed your heart

Turn down the dial on the radio

Car stopped dead on the pavement

Step out into the crisp breeze and autumn air

You did it, you finally got away

But then on comes the radio, you reverse the wheel

There was no longer a need to get away, your home is the destination of your heart

Back tracking down the now familiar pavement, back to your hometown’s proverbial air

Observational Poem- (Revised)

The Card Unplayed

Thick rimmed glasses, Clubs, Hearts and Spades.

The King of the Queens, the Jack of the Trades.

The master in his mind, insignificant in theirs.

Blind as they are, internal fire flares.

Passion runs deep, with the flip of the card.

Soul screaming silently, strategically scarred.

52 mysteries, all shuffled and stacked.

Naming them out, concentration cracked.

As they sit down, to the left of his game,

The master fades vastly out of his fame.

Her fall fashion scarf and Herb Essence tea,

Has distracted him from his Wednesday routine.

Her ignorance is a bliss born to him,

His glasses fog up and his face starts to swim.

What he can’t behold is the fondest of all,

The triumph, the victory, the Ace of the draw.

Epistolary Poem- Not Revised

Dear Future Brother in Law,

Farmer’s daughter brought up Ford tough

Days spent skating on the freshly frozen pond

Mud stains carelessly made permanent

Never dreamed of princesses and barbies, just the Stanley Cup and forewheelers

Freckles, short dirty blonde hair, almost as dirty as her denim cutoff jeans

One of the boys until the boys wanted one of her, nevertheless a crew member

Baseball caps became bobby pins, Tee shirts turned into tank tops

However never losing her collection

Always loved animals, the rugged upstate weather, and her daddy

The first man who took her heart

And protected her from boys like you

Just a farmer raising his baby the only way he knows how

My own hero

Stronger on the inside than the out

Without any neckguard or face mask to protect her from the cruel world

Just her Grace

The only person who knows me more than myself

My world revolving through her care

Learning from Mom and myself makeup tricks, and tricks that you probably tried on her

Effort built in her bones, a rolemodel for Buzz and Beez

With the knowledge on an encyclopedia, confused by her with an admiration

How can so much be in such a small figure?

She is not your average run of the mill girl

She was raised to be strong and sturdy but not to close doors on those who love her

She can stand on her own but her heart opens to new adventure

Someone who can understand everything you are saying with a sense of completion

Her tiny stature being able to love you with her whole being

Heres to you,

You shot, you scored,

Look at all that you got

Take this golden trophy as all that she is

Yours forever

Emma

Ekphrastic Poem- Not Revised

Time to Come Home

The sign on the door stated “Please close”, but she had no time for that

Golden locks curled to perfection, must be flawless

Bold is the name of the game, canary colored dress, scarlet lips

Surrounding her a solid color scheme, her poise and eloquence yellow allowed her to illuminate

The red light indicated a stop in the traffic, the “One Way” street pointed in her direction

She would not cease, and her pathway was laid out before her. Destination Train Station

5 years she had waited for this moment, and she had 5 minutes to spare

His head gently rested on my shoulder

The heat of his flushed face against my forehead

His dirtied leather combat boots against the leather of the seat ahead of us

I wonder which of these people he has lead

The blue patch that signified his defense

Of the 50 states in which we belonged

Make me feel safe as I nuzzle my face closer to his

Nothing in the world could make this moment wrong

The ticket collector doing his job but our love tuned it out

The little girl in front of us dreaming to one day be me

Cloud Nine had never allowed me to land on it before

His hazel eyes and auburn hair I had so longed to see

5 minutes to spare, as she fixes her hair

5 years she had waited, for the one she has dated

Her mission set before her clear,

He is home, no more fear.

Concrete Poem- Non Revised

Stares

Don’t look up they will see you,

Look down. Only down.

The floor becomes your only comfort.

The cold, brown tiles, that reflect no warmth.

Much like their stares.

They don’t know.

You don’t know.

You feel like that tiny speck of dust on the floor.

You wish.

No one even notices the speck.

So inconsequential.

It gets swept away by a broom, quickly out of sight.

But not you.

You are in the moment.

You and them,

And their stares.

One day, they will forget.

But you will not.

Not the feeling.

Not the cold, brown floor.

And not the stares.

Reflection Essay

Emma Stappenbeck

Mrs. Elswick

Creative Writing Reflection

November 13, 2012

“I have an acquired taste for language, yet it is seldom an actual focus of mine”- Saul Williams. Words are some of the most powerful forces that can be used. Through the power of words, countries have been liberated, people freed, law changed, the world would have not developed into such a beautiful place had it not been for the power that each word specifically has. Saul Williams, the great Slam poet, director, and star of the film, “SLAM”, displayed the power of words throughout his film. Through his struggle with the justice system, society and within himself, he found that words were the resolution. For myself, words have always been a way to express how I feel without having to say any of them.

            The film, “SLAM”, written, directed and starring Saul Williams, is about the main character Raymond Joshua who through the power of words finds himself with a new perspective of the world. Ray is from the inner city near DC and like many other men from his area, a struggling Black man just trying to get by. Ray turns to selling dope, and is caught with marijuana during a shooting of his close friend. Ray is convicted and put into jail. In order for Ray to survive within the walls of prison, he writes his Slam poetry. He writes about the issues he is facing within the jail and out in society. As opposed to joining the two lead gangs in the prison, he turns to words and a creative writing class. Also, when a fight breaks out between the two groups, Ray is able to settle both sides down by slamming a poem about the common problems both sides are facing. After being released, Ray is faced with the choice of either running, snitching, or going to trial and facing two to three years in prison upon conviction.  His friend Lauren, a writer from the deep city, as well as his creative writing teacher, teaches him that through his words, he can free himself, get through anything, and face the punishment he has inflicted upon himself. In the conclusion of the movie, the scene depicts Joshua in front of the gates of the Capital Building grasping the gates that guard the entrance; this symbolizes Ray embracing his punishment. The power of words help Ray get through rough times, get him to learn about how much power he has, and teaches him that the cycle of violence and injustice that occurs around him can be stopped, through the power of words.

            Throughout the semester, thus far, in creative writing I have learned so much about writing and words. I have learned overall that choosing the right words, not making sense and structure all can make or break poetic pieces. I first started out using rhyme schemes and easy words, like any run of the mill “poet”. The more my writing assignments increased the more my diction has improved. Also, I always thought that all poetry must make sense when you write it. However some of my best writing has included metaphors that have no specific meaning, they either sound good or the words just work together. It is amazing the options that words can give you. The power that the words give me, are limitless. All my emotions can just pour onto the page, and unlike any other assignments, I thoroughly enjoy writing my poems and do not need to follow any thought pattern. For example, my first few poems had rhyme scheme and specific ideas, but by my last few opens, such as the observatory poem, have organization but no strict thoughts, my creativity has gotten more adventurous. Lastly, structurally my poems have advanced by also growing more creatively. When I want to add emphasis, such as my emotion poem, I can isolate different words. My poems look much cleaner now than it did in the beginning of the year. Structurally making a poem look good can make them much more appealing and stronger.

            In conclusion, the power of words is a unique power. Unlike any other power, words give you something you can feel, see and hear. They open up the doors for you to use creativity and create images unlike anything else. Saul Williams’ character Raymond Joshua used words for self discovery, something that I feel all of the students in my creative writing class are doing. I personally use this to empower me to try new things and explore new emotions within each of my poems. I feel as though my writing now is not successful without that gut feeling after, knowing that something provoking, to at least me, has been written on the page. As a creative writing student I believe that, that feeling I am putting into each of my works, expresses the true power of words. 

Gentle Green Grasp- Revised

Gentle Green Grasp

The grass is everywhere,

Each blade welcomes the force of so many different creations;

Forceful footsteps, the raindrops, fresh morning dew,

The trees which implant their roots into the ground, 

where grass willingly allows the tree to grow,

 it avoids the tree, and just grazes around its stumps.

Weeds make their home among it,

 but the grass does not complain,

 the two coexist in perfect harmony, growing .

One blade, insignificant, unless you’re an ant. A baby ant. To a teeny-tiny ant, one blade of grass is a skyscraper.

To snakes, centipedes and worms, every edge is like a wave in a sea of green, as they swim and slither through the patches.

Grass accepts the trees’ falling leaves, the waste of animals, and the fact it is constantly cut.

Why does it take that?

The pieces do not complain, they just dance and sway to the winds melodic tune.

Would it like to keep growing?

Nothing tells a human to stop growing, trims them, or forces them to regrow.

The grass that lies in the vast grasslands of Africa must be the happiest.

It grows and dies naturally.

The heat and lack of precipitation are the enemies.

For when the seasons change, they realize that their end is near.

The grass is a patient peacemaker who brings joy as it tickles your bare, unpolished toes, provides comfort for the beings that lay and rest upon it.

But, it welcomes its end, just as it welcomes all things with each loving strand.

The grass is the welcoming native who does not segregate or judge and its arms and mine are always open.

Green is the color of envy, envy the grass. Its mellow green essence holds more acceptance of the world and change than any other being.

It was here before all, knows all, feels all, and sees all.

It cooly fills the space that is untouched and free. 

Erasure Poem- Advice to the Young

Found Poem- Living Wild

hiking temperature
panicked 
hours lost
reach for regular survival
warning of curfew
surrounded by water, bogs, scenery ,sun ,paths
missing bed but found adventure
blood rushed, adrenaline, my stomach
myself feeling stumbled
sobbing, crying, hopeless
pray
natural fire exposes familiar lessons learnt the hard way.

Gentle, Green Grass

Gentle, Green Grass

The grass is everywhere,

Each blade of grass welcomes the force of so many different creations;

Forceful footsteps, the raindrops, fresh morning dew,

The trees which implant their roots into the group, where grass willingly allows the tree to grow, it avoids the 

tree, and just grazes around its stumps.

Weeds make their home among the grass, but the grass does not complain, the two coexist in perfect harmony, growing .

One blade of grass, insignificant, unless you’re an ant. A baby ant. To a teeny-tiny ant, one blade of grass is a skyscraper.

To snakes, centipedes and worms, every blade is like a wave in a sea of green, as they swim and slither through the patches.

Grass accepts the trees’ falling leaves, the waste of animals, and the fact it is constantly cut.

Why does it take that?

The grass does not complain, it just dances and sways to the winds melodic tune.

Would it like to keep growing?

Nothing tells a human to stop growing, trims them, or forces them to regrow.

The grass that lies in the vast grasslands of Africa must be the happiest.

It grows and dies naturally.

The heat and lack of precipitation are the enemies.

For when the seasons change, they realize that they’re end is near.

But, it welcomes its end, just as it welcomes all things with each loving piece.

The grass is the welcoming native who does not segregate or judge and its arms and mine are always open.

Green is the color of envy, envy the grass. Its mellow green essence holds more acceptance of the world and change than any other being.

It was here before all, knows all, feels all, and sees all.

The grass is a patient peacemaker who brings joy as it tickles your bare, unpolished toes, provides comfort for the beings that lay and rest upon it.

It cooly fills the space that is untouched and free. 

Where I'm From

Where I’m From

I am from the rusted fence that runs three yards wide, from Barbie jeeps and toad hunts.

I am from the bleak yellow house at the end of the road, where cars rush by and never notice.

I am from the greenest grass, blackest pavement, and best place to observe the seasons, the street lights, sidewalks and city nights.

I’m from the beaches of Hampton Bays and brown eyed beauties. From Elizabeth, Mary and Melissa.  

I’m from big opinions and even bigger hearts. 

From water off a ducks back and this too shall pass.

I’m from young love that didn’t end up working out.

I’m from a world of nations, red white and blue, green white and orange, all the colors of the rainbow.

Mac and cheese and eggs over-easy.

From the debate of which parent I resemble more.

 I am from everywhere and everything, fresh air and birds that sing, once a Laser now a King, cause you never know what tomorrow brings. 

Little Throne- Narrative Poetry

Little Throne

Little girl on her little throne,

all her worries away.

She reads and sings, full of warmth

she just wants to play.

Her smile so sweet, her tired eyes on,

been busy as a bee.

She cozies up on her thrown,

awaiting her kingdom to see.

She rests those tired little eyes,

some sleepy dust she’ll borrow.

Her dreams of princes, castles and dragons await her,

and she wakes on her thrown tomorrow.