Junk Yard 30, Week 8

prone to earthquakes and typhoons archipelago comprising 7,107 islands

is categorized broadly into three main geographical divisions:

and eventual dominance

In the aftermath,

emerged as the dominant power

It has a fine structure, at arbitrarily small scales.

It is self-similar

It has a dimension

It is a simple

I’m female therefore you considered to be infinitely complex

These are defined by

Junk Yard 29, Week 8

pullin' from the jazz stacks cuz
it's sunday

Look at my handsome husband

I miss Rain so I decided to watch some music videos. I believe I just destroyed my ovaries D: OH HAY BODY ROLLS + HIP THRUSTS+ TEARING SHIRTS. I wonder how many shirts he's ripped in his lifetime.....

The smell of a grill in the hood is comforting, unless it's not yours

Hair wisking may be my new obession!

Was going to walmart and almost pulled into Cheddars out of habit

I have this weird obsession with elephants, In a completely normal way.

Response 14, Week 7

I really like the details that create this character for the piece. It's a nice little story of the poet’s life. I'm not sure I like the voice of the mother in the beginning because it didn't feel fitting for the rest of the piece. It just seemed a little random. I really like the ending "and none hold a page of his work." I like this because as a poet I've been asked to write a poem about someone and I have to decline because for me it doesn't just work like that. I make poems from words I find interesting and create the scene or character from that. I use to try to force words and ideas for a concentrated subject but realized it is pretty much impossible. I'd get crappy poems because I would try to restrain. So I thought it was cool that I could relate to this poet in this piece by not creating works that involve my life but just playing with words and making something. But I really enjoyed reading this piece.

Improv 7, Week 7

Original:

The Waking by Theodore Roethke

I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I feel my fate in what I cannot fear.
I learn by going where I have to go.

We think by feeling. What is there to know?
I hear my being dance from ear to ear.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.

Of those so close beside me, which are you?
God bless the Ground! I shall walk softly there,
And learn by going where I have to go.

Light takes the Tree; but who can tell us how?
The lowly worm climbs up a winding stair;
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.

Great Nature has another thing to do
To you and me; so take the lively air,
And, lovely, learn by going where to go.

This shaking keeps me steady. I should know.
What falls away is always. And is near.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I learn by going where I have to go.

I stabbed a man once, in the chest.

To prove I was honest, a true friend.

I put that man to a restful rest.

Oh what have I done but make a mess?

Now I must take all that I can mend.

I stabbed a man once, in the chest.

We were so close,now where are you?

A photo album placed below the book on how to bartend,

and put that man to a restful rest.

The picture was burnt with a green tint, but how?

I guess to move on that is how you send.

I stabbed a man once, in the chest.

blehhhhhh

Response 13, Week 7

For Diamond's Calisthenic.

I just got done writing my Calisthenic! Its so cool to see how differently we tore this poem apart and reconstructed it. I agree with Tim. It was a little weird for me to read this piece because all of a sudden towards the end there was a change in the narrative voice. But I really like the beginning. I also like the repetition of words in the beginning, it gave a little more emphasis to the text. I also liked "the drunk shriveled up in church on Sunday" line because that is youth church going truth lol. Anyway this is really cool! You should check out mine and tell me what you think because we made such different poems! Its neat.

October 12, 2011 5:13 PM

Calisthenic 7, Week 7

Step 4: Draft

You are the reason shoes stick to concrete,

even a fool like me can see you’re broken beauty,

components of pigments, oils, waxes, and preservatives.

Falling to the trends of Cosmopolitan,

drinking pink panty pull down,

you are the reason men liquefy

in one of three forms—liquid, cake, or cream.

You fake Egyptians and Victorian,

like the way things are out in this world,

where most things disappear, driven into ground,

you are ground.

You are the reason bacteria regulates,

collecting skin of human dust

eyeing soot, sexing ash, and nylon.

You loosely concern me as you are manufactured,

preserved in a tube, packaged in plastic

and mailed to a woman named Beth

because sluts don't have names.

Step Three: Cut

You are the reason shoes stick to concrete,

collecting skin of human dust.
skin dries

holds more than it meets.

Even a fool like me can see you’re broken beauty,

like the way things are out in this world,

where most things disappear,

driven into ground, you are ground

Drunken deacon, ate the sausage’s cooked by my half-brother,

he meant to use for jambalaya’s baby mama recipe.

, we use to Sundays picking apples of the orchard.

Step Two: Fill In

You are the chewing gum of God.

You are the reason shoes stick to concrete, collecting skin of human dust.
I know that skin dries to the Fall and rise to air ducts, it is only that, that holds
more than it meets. The heart of you is something I don’t quite get but don’t want to. Even
a fool like me can see you’re broken beauty, like the way things are out in this world, where most things disappear, driven into ground, you are ground already, & like rice you rise.

Drunken deacon, ate the sausage’s cooked by my half-brother, he meant to use for jambalaya’s baby mama recipe. You bring me back to the beginning, to where things live again for me and my father. Like a Homemade saviour, you fed me the day my father sat under flowers white as the gloves of pallbearers tossed on his bier. Soon, hands will lower him into ground richer than even you.

For now, root of all remembrance, your thick chain sets me spinning, thinking of how, we use to Sundays picking apples of the orchard. Like the small, perfect, possible, silent soul you spill out like music, my daddy dead, or grief, or both—afterward his sisters my aunts dancing in the yard to a car radio tuned to zydeco beneath the pecan trees.

ORIGINAL: Read for Step One

Ode to Boudin

You are the chewing gum of God.

You are the reason
I know that skin
is only that, holds
more than it meets.
The heart of you is something
I don’t quite get
but don’t want to. Even
a fool like me can see
your broken
beauty, the way
out in this world where most
things disappear, driven
into ground, you are ground
already, & like rice
you rise. Drunken deacon,
sausage’s half-brother,
jambalaya’s baby mama,
you bring me back
to the beginning, to where things live
again. Homemade saviour,
you fed me the day
my father sat under flowers
white as the gloves of pallbearers
tossed on his bier.
Soon, hands will lower him
into ground richer
than even you.
For now, root of all
remembrance, your thick chain
sets me spinning, thinking
of how, like the small,
perfect, possible, silent soul
you spill out
like music, my daddy
dead, or grief,
or both—afterward his sisters
my aunts dancing
in the yard to a car radio
tuned to zydeco
beneath the pecan trees.

Kevin Young

from Dear Darkness: Poems. New York: Knopf, 2008.

Inventory 7 Week 7

For A Coming Extinction

Gray whale
Now that we are sinding you to The End
That great god
Tell him
That we who follow you invented forgiveness
And forgive nothing

I write as though you could understand
And I could say it
One must always pretend something
Among the dying
When you have left the seas nodding on their stalks
Empty of you
Tell him that we were made
On another day

The bewilderment will diminish like an echo
Winding along your inner mountains
Unheard by us
And find its way out
Leaving behind it the future
Dead
And ours

When you will not see again
The whale calves trying the light
Consider what you will find in the black garden
And its court
The sea cows the Great Auks the gorillas
The irreplaceable hosts ranged countless
And fore-ordaining as stars
Our sacrifices
Join your work to theirs
Tell him
That it is we who are important

>There is no punctuation

> five lines have two words

>one line has one word

>The first two stanzas have an even amount of lines

>The last two stanzas are odd amounts of lines

>There are four Stanzas and 32 lines

> I counted around 8 adjectives reading through it once but there wasn't too many adjectives

>All letters capital at the start of a line

>In the first stanza the line start with That and the fourth is Tell and the fifth is That again

>Tell him is a line its own in the first stanza and in the last stanza