I warn you this is an incredibly long blog entry. These are just some of the poems I turned in for my poetry notebook along with my comments below them.

Odyssey of the Elite
Unbreakable dedication to war
Networks of mass volume
An orchid underground
Chalky giants
in their criminal environment
A marvelous ghetto
Quest for man split
The wrong battle for truth
The demolition of revolution
Naturally mischievous
Standard exceptions are made
for solid proof
An Odyssey of the elite
Nothing more than turbulence
A complete mix-mash of variety

This poem doesn't make much sense because we had cut out words of magazines that we liked, put them in a bag, and pull them out one by one. I had to use the words in the exact same order as I took them out

Undeniable Love
This love is a crazy embrace
A fantastic dance
Amazingly unbelievable
Chocolate sweet
It feels like I have broken destruction
This puzzled pattern has caught me
I?m hopefully miserable
It feels like uncontrollable spinning
I?m a brave coward beyond hiding
Fighting this logical war
This angelic insanity I can?t hold back
Its ascending growth is deliciously terrific
It is so devilishly evil
That it is driving me emotionally insane
Making me a cracked creation
This is undeniable love

This poem I dedicate to my dear Meg. God only knows how much I love her.

Inspiration Composition
Inspiration is a key
that unlocks and unleashes a great masterpiece
Inspiration is a nudge
that sends one into a spiral of ideas
Inspiration is a never-ending hallway
With doors on either side
All unlocked, Never empty
Each full of possibilities
Inspiration is a moment
when all that surrounds a person
shouts, ?Create! Paint! Dance! Write!?
until one surrenders to their will
Completely, without doubts
Inspiration is thirty foot tall tidal wave
that you can either ride and conquer
And become one with it in that moment
Or just let the wave wash you out utterly
Inspiration is the whisper in the wind
The beauty of a fiery red sunset
Lightning from a clear, blue sky
The winding path in the forest
A snowy mountain in the distance
All of these are Inspiration
at its finest hour
It can mean everything, anything, or nothing
Endless and forever Inspiration dreams

Inspiration is a very important thing in my writing so I wrote a poem about it.


Nothing but a puddle
Under the shade of a thorny short tree
lies a puddle
smelling like a summer rain shower
A scent of wet dirt clouds the air
The dying golden grass descends
upon the shores of the puddle
Pieces of ice in the middle
Looking like shipwrecked travelers
Part of this murky water is dark
The side that faces the setting sun
glows a fiery red
A homage to the sun?s last light
This water has no significance or importance
Nothing but a puddle

Ah, this poem came from one of my earlier writings on describing a puddle.

A Gentle Wonder
As the setting sun?s fiery light cascades down the foggy mountain
An insolent hawk glides through the hazy air
Like a rose petal falling off its flower in a sweet summer wind
A dramatic prelude to the brewing storm
A calm moment before the crazy inferno of snow sets in
The sun caresses the mysterious summit
A phenomenal jewel upon a shining helm
In that superfluous moment the old precipice was enchanting
Soon after Winter cast its evil spell
The ground became quilted with snow
Laced with glittering ice
It seemed like a sweet eternity
Before this episode of distress subsided
Winter?s symphony quit its music
Twilight uplifted, Serenity renewed
The sunrise, a gentle wonder
Coaxes the mountain into an aching recovery
The shining star forges a golden river up the mountainside

Actually, I can't remember how this poem came about. Bloody hell. That's going to bug me for a while.

Memories Past
I remember running around the playground at recess
playing legendary games of kickball
I remember throwing mud at the girls with John Stanley
who was my partner-in-crime
I remember the welcomed end of the school day
when I?d rush to the awaiting buses in the parking lot
I remember saying Good Afternoon to my old and wise bus driver, George
who always gave us candy and fudge with a warm smile
I remember eating ice cream on a calm summer night
when I got to stay up late
I remember running around my yard with my cat, Tiger Pretty
who got his name by the loss of my sister?s cat
I remember playing the never-ending games of Couch Karate
that only my siblings and I played
I remember how my room changed every few months
and how giant it seemed
I remember the fourth of July at my house
with dazzling sparklers in both hands
I remember waking from a nightmare
of a giant Easter Bunny chasing me
I remember being afraid of clowns
due to watching Stephen King?s it at an early age
I remember a great and glorious childhood

Ah, my childhood was grand one.

A Tree?s Tragedy
Days have gone by
Time has always told
Infant trees cry
Their parents cut and sold
They weep for their own
Leaves glistening gold
New seeds will be sown
But still they shed their tears
Gone is all they have known
On and on, grow their fears
Of dry and dismal days
Only when saplings come of age
Do the trees? spirits raise
And the elder trees calm their rage
They drop their leaves or fruit
A relief from stress and burden
The young trees follow suit
Although they are not quite certain
But still they shed their solemn tears
As an open act of remembrance
A custom for upcoming years
That trees have been following since
They are doing it now even as I write
Every tree, small to tall, one and all
Practicing their ceremonial rite
Thus came about the season of fall

Yes, yes, we all remember this one. I turned this in and got a lot of criticism that I didn't want. I stuck to my ways, which is being stubborn and didn't change anything except the title.

This Game of Life
Why do you all think
That I think Life is just a game?
Is that how I come off or
is that just how you think?
I am who I am and
I do take life seriously
But not as seriously as you do
You got to have a little fun in life
or You?ll never get out alive
I?m sorry that I?m stubborn
but that?s the way I am
An immovable rock
Maybe this rock doesn?t want to collect any moss
I am who I am
Get over it, past it, or whatever it takes
because I?ve left you in the dust
while you were trying to figure out how I think
If Life was a game to me
I?d send you the memo
Telling you so
Because you think I?m too busy
Off in my own world
Playing games
I?m sorry to disappoint you
but you and I live in the same world
and this is nothing but a game.

This was a poem written purely out of anger. I don't know if I like it or not.

Cliffhanging a Dream
Unexplainable dreams
Illogical nightly excursions
No shoes, No shirt, No service
Not much sense can be made from the inane babble
How can you tell what is real or not?
Dreams can walk a thin line
Between reality and surrealism
What if when you fall asleep in this world
You?re really just waking up in another
A delusion dimension with nothing but twist and turns
The only way you can tell
Dreams from reality
is undoubtedly through
What?

Bitter Sweet
Bittersweet is this lone wanderer?s life
Desert heat beating down on him like a crazy embrace
His life is deliciously terrific
A cracked creation gone astray
His heart is smoky cold
An icy fire that burns irrevocably
Frozen dead are his memories
This designed dismay has hurled him into a painful fury
A hopeful misery for a deathly life
No one hears his pleading whines or bawling begs
Forever mirrored is his indefinite reflection
This devilish evil lurks out of hiding
Wondering why and how he had fallen from
his angelic height

This poem is obviously about the devil, but I can't remember why I felt like writing about the devil. Maybe the devil made me do it.

Wanton Power
Power
At first, it is brazen
The user wants nothing but good
They want to see the wrongs righted
The criminals caught and imprisoned
Their empire, kingdom, or country become prodigious
But sooner or later, usually sooner
Power corrupts all things
Turning the zealous into a psychotic neophyte
Making all serene things chaotic
No longer listening to oracles or requiems
Only hearing their ill-founded beliefs
No longer counseled by serendipity
Their only real passion left
is to focus on gaining one thing
more wanton power

This was sort of inspired by Lord of the Rings. I don't know if I like it or not.

Poetic nonetheless
Poetry is a wondrous way to write
Each line giving off a different effect
Than the last
No one can ascertain what poetry is
Except the writer and the reader
These quilts of ideas are given to people
To interpret how they may or may not
With passion, a writer can invoke a thrill or a distress
With just a pair of words
Whether you may be the hard-working indigenous peoples of wherever
or the aristocratic vaudevillian of someplace
Poetry can shed a light on darkness
in the corners of your mind
Make you take those striding steps out of delusion
A wind blowing away the fog
or the fog blowing in
Insomnia and Schizophrenia could set in
but there is one truth
Poetic nonetheless

A calming walk
Long summer walks
Along the dirt road
Sun setting in the sky
Long shadows on a road
Brilliant colors in the clouds
A cool breeze blows
Smell of wild roses in the ditches
Rufus runs ahead
Animals scattering through the woods
The roar of tractor engines
A cloud of dust rises
I go on walks
To calm my nerves
I feel the tension leave
As I breathe in the fresh air

This was one of the two prose to poetry things I wrote.

That one special day
The voices of the gathering crowd rose and fell
Like the roar of waves rolling onto a sandy coast
Jaws of anxiety tightened
Like a boa constrictor?s hug
Her family and maid of honor
Buzzing bees about her
Perfume of roses hung in the air
The luminescent shade of dawn
The deep hue of burgundy wine
Steely satin pulled around her
Icy teeth of the zipper bit at her spine
Cloud of fabric fell over the bride?s face
Veiled in her mist
Dresses in the shade of ripe cranberries
Amazing Grace clothed the room
It was time
The elegant procession began
She begun the journey
That would tie her forever to her love

The other prose to poetry I wrote

A blank page, but not a blank mind
A blank page
A writer?s worst nightmare or
greatest dream
No beginning, No end
Nothing at all
Taunting you to write
but you can?t put your thoughts in ink yet
A blank page
A writer?s Mount Everest
Unscaleable in hazy times
Easily conquered in clear times
But once you reach the summit
What then?
You can go only go back down
and find some other mountain to climb
This blank page
Slowly becoming full
Every blank, a newfound battle
Beating back the doubts
into the oblivion of the night
On this page, a poem was written
Meaning that someone had the gumption
to bring their thoughts into
reality

Ah this poem is one I wrote when I was truly inspired and I like it.

A Never-ending chain
Friendship is a never-ending chain
Each of us are links
Through this chain, we are brought together
Knowing one person means knowing another
Trust is the fire that welds these links together
Friendship is the forge and anvil
It heats us up and changes who and what we are forever
Friendship is a burning torch on a quiet night
Guiding people through dark times
Beating away all fears and doubts
Friendship is a towering shield
Protecting people from harm and hurt
Friendship is a vessel
that everyone has ridden over troubled waters
Friendship is something everyone needs

Ah, Friendship.

Well, my friends, if you have read this all the way through, you are a champion. Congrats.