I have been working hard on editing my poems. My portfolio is due today and I've just finished my second of three poem revisions. I hope to look them over and feel proud enough to put them up here. A few are just crap ideas that should just be chucked. I don't like them and I don't want to revisit them after this class. A majority of them I enjoy, so there should be a good amount of writings being posted here soon.
Tuesday, December 9, 2014
Monday, December 8, 2014
Scoundrel Press
Our presentation is on Wednesday, but I thought I would let everyone see it. I hope you enjoy!
Wednesday, December 3, 2014
Encounters: A Literary Magazine
In my editing class we are working on our final project which consists of creating a literary magazine from the ground up. There are four people in each group and each of them has a job. My job is layout/design editor. Our publishing house is called Scoundrel Press and is located in Allentown, PA. This is, of course, all fictional, but our group is really getting into it.
The above photo is our cover. I'm thinking about putting the whole pdf here when we are done. What do you guys think? Are you interested? There are some good stories in our magazine!
Wednesday, November 19, 2014
Off to Work
The crunch
of gravel
beneath the beaten bike.
Every other jingle and jangle
of the broken brake
echoes across the small lake,
steam rising
into the cool morning air.
Clouds overhead confirm
the day’s predicted weather
and my hot breath
floats across the road.
Passing the house on the corner,
I grab the jingling brake
to silence it
and taking one last breath
I hold it.
I slowly bike by,
my heartbeat booming
in my ears and
I fear it will give
away my location.
A short rustle
and from the corner
of my eye I see the dog
bound over the six-foot-tall fence.
I let my breath out in a scream
and it pierces the silent morning.
I can feel the dog’s hot breath on my heels
and I can hear his panting as if right behind my ears.
I look over my shoulder
and the dog trots back to his territory.
Back to do his business in the dewy grass
and back to his warm dog house.
I let go of the break
that’s still in my hand.
I hear it ding
on the frame and
the crunch
of gravel
beneath the beaten bike.
Fresh Air ... Times Square
Mid July, and hiking up the White Mountains.
I’d rather read a book
about climbing a mountain than climb one myself.
Though according to Charlie this isn’t a mountain, it’s a hill.
Too bad Charlie, i’m gonna call it a mountain.
It’s surprisingly hot for Alaska.
Chooch has her own name for the mountains.
It’s her Mach-cha-ben-ya rocks,
named such because of the movie.
Prime place to hoist Simba above your head.
Mud is getting all over me.
Far away from any cell service,
Far away from any cute coffee shops
where I could curl up and read.
Is the air getting thinner?
I am John Krakauer.
Side cramp, side cramp.
Chooch has been born and raised in Alaska,
which is evident in her apparel.
Her orange, checkered shorts clash
with her purple shirt.
The thirteen-year-old then
dares me to do something that is harder then hiking.
“Pro-Con list, Liz,” says Chooch.
“It’s the only way you’re gonna get through this.”
Rich the Printer
I’ve named the apartment’s printer.
It’s name looks like Rich, but with a few other letters.
I think it’s the brand’s name.
Rich is a bit needy.
He is in want of
constant cuddling and
attention.
I’ve named the apartment’s printer.
His name is Rich.
You need to be nice to him.
Sometimes he needs to be turned off and then on.
Just a quick nap.
A reboot and then back to working properly.
I’ve named the apartment’s printer.
It bugs me when people don’t call him that.
Printers have feelings too.
duh.
His sixth sense is knowing when something’s due,
And you need to print.
He then refuses to work.
I’ve named the apartment’s printer.
It’s kinda like having a baby.
One that’s in charge of your grades,
and well being.
A Guide to Growing a Garden
for Janna
I do not know when it was
that I learned about weeding and watering.
But I do know it was with a fork, a spade,
and a green watering can.
It seemed like science,
my least favorite subject.
So, I abandoned my garden.
I went along like this,
hating the whole scenario,
having left the plot of land to fend for itself,
until much later in my youth.
I received a wheelbarrow, a tool to add along with
the over used fork, spade, and my old green watering can.
Though things were better with this new tool,
it was still no fun and, so, my garden stayed unkept.
A bit later,
a still young version of myself,
met a lady who was a gardner too.
Armed with the ability to weed and water,
and my small collection of tools,
she taught me to create life in my garden,
and keep it flowing.
She had me sink my hands into the cold, dark earth.
My nails filling with black C’s of mud.
At first this annoyed me.
The cold earth stuck in my nails,
carrying it around with me,
letting people see me like this.
How could I?
But it became more and more normal,
and I learned to cultivate my garden,
with her plot beside mine.
Her’s, though more mature, was a work in progress, like mine.
Both of us students to the ways of gardening and
we learned by trial and error.
She told me not to fear.
So I didn’t.
And ever since
I’ve wanted to thank her.
Thank you. Thank you so much.
Sunday, November 9, 2014
Eliza
Words, words, words!
I'm so sick of words
I get words all day through
First from him, now from you
Is that all you blighters can do?
- Show Me "My Fair Lady"
Wording
This blog is dedicated to beautiful words.
Some may seem ugly
Some may seem mean
but they are words,
all the same.
Some may seem ugly
Some may seem mean
but they are words,
all the same.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)