#poetry study

[studymotion]

02/12/2017 // day 56 of 100 days of productivity Today’s been quite a whirlwind but I’ve been in a really good mood so it’s all good 😁 in the library writing up some Walt Whitman notes! I finished an essay plan for my summative assessment this morning and put together a presentation on Henry Longfellow Listening to unsteady by x ambassadors

[racheljjones]

indie response about poetry 1

Poetry is a huge part of how I express myself. I am a semi-impulsive speaker, so because poetry adds the other dimension, or layer of writing on paper, it makes me think extensively about what I am trying to say.

The way poems look are equally important to me as the way they make me think. When a poem can express two meanings, one with comprehension and one with the way the words are arranged or broken up is so important. This is why I have major respect for poets such as ee Cummings, or someone like my mentor poet, Madisen Kuhn. I want to get better at having my poems display two meanings at once, in a way that doesn't disrupt the other. 

And another thing, I don’t know why this is, but I have such a hard time when poems don’t rhyme? Hopefully I can break that habit.

To conclude, here is a poem I have written about my dad:

“for dad”

The sun comes streaming in, it is a glance inside the state he’s in.

Step right up, a one man show, he’ll can your can’t’s and yes your no’s, and hell, and how? I’ll never know.

I watch his glasses dent his face, I watch his never ending chase, the little girl, I watched his show, And glance inside his office’s glow. 

The clock would tick, he held his head, for the little girl, it was time for bed.

Now, at the day’s end, no one cheers. Not even after fifty years. His hair is either gone or grey and thinning more than yesterday. He wrings his hands, calls up to me- but I am never there to see the struggle superman will face. 

The days are quicker in their pace,

He’s trying to do the best he can, but I fail to see, he’s only a man.

[grace-in-flux]

There are times and places for people.

Angelface is exactly that: an angel face. He's incredibly intelligent, is musical, and best perk of all, damned attractive. He looked good on paper, and even better in the morning with his body sprawled and his fingers woven loosely in my hair. He's a paper cutout boyfriend: you can snip his existence into little paper chains of ambiguous men holding hands Red Rover style. Paper is two dimensional, and he held true to his substance. Intelligence and ambition mean nothing if that pretty face can't articulate a sentence in the presence of a pretty girl. 

We went through the motions of a few dates, sharing dinner and coffee at hipster joints around town. We went through the motions of intimacy, concluding with rolling around in the Florida sand near midnight on our last senior year fling. As soon as he went back to his condo, I knew that was it for us, romantically and otherwise. We could have been friends, but the problem was not his lack of extra dimensions. The problem is my refusal to understand mine.

I am not ready to be honest with anyone else, because I fail on a daily basis to be honest with myself. I cannot share my emotions or body with someone; I refuse to acknowledge the beauty in either. I am in flux. Who can understand a person who acts as a mirror? Mirrors show us only what everyone else sees. They reflect without depth.

Angelface will always be the one that got away, not because of some cosmic force or other bullshit, but because of my own remarkable failure to be unselfish. I look back now, when I'm sitting comfortably in a house in the woods and listening to the soft pulls of my dog's breath, and hindsight is greater than 20/20. Angelface and I fit, complementing each other's strengths and correcting each other's faults. We ebb and flow, but the moon pulls my tides out, out of time. I can imagine this in a future that won't ever exist, because imagination is easy. Reality is not.

Just my small rumination on how I should get to know myself better so I can stop fucking up relationships.

*I am at a loss to think of a man's name that does not hold some meaning for me, no matter how small.

[spacegayboy]

Does anyone on here happen to go to the same school as me.... Farnham Heath End? And if so are you in year ten? Then How about if you are in my English class? We are studying Seamus Heaney and I can't remember the question I'm meant to be answering... thank you! Please help... I can't remember.... why the hell do I have to study this?