Blog 18

Lying in my soft, warm bed
Second door on the left
Isolated from the and tucked away
Her head rests upon my chest
It is my best friend in the world
And at times my biggest foe
I feed her in the morning
And also again at night
I play with her during the day
As wrestle turns into fight
Sometimes I become angry
But never do I regret
For I know she will never leave my side
Or love me any less
She counts on me for food and such
But I count on her for so much more
An unrecognized level of mutual respect
Her fur is white, he ears our brown
And her long tail steady beats
Her paws are soft, but her nails are worn
From running through the street
I wouldn't trade her for a crown
Or even a million dollars
I look forward to healthy years with Lilly.

Does Poetry Matter?

I think that Dana Gioia makes a pretty logical and accurate case for the roll of poetry in modern society.  While I believe poetry has become more prevalent, in the form that it's become a huge part of social media, I think a lot of the originality has been destroyed. Because of this, poetry has less influence than it used to, despite it's frequency. For example, I had seen two or three of the films that we watched clips of in class, but I never realized a poem (generally a famous one) was being read. If I would have watched the movie the day before class it wouldn't have resonated with me, and if I watch it in a year I anticipate the same will happen. Poetry simply does not resonate with me. I took this same literature class in high school, but neglected to take it for credit. Through two years of the course, there's only one problem that I can recite, or could even name if I saw it on paper. The only reason I can recite that play (Nothing Gold Can Stay) is because my teach made us memorize it for credit. I can recognize that I probably hear poetry, or references to it, on a weekly basis; when I hear these things, however, I fail to recognize them.

Iambic Monologue

Roomate: Are you going to make dinner?
Me: I thought you were going to make that pizza tonight.
Roomate: Nah, decided not to.
Me: Oh ok, too hard?
Roomate: Ha ha. No. Just don't want to get fat.
Me: It happens to all of us one day.
Roomate: Yeah, but I'd rather wait till 60 to be nasty.
Me: Isn't that a sad fact of life? We'll all get fat and nasty one day.
Roomate: Yeah. Pretty sad. Let's not talk about that.
Me: Okay.
Roomate: What movie should we watch.
Me: Something about old people getting fat and nasty.
Roomate: That's really specific.
Me: Ask and you shall receive.

This does come off as a sort of iambic pentameter to me. Because we use simple words to communicate socially as human beings, often times we follow the iambic pattern. If I was talking about what I needed to know for my coming political science test, the conversation would not have followed the same pattern.

The Big White Comfy Bed

Swallow me in your perfectly inviting warmth.
Please don't let me go.