Blog 20

14. Alphabet Poem

And beggars come daring
Erasing fearful genocidal heretics
Indifferently justifying kicking loiterers
Maliciously, narcissistically obstructing peace

Quenching relentlessly sustained tyranny
Unanimously verifying warmongering existentially
Yeomen zoophile'd.





Zealots yearning xenagogue's wayward
Ventripotent ultimately, tired & sleepy
Releasing quietly & peacefully over napping
Mainly lamenting kakistocratic jerks

I hate guessing favor
Even dead caveat beguiled
Aristocrats.

Prose Poem

Fields of rolling hills, countless kernels of grain flow like the
scripts of an ancient hieroglyph. The strong breath of the bitter
wind attack the crops, as they recoil in defense; successive like
a game of dominoes.
I look upon these fields with great envy, for they flow so naturally
with nature, as they morph together and become one unified force.
I am lesser than them, although they would not tell you so; I long
to let go and be one with nature.
The farmer cultivates them, but he need not worry; for the force
of nature is far greater than that of any standing army.

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.

Sonnet

It is dark and the sun has left the sky
The moon is but a small crescent
Far off in the distance, and far from my eye
It offers my room not luminescent

My eyes gain weigh each and every second
And my mind drifts into the abyss
Sleep calls to my mind and beckons
As my dreams drift off into deep bliss

I am quickly woken from my slumber
By a loud noise off in the distance
I open my phone and read the numbers
The time reads 3:05, sleep comes with resistance

Another night like this, I know it all too well
I can't seem to escape insomnia's grip
Sometimes I feel like I'm living in hell
A cold and lonely trip