Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
skip to main |
skip to sidebar
Instructor: Mindy Baker mbaker@branford.k12.ct.us
“The role of a writer is not to say what we all can say, but what we are unable to say.”
-Anais Nin
Search This Blog
Followers
Blog Archive
-
▼
2010
(19)
-
▼
January
(14)
- Creative Writing Course Syllabus
- Good Link: Places to Get Published
- Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award
- Post a Secret
- 6 Word Memoirs
- John Irving on Writing Novels
- Steven King on Short Stories
- White House Poetry Jam
- NCTE National Gallery of Writing
- Writer's Workshop
- Brave New Voices- HBO
- Poetry Outloud
- Getting Published...
- Welcome to Creative Writing!
-
▼
January
(14)
I am from where I know nothing of
ReplyDeletebits and pieces were all i had
and now they are gone
I look within, but find nothing
I look for a memory, but find nothing
I find no first kiss, nor first day of school
I find no good and I find no evil
I find no truth and I find no answers
I find nothing
I know nothing of who I am or where I'm from
I am nothing
I am from a need for two,
ReplyDeletefrom hard weights that now fall to me last.
I am from the marsh at the back,
where fire has come and gone.
I am from the evening strike of six
on a month for spring and winter.
From the flying strike of the arrow
from the bow,
I am the fox whose fur may well be mine.
I am from the reading words
that pass my slow time by.
I am from the red stone eyes of the wolf on my finger,
and the protective shield 'round my neck.
I am the appearing story
of which my heart rejoices.
These memories make me who I am, decide who that I has come from.
There is nothing.
For that's all that's come before is who you see,
then and before you now.
Ozone Skies
ReplyDeleteI am from words and stories, told since the womb.
I am from breakfast-for-dinner nights; pancakes and omelets served with a chaser of milk.
I am from reading trashy chick-lit at age ten because I didn’t know any better and thinking The Backstreet Boys was the epitome of musical ingenuity.
I am from a broken home – but let’s not sound trite and unoriginal.
I am from two parents who loved me as best as they could, each in their own way.
I am from nighttime meanders along the beach; moonlight illuminating glinting green shards of sea-glass.
I am from the smell of ozone thick in the air and skies the color of bruises looming over me.
I am from daytrips to out-of-the-way locales and penny-candy stores.
I am from typical teenage angst and pharmaceutical promises.
I am from laughing, crying, reading, writing, seeing, hearing.
I am from memories and dreams, the good and the bad.
I am from words and stories that I now scribble down, hurrying to gather them on paper before they fade away.
~Colin T.
I am from four square
ReplyDeleteSitting on the side lines and being picked last
The rain that seeped in through the ceiling cracks
Gathered in plastic buckets
Chewing on straws until the color faded
Being frowned upon
Staring at full moons
Counting the stars
I am from small parts in school plays and failed attempts
From the pictures on my wall
That came from years past
Sidewalk chalk and the storms that washed it away
Counting sheep to fall asleep
Laying in bed all night awake
I am from my mother's smile and father's mind
The ticking beat of a clock
The hands of time
I am from tiny pink combs and matching blonde synthetic hair, from long bike rides and bare feet.
ReplyDeleteI’m from messy chocolate cheeks and sticky jelly fingers.
I am from “hit me baby one more time” and jump rope at recess.
I am from painted basement walls and carnival toys, from lots of lip gloss and nail polish.
I’m from long practices and tan lines, from “get outta the pool, ya water rat.”
I am from morning, afternoon, and night tears and biting the inside of my lip.
I am from splits and cartwheels, from bubble gum and apple juice.
I’m from Rocco’s Modern Life and Ahh Real Monsters, from The Nightmare Before Christmas and never watching Bambi.
I am from “da bom!” and pen pals.
I am home grown from a family tree with few branches, but many leaves that never fall, they grow stronger.
I don’t remember my birth,
ReplyDeleteBut I remember my sister’s,
The freezing car my dad put me in,
My screaming,
My crying,
Into the empty night,
My inability,
To ever again,
Sit in a cold car alone.
I wanted to name her Diamond,
Like the ghost of the little girl,
Who haunted our attic,
And came down to play,
Luring me after her.
I would wake with the sun,
Just to paint,
The messy watercolors I created,
Unworth keeping.
We wore tutus all the time,
Everywhere we went,
The hugged tight,
Then poofed around us,
Tickling our bare legs.
We mixed potions,
We played house,
All over our backyard,
Our deteriorating garden.
We searched for fairies,
In the woods by our brooks,
We made forts everywhere,
And sat in the darkness.
My skin tanned,
With a salty taste,
From all the summer days,
Spent on the beach,
When the ice cream truck came,
And the chase commenced.
The fights and the shouting,
Speckling my joy,
They came from us all,
And then vanished in the night,
To be replaced by dewy calm.
A melting pot of memories,
Floating,
Waiting to be sifted,
Never to settle into place,
Always scrawling my story,
My happy life,
And its darts of pain.
Adonde...
ReplyDeleteI stem from hours playing in the woods
The vines and trees and jack in the pulpits
The paths worn deep into the forest floor by feet exploring imaginary places
I’m molded out of the ice pop wrappers, countless, strewn around the deck
The chlorine pool water turning my eyes burning red,
The bicycle trips through town, up and down the road, methodically peddling with no real destination
I branch from endless games of tag, hide and seek, and marco polo
Always being the one who searched, the watchful eye of my youth
The hours pent up in my room reading, enjoying the solitude, being alone and happy if only for an hour or two
I started life out with a grin,
I spent my youth with the same philosophy in mind
An ideal childhood for me
It fit perfect to my mindset
Lindsay: I like how the poem corresponds with the last two lines, relating to time and all that. Well done.
ReplyDeleteSteve: Not sure what to say, all except that I like it. It's just got something to it I can't put my finger on.
Where I’m From
ReplyDeleteI am from the smallest room in the house,
The place we’d always play Don’t Wake Daddy.
I am from the cul-de-sac,
where all the bigger kids played street hockey.
I am from the laundry chute;
Where the beanie babies fell like rain,
Then disappeared before they could be retrieved.
I am from the dinosaurs that ran along my walls,
as well as through my mind.
I am from a second house,
Where only one parent lived.
I am from the Elm Street,
Where Freddie never appeared,
Though the graveyard stood across the way.
I am from Good Charlotte, silly putty, and fake light sabers,
Hurt fingers were a daily occasion.
I am from horror movies,
That desensitized my 11-year-old mind.
I am from a another abrupt move,
I didn’t learn about it until it was too late.
I am from a school with no walls, doors, or silence.
That usually gets a few weird looks.
I am from rock bands, and dark clothes,
They were always too big on me.
I am from texting and bad grammar,
Brb, g2g, ttyl.
I am from a high school that Dunkin’ Donuts loves,
Just as long as you can get there.
I am from many moves and many changes,
Many good as well as bad,
But that is why I am who I am.
From the peaceful times
ReplyDeleteTo the hardworking days
The non-stop games
To the nights sometimes alone
Everything has changed
But it’s all still the same
I remember when we were all together
In only one place at a time
You were separated
With me not knowing why
To the different towns
Spent in twice a week
It stayed just like this
‘Till the winter of ‘05
That’s when everything changed
Hardly the same
Two places became one
One having disappeared
And for the longest time
Nothing would matter
A hole in the past
Is now filled up
Competition drove it away
As did you
‘Cause you are my now
So now you see
From the horseback rides
To the long car drives
From the animals hidden
To the pets all around
From the fun holiday tradition
To the calm winter nights
From one team to another
This is the life I’ve spent
Though it’s just beginning
I’m from peanut butter sandwiches, Super Nintendo, and light up shoes. A dog that was always barking, and a family that was always talking.
ReplyDeleteI’m from my father’s police uniform, cars that always broke down, and an unpaved driveway.
I’m from hot chocolate, crazy neighbors, and a street like a highway.
I’m from Pokémon , skateboard wheels, and cassette tapes on the shelves.
I’m from Sundays at Grandma’s, Mondays at school, and Tuesdays at Karate.
I am from French toast, long days at school, and rooms that were always changing.
to XRainingMIstx
ReplyDeleteYour comment makes me nostialgic for my child hood. all in all a great poem.
I really liked the imagery of depicted in the lines:
ReplyDelete"I am from the smell of ozone thick in the air and skies the color of bruises looming over me.
I am from daytrips to out-of-the-way locales and penny-candy stores.
I am from typical teenage angst and pharmaceutical promises."
The description of the sky was especially powerful.
Colin: Your use of language and description fit well and allowed clear imagery
ReplyDeleteSophie: The short phrases made the poem flow and come together nicely and the imagery was very good
I am from Rock em Sock em knock offs, cooler versions with more detail and gnarly moves.
ReplyDeleteFrom the precision passing of foosballers on Saturday night tourneys.
From the next generation of game and “Everything looks so real!” even when it didn’t.
I am from the lanky arm lengths and herky jerky movements of beginners’ baseball.
From staring at the ball while dribbling and always having it stolen.
I am from a dusty Jim Abbott and a rookie Nolan Ryan that I used to keep boxed up in my closet.
From Pikachu and Charizard and “Wanna trade?!”
From watching movies and knowing their entire cast, even the gaffer and key grip.
I am from thinking Blink 182 and Less Than Jake were the only bands that would save music.
From wanting to walk the halls of Britney’s high school in “Hit Me Baby One More Time!”
I am from discriminating against anything but Butterfingers and Reese’s Pieces.
I am from waking up early on Saturday’s to watch Tom chase Jerry, Helga crush on Arnold, and Tommy Pickles get into mischief.
I am from “Lame,” “Like,” “Totally,” and “Gnarly,” which I like never grew out of because, even though people think I’m like a total lame-o, I think it’s like totally gnarly to like, talk like that.
I am from dreaming of hitting home runs and hitting on movie stars, and the realization of hitting the books.
I am from a pop culture generation.
I am from the Nineties.
Sophie: I like the melancholy at the beginning of your poem, the sense of loss and abandonment inherent in the language you use. I also enjoy the segue to the happiness and play of childhood. A very well-written poem.
ReplyDeleteLindsay: I like the brevity of your poem - it is succinct and just enough to satisfy the reader and keep them wanting more. I also like the descriptions you used; they paint very vivid mental pictures.
Sean: You're poem is very descriptive.
ReplyDeleteCamron: I like how the last line ties everything together.
I am from the backyard dirt,
ReplyDeleteBug collecting, screaming, yelling, cuts, and bruises.
I am from tick tack toe,
Tickle fights, hopscotch, “I know you are but what am I?”
I am from watermelon,
Bumblebees, sticky hands, balloons, and cartwheels.
I am from salty seas,
Bare feet, sandy hair, sunburn, and ice cream.
I am from bark underneath my feet,
Sappy hands, climbing, slipping, leafy branches.
I am from sunset streets,
Skid marks, training wheels, helmets, and kneepads.
I am from glow in the dark,
Lightning bugs, marshmallows, and hide and seek.
I am from mud pies and make believe.
I am from the backyard dirt.
noremac: i like your use of specific examples it helps me relate better with your poem.
ReplyDeletesteve: i like your poem a lot its very dark.
[xRainingMistx]
ReplyDelete@noremac - Totally gnarly. I really like the progression of nostalgia.
@Natalie - I find the repeating of the begining as the end very interesting and meangingful to the rest of the poem.
to normac
ReplyDeleteyour poem is truly an accurate depiction of the ninties, a time where i experianced all the things you talked about.
Colin - I really liked the feeling of your poem. I understand where you are coming from and it brings me back to those days of breakfast-for-dinner nights, and the feeling of both parents showing their own version of love and affection.
ReplyDeleteRyan - I felt like I was ten years old again reading your poem. It was a lot of fun reliving what was basically my childhood in a nutshell. It was very nostalgic and it seemed to pick all the right words to describe a childhood.
Colin- Your poem was real and w/o fluff... that's something that just seems to work well
ReplyDeleteNatalie- Your poem was light and meaningful at the same time... very enjoyable :)
I’m from lazy afternoons watching T.V.
ReplyDeleteFlipping through the channels to find my new favorite show
I’m from painfully boring school days
With teachers who’s droning was better than any sleep medicine
I’m from my locker
That never seemed to want the same combination
I’m from a time when “your mom” would echo through school halls
As it was the best insult and comeback
I’m from arguing about favorite baseball teams
Because, of course, mine was always best
I’m from putting my head down and swinging as hard as I could
Somehow managing to hit the ball
I’m from sitting in the back of the bus
And feeling cooler than the ones in front
I’m from thinking about what the future holds
From hoping it would bring not money or fame
But happiness
@sophie - i like how you used descriptive words in your poem to create an image, like "taste" and "tickled"
ReplyDelete@lindsay - i could really relate to your poem. I especially liked the line about the straw. Good imagery.
@noremac – I really like how you use humor to back up “lame” and the other 3 words.
Ryan: I liked the flow of your poem
ReplyDeleteColin: I liked your use of vocabulary
I do not know where I am from
ReplyDeleteAm I from the tolkenesque fantasies
that plague my mind at night
,never ceasing and never letting me dream?
Or am I the ageing of a childhood dream
Being born
Wither
And then die?
Still I do not know
Am I a seed, unwilling to sprout into a
humble servant,
a precious fantasy
long forgotten?
Or am I just here, the product
of an unholy crescendo
of fire and flesh?
I still wish I knew
Words.
Experiences.
Hopes
Dreams
Do I do for naught but a lie?
If I don’t know my past, does it not exist?
Nay I say
I may not know where I am from
But I know where I am
I do not need to know where I am from
to know how I got here
To say simply, no thought biased or skew
I am from the love of a mother
left at the corner
lost almost forever
I am from the books I have read
giving me a blessed
light in a dark ocean
I am from love, lost in the darkness
rekindled with earnest
so long ago
To say short, no more fitting razor apparent
I am from the past, its tragedies
the present, its discoveries
the future, its anticipation
And of life, it’s never ending sphere of
Amazement hope and wonder
So…
I think
I hope
I realize that
I am aware of where I am from.
Me.
This comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDelete'Blankie'
ReplyDeleteWhen I was born my mother gave me a blankie and I slept with it.
It was white like clouds and had three animal characters on it.
When I was three I dislocated my left elbow and my dad scooped me up in that blankie and brought me to the hospital.
It was comforting and reminded me of home.
When I was six I got really sick and cuddled that blankie all day.
It smelled like soap because I used to wrap myself with it after baths.
When I was seven my teacher called me a cry baby and I cried into that blankie.
It soaked up ever tear and I wasn’t a cry baby anymore.
When I was eight and my dad got really mad at me for not finishing my homework I held that blankie.
It made the welts from his belt stop throbbing.
When I was ten and I learned about ‘My Changing Body’ I went home and buried my face into that blankie.
It made me feel like things weren’t moving so fast and nothing would change.
When I was twelve I got my first period and I put that blankie up in my closet.
It was too childish and I was a woman now.
When I was fourteen my mom had her first heart attack and I grabbed that blankie out of my closet.
It still smelled like soap and reminded me of times when everything was alright.
When I was sixteen, while everyone was having sweet sixteen parties, I sat home with that blankie.
It reminded me of times when we didn’t pay medical bills and we had the money to have parties.
When I was seventeen I transferred to a new high school for senior year, leaving all my friends and memories behind.
My blankie didn’t make things better, it reminded me of my old house, my old friends, how things used to be.
I still sleep with my blankie every night.
It’s the only constant I have anymore.