This is an ekphrastic poem, a poem based on an image.

( passersby )

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This was the nonfiction assignment for Creative Writing, and it was painful to write, for multiple reasons. At the end of the day I like it because it tells the story a moment I would like to never forget, and at the same time I think parts of it are too mundane to be entertaining...but, that's how life goes.

For Glatfelter reference...see icon.

( castle in the sky )

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This is lame, but playfully so. The assignment was to write a dialogue with a subtext. The subtext in this is pretty obvious, but I think it comes out in a fun way that justifies that fact that the story is ridiculous, and more so if you know me well enough to know what all went on this past semester, while I was taking this class.

( nose and knees )

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This was an assignment that directed us to write a poem with a metaphor, then transition into a memory, and then back to the original narrative of the poem. The memory was supposed to be related to the topic of the frame, but not directly so. It was a weird assignment and kind of challenging, and this is not my favorite thing ever, but there were good things about it.

( confection )

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Tonight, I bring you a parade of things written for Creative Writing this past semester. First is a short story that began as an exercise in character development.

( confinement )

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Spring

On this, a chilly April day
The wind wreaks havoc on my hair
Oh that the month would turn to May
So that the sky would turn to fair
And with green leaves and flowers blooming
Sounds of spring would fill the air.

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In my quest to discover why I am so enamoured with Glatfelter Hall (see icon) I have discovered something interesting. A lot of the poems that I write feature bells and clocks, ticking, chiming, and ringing. I've compiled the lines to prove my point, even though most of these are not of public-sharing caliber. Still, it's interesting to see how a theme so subconsciously pervaded a lot of my writing for the past few years.

( bells )

So I think it's kind of weird. Though Edgar Allan Poe totally wins at bell poems with The Bells.

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I miss someone very much right now.

On the day we left for Christmas break, he said to me: "The sooner we say goodbye, the sooner hello will come again."

We also have a habit of being very picturesque.

Hence, ( goodbye by the water )

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Sestina: (n) a lyrical fixed form consisting of six six-line usually unrhymed stanzas, in which the end words of the first stanza are repeated as the end words of the following five stanzas in a successively rotating order, and as the middle and end words of the three verses of the concluding tercet called an envoy.

In other words, a 39-line poem with no rhymes and crazy word repetition rules.

( good fortune )

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I leave for Gettysburg tomorrow. So the cloud of sad goodbyes has taken up residence above my head, and I wrote this. I have a melody in my head for this one, so if it sounds off-kilter it's because of the rhythm in the music.

( let's stay one more minute )

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Ephemeron (n.) (pl. ephemera) 1. something transitory 2. an insect that lives only for a day in its winged form

This is a tribute to life going on, the end of the summer, the beginning of new things. It borders on cheesy and is not the best thing I've ever come up with, but in places I think it expresses the right things. I broke it into five parts because it didn't flow as a whole, read it as one poem, but each piece can stand alone.

( ephemera )

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This poem wins at everything. It was written to describe a picture in my head, of a charming little town on a rainy day.


Promenade

Lonely walks down city blocks
With time and an umbrella
Muddy puddles, busy gutters
Wandering Cinderella
Pitter-patter, pigeons scatter
Children run and mothers chatter
Passing time with laundry lines
And weary games to play.

Ticking clocks in antique shops
And tired coffeehouses
Well-tread routes and high-heeled boots
And faded yellow blouses
Cobbled stone, walking home
Swept away in monochrome
Drifting in a raincloud town
Awash in shades of gray.

Coffee-stirring, engines whirring
The tower chimes high noon
Jangling keys and chilling breeze
A melancholy tune
Clicking heels, spinning wheels
Pictures blink like movie reels
Standing in the still frame
Of a rainy city day.


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Ameagari is Japanese for 'after the rain.' I wrote this after a big storm in an attempt to describe the scene outside my window. It ended up being about 70% adjectives, but it does the picture justice.

( ameagari )

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There's a street up the road from where I live called Belle Alto Road, and I always thought it was such a pretty street name for it being such an ugly street, by this muddy field that's always full of dead corn stalks. So I wrote a poem about a prettier road.


Belle Alto

Let's amble down Bell Alto Lane
And I will be your alto belle
Let's make a wish on summer rain
This road will be our wishing well.
As raindrops fall and thunders roll
We kick our heels in water high
And take a sleepy summer stroll
Beneath a stormy summer sky.


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