Missing Pieces

 Author's Note: This is a poem I wrote about my mom being gone for almost 2 months now. I started working on it yesterday, which was kind of a downer day, so I wanted to write something sad. The form of this poem is kind of new for me, but I hope you enjoy it! P.S, check out my piece below this one, I'm trying out a new format, so see if you like it!

Texts, Calls

Words on screens

No footsteps of yours

Ringtones.

No, We

Half empty bed

No shoes in the hall

Space.

Sad, Sighs

Gathering dust

No car in the front

Shadows.

Wait, Wait

Hundreds of clocks

No releif to be found

Help.

Here

 Author's Note: This is a piece I found while looking through my past journal entries. Of course, I have revised it quite a bit, by changing a lot of the lines, and switching it from a robert frost like layout to a kind of funnel layout. I wanted to use that because the theme of this piece is very mysterious, and kind of depressing, so I wanted the reader to get kind of excited and into it by reading less and less every line. Anyway, I hope you enjoy! 

The heat captures me in it's sticky grasp

The back of my arms, legs, neck, burn from the black gravel

My eyes stare at the stretch of blue sky, and white clouds as it blurs together

The ground beneath me vibrates a small, pulsing  rhythm, over, and over

Thousands of ripples, growing larger until I can hear a distant engine

Its big, I can feel how the massive weight of it shakes the ground

Appearing in the distance, I do not need to look, for I know

Its speed maintains, a bull charging toward a rep cape

But I'm no red cape, I'm gray, barely noticable

The fumes fill my nose, numb my body

Its giant shadow sweeps over me

I do not flinch, I wait

And after it's over

I stay the same

Here

The Truman Show: Response 1 and 2

All His World's A Stage

Author's Note: This is the first response I did to The Truman Show. I wanted to write a poem, because I was only halfway through the movie and didn't know the outcome yet. I incorporated "All the world's a stage" by Shakespeare, because in the movie, all Truman's world is a stage. I hope you enjoy it!

All his world's a stage

And all the men and women merely watch;

Merely tune in-- with dead eyes and dead minds

Watching one live his life, pausing their own

All his world's a lie

And all the men and women go along;

Along with the plan-- to keep his cage locked

To keep what is fake, the thing that's most real

All his world is crumbling

And all the men and women await;

Await his next move-- and what happens next

Something will change, a pattern will break

**

At Sea

Author's Note: This is the second response I did for the movie, The Truman Show. I decided to write a fictional piece with the same theme. I used some of the main symbols in the movie, like the ocean, and the viewers of his television show. This piece is kind of a diary-style story, and I tried to the best of my ability to write a paralell piece. I hope you enjoy!

I've always been afraid of the ocean. It's massive, and unforgiving. Ironically, it's also where I've lived ever since I can remember. I don't know why I haven't left, maybe it's because this ship sails in circles, or because my soul is the thing that's lost, but for whatever reason, I sit here now, rocking back and forth on the black waves.

Every day is the same. I wake up, steer the boat, avoid staring at the abyss below, go to bed, and start all over again. The thing is, though the ocean is vast, and just waiting to be explored, my boat goes no where.I always see repeating landmarks in the space around me. Those little things that stand out as you pass them. I've even started to count how many times I see them, and the numbers are giant.

This morning, something was different. I woke up feeling quesy, which was something that rarely happened. I stumbled out of my bed and outside, into the salty sea air. I clenched my fists around the metal railing before dropping my head down towards the sea. I never got as far as to empty my stomach, because staring back at me from the water below was a face. A scream erupted from my chest, knocking the sick feeling right out of me. The more I stared into the ocean, the more faces I saw. They were all strangers, nobody I recognized. Their  faces were blank, and their eyes looked right through me. A shutter shook my body, and I dropped back into the boat.

Am I going crazy? My mind spins, and I realize that going insane could be a legitimate possibility. The thing that scares me the most is that I have no one to tell me it's okay. No one to look into the ocean and tell me that there's nothing there, nothing to ease my pain. I lay there, on the boat floor, and stare into the sky, watching it slowly fade into darkness.

Every day it gets worse. The faces become more and more clear, they close in on me, and my sanity slips slowly away. I fear for what will become of me, for I am stuck on this boat, with no hope of leaving. I've even given up driving it, because that means I'd have to stare into the open water, into the thousands of faces that fill it. So my boat sits in the middle of the ocean, and I sit in it, letting the minutes tick by, one by one.

I can't even sleep anymore. Every time I close my eyes I see those pale faces, and peircing eyes, and my eyes burst open again, terrified of what I see. I'm almost positive my mind isnt right, I'm starting to hear voices, and whether it is because of the lack of sleep, or something else, I have to leave.

For the first time since I saw the faces, I go outside to the front of the boat. It seems to be closing in on me, too small for even one person to stand on. The wind whips my hair, but sweat beads on my forehead, and the world starts spinning around me. I can't take it anymore, I'm tired of being afraid of everything around me, tired of being caged in, not being able to live my life.

I don't know why I did what I did after that, maybe it was because of the strong things I was thinking, or because I had gone insane, but whatever the reason, I jumped. I dived off the front of the ship, into the cold, dark ocean. I kept my eyes wide open the whole time, staring back at the faces that had ruled me for however long it was. The cold enveloped me, and I felt arms pulling me every which way. I smiled, and let them.

Emily Dickinson Poem

If you are looking for my poem that emulates "I heard a Fly buzz--when I died" by Emily Dickinson, please go to my Emily Dickinson sub-page and leave a comment. Thanks!

Trapped

Author's Note: This is a poem I wrote to get something new on my blog, since Mr. Johnson was nagging us about it for a couple days. I got the inspiration for this piece from writers block, and had been wanting to write something about it for a while now, so it felt good to get it out. I haven't done something of this format ever, so that is a little experimental, and I ended very abruptly, which felt weird at first, but it really works well with this poem. Enjoy!

A wall.

Your cage--

You try to lock me in.

My breath--

It fades.

Too close to my own skin.

I see no light--

My world is gone.

Your tricks have been well played.

You blur the lines--

Of right and wrong

The edges become frayed.

One more time--

I try to shout.

To get me out of here.

The walls--

They shake, crumble and fall

The outside world is clear.

Claustraphobic

Author's Note: This is a piece I did based on a painting I saw at the Milwaukee Art Museum. For some reason, this painting gave me a lot to write about, so I chose it. At first I wanted to make it a poem, but it didn't feel right, so it's just kind of a journal entry-ish free form piece. I hope you enjoy it! Also, there is a picture of the painting below the piece.

My fingers wrap around the cold steel bars, one by one.

I've lost all of the reasons to grab onto that metal monster--

It encases

traps

suffocates.

           I've lost all reason, but one.

I don’t hold on to beg for forgiveness, or to try to break out, I hold on to feel something. The smooth cold nature does not forgive, does not accept, it bites back; it shocks me enough to make me feel again, feel what I've done, what this place has done to me. It is my own kind of drug, the simple feeling of something like that is enough to get me by.

Too soon though, the bars become one with my hands, intertwined so much that it makes me sick. I damage everything around me, like a parasite growing stronger by the minute, but instead...

 I grow weaker.

I reach through, grabbing for the light I see in the distance, the light that started out so bright, but now fades every time I glance back. I don't usually dare too look, for fear that it might fade completely, and that is the only thing I have left, but I am too far gone to care, for nothing can get worse, so I give in, grab for it with all my might, preparing for what happens next.

I keep reaching, only to have it fade faster than I could have ever imagined, dark purple the color of the fading sunset, into green as dark as the blacks of my eyes. They are the most beautiful colors in the rainbow, turning foul as they match the color of the dirty space around me, turning into memory as the light disappears forever.

I was wrong, I was not too far gone, I was at a crossroads, and I took the wrong route.

I am worse than too far gone now, I am forever erased in the minds of all who knew me, all who cared. I stumble back, and slide down the wall in a dark corner of my cell, prepared to spend the rest of my days here--

No.

Prepared to leave my body now, and have the empty shell that was once me remain, to gather dust, to rot for eternity, for no one will fine me.

No one wants to.

The Lunch Table

 Author's Note: I decided this piece was going to be controversial, because I wanted the comments on this post to be meaningful for both me and the person commenting. This piece is about the cliques in our school, and my goal was not to be disrespectful to anyone, but to still have an opinion on the topic at hand. I hope you enjoy it, and PLEASE comment! Don't be afraid to dissagree, or agree. Thanks!

Every school is rich in one thing or another, whether it is the arts, education, or something entirely unique. I have lived in three places so far in my life, and Pewaukee wins the sport award. Most everyone at school plays at least one sport, but most participate in multiple. Basketball, football, soccer, track, they're all on the daily agenda. Ask a few people what they did over the weekend, and at least one answer will be playing in a tournament, or  having something funny happen at a soccer game. All of these activities bring people together, and form tons of amazing friendships.
 

Unfortunately, sports are also just as able to keep friendships from forming.  In middle school, cliques are all you can expect, and in a stereotypical school, there would be the jocks, the nerds, and the cheerleaders. Here, it is simply the ones who play sports, and the ones who don't. Everybody knows, whether they want to admit it or not, that all the people who play one of the many activities get a spot at the lunch table, and all the friends they could need. It isn't because the kids that don't do recreational activities are weird, or uncool, but the worlds of the two cliques are totally different. Only a few people, like me, manage to fit in between both worlds, and that gives us a whole different outlook on the school.

The Pewaukee school district has all of their schools on one street, which means everyone grows up together, from kindergarten to senior year. This is both a blessing and a curse, because there is no pressure to meet new people, but by now, nothing is ever going to change with the way the cliques are. Even if one sport just disappeared, the cliques would not change, or intertwine, the sports group would only become closer, sympathizing with the ones who lost their favorite hobby. It is my hope that in the high school years we have to come, that something will change, something will shift the balance of this school, but for now, everything stays the same, and that is all that can be expected in a middle school world.

Ocean of Gold

Author's Note: This poem was originally a stream of consciousness, and started out with the word Field. I immediately thought of a sports field, and made a face. I tried to think of some other kind of field I would enjoy writing about, and imagined a wide open field, filled with tall grass, like in one of those super-dramatic perfume commercials. I wanted to give it a really personal feel, and I hope I accomplished that. Enjoy!

Whoosh-

The wind blows across the tall grass

Tickling my face

                      My ears

                              My fingertips;

My world has become an ocean of gold,

With the blue sky above.

I walk through the path

             My path

Thinking about nothing in particular

Because the sweet smell of earth fills my senses.

I brush my palms across the grass,

And it feels like I'm somewhere far from here.

I look back,

Seeing only light footprints of where I have stepped,

Looking forward-to where I will go

It is comforting, knowing I am not taking anything from here,

for this place is complete.
 

A green space opens up in front of me,

begging me to run through it

And down the hill like only a child knows how.

I give in,

and soon, my feet are taking me

faster

         faster,

until I fly down,

the wind rushing past me,

and a smile on my face.

when I finally find the will to stop,

                  I fall

and stare at the sky above,

   The endless sky-

which seems so full of possibilities, stares back,

until it seems to swallow me whole,

to a place only to be described as heaven.

No More

Author's Note:  This poem is a more dramatic-well like crazy dramatic- version of what I feel about my sister being in college. I do miss her when she is away, and I love the moments when we can just talk and laugh again when she is home and forget about how she is almost a senior in college. I hope you enjoy it!

Peace fills my mind
Bubbling, leaking in the cracks
Tossing away the despair,
The Longing
The Regret
Seems so easy

Your absence was forgotten
Now that your absence is no more

Back into our lives
In our sight-
Not in our cell phones
We go to sleep knowing
Tomorrow you are there

Your absence seems impossible
Now that your absence is no more

The day all of us fear
Cannot disappear
So it comes, as we knew it would
The footsteps you take
As you exit the room
Are the last we will see
For what seems like eternity

Your absence is remembered
Now that your presence is no more

Tinman

Author's Note: This piece is based upon an independant book i just finished, titled Dirty Little Lies. The character I am writing in is a girl who thought she was being stalked by a boy named Ben. She was run over by a car and believes he did it, although it was not proven. She has gone a little crazy and started stalking his girfriend, desperate to get back at him, that is why this piece is a little creepy. I do not know what form this is in, it is fiction, but I changed up the regular paragrah form to make it more dramatic. I hope you enjoy anyway!

Ben.

There he is, sitting on the bench. Is he looking at me?

No.

         No.

                  No.

don’t look back, back at his greedy eyes that stare into mine, the ones that freeze every bone in my body. I know it was him, driving the car that night, the night I slipped into a coma for three months,

all because of him.

His insane need to run me over, and how he succeeded. It was him, I know it. That silly girl doesn’t know what she is doing with him, so what if he was with her, that’s not an alibi, he had plenty of time to get in his aunt’s car and plow me down. I know he was following me,

I could feel it.

Some people think I’m insane, other’s think I’m right. Who else am I to blame for my grandfather’s death? All because my accident was too much for him to handle.

He will regret what he did.

Once I take something away from him, just like he did to me. My pride, my comfort,

Gone.

Now it’s his turn, to feel his heart beating through a bullet-proof vest. To put him away forever, so everyone is safe, so I am safe. I’ll take it, and never give it back,

His heart.

Degrees

Author's Note: This picture has two poems included in it, titled "Summer" and "Winter". These poems are based off of my independant book, Shiver, I just finished. It is in the veiw of one of the two main characters, Grace. They are both written for her love, Sam. Temperature is a key thing in this novel, so I wanted to write how she was feeling in both the winter and summer after she met him. Both poems are different styles, so if you don't take your time reading them they might seem confusing. The message really sinks in if you take your time reading it, I hope you enjoy!

Authors note: This diary entry is by a character named Izzy, in my groups book, My Sister's Keeper, she is a character that we do not know but about so I wanted to show what she was feeling after losing her love and moving in with her twin sister. This is an entry in a diary so it was hard for me to find a format to put this in other than this.




Diary Entry 1:


Oh my, where do I begin? I could write about Janet, but I do not feel like wasting paper because my tears have blurred the ink. Julia has graciously let me stay with her, maybe I should not say graciously, because it seems I have done all her housework, something that someone would do in a month and I’ve done it in about two hours. I feel sorry for her though, living all alone like this, taking care of heartbroken and confused children, how can she be happy? Oh but she is, she has never needed anyone to tell her what to do with her life, and I admire her for that. Who knows how long I will be here, how long my heart will ache for the loss of her. My job almost seems silly sometimes, making jewelry? I am not a 7 year old anymore, though it feels like it sometimes, the joy of life giving me a high I hold on to until it fades. Oh, if only I could teach this to my sister, she needs someone in her life to make her feel this way. I guess this is the next chore on my list.


Izzy

In the Mind of a Dead Girl

Authors Note: This is based upon an independant book I read called The Secret Year. This character is Julia Vernon, a senior in high school who dies pretty early in the book, she is actually dead when the book starts. There is not a lot of great detail of how she died, so I wanted to make up her thoughts in the few minutes before she passed away. The order of the sentences in this picture is a little confusing, but I wanted that to show how her mind was working at the time, being intoxicated. I will add a link if you want more information on this book. Oh, and to see the full image just click and it will appear in a new screen, and theres TWO!

http://www.amazon.com/Secret-Year-Jennifer-Hubbard/dp/0670011533

The Taylor Tree

Check out my project for our group novel, The Bean Trees, on my essay blog, you can find the link at the top of this blog, thanks!

The Road

Author's Note: This is my first poem that I have changed from a paragraph to a sophisticated layout, it makes the whole feel of it sound more mature and makes my voice comes out stronger


The storm sets in -
in the distance,
the light, present as much as
a flickering candle,
burns out as we look behind us
from the backseat.

Dry, barren land welcome us ahead,
goes as far as the eye can see,
without threatening to stop.

The road is the only thing that keeps us on course,
the bumpy, black, warm asphalt streches on and on,
battling the land as it twists and turns.

Bumps and cracks are just proof of its battle,
but it wears on, providing more than just
a segway of ideas,
emotions,
thoughts.

For it brings people together,

something the barren land around it
fails to accomplish.

Home Alone

Author's Note: When this happened, I was alone, so even telling two people wasn't enough, I had to share it with everyone, because it was so scary, and funny




"UGH I'm hungry!" I thought as I sat on the couch with my phone in my hand. I had already scoped out my fridge and pantry, and found nothing that caught my eye. For some reason I kept looking, maybe I was hoping that something would appear that hadn't before. Nope. Wait, I found some grahm crackers, and chocolate. Then I was suddenly set on making smores, which didn't make sense because I had no marshmallows anyway. I took a chocolate, unwrapped it, and placed it in the microwave. I left the wrapper on, with the chocolate on top of it, because I was too lazy to get a bowl. I set the microwave for 30 seconds, hoping it would get soft but not melt. As I stood by the microwave, i remembered that it wasn't good to put aluminun in the microwave, and on cue, there was a boom.
I jumped -well obviously- and pressed open the microwave. The aluminun had lit fire, and blue and red flames licked the top of the microwave, leaving little black marks. I hit cancel and the flames receeded, leaving a big black mark on the microwave plate. I sighed, and stared at that little piece of chocolate. Then I started laughing, because I realized how funny it was. And why is lighting a microwave on fire funny? It just is :)

The End of the Sidewalk

 Author's Note: In Ohio, at the end of my street was a place like this, and i always thought it was magical for the sidewalk to stop for it. :)


The last few steps are taken slowly, and my feet scrape the edge of the sidewalk, the end of this clear marked path. The scene beyond does not frighten me, for it is filled with life, tall trees,flowers, a beckoning forest. The buzz of insects flying around creates excitement, turning off their annoying habits to fit in with the peace that flows through here. Animals make themselves present, and run around in this playground, happy, calm. The sidewalk did not dare to disturb this safe haven, stopping right in its tracks to marvel at the magic.

Revised version of "Untitled"

Author's Note: This poem is not just about one person, but about a dancer in general, the way they move, and how they are joined together in a family.

Thanksgiving stream of consiousness

Author's Note: It is the holidays, so there is an obvious reason to write this, but also one memory stuck in my head of thanksgiving, so I kind of expanded that into a piece.


The sounds of laughter fill the house and threaten to leak into the outside world,which seems so far away, because here, in this house, it is the definition of family. We sit around the big table and pass the food, like an assembly line. Our mouths salivate from the plates covering the table,as it threatens to creak with all the heaviness of food, happiness, and memories. Cell phones, T.Vs, and computers seem like foreign objects to us, and they are tucked away into our minds for a time other then this.
My bed feels like the greatest invention known to man when i finally fall into it, and feelings of joy help to blanket me and keep me warm, to wash away the feelings of sadness to know that this day is almost over, this day that felt like a year, if only it were longer....

"Blue Moon" by Rachelle Mead

Author's Note: This poem is based off of a short story "Blue Moon", and this layout mimics the short story because of the edginess and the confusion that is happening.

There's no where to run,
But hope comes in strange forms,
So she drives, drives away
Scared.
Betrayals come often,
Impossible to predict
So they take, take her away,
Or they try.
There is blood, death, and failure
For which she escapes,
And finds, finds her true potential
Completion.