It's thoughts are pure
always clear with the
prospect of a new day
If asked a question,
it's mind floods with
answers
that immerses you
with a sense of
neverending
creativity and
happiness
My best friend's brain
may not always seep
the smartest responses
but it is enough
to sprinkle the slightest bit of
optimism
on any ordinary person's
adventures from dawn
to dark
/ This is a piece we were told to write, about our best friend's brain using metaphors of the word, 'water'. This was my best attempt, and very challenging to write. Perhaps next time it will go more smoothly.
Thursday, 8 March 2012
Thursday, 2 February 2012
Witty Love
Romantic comedies are for the desperate,
people of the Earth who
live each day with wide eyes
hoping, wishing
for that one perfect person
to brighten a gloomy day.
I for one,
wish I could say,
that I do not enjoy
romantic comedies.
/ This is a love themed poem, we were required to write love poems in honour of Valentine's Day fast approaching. I'm not really sure about this piece, love is a hard topic to handle, in my opinion.
people of the Earth who
live each day with wide eyes
hoping, wishing
for that one perfect person
to brighten a gloomy day.
I for one,
wish I could say,
that I do not enjoy
romantic comedies.
/ This is a love themed poem, we were required to write love poems in honour of Valentine's Day fast approaching. I'm not really sure about this piece, love is a hard topic to handle, in my opinion.
Lighter
The bright flame flickers,
engulfing the black night
in a fluorescent light,
similar to a thin veil of candy corn coloured dust.
It hovers over the aging wood.
Sparks dance,
ashes fly.
The air is musky,
thick with the scent of burning mahogany.
All my fears have escaped
my mind.
Click, click,
click, click.
I know I am ready,
I allow my hand to casually slip
and give way to my burdening conscience.
/ This is just one of my own works, no theme or topic in particular. Sorry for the title, I am never sure what to call my pieces.
engulfing the black night
in a fluorescent light,
similar to a thin veil of candy corn coloured dust.
It hovers over the aging wood.
Sparks dance,
ashes fly.
The air is musky,
thick with the scent of burning mahogany.
All my fears have escaped
my mind.
Click, click,
click, click.
I know I am ready,
I allow my hand to casually slip
and give way to my burdening conscience.
/ This is just one of my own works, no theme or topic in particular. Sorry for the title, I am never sure what to call my pieces.
Tuesday, 31 January 2012
Summer Getaway
I had always enjoyed the Winter season,
the heavy downpours of egg-white snow
reminded me of my favourite dessert,
vanilla ice cream.
Which I would often eat on those
long summer days,
in the backyard of the vacation house.
You know,
the one with the perfect picket fence,
rented out to different families each summer.
It holds too many memories,
that to document them all you would
have to fill over a thousand medium sized whiteboards,
at least.
The once pristine exteriors
are met with chipped paint.
The wooden porch,
eternally dampened from the endless pairs of feet,
bearing saltwater with each back and forth trip
from the sunsoaked beach.
The clouds had never appeared so close,
the seagulls so pallid,
a single feather -
too striking to simply leave lying on the boardwalk.
Looking back,
I now realize that my love for vanilla ice cream,
is not for the melting mixture of milk, sugar and cream
I thought it was.
/ This poem was my 'List' poem that we were required to include on our blog. One day in class, we were told to list 'white' items on a piece of paper, and then proceed to use our selected words in a poem. My list wasn't very long, and I was unsure how to approach this piece. Anyways, enjoy!
the heavy downpours of egg-white snow
reminded me of my favourite dessert,
vanilla ice cream.
Which I would often eat on those
long summer days,
in the backyard of the vacation house.
You know,
the one with the perfect picket fence,
rented out to different families each summer.
It holds too many memories,
that to document them all you would
have to fill over a thousand medium sized whiteboards,
at least.
The once pristine exteriors
are met with chipped paint.
The wooden porch,
eternally dampened from the endless pairs of feet,
bearing saltwater with each back and forth trip
from the sunsoaked beach.
The clouds had never appeared so close,
the seagulls so pallid,
a single feather -
too striking to simply leave lying on the boardwalk.
Looking back,
I now realize that my love for vanilla ice cream,
is not for the melting mixture of milk, sugar and cream
I thought it was.
/ This poem was my 'List' poem that we were required to include on our blog. One day in class, we were told to list 'white' items on a piece of paper, and then proceed to use our selected words in a poem. My list wasn't very long, and I was unsure how to approach this piece. Anyways, enjoy!
Sunday, 29 January 2012
Everywhere There is Light
The young girl stood underneath the mobile suspended above.
She blinked three times,
as the bright lights shone downwards,
radiating the enclosed area in a faded sapphire tint.
A sense of endless wonder overtook her thoughts,
and she pondered if this was as close as she would get
to feeling the thrill of a shooting star,
or being lost in a sea of new-born jellyfish.
Struggling to make sense of what the artist was trying to accomplish with the piece,
the girl shuffled her worn pink cleats across the overly waxed floor.
Her mother had grown tired of the dim lit room,
and gestured for the girl to follow her to the next exhibit hall.
Although clearly fixated with the luminosity of the delicate sculpture,
the girl knew it was time to leave.
Nevertheless, her imaginative quality got the best of her.
And before leaving,
she took one last look at the magical sky and made one wish while blinking hard.
The following evening,
her father had arrived home from serving duty in a country overseas.
The mother had always questioned why or how he was able to come home,
only the girl knew the real answer,
and kept this to herself.
In fact, she never even saw the mobile or its title ever again,
'Everywhere There is Light'.
She blinked three times,
as the bright lights shone downwards,
radiating the enclosed area in a faded sapphire tint.
A sense of endless wonder overtook her thoughts,
and she pondered if this was as close as she would get
to feeling the thrill of a shooting star,
or being lost in a sea of new-born jellyfish.
Struggling to make sense of what the artist was trying to accomplish with the piece,
the girl shuffled her worn pink cleats across the overly waxed floor.
Her mother had grown tired of the dim lit room,
and gestured for the girl to follow her to the next exhibit hall.
Although clearly fixated with the luminosity of the delicate sculpture,
the girl knew it was time to leave.
Nevertheless, her imaginative quality got the best of her.
And before leaving,
she took one last look at the magical sky and made one wish while blinking hard.
The following evening,
her father had arrived home from serving duty in a country overseas.
The mother had always questioned why or how he was able to come home,
only the girl knew the real answer,
and kept this to herself.
In fact, she never even saw the mobile or its title ever again,
'Everywhere There is Light'.
/ This poem is an art response work. Out of the three options, this picture and other students' comments about it inspired me the most. If anyone is wondering, the picture was taken in Vancouver during the 2010 Winter Olympic festivities - it was at one of the many exhibits, I wish I could remember which one. The piece of art was quite fascinating.
Realization
I will save the world,
and do what I must to prove my seriousness about my aspiration
of becoming a superhero.
It is a sunny day in Vancouver,
and out of the blue
I spot a young boy pounding the pavement with his miniature hands.
He is a young gorilla,
wild and carefree.
The air becomes musky from engine smoke
and my vision blurs.
Although I never had let my surroundings affect me before.
Scanning the suburban street slowly,
I spot someone in distress.
At the corner of Yukon and West 12th Avenue a man cries out,
I am so hungry I could eat a horse,
I am so hungry I could eat a horse!
He seems well fed and does not look ill of any sorts,
still I make a few mental notes to help this poor chap out -
when I am suddenly distracted by the movement of his plump hands.
They appear to be moving in the sense of that famed song,
Thriller, the one with the zombie dance sequence.
My cousin Megan had always enjoyed the hit song,
she told me she had heard it over one thousand times!
I cannot say that I enjoyed listening with her.
A car on the bustling street honks,
and I come out of my scattered thoughts.
The man on the corner is nowhere to be seen,
the sky has returned to a bright blue.
Perhaps everyone I know is correct,
my dream of becoming a superhero is too farfetched!
/ This is a poem reflecting my experiments with sound and imagery. It was a piece of work we were required to write in class, where we were given amusing prompts to follow.
and do what I must to prove my seriousness about my aspiration
of becoming a superhero.
It is a sunny day in Vancouver,
and out of the blue
I spot a young boy pounding the pavement with his miniature hands.
He is a young gorilla,
wild and carefree.
The air becomes musky from engine smoke
and my vision blurs.
Although I never had let my surroundings affect me before.
Scanning the suburban street slowly,
I spot someone in distress.
At the corner of Yukon and West 12th Avenue a man cries out,
I am so hungry I could eat a horse,
I am so hungry I could eat a horse!
He seems well fed and does not look ill of any sorts,
still I make a few mental notes to help this poor chap out -
when I am suddenly distracted by the movement of his plump hands.
They appear to be moving in the sense of that famed song,
Thriller, the one with the zombie dance sequence.
My cousin Megan had always enjoyed the hit song,
she told me she had heard it over one thousand times!
I cannot say that I enjoyed listening with her.
A car on the bustling street honks,
and I come out of my scattered thoughts.
The man on the corner is nowhere to be seen,
the sky has returned to a bright blue.
Perhaps everyone I know is correct,
my dream of becoming a superhero is too farfetched!
/ This is a poem reflecting my experiments with sound and imagery. It was a piece of work we were required to write in class, where we were given amusing prompts to follow.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)