You were once the Kleenex to dry my eyes
You were once the voice to stop me from my cries
You were once the arms that held me tight through the night
You were once the angel that made all my wrong right
You were once everything
And I'll never forget how much you said you cared
But now I can't keep holding on
The Pain is just to real
I hope that someday this broken heart of mine will heal

Night

Longing with the evening's passion
Darkness looms over the night sky
Stars dashed to and fro
Cremated from the darkness of the past
The forlonging devours my soul
Traped. Defeated.
Dawn arrives and I am saved

last..

As I look up at the sky
And the clouds floating near
I'm all alone at night
Wishing you were here
As I look towards the moon
And the stars shining bright
I wish you were here to give me
One last kiss goodnight
All I can remember is
That dark and dreadful day
As you left me here alone
Watching your casket roll away
This wasn't supose to happen
It shouldn't be like this
All I can think of is you
The one thing that I'll miss
I should be in your place
And you should be in mine
You were so sweet and gentle
And always very kind
You jumped infront of a speeding car
And pushed me out of the way
That car was meant for me
And not for you on that day

class writing

04-05-06

Black shutters my pale skin
As i stand here before you.
under me, green grass and pink roses
who's to say it was your time to go?
you're surrounded by beautiful flowers
falling in love was what the future entailed.
he did not give enough time
to eve say farewell
under me is where you'll now be,
how important two people
falling in love.....

Drama From the Burroway book

Write a scene in which two characters on a journy are interrupted, stopped, stranded, or forced to detour.

* Mandi and Katrina thought going on a hike in the woods would be a great way to get away, have some girl time and relax. Up until the point when mandi lost the map they were using and they wound up passing the same pond twice, now going on three times. Mandi was quite about this situation until Katrina notice the same pond. Of course the girls started arguing, which turned into pointing the finger at blame...which did not help the situation..it was like the blair witch project all over again. Whats going to happen next...?

Fiction from the Burroway book

Try This:
Pick one of the following lines and write the first few paragraphs of a story. write Fast...

* She stoof with her black face some six inches from the moist window pane and wondered would it ever stop raining. Ever since her husband passed away a week before in a tragic car accident, it has done nothing but rain. She stands there wishing the rain would just stop, and the sun would shine, like him..so high, so bright in her eyes. Shine long enough so she is able to go out to the park and sit on their favorite bench, think about the memories, the good and the bad, to have a few silent words, a good bye thought, all that she has missed. 43 wonderful years together, gone in a blink of an eye. Will it ever stop raining she asks herself...as a single tear runs down her cheek.
*When she awoke the very next day, the sun was up, shining brightly into their bedroom window, lighting up his side of the bed. It was like magic she thought, a sign perhaps? Today is a perfect day to go to that park...and sit on our bench, she thoight to herself. She got up, showered and dressed at a quick pace, just incase the sun disappears, and the rain begins again. As she steps out the door, she takes a deep breath of this beautiful fresh air, and begins to walk to their park..
*As she sits on the bench, looking up at the bright clear blue sky, she wonders how he is, does he think of her? is he watching her? Yes she assumes, their love was too strong to just be forgotten. Then again, her love for him was too strong for him to just leave her..She begins to shake, tears begin to well in her eyes..she gets up and walks quickly back to her home. Crawls back into bed, and hides her body and head under the covers..
"I'm not ready for this..." is what she says to herself, with that single tear running down her cheek...and she falls back into a time when he was there..hugging her and holding her...the thought of being alone, has become a thought she could not bare....

Poetry from the Burroway book

Gerald Sterns "Columbia the Gems"

I know that body standing in the law library
the right shoulder lower then the left one,
the lotion seat lotion
his hold is ended
Now the mouths can slash away in memory
of his kisses and stupefying lies.
Now the old reds can walk with a little spring
in and around the beloved saracophag
now the puerto ricans can work up another funny america
and the frightened germans can open their heavy doors a little
now the river can soften its huge heart
and move for the first time, almost like the others
without silence.

untitled

Each night I shut my eyes
You're all I can see
My heart crys silent tears
They live within me

You're always in my dreams
Make them seem so real
If you only knew
How my heart truly feels.

Sometimes during the day
Memories take me to you
Of all the precious moments
And the love we shared too.

How you held me in your arms
Would look into my eyes
How could I ever forget you
Love now that makes me cry.

Love is not just a word
When its true and sincere
Always know I love you
In my heart you remain dear.

Dad

I gave him hugs,
And I gave him kisses.
But it didn't feel like enough.
So I sat down and wrote this poem
Just so he could know how much.
He can always make me smile,
And turn my frown around.
He brings me so much laughter,
'till I fall onto the ground.
But when I fall he is always there,
To pick me right back up.
He encourages me in what I do;
So here I go dad,
I made this poem,
Just for you.


*I wrote this poem for my dad, cause ever since i've moved out on my own I dont get to see him so much..*

Ditched..

I turn around looking for you
I stare and stare
And realized I was being ditched

I didnt no how much it hurt
You come running back making an excuse
I take one last look at you and leave
Then you realize youve been
ditched

You no that Im gone for good
But you dont give up
One thing Ive always desired bout you
Everywhere I go theres a memories its just too hard to forget
Where ever I go I see your face.
I know its to late
But we used to be so tight

Now that youre gone I have to learn bout life
If I was on an edge you always cought me from the bottom
You never lcaught deserted
Until one day
Everyday I would tell you that I loved you like a friend
One day I told you twice and you said you already knew
I thought you loved me back like a friend
You said it back every day
Until one day

Light and gently still falls the rain
But now its my teardrop falling from pain
The day I left you I hope you realized
I wasnt ever coming back

Im sorry Im wasnt perfect
And this apology ill regret
But for once Im being sincere saying this
Im sorry we ever met

Story..

A Story About the Body written by Robert Hass

The young composer, working that summer at an artist's colon, had watched her for a week. She was Japanese, a painter, almost sixty, and he thought he was in lover with her. He loved her work, and her work was like the way she moved her body, used her hands, looked at him directly when she made amused and considered answers to his questions. One night, waking back from a concrt, they came to her door and she turned to him and said, "I think you would like to have me. I would like that toom but i must tell you that i have had a doube mastectomy," and when he didnt understand, "ive lost both my breasts." The radiance that he had carried around in his bely and chest cavity -- like music- withered very quickly, and he made himself look at her when he said, "I'm sorry. I dont think i could." He waked back to his own cabin through the pines, and in the morning he found a small blue bowl on the porch outside his door. It looked to be full of rose petals, but he found when he picked it up that the rose petals were on top; the rest of the bowl -- she must have swept them from the corners of her studio--was full of dead bees.

I chose this story because while i was reading it, i felt very emotional, but when i got to the very end, i did not understand until i reread it a few times.

Character

Old men playing basketball. Written by B.H. Fairchild

The heavy bodies lunge, broken language
of fake and drive, glamourous jump shot
slowed to a stutter. their gestures, in love
again with the pure geometry of curves

rise toward the ball, falter, and fall away.
on the boards their hands and fingertips
tremble in tense little prayers of reach
and balance. then the grind of bone

and socket the caught breath, the sigh
the grunt of the body laboring to give
birth to itself. in their toiling and grand
sweeps, i wonder do they still make love,

to their wives, kissing the undersides
of their wrists dancing the old soft-shoe
of desire? and on the long walk home from the
VFW. do they still sing

to the drunken moon? stands full, clock
moving, the one in army fatigues
and houseshoes says to himself, pick and roll,
and the phrase sounds musical as ever,

radio crooning songs of love after the game.
the girl leaning back in the chevy's front seat
as her raven hair flames in the shuddering
light of the outdoor movie, and now he drives

gliding toward the net, a glass wand
of autumn light breaks over the backboard
bouys rise up in old men, wings begin to sprout
at their backs, the ball turns in the darkening air

I chose this for character because i thought it was interesting reading about older men playing basketball and the thoughts going through this persons mind while watching them.

Voice

Father written by Hilda Raz

Father
is never home but she still loves him--
adores him, really, and so does mom.
his big, burly body, his flannel shirts
woolens over interesting scars
with stories to tell. oh he is a raconteur
with racks of bottles in the fragrant breakfront

He tells her not to talk so much
his talk holds the world intact
when it stops, the key piece
drops out the bottom and the whole
plastic flobe fragments. Nothing's
the same ever again

the size of him! The size of them all,
uncles, cousins, the brothers
wide shoulders jutting through cigar smoke
in the breakfast nook, the deep black marks
of their synthetic heels never quite scrub out.

under the huge dining table
under the carpet where his big feet wait
is the bell. when he pushes it with his shoe
an aunt, or mother or a maid
brings out another dish
from the streaming kitchen

but he paid for it, paid for it all,
sweaters teak tables, with brass inlay.
steaks, furs, wicks for the memorial
candles, silk stockings, full tin box
the color of sky, plants
and their white rings on the mahgany
and the cars, deep greens, metallic,
and the cashmere lab-robes
and the aunts and out of work uncles

he was best loved, best beloved in the family
whose ver shadow even absent
absorbed all color, sucked short
the seasons colored grey
even the lavish lilacs of that northern city

she never visits. she sends money
to an old woman who tends to the graves
sends money when the pencilled bills come in.

I chose this poem out of the chapter of "voice" because i really liked the fact that it was written about a father, seeing how my dad is my hero, i enjoyed reading a poem about a father and his life.

image

Facing It written by yusef comunyakaa

My black face fades,
hiding inside the black granite.
i said i wouldnt,
dammit, no tears
I'm stone. I'm flesh
my coulded reflection eyes me
like a bird of prey, the profile of night
slanted against morning. i turn
this way -- the stone lets me go.
i turn that way -- i'm inside
the vietnam veterans memorial
again, depending on the light
i go down the 58,022 names,
half- expecting to find
my own in letters like smoke.
i touch the name andrew johnson
i see the booby traps white flash
names shimmer on a womans blouse
but when she walks away
the names stay on the wall
brushstrokes flash, a red birds
wings cutting across my stare.
the sky. a plane in the sky
a white vets image floats
closer to me, then his pale eyes
look through mine im a window
he'slost his right arm
inside the stone. in the black mirror
a womans trying to erase names:
no, she's burshing a boys hair.


I chose this for image because while i read it i could see everything the writer was describing, it is very detailic for me.

03-01-06 writing excersize

i lay on the lawn at night
not all ceremonial occasions were formal
i just enjoy being casually comfortable
clover wrinkling under me
it had its own language, mixture
of words and sounds
the wise stars bedding over me
it is difficult to know how important the past, present
and future entails

this is the excersize that we used a "boring" class book and took sentences out of it and put it into a poem structure..kinda neat huh?

newspaper project

dark red lights
just like her lipstick
excited people
sparkling
silver figure
stands out
alcohol surrounding
young and old
gathered as one
lost in the surroundings

group writing excersize, Wed. 8, 2006

At night before take off
black shutters my pale skin
casually comfortable
soon enough, smells like money
under me, pink houses and green grass
will being to look like beautiful flowers
how important two people
falling in love the future entails.

i'm sitting here alone
and now i know why
i wasnt good enough for you
i feel like i can die
Was i not pretty?
not that fun?
or did you just want to take my heart
and run..?
i gave you everything
tried my absolute best
and im sitting here
wondering why
you just left..

Dark

There is a dark side
that no one sees
this is buried
deep inside of me

its a time i dont smile,
dont joke to laugh
I think alot has
to do with my past

I've been betrayed
and abused by
people i trust
i thought for awhile
that that...
was love

although you can't see it
doesnt mean its not there
but i'll never forget it
it just wasnt fair..

earthmoving malediction written by heather mchugh

Bulldoze the bed where we made love
bulldoze the goddamn room.
let rubble be our evidence
and wreck our home.

i cant give touching up
by inches, cant give beating up
by heart. so set the comforter
on fire, and turn the dirt.

to some advantage -- places of pigweed,
treasuries of turd. the fist
will vidicate the hand,
and tooth and nail

refuse to burn, and i
must not look back, as Mrs. lot
was named for such a little --
something in a cementary

or a man. bulldoze the coupled
ploys away, the cute exclusives
in the social mall. we dwell

on earth, where beds
are brown, where swoops
are fell. Bulldoze

the pearly gates:
if paradise comes down
there is no hell..

I chose this poem for a blog assignment in which i think this is the best one for setting, because i feel this poem moves the reader from place to place. The bedroom, the back yard, the mall..different places where a couple would share some interaction, some good memories, and some affection.

my mistake

I made a mistake,
that i admit
Something i'll always remember
something i'll forever regret

I broke your heart
even made you cry
now i am without you
feeling like i could die

everyday waking up without you
its just one more reminder
that i lost it
my dream come true

now i sit here alone
drinking away the pain
i have lost everything
all that i have gain...