All houses have a distinct smell. So easily recognizable. When I borrow a friends sweater, I always appreciate how it smells just like them. Is it a bad smell? they ask. It's not good or bad or describable in any way, just you.
The only time I can smell my house's scent, and it's only for a second, is when I come back from a long trip. As I shuffle through the door dazed from the long car ride, my mind registers the faint scent of the house, usually so familiar it is unrecognizable. But for this moment my brain can register the smell and guess at what is is made up of. Lingering smoke from a fire, baked goods, and stone.
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Photo Vignette
Inside my dancing bear sweatshirt that is my favorite, I am so cozy. All of the sudden I grew cold when the sun dissapeared. But I have the same feeling you get when you put clothes on straight from the dryer. My Keds help me climb all over the rocks, leaping from one to the next. They feel safe and I'm not even scared that I will fall into the water and get carried away.
Dad wants to take a picture of me like always. So I take a rest from my leaping and crouch down on a rock. My dads camera is very old and I hope he doesn't drop it because it would break just like an egg. He looks funny with his eye all squinty but I'm used to it. He snaps the picture and I think that I would like to stay here for a long time.
Dad wants to take a picture of me like always. So I take a rest from my leaping and crouch down on a rock. My dads camera is very old and I hope he doesn't drop it because it would break just like an egg. He looks funny with his eye all squinty but I'm used to it. He snaps the picture and I think that I would like to stay here for a long time.
Friday, June 4, 2010
Name Vignette
Apparently my name means 'pure', but that's not what I think of. Calm and elegant are more accurate. A woman sitting down to breakfast. 'Pure' sounds so saintly and clean. But I think there are Katherine's with fire.
My name changes feeling with changes of speakers. Some make my name flow, utilizing all three syllables, building me up to be more refined than I am. But most-failing to notice the middle, the peanut butter- make it sound flat and metallic. Why the 'er' is so easily neglected I'll never know.
Lying on the table in the operatine room, my name waits to be cut up, rearranged, shortened. Katie, Kate, Kathy, Kat Katrina. Endless abbreviations. Versatile. Thank god I have a K instead of a C. The C brings an elderly, ugly feel. Beauty is lost along with the three slashes.
I was not named after anyone. My parents simply liked the name. No great aunt or godmother sharing the nine letters with me, trying to squeeze in. There would be no room.
My name changes feeling with changes of speakers. Some make my name flow, utilizing all three syllables, building me up to be more refined than I am. But most-failing to notice the middle, the peanut butter- make it sound flat and metallic. Why the 'er' is so easily neglected I'll never know.
Lying on the table in the operatine room, my name waits to be cut up, rearranged, shortened. Katie, Kate, Kathy, Kat Katrina. Endless abbreviations. Versatile. Thank god I have a K instead of a C. The C brings an elderly, ugly feel. Beauty is lost along with the three slashes.
I was not named after anyone. My parents simply liked the name. No great aunt or godmother sharing the nine letters with me, trying to squeeze in. There would be no room.
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Transition
Who were you trying
to be? I could never figure
it out; or how how long it had been,
or what had
made you change
But now I stand in frumpy
jeans and thin soled sneakers
On the cracked sidewalk, the fog thickening
Nothing visible
But a gritty shoelace, two zipper pulls
a bright red umbrella
and a tattered yellow legal pad
with scrawling cursive
revealing a life.
Provisions
What should we have taken
with us? We never could decide
on that; or what to wear,
or at what time of
year we should make the journey
So here we are in thin
raincoats and rubber boots
On the disastrous ice, the wind rising
Nothing in our pockets
But a pencil stub, two oranges
Four Toronto streetcar tickets
and an elastic band holding a bundle
of small white filing cards
printed with important facts.
Margaret Atwood
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Ignorance
It is not possible to love
when we do not know of hate,
happiness can not exist
when there is no sad with which to compare,
calm means nothing
if anger has never struck,
peace is only appreciated
when war has been felt,
beauty wouldn't be noticed
if there weren't such a thing as ugly,
we can't know generosity
without seeing selfishness.
But how can we feel happy
we we turn our eyes from the bad,
shove the sadness in the corner?
We can't, it doesn't follow the law,
the happy is not whole.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Voice Assignment
Provisions
| What should we have taken with us? We never could decide on that; or what to wear, or at what time of year we should make the journey So here we are in thin raincoats and rubber boots On the disastrous ice, the wind rising Nothing in our pockets But a pencil stub, two oranges Four Toronto streetcar tickets and an elastic band holding a bundle of small white filing cards printed with important facts. -Margaret Atwood This is a brief poem, but very interesting. The voice that comes through to me is kind of down and regretful. She is looking back at choices she could have made in the past that would have made her better of now. For example, when she says 'what should we have taken with us?' she is implying that they did not take the right things with them. She sounds like she's given up and accepted the situation when she writes 'so here we are in thin raincoats and rubber boots'. The list of what's in their pockets adds to the intrigue of the poem and is the main reason I liked the poem so much. The objects are so random and the reader wonders what the important facts are on the bundled notecards. The phrases 'disastrous ice' and 'nothing in our pockets' make the author sound a bit glum. I really like this poem because it's ambiguous, random and uses description and imagery sparingly and tactfully. |
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Performance Poem
Spectrum
It swirls with purple lies,
has gray memories not easy to keep
can be instantly overcome with red desire
or can be spinning with spots of white havoc.
It might flutter with irrepressible yellow excitement
a blanket can suffocate it with orange fear
or it can be coated in blue elation like fondu.
Yet even with these pathways, it can still wander aimlessly with pea-green boredom.
1. The voice in my poem is intense and contemplative. It shows creative personality and thogutful ideas.
2. I will try to express an intense and dramatic mood when I perform this poem in front of the class. However, I will be very embarresed so it might come off sounding unsure and timid.
3. Somehow I will convey 'swirling', 'spinning' and 'flutter with arm movements. I will also wander throughout the audience during the last line.
4. What scares me about the assignment is being alone in front of the class, looking stupid, and embarrasing myself. It will be exciting to watch everyone else perform.
5. Performance poetry makes it easier for the audience to get the mood and tone of the poem and interpret what the author reading it really means. The movement provides a more definate meaning to lines that could be ambiguous. Even just seeing the author and hearing their voice can add a lot more meaning and sense to the poem.
It swirls with purple lies,
has gray memories not easy to keep
can be instantly overcome with red desire
or can be spinning with spots of white havoc.
It might flutter with irrepressible yellow excitement
a blanket can suffocate it with orange fear
or it can be coated in blue elation like fondu.
Yet even with these pathways, it can still wander aimlessly with pea-green boredom.
1. The voice in my poem is intense and contemplative. It shows creative personality and thogutful ideas.
2. I will try to express an intense and dramatic mood when I perform this poem in front of the class. However, I will be very embarresed so it might come off sounding unsure and timid.
3. Somehow I will convey 'swirling', 'spinning' and 'flutter with arm movements. I will also wander throughout the audience during the last line.
4. What scares me about the assignment is being alone in front of the class, looking stupid, and embarrasing myself. It will be exciting to watch everyone else perform.
5. Performance poetry makes it easier for the audience to get the mood and tone of the poem and interpret what the author reading it really means. The movement provides a more definate meaning to lines that could be ambiguous. Even just seeing the author and hearing their voice can add a lot more meaning and sense to the poem.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
The Calculation, Regina Spektor
You went into the kitchen cupboard, got yourself another hour
And you gave half of it to me
We sat there looking at the faces of these strangers in the pages
Till we knew 'em mathematically
They were in our minds until forever but we didn't mind
We didn't know better
So we made our own computer out of macaroni pieces
And it did our thinking while we lived our lives
It counted up our feelings and divided them up even
And it called that calculation perfect love
Didn't even know that love was bigger
Didn't even know that love was so, so
Hey, hey, hey
Hey this fire, it's burnin', burnin' us up
Hey this fire, it's burnin', burnin' us up
So we made the hard decision and we each made an incision
Past our muscles and our bones, saw our hearts were little stones
Pulled them out they weren't beating and we weren't even bleeding
As we lay them on the granite counter top
We beat 'em up against each other
We beat 'em up against each other
We struck 'em hard against each other
We struck 'em so hard, so hard until they sparked
Hey this fire, it's burnin', burnin' us up
Hey this fire, it's burnin', burnin' us up
Hey this fire, it's burnin', burnin' us up
I chose this song because of its unique phrases and content. It has a lot of vivid imagery and startling, abstract ideas such as a computer made of macaroni pieces and getting an hour out of the kitchen cuboard. I think the whole song is a metaphor for a relationship the author had with someone. From the line about the computer counting up their feelings and dividing them up even and calling it perfect love, it sounds like their love was artificial and meager at first. Also, in the line 'didn't even know that love was bigger' Regina Spektor seems to be saying that they were naive and innocent. I think that the verse about them taking their hearts out an beating them up against each other until they sparked is symbolic of forcing themselves to love one another. She says that their hearts weren't even beating and were little stones, possibly meaning that they had no feelings for each other. This song also has some surreal parts which add to the story Regina Spektor is telling. It is interesting to picture hearts on a granite counter top for instance. This is a thought-provoking poem that could have many meanings and I think it's fantastic.
And you gave half of it to me
We sat there looking at the faces of these strangers in the pages
Till we knew 'em mathematically
They were in our minds until forever but we didn't mind
We didn't know better
So we made our own computer out of macaroni pieces
And it did our thinking while we lived our lives
It counted up our feelings and divided them up even
And it called that calculation perfect love
Didn't even know that love was bigger
Didn't even know that love was so, so
Hey, hey, hey
Hey this fire, it's burnin', burnin' us up
Hey this fire, it's burnin', burnin' us up
So we made the hard decision and we each made an incision
Past our muscles and our bones, saw our hearts were little stones
Pulled them out they weren't beating and we weren't even bleeding
As we lay them on the granite counter top
We beat 'em up against each other
We beat 'em up against each other
We struck 'em hard against each other
We struck 'em so hard, so hard until they sparked
Hey this fire, it's burnin', burnin' us up
Hey this fire, it's burnin', burnin' us up
Hey this fire, it's burnin', burnin' us up
I chose this song because of its unique phrases and content. It has a lot of vivid imagery and startling, abstract ideas such as a computer made of macaroni pieces and getting an hour out of the kitchen cuboard. I think the whole song is a metaphor for a relationship the author had with someone. From the line about the computer counting up their feelings and dividing them up even and calling it perfect love, it sounds like their love was artificial and meager at first. Also, in the line 'didn't even know that love was bigger' Regina Spektor seems to be saying that they were naive and innocent. I think that the verse about them taking their hearts out an beating them up against each other until they sparked is symbolic of forcing themselves to love one another. She says that their hearts weren't even beating and were little stones, possibly meaning that they had no feelings for each other. This song also has some surreal parts which add to the story Regina Spektor is telling. It is interesting to picture hearts on a granite counter top for instance. This is a thought-provoking poem that could have many meanings and I think it's fantastic.
Friday, March 19, 2010
Time in the Kitchen
A hillside in a kitchen sink
makes the sink look smaller.
But only according to the eye of the lemon
sitting on a brick nearby,
waiting for someone to hop the fence,
struggle out of the faucet,
and squeeze it.
The juices will run up the wall,
snaking through cracks in the bricks,
and seep inside a pocket watch
triggering an alarm.
The alarm will startle the grass on the hillside,
cause it to stand up straight
and grow along the edge of the sink
until a garden is formed in its place.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Open
We reach out to the ones who nurture,
blindly extending and feeling through the dark
fumbling, hoping to grasp a hand.
The compassionate ones are able to expand,
soak up other's sorrows into their pores
and keep the needful from the far fall
For some it is inevitable to fall
the ones who forget what it means to nurture
leaving them open and exposed; their pores.
Their yearning to be comforted gets worse in the dark,
when they're alone and their imagination expands
the thoughts seem existent until they realize their hand.
She would always lend a hand,
tender and alive in the nippy air of fall.
The time of year when the trees expand
for one last breath which will solely nurture
through the winter and lengthening dark,
until the new damp air surges back into their pores.
Her motherly nature went deeper than her pores,
Sheltering her child with nothing but a hand.
She was wholesome, not a cell of her dark,
Never into evil would she fall.
Her purpose for this boy was to nurture;
Wrap him in her arms as his life expands.
Her boy’s mouth would expand,
Growing to let out a scream before shrinking to the size of a pore.
Telling his mother it was time to nurture.
On his back she would lay her hand,
circling like leaves on the ground in fall
not ceasing until his lids made everything dark.
With her peace she would make her tea dark
And watch as the bag would fill with water and expand.
Into sleep she wouldn’t let herself fall,
only able to relax half of her pores.
When she slipped she would wake with a jerk of her hand
And wait for the seed she intended to nurture.
If we’d all had one to nurture us through the dark,
we could hand out our hearts for others to expand
and keep our pores open so no others would fall.
blindly extending and feeling through the dark
fumbling, hoping to grasp a hand.
The compassionate ones are able to expand,
soak up other's sorrows into their pores
and keep the needful from the far fall
For some it is inevitable to fall
the ones who forget what it means to nurture
leaving them open and exposed; their pores.
Their yearning to be comforted gets worse in the dark,
when they're alone and their imagination expands
the thoughts seem existent until they realize their hand.
She would always lend a hand,
tender and alive in the nippy air of fall.
The time of year when the trees expand
for one last breath which will solely nurture
through the winter and lengthening dark,
until the new damp air surges back into their pores.
Her motherly nature went deeper than her pores,
Sheltering her child with nothing but a hand.
She was wholesome, not a cell of her dark,
Never into evil would she fall.
Her purpose for this boy was to nurture;
Wrap him in her arms as his life expands.
Her boy’s mouth would expand,
Growing to let out a scream before shrinking to the size of a pore.
Telling his mother it was time to nurture.
On his back she would lay her hand,
circling like leaves on the ground in fall
not ceasing until his lids made everything dark.
With her peace she would make her tea dark
And watch as the bag would fill with water and expand.
Into sleep she wouldn’t let herself fall,
only able to relax half of her pores.
When she slipped she would wake with a jerk of her hand
And wait for the seed she intended to nurture.
If we’d all had one to nurture us through the dark,
we could hand out our hearts for others to expand
and keep our pores open so no others would fall.
Friday, March 12, 2010
Spectrum
It swirls with purple lies,
has gray memories not easy to keep
can be instantly overcome with red desire,
can be spinning with spots of white havoc.
It might flutter with irrepressible yellow excitement,
a blanket can suffocate it with orange fear
or it can be coated in blue elation like fondu.
Yet even with these open channels, it can still wander aimlessly through pea-green boredom.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
True Beauty
Free form is more interesting than maufactured uniformity,
detail stands out when parts are worn.
Dullness provides a background for luster,
subtlety makes bronze more elegant than gold.
Thrown together can be more beautiful than meticulously chosen,
one of a kind means more than one million dollars.
Having history is worth more than being brand new,
unadorned is more refined than embellished.
One who knows that
old doesn't always mean broken,
rust doesn't always mean dirty,
simple doesn't always mean boring-
can know true beauty.
detail stands out when parts are worn.
Dullness provides a background for luster,
subtlety makes bronze more elegant than gold.
Thrown together can be more beautiful than meticulously chosen,
one of a kind means more than one million dollars.
Having history is worth more than being brand new,
unadorned is more refined than embellished.
One who knows that
old doesn't always mean broken,
rust doesn't always mean dirty,
simple doesn't always mean boring-
can know true beauty.
I Am
I'm a memory woman
I'm a silver ring woman
I'm a fresh woman
I'm a creating woman
I'm a opinionated woman
I'm a nostolgic woman
I'm an appreaciative woman
I'm a concerned woman
I'm a dress woman
I'm a simple woman
I'm a complicated woman
I'm a window woman
I'm a food woman
I'm a time woman
I'm an interested woman
I'm an indecisive woman
I'm a passionate woman
I'm a beach woman
I'm a water woman
I'm a feeling woman
I'm a map woman
I'm a vegetarian woman
I'm a tree woman
I'm a music woman
I'm a dirt woman
I'm a diverse woman
I'm an organized woman
I'm a healthy woman
I'm a reading woman
I'm a moving woman
I'm an open woman
I'm an originality woman
I'm a silver ring woman
I'm a fresh woman
I'm a creating woman
I'm a opinionated woman
I'm a nostolgic woman
I'm an appreaciative woman
I'm a concerned woman
I'm a dress woman
I'm a simple woman
I'm a complicated woman
I'm a window woman
I'm a food woman
I'm a time woman
I'm an interested woman
I'm an indecisive woman
I'm a passionate woman
I'm a beach woman
I'm a water woman
I'm a feeling woman
I'm a map woman
I'm a vegetarian woman
I'm a tree woman
I'm a music woman
I'm a dirt woman
I'm a diverse woman
I'm an organized woman
I'm a healthy woman
I'm a reading woman
I'm a moving woman
I'm an open woman
I'm an originality woman
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Regretted Remarks
The way you bundle in your robe annoys me
how slow you are to respond could make me scream
your guilty smile as you try to hide the habit I know is there
makes my chest flare up with anger
and my fingers want to tear.
When you shuffle down the stairs at eleven,
I try to hold back the sass
but your slippers and squinty eyes are too much,
and my mouth opens to fast.
When you finish off the granola,
that took me hours to make,
a comment slips out like a bar of soap
from hands as they try not to shake.
I'm really sorry for the times I snap-
back-talk, retort and hurt,
but I still love you for who you are
no matter what malicious things I blurt.
how slow you are to respond could make me scream
your guilty smile as you try to hide the habit I know is there
makes my chest flare up with anger
and my fingers want to tear.
When you shuffle down the stairs at eleven,
I try to hold back the sass
but your slippers and squinty eyes are too much,
and my mouth opens to fast.
When you finish off the granola,
that took me hours to make,
a comment slips out like a bar of soap
from hands as they try not to shake.
I'm really sorry for the times I snap-
back-talk, retort and hurt,
but I still love you for who you are
no matter what malicious things I blurt.
Cracked
I have figured you out.
You are like
ice cubes when I drop them into my tea to cool it,
an overused serving platter,
stiff joints in the morning,
a new book when opened to read,
the tops of expertly baked cookies,
an adolescent boy's voice,
skin between my thumb and index finger,
the parched August earth,
overripe cherries,
the code to a wine cellar,
an ancient sun-worn, wind-weathered face-
cracked.
You are like
ice cubes when I drop them into my tea to cool it,
an overused serving platter,
stiff joints in the morning,
a new book when opened to read,
the tops of expertly baked cookies,
an adolescent boy's voice,
skin between my thumb and index finger,
the parched August earth,
overripe cherries,
the code to a wine cellar,
an ancient sun-worn, wind-weathered face-
cracked.
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