Junkyard Quotes 37,38, 39, 40, and 41

" you never know what will happen with your ass in the air."
-quote Robert used in class

"What I said at the candle lighting in front of the UCC in honor of Trayvon Martin"
-a girl's title of her blog posting

"my headphones look like tennis balls on the side of my face"
-April on her headphones

"Mindcraft is like the Walking Dead, where everything is made of Legos."
-TJ on what Mindcraft is

"The sunset displayed rich, spectacular hues like a jpeg file at 10 percent cyan, 10 percent magenta, 60 percent yellow and 10 percent black"
-a blog with similes

Junkyard Quotes 33,34, and 35

"Your eyes are really pretty...except they are kind of sunken in...like more face than eyes."
-my sister on my eyes

"understanding the behavior of some people is like smelling color 9."
-facebook post

"your vienna sausages are hairy."
-my sister on toes

Junkyard Quotes 30, 31 and 32

"Northface is the snuggie of jackets"
-Whit

"don't set off the fire alarm with all the water"
-facebook post

"tickling ivories"
-facebook picture caption of a baby playing the piano

Junkyard Quotes 27,28,and 29

"The founders of our country didn't intend our nights to be suspended for a football game"
-Rachel Maddow

"Geico customers are happier than a slinky on an escalator"
-Geico commerical

"Friends will always be there when life plans a sneak attack"
-instagram post

Junkyard Quotes 24,25, and 26

"full of wrist flowers and pain"
- A description of school dances

"the third floor of the library is heaven for one who's mind is about to explode with stress and poop."
- Facebook post on the quietness of the third floor of Ingram library

"I look like I can just fry chicken on this head."
-someone on how greasy their hair was

Junkyard Quotes 21,22 and 23

"he drives like a 37 year old Asian woman with Parkinson's"
-Kyle on Blake's driving

"makes me want to punt kick an infant"
-Shauuna

"flintstoning it"
-a twitter post on when your car stops moving

Calisthenic 1

What we were supposed to do here is take a bit of language from different books read in class and combine them together...

"The language we are obliged to use is penetrated by metaphysics and
spreads within you like poison from a basilisk while the white civilization 
agonizes over the color of the savage shit."
Whatever will we do? She said shit.
Only a full fledged ecclesiastical drama queen would have them censored,
restrained like flea's in skin too big. Wait, 
wouldn't that be the other way around? 
The smiling countryside, full of lucid indeterminacy,
drinks the first intoxication of yellow chartreuse, infused with
stars and lactescent, aperitif for the day.

Draft 2...meta poem

The prompt for this draft was to write what your poem is like. I was not loving poetry at this time...

My poem, a dung beetle,
prefers warmth and shit.
It wanders, lead by smell,
finding and rolling dung 
into a ball. Trailing behind in brood
balls of shit, my larvae poem buries
further and further.

One day it followed me home,
surprising because, my larvae poem
should prefer herbivores. I am not.
Climbing into bed with me.
Snuggling in the crook of my elbow,
the 92 degrees in 65 degrees.

Go away! I shout and fall
off the bed, it stares
uncomprehending. Since they
don't have ears. And wouldn't listen
if it could. My scarab prefers itself.

In the morning I fastened a net
of rope and paperclips, held together
by chewed DoubleMint. Stringing
it along the mattress, waiting 
for it to climb down.

Yet, to this day,
I still curl into a brood ball
on the itchy-carpeted floor.

Improv of "Explaining an Affinity for Bats"

I tried my hand at Stallings' rhyme scheme ABAABA

When you open the red oak door,
twisting the handle to reveal only that you least expect.
Whether it be dust-mites eating through the floor
wanting more than what your refrigerator fed them, since you are poor.
These creatures are tenants unwanted, starting to infect
your life without paying a dollar or more.

Improv of "The Colonel"

The structure I liked about Carolyn Forche's piece is the short, journalistic sentences that the piece uses.

I turn. Opening the door swiftly. 
What's behind the door will be squished with the power
from my swing. No body there.
A car honks on the street. A washing machine,
or the dishwasher, beeps. Or the alarm
from the door. Too many beeps.
Outside the stars wink knowing 
I keep secrets, and even though
they don't know,
they know.

Improv of "First Practice"

When I read Gary Gildner's line "He said, Now." I thought about how people say that...and how many different ways it can be read.

He said, Now.
The sense of urgency, not heard
but seen curvatures of eyebrows.
The pale blonde hair stick in 
not one direction, but all. 
He said, NOW. 
The sense of urgency, now heard.
Grabbing the bicep so hard, purple starts
bubbling under the skin.

Improv of " Aunt Jennifer's Tigers"

The word that I picked out from Adrienne Rich's poem, "denizens" means inhabitant of a particular place.

We are denizens of Roswell,
not aliens,
but hornets.
We know Taco Mac and Moe's
as football hangouts before,
and after games,
not just restaurants to get Queso.
Publix off 92, illegal parking,
we are not graced with 
massive lots like you Eagles.
The Church of Christ at Hardscrabble,
legit.
We are denizens of Roswell,
not Milton.

Improv of "Skokie Theater"

Edward Hirsch's phrase "Crush of bodies" is so interesting to me. It's so destructive, so powerful.

The crush of bodies
smacks against me as the 
Twilight Saga: New Moon releases
its captives. Thirteen year old girls more energetic
than the energizer bunny on five hour energy surfing
a wave from the Atlantic. 
My caution futile,
toes crumbling under knock off Uggs and Bobs
from Payless.

Improv of "Climbing the Streets of Worchester, Mass."

I was caught by the line "there's the wind trying to teach some trees to fly."
It just made me think of a windy day and it gave the image of hope.

Birds chirp like it isn't January
and snow still covers Pembrook Place,
hiding rocks and the green grass of spring.
Squirrels leap from branch to branch
of the oak trees like there aren't leaves missing,
something to break the fall if they slip. 
Slipping isn't the problem.
These are flying squirrels, soaring
with the wind if, heaven forbid,
their claws can't grasp the thin appendages.
Soaring up with the wind,
trying to teach some trees to fly.
Soaring up over our heads,
until the wind gives out
and they join us on
ground.

Improv of "Shooting Rats at the Bibb County Dump"

When David Bottoms writes "Let them crawl for all they're worth into the darkness we're headed for," it gets me thinking about what that darkness is...

Let them crawl for all they're worth
into the darkness we're headed for.
Blind, flashlight out of batteries,
power bill left unpaid
for the month.
What will stop you?

Crawl past the garbage can
overflowing banana peels and
Papa John's boxes,
(The only pizza place
taking Dining Dollars these days),
past the cigarette stub piles and
droppings of the cat from Homeward Bound.
Crawl through the tunnel between 
the dorm and the mini grocery store,
more expensive than Food Depot.
What will stop you?

Your path won't be a debris
filled street, leftover trailer bits
from Sandy's wake or the 
Adairsville tornado.
Just crawl into the darkness,
clutching to the flickering flashlight,
maybe it will hold...
maybe it will last...
What will stop you?

Improv of "Day Job, Night Job"

When Andrew Hudgins relates chasing his heart to "an unleashed dog chasing a pickup truck," it creates a thought in my mind of a sweaty, tired, thirsty person wanting something more from life. That stuck out to me from his poem. That is what I wanted to riff.

My heart runs away from me,
pulling my body along like I'm attached to 
a leash.
It goes running after goals I didn't
see before, but through the windstorm
it kicks up, I can imagine
chasing my heart like an unchained dog
chasing a pickup truck: exhausted, sweaty
salt sticking, creating a layer on top of the 
makeup of the world.
My endurance keeps my feet moving-
5 hour energy.
I can't see the finish line- blind to the ribbon 
tied tight between the two poles- but my focus
instead on the present
my heart unwraps daily.

Improv of "Nonessential Equipment"

"Each canvas pocket emptied of regret." What could be in the pocket that would create regret? That's what stuck out to me.

Empty your pockets. The TSA agent says 
sternly, like no one has loved her
ever. 
I emptied my pockets, not of Swiss Army knives
or nail files,
but of ink, paint brushes,
and pocket pads of paper with Rose Art designs.
Turning them inside out, each canvas pocket
emptied of regret and thrown out dreams.
Reminding myself, and her,
of the days to come- unopened paint sets, 
freshly pressed paper.

Improv of " Dream Song #14"

The part of this poem that I liked the best was the beginning "Life, friends, is boring."

Life, friends, is boring.
What a lie that is. Life-
the ability to ice-skate in Central Park one day,
and the next backpack through the Himalayas.
Of course, only Donald Trump and Bill Gates can 
afford that, 
skipping from destination to destination
like pages in a choose your own adventure.
But to say life is boring, says that you
can't see what might be 
under the park bench,
or in a wardrobe.

Improv of "Clear Night"

My eye caught "thumb-top of a moon" in this piece. It makes you think that you are so big compared to the moon, that you can cover it with your thumb. But yet, you are so small compared to it.

I sit criss cross on a checkerboard blanket
at the park. You're spread out, head in my lap
hand in the sky, waving at the thumb-top of a moon.
We can cover it with a single phalange, yet
its millions of miles away.
A flashlight for us-
unseen.

Improv of "The Vacation"

While reading Wendell Berry's poem, I kept coming back to the last lines "He would not be in it. He would never be in it."

He tries. Building his hope up to the
standards you built your house to.
Thinking if he did all you asked, somehow-
you'd find a room,
a closet, 
for him to hang his coat, 
store a sock.
Maybe you'd build a life
like a sample picture in a frame,
with him in it.
But that frame,
he would not be in it.
He would never be in it.

Improv of "Mock Orange"

I loved the line "Do you see? We were made fools of." What all are we made fools of?

Do you see?
We were made fools of-
hyena laughs at each slip up,
each banana peel against the heel of life.
Reminding, burying our 
accomplishments under stoney weight of each 
failure.
Our trust trying,
crushing day by day.

Improv of "Respect, 1967"

The part that stuck out to me was the line "as I go, from empty room to occupied."
It just seemed to me, someone who was walking around a house infuriated.

As I go,
from empty room to occupied,
I bring with me pickled anger,
rope and the pig. That damn pig
you bought instead of the minivan.
Like Julie's gonna ride a pig
to school. You'd been better
off with a motorcycle
or a donkey.

Improv of " Frying Trout While Drunk"

My favorite line in this was "With the care of the very drunk." It made me laugh out loud because the very drunk don't have much control over what they do, so it made me think of a very drunken person trying to be careful.

With the care
of the very drunk,
she slices 
clear through his finger,
thinking it was the ribeye 
she put on the plate.
Knowing, not what she does,
but what he did.
Those many months ago
to spark the drink
and TNT the dam.

Improv of "Salmon"

I liked the line "awaiting the gold blade of their hurry." It sounded so quick and reminded me of a trial in the early European days.

We watch King Henry,
awaiting the gold blade
of their hurry.
Quick to judge poor Queen Anne
and release the guillotine
to the pale neck of innocence.
How was she to know?

Improv of "Father's Bedroom"

I couldn't stop thinking about the line "it's warped olive cover was punished like a rhinoceros hide."
What kind of stories could that tell?

The lamp sits on the shelf
staring at me,
knowing what I don't.
It's warped olive cover was punished like
a rhinoceros hide.
Stolen off the African,
stories stamped through my mind,
sounds of the white man's burdens.

Improv of "Ape"

My favorite line in this piece is "These aren't dinners, these are post-mortem dissections."
It just got me thinking about how much we eat that is dead.

"These aren't dinners, 
these are post-mortem dissections." grumbling
as she cuts into the cow flank on her 
plate.
A vegetarian since 12, yet still drinks
the cattle blood puddling on the china plate.
"post- mortem dissections still taste delicious."
and stabs the ruby flesh with the
three pronged silver.

Improv of "Cherrylog Road"

I loved the line "I knew Doris Holbrook would escape her father at noon." In that poem it was about running away together, but what if it wasn't?

I knew Doris Holbrook
would escape her father at noon.
So I grabbed my coat
and ran.
Fleeing to the border,
she'd find me one day.
The reminder of her face, distorted
in anger, curled up to reveal the devil,
flashes with a scream through my mind.
He can't keep her locked 
forever.

Improv of "You, Doctor Martin"

In this piece I picked out "shibboleth" which is a word or phrase that distinguishes a group of people from other groups. This is found in the book of Judges in the Bible, where someone pronounced a word incorrectly in a setting where the other tribe wasn't liked, and was stoned to death. On Thursday night last week, my campus minister said that "YOLO" was pretty much specific to this generation and was "carpe diem for idiots." It got me thinking about that and how this phrase can separate generations...

YOLO. The shibboleth of today.
Those who are idiots speak 
of this and jump off buildings,
or think too much and never 
leave their room (Thank you Andy Samberg,)
But, those who realize
you don't only live once,
will live twice.

Improv of "The Harlem Dancer"

The part that stuck out most to me was the word "swarthy" which means dark skinned or dark hued.

Swarthy babies dance
grinning eye crinkle to eye crinkle.
Dressed in kente cloth, they puddle
jump along the green Ghanaian plain.
Thunder louder than
God's laughter claps overhead.

Improv of "The Day Lady Died"

I liked the word "Quandariness," which means perplexed or in a dilemma.

Walking the streets
in quandariness.
buildings look the same
all brown and tan, black shingled, red 
doors. Where's a landmark? Something to
stick out and show me home.
Like a bat with broken echolocation,
I'm lost.

Improv of "Japan"

I really liked the "you are the---, I am the ----" format that Collins uses in one of his lines.

You are the stop sign,
I am the car blowing past you.
Leaving you spinning in my wake.
Confused, in awe at what energy
and determination I have- not paying 
attention to your roses or love songs.
They are as important as an antenna.

Improv of "Translations"

When I read this piece, what stuck out to me was the word "Fetid," meaning smelling extremely unpleasant. So...

Finals week we laughed
more than we studied.
Fetid hair stringing in our eyes.
When Starbucks trenta iced coffees bring you together,
something simple like hygiene, 
won't tear you apart.

Draft 3...FOOOOOOOOOD

The third draft (yes I skipped the second one, I'll post that one later!) was about a food. I can't remember what we were reading when we decided to write about an encounter with food...I think it was Sydney Bolding's piece "Curry." But it was decided that we would write about a food. Just any food or spice that came to mind...so here we go...

"Sprouts
make everything better"

my roommate claims
as she tucks a handful between
two slices of Wonder bread and Walmart turkey.
I sidelong my egg whites,
prodding them with my fork-
adamant that all the sprouty
green pods could not
change half hearted
folded egg patties into
Mrs. Donna's plated magic.

Draft 1...based on an encounter with wilderness

This is a draft focusing on when we read William Stafford's "Traveling Through the Dark." What the whole point was...write a piece about when you had an encounter with wilderness. The element we focused on was creating a location...so here we go:

Four feet dangling inches off the ground-
I slipped.
The yellow seat whipped back, smack in her face.
Both sprawled on the wood chips of Lornie's Park.

A furry mound caught my five year old eyes,
as I crawled furiously towards whatever lay
atop the wood beamed boundaries.

I squinted towards the tops of oak trees,
barely finding the leaves through the glare,
and back down to the creature at my knees.

A tufty tail still flicked back and forth,
instinctively I reached for the movement, but
shouts from my mother
echoed.

Brushing off my legs, I galloped back
to where my sister wailed,
glancing back only once, ensuring that squirrel
would still be there
tomorrow.