That Perfect Volume

Mine is 14 on my crappy MP3 player.  What is so perfect about this volume is that it is just before the omg-going deaf- hearing loss volume. And every beat of the music courses through your body and, for the first time, you don't just listen to the music, you feel it.

No Life

I grew up in a small town with a small school and a little run down gas station.  Everything was simple and small.  This is why we took it so bad when the zombies came. They hit Tennessee the hardest, and, well, there weren't many survivors. Kentucky they left alone, some rumor goin round bout them not likin horses much.

Our little town was on the border between the two states, so we weren't sure what was gonna happen. Were we gonna live, or were we goners? I had read books about the 'pocalypse, but they were nothin like actually bein in one. No food, but cha ain't hungry cause ya eatin fear all day. Mamma says we gotta make the best out of it, find the silva linin, but there ain't one. Everything's gray. The grass, the sky, the trees. The birds stopped singin and the wind stopped blowin. Never before has our quiet town been so silent.

The Audience

The audience is one and as one, the audience reacts to everything.  Every movement, every facial expression.  Nothing can be hidden from its all-absorbing eye. 

My Love Song To You

I just want to know,
Do you like Disney?
Are you my fairytale?
Do you have a glass slipper,
Or maybe a horse, white as snow.

I'll be a house maid, you'll be charming
I'll be sweepin floors and you'll sweep me off my feet
I'll be distressed, you'll be in armor
I'll be poor as dirt, your proposal will be alarming

You'll be my prince, I'll be your princess
A cardboard box will be a castle
As long as I have you

No matter how long it takes,
I'll be waiting for you
It's never to late to
Come around the corner,
Come around the bend
I'll be waiting for you until the world ends

I Love You

I love you to the end of the earth and back.  To the skies and the Heavens above.  Between rivers and in the depths of crevices, you will always find my love for you.

Track Meet

 Author's Note: Super old piece! It's not that great of a piece, but I still wanted to post it.

She yawned and rested her head against the back of the bus seat. It had been a long day, and the track meet had been cold and windy. Melody was comfortable now, though, cross-legged and barefoot.

Gazing out the window, she watched as the bus's flashing light strobe-lighted the dark night, giving glimpses of forests and fields.  It was peaceful as she sat there, listening to the soft murmur of voices as she ate her pretzel chips. 

I'm Done With You

How do you describe our love?

tattered
windblown
enduring
repaired
hanging on by a thread

How do you describe our love?

a waste of time?
worthless?
meaningless?!

If our time together was so worthless, then why are you wasting your breath talking about it?!  Go back in the well that you crawled out of. Stay in the darkness, I don't ever want the same sun touching both our faces with light ever again. I'm done with you.

Summer

Everyone is looking forward to summer, the heat, the tan, the freedom. Summer's great, don't get me wrong, but transitioning from spring to summer, not so great. All I'm getting right now is a sun burn,allergies, frizzy hair from the humidity, and a stressful reminder of how soon all of my projects need to be done. Come quick summer and put a stop to this weather that feels like a not-quite-dry blanket, fresh out of the dryer. This weather is suffocating me!

The Wishes and Kisses of Mister and Misses

The first wish of Mr. was to meet Mrs.

The first kiss of Mrs.was with Mr.

The first wish of Mrs, was to be married to Mr.

The second kiss of Mr. was after a proposal

The second wish of Mr. was to have a son

The third kiss of Mrs. was after a trip to the doctor

The second wish of Mrs. was for eight months to pass quickly

The fourth kiss of Mr. was after six hours of hand-squeezing

The third wish of Mr. was for him to be the best father for his son

The fifth kiss of Mrs.was late at night, after cleaning up her sons graduation party

The fourth wish of Mrs. was for her son to come home often during college

The sixth kiss of Mr. was after their son never did, for four years

The fourth wish of Mr. was for his son to leave again after he came home and upset his mother

The seventh kiss of Mrs. was on the forehead and through tears when their son jumped off a building

The fifth wish of Mrs. was for her and Mr. to join their son in Heaven

The eighth kiss of Mr. was with Mrs. as they lay old in their bed, ready to welcome death

The fifth wish of Mr. was to not lose Mrs. in the extensive land of the afterlife

The ninth kiss of Mrs. was when she stood next to Mr., observing the vastness of Heaven

The sixth wish of Mrs. was to reconnect with her son

The tenth kiss of Mr. and Mrs. was on their sons forehead,  during a tight embrace

The sixth wish of Mr. was for the past to be forgotten

The eleventh kiss of Mrs. was when everyone lost count and let go of bothersome memories

The last wish of Mr. and Mrs. was for everyone to have a just as happy, if not happier, ending as theirs.

My cup was half-filled with happy, half-filled with sad. You added your own unhappiness to my cup and it spilled over the brim. The water trailed down the glass and pooled onto the table.

My tears slipped past my eyelids and trailed down my cheeks, onto your shoulder. You have chosen to add your pain to my sadness. So I sit here with you, my friend, and we wallow together.

My heart is bleeding. I am trying to rip your piece out of my heart, but I don't have the strength to. I don't entirely want to let you go.Every time I think of you, a dull ache arises from my chest. A constant reminder of what could have been. So I ask you. It is worth the pain?

Josephine Jacobsen

When you think of a poet, who do you think of? The answer tends to be Edgar Allan Poe, Robert Frost, E. E. Cummings, or Maya Angelou. Many people will jabber on and on about how they love their works, but being a true lover of poetry means you don't just only read the classics, but you also look for other poetry that should be considered a classic, but was unfortunate enough to get left behind. It seems that there was not room for Josephine Jacobsen and her works in the spotlight, so they got pushed into the shadows.

Jacobsen's works tend to have a Spanish inspiration behind them, and simple, but perfect, lines within. Rainy Night at the Writers' Colony is my favorite piece of hers simply because of one line. The reason why this one line gets to me and echoes in my head for days after I read the poem is not known to me. But I do know that every once in a while, we hear a question that makes us think so hard that it leaves us speechless. This is one of those lines: "What do we say worth the while of the ears of the dead?" Many of you may be quick to answer, most of you will not care. Yet I dwell on the question.

Though my favorite Jacobsen piece will always be Rainy Night at the Writers' Colony, I think It Is the Season should also be considered a classic. Jacobsen speaks of the changing of the seasons, and us with it. She talks about how we know the change will come, and we rehearse our goodbyes, and yet we are shocked to have to welcome the new.

Surely the other poets could scoot over a little to make room for one more. Josephine Jacobsen deserves that bright light just as much as the other poets do. Her pieces are no less great, no less inspiring or intriguing.  Though people are stubborn and don't take well to ideas that are not their own. Perhaps I will have to be satisfied with just knowing that I put her center stage. Even a good play will not have a big audience if there was bad advertisement.

I only want to be with you
I only want to be in your arms
Only when I'm around you, do I feel safe from harm

Here we are, preparing to be forever damned to hell
Yet, with you, all I think of is freedom.

Our love is our strength and
Love is not something that they can take away
So we shall never break, our steps will never falter, and our fates will forever be intertwined.

Comparing "The Birds" with "At Least It Wasn't Me"

In each poem, the main character is eager to sacrifice others, but when it comes to sacrificing themselves, they are not so excited.  However, in "The Birds", he knows everyone will have to die eventually, but in "At Least It Wasn't Me",  the main character thinks Death only wants one soul, and then he realizes that Death wants another.  He realizes that everything that he just did to the first sacrifice will probably happen to him.

The message that these poems are sending is that you shouldn't be so quick to throw someone else under the bus.  If you did something bad, don't blame someone else.  It will only delay you getting caught and you will just get in even more trouble for not being truthful in the first place.

Death and the birds are blame. They take all the sacrifices until they get the person that is sacrificing everyone else. Blame will keep taking victims until it catches the culprit. 

So be honest my children. Because if you're not... Death will take you as its next victim and birds will feast on your lifeless corpse! *Insert evil laugh*

Cliffhanger

Author's Note: Not the best story, but I like the last line.

"Sara! Come back!" Josh called after her. She simply giggled and kept running. Sighing, he ran after her. She broke through the edge of the trees and he tackled her to the ground. "Are you really going to run off every time I try to kiss you?"
"Maybe." She replied, ducking away from him and running off again.
Man, this girl is taking playing hard to get to a whole new level, he thought.
Oh, no! She's getting close to the cliff! 
"Sara! Stop! You're getting too close to the cliff!"
She couldn't hear him. "What?" She turned her head back to look at him, but kept running.
He sucked in a sharp breath. He knew what was going to happen, but there was nothing he could do to stop it. She fell off the cliff and his whole world fell with her.

16 Beautiful Butterflies

16 beautiful butterflies flutter,

1 gets washed down in the gutter

15 beautiful butterflies remain,

1 gets eaten, 1 goes down the drain

13 beautiful butterflies stay,

1 leaves and becomes prey

12 beautiful butterflies fly

A cat hunts, 3 more die

9 beautiful butterflies land

2 get squashed between human hands

7 beautiful butterflies take flight

1 gets too close to the light

6 beautiful butterflies survive,

1 gets lost, now there's five

5 beautiful butterflies race

1 loses and leaves no trace

4 beautiful butterflies mourn

1 crash-lands and gets its wings torn

3 beautiful butterflies enter town

They find a river, 2 of them drown

Now there's one butterfly, left all alone

Who's lost a brother for each mile it's flown

And being the last one alive is not something to desire

So, out of options, he thought of his brothers as he flew into a fire

Gym Essay

A lot of people work out and do sports.  They participate in these activities for different reasons.  Some people are trying to lose weight; others just have fun playing their sport. Physical activity provides me with enjoyment.

My sports are track, cheer, and gymnastics.  I love these sports because I get the greatest feeling of pride when I get a faster time, or nail a stunt, or am able to do a new skill without being spotted.  Improving my speed and strength makes me happy because I know that I am being active and staying healthy.

I also enjoy physical activity because my friends do the same sports that I do.  I think it's fantastic that we can have fun and hang out while we are being active.  We even help each other reach goals.  In cheer, we help each other learn dances and jumps, and in gymnastics, we help each other with skills that we struggle with.

People participate in many different kinds of physical activity. Some people do zumba or yoga, some do sports, some jog, and some weight lift. With any activity, they still benefit from it somehow; by getting stronger, more flexible,  faster, or by losing weight. Personally, I just think it's fun. No matter what activity you do, you will benefit from it too. So get out there and get active!

"A Clean, Well-lighted Place" Story Vs. Film

Three main things bothered me about the film adaptation of the story. Firstly, the older waiter sat in a strange position.  It was like a "pregnant lady slouch".  I get that the director might not have wanted any shadow on the older waiter, but there are other ways to make that happen.  No one sits like that.  It's extremely uncomfortable. Secondly, when the older waiter thinks the prayers and replaces words with "nothing", that was the worst part of the film. It got so loud and annoying, it gave me a headache, and since he was Irish and saying prayers, the whole film almost seemed to be a bad imitation of The Boondock Saints. Lastly, I thought how they ended the film was totally awkward.  The older waiter walks down a road in early morning, and birds are squawking.  This bothered me because with all the squawking, I felt like he was about to be attacked by birds or something.

I didn't like how the older waiter was portrayed, but I did like how in the bar that the older waiter went to, there was music playing and he commented on how the counter was unpolished.  I liked this because in the story, the older waiter says you want a bar to be well-lighted, clean, and to not have music.

A Clean, Well-lighted Place Reading Response

"He should have killed himself last week."
"An old man is a nasty thing."
"He has no regard for those who must work."

I chose these quotes because they show how little the younger waiter respects the old man.  He is cruel to wish death upon an old man that did nothing but annoy him because he got home a little later on a few nights.  He falsely states that the old man is not clean, even though he drinks without spilling anything on him, while he is drunk.  Lastly, he thinks that the old man is rude to stay late and drink, but it is the waiter's job to serve the customer.  He is getting paid, and even though he insulted the old man, he still received a tip.

"Overreacting" Parody of "Radioactive" by Imagine Dragons

 Author's Note: I love Imagine Dragons, please do not think by me writing this song parody that I am making fun of them or do not respect them.  That said, the parody is about a girl (or it could be a guy, but girls tend to be the dramatic ones) who cuts her hand on a page in her book and totally "overreacts". Enjoy.

I'm waking up to ash and dust

I'm suffering from a paper cut

I wipe my brow and I sweat my rust

I examine my wound, on my hand there's a deep rut

I'm breathing in the chemical

I'm breathing in very deep breaths

I'm breaking in, shaping up, then checking out on the prison bus

I'm sobbing loud, standing up, then collapsing back on to the couch
This is it, the apocalypse
This is it, the possible death of me
Whoa
Oh no

I'm waking up, I feel it in my bones
I'm throwing up, it cut right through my bones
Enough to make my systems blow
Enough to make my stomach blow (chunks)
Welcome to the new age, to the new age
Welcome to the next page, to the next page
Welcome to the new age, to the new age
Welcome to the next page, to the next page
Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, I'm Radioactive, Radioactive
Ow, ow,ow,ow,ow,ow,ow, I'm overreacting, overreacting
Whoa,whoa, whoa whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, I'm Radioactive, Radioactive
Ow,ow,ow,ow,ow,ow,ow, I'm overreacting, overreacting

I raise my flags, don my clothes
I'm covered in blood, I wash my clothes  
It's a revolution, I suppose
It's a fatal wound, I suppose  
We're painted red to fit right in
I'm cleansing my wound to sanitize it
Whoa

Ow

I'm breaking in, shaping up, then checking out on the prison bus

I'm sobbing loud, standing up, then collapsing back on to the couch
This is it, the apocalypse
This is it, the possible death of me
Whoa
Oh no

I'm waking up, I feel it in my bones
I'm throwing up, it cut right through my bones
Enough to make my systems blow
Enough to make my stomach blow (chunks) 
Welcome to the new age, to the new age
Welcome to the next page, to the next page
Welcome to the new age, to the new age
Welcome to the next page, to the next page
Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, I'm Radioactive, Radioactive
Ow, ow,ow,ow,ow,ow,ow,I'm overreacting, overreacting
Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, I'm Radioactive, Radioactive
Ow, ow,ow,ow,ow,ow,ow,I'm overreacting, overreacting

All systems go, the sun hasn't died  
No hope for my  life, I haven't yet died

Deep in my bones, straight from inside

I'm feeling alone, empty inside

I'm waking up, I feel it in my bones
I'm throwing up, it cut right through my bones
Enough to make my systems blow
Enough to make my stomach blow (chunks)
Welcome to the new age, to the new age
Welcome to the next page, to the next page
Welcome to the new age, to the new age
Welcome to the next page, to the next page
Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa,whoa, I'm Radioactive, Radioactive
Ow, ow,ow,ow,ow,ow,ow,I'm overreacting, overreacting
Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, I'm Radioactive, Radioactive
Ow, ow,ow,ow,ow,ow,ow,I'm overreacting, overreacting

Fire Brings The End

There are many different theories about how the world will end.  Some argue about them, some try to prove their theory, and some even write poems about their theories.  Robert Frost explains his theory in "Fire and Ice" and T. S. Eliot explains his theory in "Little Gidding."  These poems/ theories are quite similar.

Frost believes that the world will end in fire because of man's desire.  But of mans desire of what?  The desire to know how the world began, because that's what Eliot believes causes the end.  Man finds out how the world began,  the water "rots", and the world goes down in flame.  Yet, in both of the poems, there is still hope for forgiveness and rebirth.  Frost says the world may perish twice, but in order for the world to perish twice, it would have to have been recreated.  With the world anew, man is given a second chance, and perhaps we won’t make the same mistake as last time.  The world may perish twice, we still have a chance.  In Eliot's poem, our only chance of survival is if we pray for forgiveness from God and everyone dies, but He will create living from all the dead.

According to these poets, man is the cause of the world's end.  We bring the ending upon ourselves.  We have no one else to blame.  Everything is destroyed, and then whether you read "Fire and Ice" or "Little Gidding," you will see that fire brings the end.

Hell Hound

Author's Note: I really, sincerely think that Montag is an idiot who has no idea what he is doing throughout the whole book, unless he is told what to do.  Fahrenheit 451 is my least favorite book because it bothers me that Ray Bradbury chose such a dull, brainless person to be his main character.  The book would have been a million times better if it was written with Clarisse as the main character.  Anyway, if you like Montag, I suggest you don't read this essay so you don't get offended.

The Mechanical Hound is a very misunderstood creature, simply for that reason.  The Hound is considered a creature, but it is only a machine.  It does what it is told to do, nothing more, nothing less.  For some reason, this confuses Montag.  He just doesn't understand the Hound.

The Hound perplexes Montag because, him being childish, he expects the Hound to have feeling because he has feelings.  Something that can't feel is just too hard for Montag to understand.  He wastes emotions on the beast multiple times.  One of those times is when Captain Beatty says, "It doesn't think anything we don't want it to think"(27) and Montag feels sympathy for the Hound.  He even tries to be nice to the Hound and tries to pet it, and it growls at him.  He is offended and says to Captain Beatty, "It doesn't like me"(26).  Montag is extremely shallow and expects everything and everyone to like him, and then he is upset by the Hound because it is not emotionally capable to like something.  So, technically, the Hound doesn't like him, and though it doesn't like anyone,  Montag gets upset.

The reason Montag is confused by the Mechanical Hound is because he doesn’t understand how something can not like him. He just needs to realize that the Hound is not capable of emotion.

Over and Over Again

When the world stays at bay,
You can give in,
It's okay,
Just say, I've had enough, I gave it my all
Now just get me out of this hell.
This isn't what anyone said
War was like, then again,
I didn't
Talk to anyone who's seen a life pass before their eyes
What happens now?
How do I take it back?
I'll take his place
I'll do anything, just so I won't have to live that moment
Over and over again

Back In Time

Been a long time since I seen ya last,
You were long forgotten, in the past
But you gotta, turn back a page, set me in reverse
Baby, you got me goin back in time

Singin clouds

Driftin rain

Bloodred tears

Unbearable pain

Laughin children

Smilin white

I'm still drownin

Because of their spite

Everybody's laughin

And I'm still standin by

Nobody is payin attention

As I just sit here and cry

The floor is lava

I'm hidin, come and find me

You can't catch me,

It's all childish games with you

I love you always

I promise, there's nothin goin on

Between me and her

It's never the truth when I'm with you

Just look me in the eyes

No more games,

No more lies,

Just you and me for once

Tell me what I did do,

Why do I deserve this

Comin from you

Tell me, tell me why

Child Labor Letter

Author's Note: Picture taken from http://thelinthead.blogspot.com

 

Dear Annabeth,

I hope you are happy with your new husband.  I am doing fine, workin in a cotton factory.  The hours are long and pay is low, but every penny helps.  The farm isn’t doin too well.  The cows are gettin old and mamma’s gettin stretched too  thin, doin papa’s chores and takin care of four children.  Molly is gonna start workin next year.  Eight is a young age to start workin, but she will be in the cotton factory, so I’ll be able to look after her.  It’ll be sad though to see her soft little hands turned callused like mine.  Pullin on the thread for hours burns your hands at first, but you get used to it.  The fumes, however, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get over.  Every day, I walk through the door, and right away, I just want to turn around and run right back out.  The smell from all those machines is just foul. 

I miss you.  I know mamma does too.  But she’s happy for you.  You were lucky to get to marry a rich husband.  Between all the men being  gone at war and me never gettin out of the factory, I don’t know if I’ll ever get a husband.  I’m afraid I’ll be stuck here forever.

                                                                                                                                         With Love,

                                                                                                                                           Farrah