Ours for the Taking

Ours for the Taking

My face can no longer feel my hands,
I tuck my shirt back into my pants.
Everyone is smiling and happy,
A good song gets us clapping.
Tonight is for us and

No one can destroy these plans,
They get us through homework and exams.
The scene is truly entrapping
This place, this time, ours for the taking.

We are young, wild and live to dance.
Our spirits are free, our minds don’t know “can’t.”
The world opens for us; we are mapping
Out our lives with people and places we’ve lapped.
We try our best, we do what we can
This place, this time, ours for the taking.

I chose the formalist style of rondeau to write my poem. I decided to use this one because I like the simplicity of it; three stanzas and one repeating refrain. But I also like how each stanza is a different length, to add some variation. I tried to describe a simple scene, with low level diction and not much imagery in order to let the point of the poem stand out. I think the simplicity yet repetition of the form I chose also enables the main idea to be prominent. The subject of the poem is being young and partying, so it is kind of ironic that the poem is written in a structured form. We looked at a few poems in class that did something similar to this and I thought it would be interesting to experiment with a subject and form that contradict each other in a subtle way.

Rhyming is hard for me, because I feel like it constrains my ideas; having to use a certain word over another one just because it rhymes. However, I enjoyed this exercise and this form because it forced me to try it. I definitely used a slant rhyme on several lines, such as “dance” and “can’t” or “happy” and “clapping.” Besides using a few rhymes that don’t quite rhyme, I mostly stuck to the form’s rules because I don’t usually write with a structure in mind, so it was a challenge that I wanted to take. In some ways it was harder to write this poem than if I had written in free verse, but it was also nice to have some direction and rules to follow.

David Gessner

I have always loved Henry Thoreau. I wrote a research paper on Walden in high school and ever since then, I have admired his thoughts about nature. One of my favorite quotes is, "I went in to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover I had not lived." Besides Thoreau, I have always enjoyed reading about nature.

I liked hearing Gessner speak and put forth his own ideas about nature and the idea of wildness. Limited wildness is a fascinating idea. I love believing that you can experience wildness even in the middle of a crowded city, or maybe a college campus. It is all about engaging your surroundings and seeking opportunities to appreciate unique aspects of life.

In his This I Believe essay for NPR, he said, "I believe in wildness, both in the natural world and within each of us." This is a quote I want to remember to live by; it is like a modern version of Thoreau's quote and emphasizes the accessibility of wildness within and around us.

Life Is Colorful

Psalm 1

1 Blessed is the man
who does not walk in the counsel of the wicked
or stand in the way of sinners
or sit in the seat of mockers.
2 But his delight is in the law of the Lord,
and on his law he meditates day and night.
3 He is like a tree planted by stream of water,
which yields its fruit in season
and whose leaf does not wither.
Whatever he does prospers.

4 Not so the wicked!
They are like chaff
that the wind blows away.
5 Therefore the wicked will not stand in the judgment,
nor sinners in the assembly of the righteous.

6 For the Lord watches over the way of the righteous,
but the way of the wicked will perish.

Life is Colorful

There must be more to life than good and evil,
people are not that simple.
We see more colors than black and white,
therefore people must be more than that too.
We should stop forcing people to say they are one or the other.

Not everyone can see a list of rules and delight in it.
Some people used to yield fruit but have forgotten how.
If this means they are evil,
then hell must be one crowded place.

But can’t chaff that blows in the wind
land on the right side again one day?
The things we do, the choices we make are not permanent.
Life is colorful.
People life differently from one day to the next,
and who should judge them if they stray for a day or two?

Does Not Catch My Eye

There it sits right by the crossword puzzle

But it does not catch my eye.

Ramblings of superstitious nonsense do not catch my eye.

I will not find love where I least expect it.

I will not decide on a career today.

I will not inherit a fortune this month.

The author does not know my life or my personality

And I will not fall for their foolish scheme.

Whoever they are, I will not fall for their foolish scheme.

Original
My parents are honest. They are honest about who they are and how things are. They have never lied to me to make a situation easier; they tell me the truth because they understand its value. Don’t tell me that my dog is going to spend some time on a farm…tell me he is dying of spleen cancer. And then drive three hours to let me see him one last time. My mom carrying my dog up three flights of stairs to my dorm room, that is a scene I will never forget. Don’t tell me that your job is fine, that you work with great people and feel validated…tell me you want to quit, or try to be fired. Tell me that you need prayers because you are considering leaving a job you have held for 16 years but the people are so selfish and spiteful that you can’t stand them anymore. My dad asking me to translate a business proposal into Swahili and then emailing that to his boss, that is an email I will never delete.

Past Tense
My parents are honest. They are honest about who they are and how things are. They have never lied to me to make a situation easier; they tell me the truth because they understand its value. My mom didn’t tell me that my dog was going to spend some time on a farm…she told me he was dying of spleen cancer. And then she drove three hours to let me see him one last time. My mom carried my dog up four flights of stairs to my dorm room, that was a scene I will never forget. My dad didn’t tell me that his job was fine, that he worked with great people and felt validated…he told me he wanted to quit, or try to get fired. He told me that he was considering leaving a job he has held for 16 years because the people were so selfish and spiteful that he couldn’t stand them anymore. My dad asked me to translate a business proposal into Swahili and then emailed that to his boss, that was an email I will never delete.

I think I will sustain the changes I made, switching from present to past tense...at least for this paragraph. I think the original paragraph seems kind of confusing now as I look back at it. The way I address my parents, saying, "don't tell me..." does not make it clear that they in fact didn't tell me that. The past tense indicates more clearly what they did or did not tell me. Although, in the original, I do like the way it seems I am personally addressing my parents in the essay, but I don't do that anywhere else so I guess it doesn't quite fit with the rest of the essay. I think after this experimental revision, I will go through my other paragraphs and read solely for tense issues, to see which will make the story clearer.

On dating.

Curly brown hair tops off the adorable sight that some would call a face. Face doesn’t do it justice. Face cannot explain what I know. There it is; that beautifully complicated sight coming closer and closer. In his strong arms, I let out a deep breath. His hugs are game-changing.

Turning over in bed, I am pleasantly surprised my pajamas appear to be on right; oversized baseball tee-shirt on top and my favorite red boxers on bottom. My water bottle is mysteriously empty, but perhaps that explains the five trips I made to the bathroom last night. I check my texts and my stomach falls to the floor when I see what I had sent, hopefully against my better judgment, but I doubt it put up much of a fight when bad judgment was coursing through my veins with the help of a few new friends. Some friends, they convinced me to text him, “I’m dr3unk.” Drunk is not spelled with a 3. Drunk is not something I had ever been before. Drunk is something he knew I was because I wish I was with him. Drunk happened again the next weekend.

Our flannel shirts seemed as one that night. We spent that cool October night in a barn under the stars, stomping, clapping, spinning and laughing to a fiddle band comprised of old men wearing socks with their Tevas and strange leather vests. Together, we were a tornado; too caught up in each others’ gaze to notice the stares of others as we danced off rhythm and crashed into other couples. “Hold my hand like you mean it,” he whispered in my ear as our fingers interlocked. We had started down a path, neither one knowing where it would lead.

A gas mask. He forced my man to smoke weed in a gas mask. I could kill him with my shaking hands right now if I didn’t doubt that my heels would carry me across the room in one piece.

I lay in my bed, thermometer hanging out of my mouth, clothes completely sweat through and face as red as the glow of the keys of his laptop. I didn’t complain because it was in this state that he entered with a shopping bag filled with juice, pudding, candy, and all other best types of medicine and said, “morning sunshine.” It was about 8pm and I did not look like sunshine. Wiping orange juice from my chin, meeting my humiliated gaze, cleaning my pit of a room, spending time with my 101 degree self, he was earning his sainthood.

Storming out. Passive texts. Aggressive texts. Excessive miscommunications. He yelled at me from the staircase, calling me lame and boring. That’s a time I would like to forget, but damn he was wearing my favorite shirt of his.

One more minute and I would have brought him back. If I had to chase him down my hallway, call him or text him, I would have caved. Like a sand castle built by a two-year old, I would have caved.

Two people going to different places can’t walk together. Or so I thought. But what if after one leaves, the other gets so lost and confused that they just wish they were walking with the other again, with their arm around you. Isn’t that all that matters anyways?

Follow your head. Follow your heart. I have no idea which is right.

We were eating pudding again. We were joking about the same things again. We were talking about our days again. We were saying what we meant for the first time. We were embracing a second chance as he hugged me, picked me up and spun me around.