Within the Bubble

Human to Non-Human

2011-05-26T17:49:00.000-07:00

Do you see?
Do you see those stones?
The ones that line the path?

They are like the years;
The years in front and the years behind;
Do you follow?

They are all shapes;
All sizes and colors too;
Do you know?

Some like a pleasant memory
Are smooth under your toes
Do you feel?

What about the rough ones?
Those patches you try to forget;
Do you remember?

Will you follow the path,
Winding through time?
There are stones out of place.

We don't see the stones ahead,
We don't know which way they lead
Happiness or sorrow, joy or pain?

Still we must follow
The years, the stones.

Rhythm

2011-05-25T16:29:00.000-07:00

A poem about trees

Oh, what would give the trees new life,
Would sun or soil or moon or rain,
more fruit, more flowers or even leaves?
No! what would make the trees delight?
A happy person against their trunks
with cares forgot and tears behind

Sonnet

2011-05-24T16:04:00.000-07:00

Why I sit through algebra class

Where would we be, if we never used math;

If we had never heard of circles or lines,

Or had to dig deep into the depths of our minds,

If we had never faced the algebra teacher's wrath?

If we had never set out on this number-y path;

Never learned to count pennies and dimes,

Or even to make graphs of certain designs,

Oh! would not the world be a jumbled mud bath?

No buildings or bridges would be able to stand;

Nor could any drill sergeant give marching commands;

And music would have no rhythm or tone.

So though geometry may bore and exhaust you,

And the end of calculus is far overdue,

Just remember that math is very important!

poem that speaks to me

2011-05-23T15:44:00.000-07:00

An Irish Airman Foresees His Death

I know that I shall meet my fate

Somewhere among the clouds above;

Those that I fight I do not hate,

Those that I guard I do not love;

My country is Kiltartan Cross,

My countrymen Kiltartan's poor,

No likely end could bring them loss

Or leave them happier than before.

Nor law, nor duty bade me fight,

Nor public men, nor cheering crowds,

A lonely impulse of delight

Drove to this tumult in the clouds;

I balanced all, brought all to mind,

The years to come seemed waste of breath,

A waste of breath the years behind

In balance with this life, this death.

William Butler Yeats

I have liked this poem since the time I heard it last year in a movie. I really like the irony created by the contrasting statements like "The years to come seemed waste of breath/A waste of breath the years behind." I feel like this poem really embodies all that war is, as a subject that is really difficult to understand. My favorite lines are "Those that I fight I do not hate,/Those that I guard I do not love;" because it really emphasizes the complexity of war. This poem made me think about war in a much different way than I had before. What's the point of war and is peace so far away? How could anyone be able to fight and kill people that they don't hate, aside from being told these people are the enemy? This poem is also really sad, because it was written in 1918 when people believed that WWI was the war to end all wars.

Soft

2011-05-19T17:49:00.000-07:00

a nap

calm washes around me
through every pore
breath is slowing
eyes are closing

stress gone in the past
summer upon us
worry is vanishing
dreams are evolving

wind tickles my face
hair dancing gently
sun is shining
bees are buzzing

warm, open sky above
soft cool grass below
lazily i give in
to sleep

Character Sketch

2011-05-19T17:00:00.000-07:00

A Runner

His

torso, like a Roman pillar

as chiseled as an old master's finest work

smooth and angular

strong and limited.

His

legs, rolling like thunder

sustaining like the long-awaited rain

kinetic and potential

freed and enslaved.

His eyes are forward

His hair is flying

His hands are tense

His mouth is slack

A singular thought fills his head

His

race, the beginning

the sunrise over the quiet world

vigor and strain

love and loss.

His truth

"Simile" Mimic

2011-05-18T16:28:00.000-07:00

Where did we go on that run
that now we are like the birds
who fly in great flocks
with joyful chatter
with forgotten cares
with time to waste
with wings always floating in the wind
in whose journey freedom is found