META WRITING #3

--this one was done at home, but i just got this idea and didnt want to forget it--

it taste good,

you just dont

know why.

 

You dont think it tastes good,

it doesnt look good

but you try it

 

its bitter

its sweet

its filling, like a  full meal, 

one that is always strived for, but

rarley reached.

you want more

 

more and more

and then,

its gone

done with

and all you're left with is

a soft, fading

memory.

 

you try to recall

what was so

good about it,

but,

you can't

 

it's like holding on

to a sound.

 

As hard as you try to

grab it,

you cant.

 reaching for sound,

getting air.

 

its gone.

and then, you feel

almost lonley

upset,

angry,

frustrated.

 

All you left with is that

lingering taste

playing with your

taste buds,

there,

but not

really.

 

And you search for it

you think you find it,

and you stick your tounge on your

tooth searching for

any sign of the taste

 

You try to rewind time,

to hear that sound,

becuase without it

you feellonely

and empty

alone and

sad.

Like something is missing.

 

You find the lingering taste, but barley.

 

You convince yourslef you heard the sound,

not wanting to

miss out on the action

and you trick your self

'i heard it' you say.

 

'yummy!' you say.

 

and then, its gone.

no more linger.

out of sight.

out of reach

out of power.

 

gone.

 

 

 

intention: my intention on this one was to show how sometimes we really want something, but so many times we cant have it, and so we trick ourselves into thinking we've got it, so we dont feel left out, and when the reader got that to mkae that into a bigger thing, i mean, what's so bad about being left out? why is it such a big deal? i probably soundlike the biggest hipocrite in the wrold, cause i hate being left out, but why? whats so wrong with being yourself, and why does almost evryone go to such lenths to fit it. And its not nessealy "fitting in" but not to be left out. There is something so odd about the way a human's brain works, where everyone cares what everyone thinks, even though we do know that other people dont care, and dont even notice that we're...i forgot the word...but basically trying to impress them.

 

Process:

my process for this one wasn't amazing either. I dont write poems that way, i just write them. i was thinking about the song, FOR NO ONE, and thats how i came up with the idea The first draft of this poem was a bit too much like the song, and so i added in other events, other comparisons to support my idea within the poem.That was really it. I think i need some one too look over it with me, and then i can write more about my process, but i didnt do much from teh seccond draft to now, maybe i changed some words to make it more poetic, but because its along poem each word doesnt count as much. as i work on this poem, i'll add to the process, but untill then...thats all i've done. .

 

5/3/09

The sore arches of my feet

ran on the soft lush grass.

 

It was the kind of grass

that my dad always talked about,

 

he always wanted grass like that,

always tried to grow it in the back yard.

 

but our grass,

the grass we had in the back yard,

 

was scrawney, and dirty.

Week and pathetic.

 

When we sat and grew grass,

we'd plant lots of seeds at a time.

 

One of ever ten

seeds would come.

 

And this grass,

was soft and inviting,

 

this grass was as green as

grass should be,

 

it was full

and it was thick.

 

this grass, unlike ours,

was perfect

 

mY Intention for this one was...well, i had wrote this one before that lesson so i didnt have one. But now, i guess i want the reader tosee how we cant always get it. "it" meaning everything, and aas hard as we try, and i really do hate to say this, we cant always get it. and then we see what we want, and we;re so upset, and in that moment we realize, what am i kidding...i cant do this. and we stop. and althought its insanley important to have dreams, its also important to know when to adjust your dreams and realize its unrealisitc. I hate how i sound, becuase i hate what i just said, btu it is true.  

 

alright, so my process for this one changed. It started off from a picture of me runing. it was about how free i felt, but how art the same time i was obligated to this baton. Then i changed it to what i smelt, felt, heard, ect. Then i decided i wanted it to be about how our grass sucks, but this is good grass, why though? i figgured i'd let the reader figgure this out. I know why, but it's not really  up to me, and its not my job to tell the reader why. Next, i thinki i had added in about our grass. it had just been about how perfect this grass was. I wanted to compare it with something. I hadn't had that sentence abou toen in every ten seeds actully grows, but i added it in. I think i did that becuase it shows soemthing, so kind of desperation, and low confidence, soemthing along those lines. And how we cant always be the best becyae other people can just be better than us. I guess  thats how i got from a poem about being free to a poem about this.

Together

 

 

break bunkbeds

and sneak too many

oreos

 

 

get soaked by the the waterfountian

near the upper

tennis court and scorch our feet on the

black top,

 

 run the wasp by the

pool, the

bee in the

attic, clomping down the stairs,

 

We catch lakota

and run after stevie,

 

eat icepops and babysit.

hide behind trees,

look for shooting stars

 

together we

fight:

 

where to eat this time? and decide

the

 

pizza place.

 

We promise michelle:

next time, we'll

go to the

 

lunchonette.

 

together we run down

 

nelson road

and pie each other with wipped cream.

 

and wait for colombus day.

 

 

 

 

 

intention: i dont really know what my intention was for this one, it was just a memory that kept flashing. It's about how much of a communty we are at lake huntington, i suppose, and how we do every thing togther. I guess i took some of the stuff that didnt seem so fun, like scorching our feet, but it is soemthing we did. I guess that now that i think about it, i might even be saying that life is better as a real communtiy, where you have real friedns that will do  this for you. And yes, it gets insanly boring up there, but we still sit on the edges of our chairs at school and wait for lake huntington to come back, and it;s justlike a perfecr little safe world, where all this stuff happends, and thats just life there. I'm not comparing it to life here, im just stating what i miss becuase thats not the kind of stuff we do here. I'm also maybe saying how this ends...and we want it to c ome back again. I havent said it but i'm also thinking how some day this is goign to end, and that day is going to suck severly., Soon we;ll be tyhe oldest kids, we'll be in collage, we'll be doing things that take us away from the summer, and i want to remeber. it's happening already, with camp...

 

 

 

 

process: my process for this one was also simple. I was textign my friend Michelle, about how excaited i was for labor day b/c we were going to our summer house, and  i was just thinking about it,and how stuid we were to get into tehse same exact fight every week, but we cant help it.   I guess i was also just saying what i missed, all those little simple things. i was taking these little things that i cant do here, like we dont have a black LHSC basetball court over lookiign a lake, and we dotn have a black top, and they are some one the things so significant of there. I suppose my process was wriiting it, becuase i liked it from teh first draft. My process hasnt had any major leeps. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

May 12th

 

Found Poem

 

Tova

Youngest person to survive.

All our friends were gone.

She didn't get off the sidewalk fast enough.

Out! Out! Everybody out!

Punnished becuase you were Jewish.

Pitch Dark.

Stench of urinal bickets filled to overflowing, made the air unbreathable.

Anybody who isn't perfect will be killed.

Smacked her in the face.

Many times she gave me her bread.

Numbers are strange.

Smoke billiowed constantly.

I wondered about my father.

Some could barley walk.

I could not imagine what lay ahed, either.

Room full of polish classmates.

Murder in a Lodz jewerly store.

Gang. Iron rod.

tell me whats real and what isn't.

i killed them.

i killed them.

Seperating families.

I can't forgive them.

Amid the teas and painful memories.

My name is Tova.

SS guns pointing down from towers.

If i took it off, someone might grab it and run off.

Mama was next.

Pull your feet in!

Rats.

Tomorow is your birthday. I love you. Mama.

I didn't mourn the girls death.

more and more familes came  out of hiding.

But no one greeted us.

Bought one jelly doughnut.

That wall was your room, before we moved to the ghetto.

You dirty jew. Why are you alive?

Torture.

Tell me what's real and what isn't.

 

alright, so thankfully i have an intention for tyhis one. I really wanted to try and show waht the holocaustt was really like through Tova's eyes, and how much stuff there was, and how heavythis is.  it's sort of just plain, and just what it is. They way i orgunized it, it was ment to be chaos, but organized chaos,where it is somewhat chaotic, but still organized---excatly what it sounded like. I did that becuase thats how the Holocaust was. when the reader read this, i wanted them to feel sad, to feel like they just realized something, like something that they knew was horrible was not a hole level of different horribleness.

 

my process for this one is different than all the others. I had this packet  to read for hebrew school, when i read it i thought it would make a good found poem. I went just about page to page, skimming and finding harsh powerful lines, and oens that were either touching,and that just stood out to me. befor e it was a lot longer i took out alot of the sentences that sort of hoverd, the kind that the mind gets lost in, like the fat on meat, and cut to the bone. i took out a lot of sentences that were more opinonated, and open for discussion, les factual. I did that, becuase i thought it would make it some much more person, in a way that took away almost all the person of her, and showed what had happend to her, how she had no say, no controll, no voice, and her opinions were facts. I think its a diffreent levelof personal. When i say an opinon, all though i want peope to agree with me, if i say i think the yellow was is prettier, some one can eaisly agree, if i say: the yellow was is prettier, its as if i've made my mind. Its not somethign i think.I know it is. And so i tried to only take those sentences.

__________

 

 vibrations

the abrupt

vibration from his bass trumpet

disturbs me deeply,

 

 i dig my earplug

deeper into my ear,

 

and i tell him to

stop, but he

doesnt stop.

 

my intention on this one, was very simple. there are really two, the origanl and the revised one. The first one, was that no one person in morepowerful than the next, and all thoughi can tell my brother (becuase its pretty much based on him) to stop, and i can do everything in my power to get him to, but he can just pick that thing upp and start playing it again.  and that goes for anything my parents could drag me some where, strap me in car, but i could jump out of it, and then i could run away. Anything.

My seccond intention was that, and this one is harder, is that beautiful things can make you upset. Yeah, some of that is cliche, like "looks are only surface deep" and wahtnot, but its more then that. It's meant to be taken in a diffrent way. Why is it that that beauty can trick us into thinking its good, when really its bad? How does it trick us? ms. rear was takign about how we're attracted to beutiful things becuase they remind us that there is good in the harsh world, but what if all this beauty distubs us? Then what? What is the point of making every thing so beautiful if we then doent like what isnt? And what is with Humans needing the world to be beautiful...i mean it's prettier, but why is it prettier, why why why? I know i sound like a complete hypocrite, but its so stupid that we need beauty in the world. And its just really the stupidest thing. I cant get across how stupid it is! I like pretty things, but i dont know why, there are so many questions about that. Whats the point of all this energy into beautiful things? Why do we bother with it, becuasr there are still so many ugly things out in the world, and i dont really mind for them, so i dont see why it has to be such a big deal.

In a way, if every thing was just left with polish-if tehre was no need for i t, and there always has been a need for it, wouldnt every thing actully be beautiful? I guess thats hard to get, but what i mean is: I go to a kosher sleep away camp, and the food really sucks. When we get garlic bread, which is like the best thing,we love it, and we love it becuase of comparision. When i go home and sleep on my matress i feel; lk,e i am really in heaven, but then i get used to it and when i g o back to camp, it sucks. If the standard is so low, dont you think that the world would be an easier place? And i feel lke such a hypocrtie becuase i set my standards high, i want to make good things out of mylife, and what if suddenly the crappiest job was good, what if that was improvement?

It's a whole diffeent way of looking at the world, and its so much nicer...its looking at the good not the bad. YEster day i was thinking this at my bat-mitzvah lesson because i didnt pratice AT ALL over the week, and i was sort of angry at myself becuase it was embarrising how bad i was, but then i thought--woah, hold on. im reading hebrew...im reconzing these letter, so you kknow how hard that is? and im singign! im a suckish singer!

I think that overall, i was trying to say that someone who has as much power as the president, and yes, we should listen to him/her, but they cant really make us pay those taxes. They can take away our house and use that for the money, they can take away or electricity, they cna take us out of the country, but, they cant make us do what we dont want to do. They can only do what they have the power  to do.

I think this one easy to find the intention for, becuase it is so personal, last year when my brother came here he was in Band.So, he had a trumpet, and espically is the beginning of 6th grade--when i was in 4tt--he would have to pratice, and we all know he wasnt that good- and he got really good by the middle of the year, but he's prattice at like 9 when i would go to sleep. Guess who he kept  up? Yup, thatwould be me. So i would always go down stairs and  tell him to be quiet, and he said nop this is homework and so i'd tell my parents so get him to shut up, but he just wouuldnt, becuase he has the power to do what he wanted to do.

MY origanl inention was so make this reflect Sensation, By the Who.

 

Process:

my process was really simple. I was sitting down typing up poems here on the wiki, and my brother had his gutair lesson like right now. So i told him to stop becuase i was doing homework....and he didnt stop. it was really simple, yeah i wish it was so amazing idea but its not. I had made one revisoon thought that made it a lot etter [THAK YOU ANNABELLE] i had changed gutair to trupmet, becuase gutairs-as cool as they are-are sort of cluimsy big instruments and anrent considered beautiful. trumpets, however are, they are jazzy and old, and its almost like when you playing tehm you can really feel the rythm, and i know when i played bens trumpet it was more almost magical then when i played his gutair, becuase i sort of felt silly playing his gutair, i felt annimated and weird, but the trumpet i felt like a spark, almost,i cant really expalin uit, but it was more signifacant. It was also my great-uncle bertie, who i never met's trumpet so it was special, but i thik trupets just fit better, they are copper, they are gold, not wooden and beige. 

 

Satisfied

My dad never taught me

to drive.

I waited untill i was sixteen to get behind the wheel, 

for the sticky leather to dig into my blistered, swelating hands.

Or my chafed hands to grasp the wheel, hurting in pain,

only the motion of driving soothing me.

"It's too  dangerous, Son, It's too

dangerous" He told me.

My hands hurt, ached, for that wheel.

And i drove in my sleep.

All i wanted to do was drive.

My mother had once said,

"Son, when you came into this world,

your tiny black hands were steering the car, steering the world"

And she'd say

"Just remeber me when you become big, make it into car racing, dont forget you helmet, son. Dont forget nothing"

"It's to dangerous, son, it's too

dangerous" He told me.

 

ride around the summer lake

the wind in my hair,

and the metal

of the pcik up truck

on the palms of

my hand,

the lake shimmers with

sun,

the trip

around the summer lake

has started,

and i neverwant it to end.

i never want it to end. I want

to keep going and going,

feeling that gentil wind

tugging my

rarley loose

hair,

with the laughs of

my friends,

the grazing of the cows,

and

the sound of the lake,

and i never want to stop.

i wanna keep going,

and i look about.

we're driving up

nelson road,

and our trip

around the summer lake

is over.

 

The ballon splashes, right

on my muddy 

feet. 

"emma!" a shrill

voice sats, "John's

dead!"

 

And she drops

her ballon, 

splashing on

the grass, "Laura," a different 

shrill voice said,

"pauls dead" 

 

Found poem from "the book theif"

One was a book theif, the other stole the sky.

She winked and resumed.

Sirens leaked into the cellar.

Term, name, expression.

Himmel street was untouched.

Clouds of dust, migrated from east to west.

There were roumors carring bags.

He would die completely alone.

Prymids of rubble.

Oppertunity, prospect, opening, break.

Wire in her back.

What, are you a Jew?

Dachau, to concentrate.

Two weeks to change the world, and fourteen days to ruin it.