Monday, April 30, 2012

Last of the Poet-icans

So, my semester and Rutgers career is winding down. Here's my final creative writing assignment in lieu of anything more interesting. The assignment was to write ten statements with "The truth is" connecting them with the clause of "or."

The truth is...
-I can believe it's not butter.
-OR you actually do look fat in that dress.
-OR it's not me, it's you.
-OR Greedo shot second.
-OR your beauty is unmatched by anything on this Earth, or whatever line works best to get me into your pants.
-OR one does simply walk into Mordor.
-OR that I taped us having sex and posted it online. Oops.
-OR that blue crayons don't taste like blueberry, no matter how much you want them to.
-OR that sleeping with your girlfriend's twin sister is inexcusable, regardless of whether or not her sister posed as your girlfriend.
-OR that I like to feign a sense of philosophical sagacity in order to raise my self-esteem and make myself seem smarter than everyone else.
-OR that I'm afraid of graduating and becoming old because being old indicates that I'm one step closer to being weighed down by a family, kids, a mortgage, taxes, and death. Take me back to freshman year.

Wednesday, April 11, 2012

Two Emily Bronte-style poems

The usual assignments.

"Perpetual"

What weary eyes are those,
Those pale reflections of once-life;
They look upon the universe in pose,
Considering that she was once his wife.

Something so grandiose cannot be forgotten,
Try as one might.
It leaves the mind thinking it is begotten
With no sense of delight.

But life shall always go on
Until the last star fades;
Every day is presented with a new fawn
Who will explore the universe that none forbades.

And when that fawn feels lost,
When it has a modicum of doubt,
When its mind feels tossed,
It will have its life to tout.

For life is a phoenix,
That shall always burn and rise.
It is with those mechanics
That tomorrow is always the true prize.


"A kind darkness"

For what can I say but say adieu?
There is no reason for time;
For time continues with no ado
And mocks one like a pantomime.

It is that fire that burns the eyes
And tears away at the heart.
It cares not whether one cries
And haunts one from the start.

What grace there is in darkness
But sadly that none could see;
It is that darkness is lonely
And can never truly be free.

That darkness holds a mystery,
One that some lament;
But others appreciate its history,
And find strength in its torment.

For when one accepts that darkness,
It can only become a friend.
Its slash turns to a caress,
As it guides you through the end.

Off-rhyme poem

Because I was in Chicago for the weekend and am still very tired from it, here's my latest assignment.

With each blink I fall to sleep;
My mind has little incentive not to slip
Down that tunnel of unknown realms.
It is a cavern in which one should not delve,
Lest you welcome the insanity of darkness to come to blind you.
The adventure has ignited that fool
And found that there is no love in intransigence.
Creep along with a lurker’s existence
Only to feel the grains of sand fall through your fingers,
and forget all the yesterdays that meander.

Tuesday, April 3, 2012

Sonnet #2

Let us lay in wait for that fateful day
'till the leaves caress the silken touch of the wind,
her angelic voice entrancing the Earth itself.
It is this love I cannot rescind,
for she holds the envy of a thousand stars.
My unintelligible ramblings do no justice
to the elation she brings to every today.
Tomorrow is an avaricious lion,
demanding her eyes avert me; but
tomorrow will never feel the delight
of her presence.
Let there be a doubt of injustice, if
only for a day, for there will be none
when we finally unite.

Monday, April 2, 2012

Sonnet I wrote for Creative Writing

The cleft between us leaves all cold at heart
For no amount of will could bring me closer to seeing your rutilant face.
Only the rakish man with a moil-minded conscience should forget
Those eyes, those blue incitements of a soul hell-bent on a love so forlorn.
My chest is a cannon as I cry to the weeping angels,
“Spare me this tearing soul! Show me mercy! Undo this hasp and toss me asunder!”
But angels they are not, as their disgust turns to scorn.
Their libations are a selfish fanfaronade of farewells
Aimed at he who could not regret.
I call to her, “Let our tryst not be mournful, let us not acknowledge
The knell of that silent divide.”
Only her ears are the wind caressing the ilex,
Having no patience for a lovesick waif
Like myself.

Life, or lack thereof

Death on TV is not an uncommon occurrence. It could be real, as in reported deaths on the news, or fake, as in a television show or movie. Death has become such an everyday occurrence in life that we never take much account of it, unless it is of someone we know (or a fictional character we love). That being said, who has time to care for all the deaths there are in the world? When is the last time a person cried over the death of a single soldier, or of the thousands killed in Syria, or of any number of deaths reported when they were heard over the news? The most common reaction is a small "oh, wow, that is terrible," but a full-on torrential cry? Unlikely, unless perhaps you saw a picture or a video of the deaths in question.

Having attended more than my fair share of funerals at my age, I've stopped crying at funerals and for death. I've found, much too often, that people are too fast to mourn the loss of a person rather than celebrate the person that they were. For some, the mourning process is natural; imagining life without a person who has been so influential, so stable, so exciting, is daunting. So, instead of mourning that person and what they brought out in you, why not be that person that they made you be when they were around? That person you feel that you can no longer be because they are no longer around?

Along with that, I'd rather have people happy at my funeral than crying. I want people to dance and sing, to jump with joy and enjoy themselves. I don't really care if they're doing it because they're glad I'm dead or because I've asked them to, but life is too damn short to spend it sad. I am going to demand that there be dancing at my funeral, which may or may not include the chicken dance.

Yep.
DF