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.

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.

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.

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

Writing. Creatively.

These are a bunch of "I remember" shorts based on the work of Joe Brainard.

I remember falling asleep on the floor of my grandparent’s house. They carried me up the stairs on top of a cushion.

I remember one summer where I watched the James Bond film The World Is Not Enough every day for at least a month. After a while, I was able to recite every line of dialogue from the movie. I haven’t seen the movie since.

I remember dropping my bookbag in a creek during a rainstorm. Everything inside was water-damaged, except for the Spider-Man comic book I had just gotten.

I remember going to my first Mets game. Every pop-up seemed like a home run.

I remember the first time I had sex. I wish I didn’t.

I remember working in the kid’s section of the library when a kid peed on the floor. Thankfully, I wasn’t the one who had to clean it.

I remember sitting in the back corner of the kid’s section of the library while on duty, reading books about Spider-Man and Batman. I was 19 at the time.

I remember being excited whenever Boy Meets World would come on TV. I always hoped that I would have friends like that.

I remember seeing Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 2 in theaters on its opening night. I got 3-D glasses in the shape of Harry Potter glasses. I cried at the end.

I remember having a Batman raincoat that I would wear everywhere. Eventually, it ripped, but I was still Batman.

I remember buying a Playstation 2 with my own money without my parents’ knowledge. I haven’t played the damn thing in years.

I remember spending tons of money on baseball and Pokemon cards. I hope I can get some of that back when I sell them.

I remember my first few weeks at Rutgers. Everyone was only an acquaintance.

I remember wrestling a kid named John for fun until he knocked off my glasses. I went berserk and gave him a black eye. I’m pretty sure he moved away because of that. I’ve always wanted to apologize, but I don’t remember his last name.

I remember knocking out a kid in soccer when one of my shots hit him in the face. It was completely unintentional, I swear.

I remember scoring my first goal in soccer. I was pretty nonchalant about it, much to my own surprised. I ended up as one of the better players that year.

I remember riding the bench in junior varsity because my coach didn’t much care for me. I didn’t care, we sucked anyway.

I remember drawing comic books in middle school with my friends and selling them to our other friends. We turned a surprisingly good profit for one dollar per comic.

I remember wasting countless hours of my life playing online first-person shooter games. I was pretty good, too. A shame it basically meant nothing.

I remember waiting eagerly on my 11th birthday for my acceptance letter into Hogwarts. Needless to say, sadness doesn’t express how I felt when the letter didn’t come. I then thought that America must not believe in magic.

I remember eating a blue crayon in kindergarten. I lied to everyone when I said that it tasted like blueberries.

I remember the first time I kissed a girl. By the end of the night, I had trouble walking.

I remember my first Model UN conference. Quite possibly one of the greatest experiences of my life. It made me feel like an idiot, which was exactly what I needed because I believed myself to be the greatest thing since Genghis Khan himself.

I remember my first broken wrist. It didn’t hurt, but upon looking at the awkward Z-shape my hand had formed with my forearm, I started screaming.

I remember my second broken wrist. Like an idiot, I fell off a 7-foot fence onto some concrete, knocking myself out. I had a concussion, a broken wrist, torn skin on my face, and a bone bruise in my knee.

I remember getting my first job at the mall selling sports memorabilia. I was fired without being told. Imagine my delight when I found out that the store closed down a month or two later.

I remember the first time I got drunk. I ended up the next morning wandering around College Ave. without a shirt or shoes, desperately looking for a bathroom and a place to eat that wouldn’t kick me out for lack of clothes. Not my proudest moment.

I remember being caught by a cop while I hooked up with a girl in the back seat of my car. Deciding that it was a sign, I took her home and didn’t call her.

I remember playing Resistance: Fall of Man for 6 straight hours until 4 A.M. my freshman year of college. My friend and I beat the game.

I remember having a staring contest with a deer. I won.