My Poetic Defense

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My heart is full of deep, profound emotions
So immense
So intense
All I can do is furiously type on this keyboard
All I can do is remember the feeling of your hand in mind
All I can do is wait for the next time I see you
You told me things
You told me “I miss you”
You told me “You mean the world to me”
You told me “I choose you”
These things are causing my heart to implode
And then explode
Never as any man been so kind to me
Treated me with so much respect and dignity
So instead of professing all of my feelings to you
My actions are the words on this page
My emotions gauge this –
I feel that I am falling so hard I can barely stand
So here we are in my written recompense
For being afraid to tell you everything
This is my way of announcing you mean everything to me:
My poetic defense

Thoughts on The Goldfinch

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The goldfinch is the most remarkable novel I have picked up in recent memory. The daunting 771 pages made it seem like I would never finish, never know what happens to Theo and perhaps more curiously, to the painting. I thought the narration in this book was what gave it its brilliance from the start. I was immediately immersed in Theo’s world and with the turn of every page enchanted by the characters and the city of New York. Theo, and his friends (and guardian) Andy, Boris, and Hobie couldn’t have been more different but were all such key characters to the story. They came and went as the author saw fit and that was the brilliance of this novel. Just like the painting “disappeared” from the museum and then reappeared after quite a journey, people appeared and reappeared in Theo’s life, fleeting moments in a coming of age story for the ages. The loss of Theo’s mother forever haunted him and I believe it caused his downward spiral. And despite his father’s behavior that loss also stunned him. I don’t know who is to blame for the unbelievable drug use in this novel, however I believe Theo and Boris used drugs to numb their minds from reality. What that left me with was Theo’s reality. Maybe I should be incredibly disturbed by this book, but Theo’s story broke my heart and I was truly hoping that he and Pippa would have a happy ending. However, I have heard from someone wise, that sometimes people with jagged edges cut each other until they both shatter. Therefore, The was no way that they could be together and Pippa makes that point herself. This novel shocked me but also made me consider how cruel life can be. I wonder only, how Theo and his life go forward after the events that unfolded in Europe and how despite his travel and unknown status of engagement, how is Theo really feeling inside?

Review for The Art Forger

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Within minutes of opening this book, my body was floating in a different world. Having just read The Goldfinch and just seen The Wife, I was familiar with the notion of art theft, of creating art for someone because you loved them and wanted them to succeed, and unfortunately the immense pain that causes for so many. The heartbreaks that Claire experiences in this book, the betrayals by the men she falls in love with are so acutely painful, they cause me to reminisce about my broken heart stories. I believe it takes a talented author to cause such a reaction in my heart as Shapiro did with The Art Forger. Claire and Isaac, Claire and Aiden both those relationships were shown through Claire’s eyes and we see Claire’s pain. I wonder if having multiple points of view could help us to better understand the motives of Isaac and Aiden. Something else that I am not mentioning is the way art is eloquently and brilliantly described and the life of an artist, throwing her life into her work another kind of love affair. And that’s the only lover that she ends up with. Her paintings. Was it because she struck that deal with Aiden that fate caused her such great pain? What about the troubled youth she taught and their pain? I believe their pain and her pain were similar and she went there to connect with them because she felt compassion towards them. She had extremely unhealthy eating habits and sleeping, but I wonder if that sacrifice is justified in the name of art. I only wish the best for Claire. How could I wish that when people blame her for Isaac’s death and Aiden is in jail while she is free? I’m afraid it’s too complicated to answer in a few words why I identify with Claire and her journey in this novel. For Aiden and Isaac I believe that absolute power corrupts absolutely. Isaac and Aiden’s power and subsequent greed in the world of art destroyed them. Also, there are so many unresolved issues with Aiden and Isaac in this book that I don’t know where to begin. Am I a fool to leave Claire blameless? No. It is a question we have explored in this group previously that I cannot answer but leave you all to ponder, Was Claire a bad person or was she a good person who did a bad thing?

Dreams. They Never Retire.

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Dreams. Some of us have them. Some of us do not. Sometimes. All the time. Somewhere and everywhere. There are sometimes built over time with posters in bed rooms, movies running in our minds, and hope in our hearts. As with some movies, these can take unexpected and sometimes unfortunate turns. Because sometimes we get sick. We forfeit the championship game before the try-outs even start. We hang up our soccer shoes and remember things like the nick names we got while we attempted to fulfill them. Bruiser was my nickname and a part of my dream. Soccer was my sport, defense was my position. Then after eighth grade I got sick, and sophomore year called for no more P.E. period for me. Funny how some dreams bring other ones into light. The dream to create. Write. Compose. To be part of something bigger than yourself. To change views. How to be humble. My junior year I stepped into this new world and new dreams were pressed on fast forward. Dreams. You never really forget your dreams. To be a writer, runner, and Lover. They stay with you as you complete your morning jog, your bacon cheese burger, your chores, your romantic dinner, your fight with your roommate. As much as you try to alienate yourself from them. They call to you. To be social was another dream I never fully held on to but my bubbly personality came through and I have wonderful friends. Love, it seemed to always be slipping from my grasp when finally it seemed it had never existed. Perhaps this is the year. Now on the in-betweens, I’m trying to envision new dreams. Not to replace old ones. To be a smile now. You see funny thing about dreams. They never retire.

I am floating…

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I am floating, floating far away
To where I am going I can’t really say
I’m floating swiftly in the blink of an eye
I floating away, please bid me goodbye
It’s fast and far that’s where I will go
No sense in even looking, you’ll never know
I will fly to a place entirely of my own
A place where I can weep secretly, alone
I’ll use my face to hide the pain
Even though my eyes are stained
I’ll pick up a shell off the beach so far away
Only a few minutes more,
Because longer I can’t possibly stay
And somehow in some strange way
The shell reminds me of you today
It is my greatest bliss and my worst foe
Hurriedly I will pack up and go
I’ll go back to where I came
Although it will never be the same
It’s silly to look for someone to blame
In my adventure I will see
A brief glimpse of what it’s like to be happy
Then the beach waves will rush in
Crush my hopes, recall only your sin
And my ignorance to think you actually cared
Thinking our friendship was existent and strong
Thinking of what it was that I did wrong
Knowing my guard will never be down again
With the entire world entire race of men
I’ll pick up the seashell and as I do
Instead I’ll simply despair realizing one thing is true
I will never love another the way I loved you
I will be half a heart until
I find another man who makes it stand still

Grasping the Hands of Time

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Clothed in a satin sleeveless gown
With a rich crimson shade
I stand and look down
Meeting colors of white and jade
Fragrances of much enchantment strengthen
As the stairs, I climb
Wishing it were possible to lengthen
Or possibly grasp the hands of time
Causing the hands to stay at 10:09
And never rise nor decline.

For as I continue to stroll towards the comforting air,
The music seems to stop, as I receive many a stare.
I look around, I realize and see.
That what they are staring at is me.
They see only beauty and grace,
Not the sad, tormented look in my eyes on my face.
Suddenly I am filled with thought
That roses wilt
But true love does not
For precisely at this moment I spy, I see
The love of my life sitting near the Christmas tree.

I thought he never wanted to see me again
Still remembering that time when
A boy who I will never miss
Bent over and stole a kiss
This act angered me to the core,
But what hurt me so much, so much more
Was to see my real love standing
Standing head lowered by the door.
A cold tear flows
From his beautiful face
The cold wind blows
As I dash to his place.
But he is gone,
He is no longer there
Leaving me in a state of despair
For I have created a heart beyond repair

I was apparently incorrect,
For he is there standing tall and erect.
I’m assuming he was the witness,
Of the time I yelled at the culprit,
The stealer of the kiss
Suddenly, something wonderful happens there
His eyes meet mine
His eyes so fine.
Nothing in the world could prepare
Prepare me for what happened next
For I was asked to play a song, French for by the light of the moon
A song for many known as “A clare de la lune”

So down I sat upon the chair
And I began to play.
For that instant I was no longer in despair
The world seemed to turn and sway.
Soon almost everyone left the banquet hall.
Soon my tears begin to fall,
Remembering the day when I lost it all.
I stand there by the window cold and sad,
Recalling good times I once had,
My vision is suddenly black.
As soft, warm hands touch my face,
My tears are held back.

I turn around at a steady pace
And am greeted with a sweet kiss and embrace.
From the heavenly saint,
Who can play soccer and paint.
His smile worth all the diamonds, rubies, and sapphires
The world aspires
Aspires to give
Not all the lilies common or rare
Can compare
Can compare with him and his presence.
For in the essence,
The essence of the moment
He went and brought my present.

He asked me not to peek or stare
For that would be unfair.
So I did as told and closed my eyes
Excited about this great surprise
He placed it on my neck with care,
A necklace more fair,
More fair than any other.
A mirror he set, he set in place.
And I used it instead to gaze at his face.
His slightly red hair began to shimmer
This angelic being, so divine.

As a song of memories past
Filled the room, subtle yet fast.
We dance under a moonlit night.
He holds me tender, he holds me tight.
Now from this moment I believe
In the magic which comes with Christmas Eve!
(By the way this romance
Everything from the gown to the dance
Was entirely fiction completely untrue
Although, I think it’d be grand, don’t you?)