Brush it off, and recall – These poems, these memories

Standard

These poems these memories
They boil up with me
Sending me nostalgically
Into what I want to be
Blending words like chemistry
Expressing my life into an expository
Talking about things
Talking about flying with my pair of wings
Talking about new beginnings
Old endings
The reals and the pretend endings
Talking about acting like yourself
Not like anyone else
I dive off the edge
I smash into the ledge
I brush off the pain
I look for whom to blame
And someone who can tame
The wild within me
Before I turn this into the never-ending story
I’ll sign off, still seeking eternal glory!

Advertisements

Turning Pages

Standard

Stacks and stacks of fantastic books

Are laying everywhere you look

I simply cannot get enough

Choosing which one to read is tough

Books take me by the hand

Transport me to a magical land

It’s all in the book in joy and in rage

I cannot stop reading

I must turn the page

All types of books pour out of my room

They spill all over the house and they make my mind bloom

Bloom with thoughts and ideas

With emotion and feeling

Sometimes the books send me reeling

But no matter what

No ands, ifs, or buts,

As soon as I have time and I’m prepared

I cannot wait to touch the pages

To be taken to a place

Where there’s a look of awe upon my face

Disconnecting the Dots (throwback)

Standard

Disconnecting the dots of senior year
With many vibrant spots of light that
Grow, that bend, disappear
Those left begin a sequence of memories past
The memories that we hope will last

Disconnect the dots of the final hours
And use our strongest, deepest powers
To keep in mind what designed
Each of us into individual, sublime
Proud, intellectual, motivated seniors!

It’s been 12 exhausting years
With many initial fears
Plenty of bright smiles and laughs
Plenty of narrow frowns and tears
Suddenly our bright future appears

And it seems all of our rich past disappears
Melts into smudges
Molds into lasting smears
Of a single canvassed painting
Composed of all these 12 years

The glamorous sports and clubs start right away
Homecoming week, vacations, and break
For when school we can no longer take
Holidays outline the year in stunning silver and glittering gold
Truth be told we are dazzled with the autumn oranges
To the sensational festive greens and crimson streams
Our wildest, warmest holiday dreams

The Dances, the movies
Those moments we share
The outfits, the letdowns
The “Nobody cares”
Identity and humility
Writing extensive essays on Frankenstein or playing Your Wii
Drinking Red Bull, constant energy
Listening to your I-pod, watching Idol
Watching the relationships grow, crumble, Grey’s Anatomy: the title

The parties, the pizza, the sing-alongs
The fuse ball tables, the Record labels
Going out to celebrate
Going out, coming home late.
The lunch Room
The library and the Computer free periods galore
Work hard, giggle, or just lay back and snore
Brightly-colored birthday balloons
Bake sales, awards, and triumphs we were blessed with
Or the “drama” and life lessons that we were tested with

The plays, the musicals, and V-Shows too
Tear-jerking, eye catching, Perfect too!
The Clubs, the Band, Orchestra and Choir
The ability to join whatever you desire

Math Class, Bio, Cal AP
Trig, French 4, English 3
Tech Theater, Government, Sociology
But the most important class learning from each other

Senior – almost done
It all floods the mind
Of all the things we must leave behind
We must look ahead, march to the podium
In the heat of June
Never forgetting All those senior mornings, nights, and lazy afternoons

Memory

Standard

When you really think about it, this book is not about going out there and fighting, the whole big deal, it’s not. Memory in time is what this novel is truly about. How far you dream it and think anything is what you will get out of it. The things that stay with us long after the fact, such as that red hat, become a part of us locked inside waiting for a time to let loose. The thing about life is you can live it, and be rest assured that you will not be forgotten. “The thing about a story is that you dream it as you tell it, hoping that others might then dream along with you.” (O’Brien 230). Emotion and desire to comprehend are so simple, yet so difficult to understand.
The memories are life’s journey, which can vary so much. Norman Bowker, for instance, decided that he could not handle the “memories” so he ended his life. Tim O’Brien like most of the others lived on, but differently. Although they ended their journey in that jungle, they continued it some where else. You just know that what sticks in the mind’s eye will not and cannot be forgotten.
The star shaped hole for instance or Kiowa’s boot are symbols. Although they can represent death, they are actually symbolizing the moving on of the world. Even in death we leave others with our former existence, and this is central to the entire novel. The knowledge of friendship, that brief yet everlasting interaction we leave with one another evokes an image that stuns a person. We cannot help remembering those things we attempt to push aside. It is those things whether they are battles, people, or a particular event that live on. Tim O’Brien’s recollections of endeavors in his life are what the book is. In essence however, it is that fact that everything in life we do counts, because it lives on in the persistence of memory.

Memories of Home

Standard

I’m carefully studying this place that is my beloved.
I’m walking carefully around my home.
I’m stepping in places that burst open a memory box deeper than any ocean.
I’m tiptoeing through comfort and growing up.
I’m pushing through painful times
I’m skipping through the joyous ones.
I’m reliving arguments and triumphs. Everything means something to me. That carpet we bought with mom and went out for coffee after. Those new couches my parents saved for. The wooden floors that I helped restore with my own two hands. The spot for the Christmas tree. My dads favorite spot to sit. The area of the coffee table I steam burned with a pizza box. The area that in my heart means thanksgiving. My brothers man cave that I watch project runway in. When I move out I hope all these memories are engrained in my heart. When I am on my own, I hope I remember the soup and the football and the Polish that made me who I am. I hope that this dream house keeps me grounded. I hope one day I found a house to fill with new memories that are half as good as those that are filled to the brim in this house.

The photograph (…from my journal)

Standard

I ran outside Christmas break officially starting

With a silky, purple sweater

Dark, tight blue jeans

And my slippers, my touch with the snow, a shock of dampness.

A smile the size of the great wall of China,

Spreads slowly across my porcelain face

The snow starts a battle with my body

The wind slashing at my cheeks

As I snap pictures.

If only I could stay in this moment

The snow covering me in a blanket of comfort,

My tracks slowly disappear

As simply beauty excites my vision

 

Now a year later

When I look back at the picture

Months later

I notice how snow brings

Joy to a lost child – the child within me.

I notice how the best aspects of life, love, beauty, and

Nature are free.

Memory Box

Standard

I’m carefully studying this place that was my beloved.
I’m walking carefully around my home.
I’m stepping in places that burst open a memory box deeper than any ocean.
I’m tiptoeing through comfort and growing up.
I’m pushing through painful times
I’m skipping through the joyous ones.
I’m reliving arguments and triumphs. Everything means something to me. That carpet we bought with mom and went out for coffee after. Those new couches my parents saved for. The wooden floors that I helped restore with my own two hands. The spot for the Christmas tree. My dads favorite spot to sit. The area of the coffee table I steam burned with a pizza box. The area that in my heart means thanksgiving. My brothers man cave that I watch project runway in. When I move out I hope all these memories are engrained in my heart. When I am on my own, I hope I remember the soup and the football and the Polish that made me who I am. I hope that this dream house keeps me grounded. I hope one day I found a house to fill with new memories that are half as good as those that are filled to the brim in this house.