On a dead body....literally.

Coagulated love

I am so very alone here tonight.
Must suppress any unnatural urge.
My morbid curiosity, a blight.
Tired of work, my guilt begins to purge.

Finished my work with anticipation.
In the freezer lies my object of pain,
and yet it brings me such adoration.
A trip to hell on a one way train.

My morals go right out the window.
I deserve this minute fidelity.
Cold to the touch...I reap what I sow.
This for certain is a delicacy,
And what's best is she can't even say no.

Her silky clumped hair and twisted smile.
Brings me an endless joy from the unlife.
I feel like i've brought this girl down the aisle.
Her tenderness reminds me of my wife.

My pleasure finally comes to an end.
Object 3201, a real pleaser.
A real live woman could never contend.
She's a little warm, back into the freezer.

At my awful house where I am alone,
anger seething.
My wife is asleep, an unworthy clone,
just a teasing.
In our garden I grab a heavy stone,
my heart's grieving.
You see my wife, I do not life her tone,
She's still breathing.

-Your Buddy

winter poem

Scriblings at 4:47

The bed's cold
The bed is always cold.
The bed has always been cold for an eternity.

Winter is cold
Winter is alway's cold
No matter what year, there's always winter.
The bed's cold,
the heating blanket isn't enough

life's cold.
life is unusually cold.
a liquid nitrogen of cold.
Ready to shatter into a million snowflakes.
Snowflakes are underestimated.
the bed's cold.
The are nothing one at a time,
but together they kill.
One snowflake can turn into an avalanche.

The bed's cold, life's cold.
The poor bums outside, fighting snowflakes
one at a time.
Both their life and bed's cold.
The cement is frigid.
Hopelessness is futile, it won't get you warm.
Only liquid fire to fight with,
and unlit cigars, no lights. Just a drop of liquid fire.

One snowflake into an avalanche,
life's cold,
bed's cold,
life's frigid.
Learn to hibernate through winters, or starve.
When things are summery.
Star collecting acorns....
Pessimism is best, your always prepared of winter.

The bed's cold.
The bed was cold, now it's emotionally chilly.
The winter has just started.
It will indulge it's hungry appetite for bum children and emotionally chillybeds.
an ongoing monster

The winter eats you. The winter inside feed's itself.
Late nights and cold beds shouldn't mix,....oil and water.
However hopelessly cold beds make good poetry.
Cold beds make frigid poetry, a winter of words,
and blankets aren't enough.

-Your Buddy

Writing style inspired by the j beck. Subject matter inspired by Thoma's Blake


To Winter
By Thomas Blake

O Winter! bar thine adamantine doors:
The north is thine; there hast thou built they
dark
Deep-founded Habitation. Shake not thy roofs,
Nor bend thy pillars with thine iron car.
He hears me not, but o'er the yawning deep
Rides heave; his storms are unchain'd, sheathed
In ribbed steel; I dare not lift mine eyes,
For he hath rear'd his sceptre o'er the world.

Lo! now the direful monster, whose skin clings
To his strong bones, strides o'er the groaning
Rocks:
He withers all in silence, and his hand
Unclothes the earth, and freezes up frail lie.

Faker

Your mouth runs of
gossip and ignorance.
Don't you realize
you've changed?
Do you want a treat
for creating deceit in
our friendship that's sweet?
Feel the heat, you make me
so mad and I can't keep my seat
I just gotta beat, beat something
or tweet, squeeze something so tight
until the breath dies and I've saved
the world from lies, lies you comprise.
Yeh, go ahead, roll your eyes,
but you know deep inside that it's
true.


Me to a "friend"

Sun dried Kisses

I crush these oranges
upon transparent paper
with rose petals marinated
in perfumed water...
I leave it out to dry.

I love the ability to take
something and make it stay
forever...

You kiss my lips and I
leave them to dry.
Sun dried kisses
fade...

Liar

The ticking of my clock is the only noise I hear.
Is this all there is to my life?
Deceptions, confessions, corrections...
Now I hear pitters.. patters, patterns swirling
through like they always do. Momentum of
the heart still churning, yearning for some kind
actions by a human soul to shed some feelings to fill
the hole, a hole not deep but needs some completion.
It comes back to this, it always does. You care
or you don't, but don't lie to the face that's always
been honest to you. Don't lie, don't feed it bullshit
like you do with the rest of the world. Be true, it's you.
Come on, now do. Don't think it through.
Pick up your life and find anew. You always knew
you'd find a view.
You care or you don't, but don't lie to you.





to me...from me

Piss

Oh, the missing and
the kissing and
the beautiful reminiscing
of reunited lovers!

And everyone is happy, but
I must say I feel crappy and
the moment of the bliss
makes me PISS.





from me to a guy.... yes, I'm venting... what better way to do it, than through poetry?

Paper Clip

Our relationship
Is like a paper clip
bending back and forth
until it gets agitated
and hot and I have to
break
off...

To a guy from me...

Final Project: Evidence

The Barber shop

My ‘fro was ridiculously awesome.
Nine inches off my ridiculous head.
Mom thinks its too black, hood, and tiresome.
Way too far back to the 80s junction.

It must be cut she says in her tone.
Might as well stab me right through my tired heart,
Its not like I’m rockin braids or some chrome.
Not a gangsta, She won’t leave me alone.

I call my pops with his trip whipped hooptey.
I’m minutes from losing my identity.
Was expecting dad to say something tryin’.
Off to the cultural guillotine I should be cryin.

there is a thick musty spell of burnt hair,
Just a room full of humid tired bones.
People waiting patiently gasping air.
A child is astonished but it’s fair.

The barbers work with uncanny precision,
One profession where misses are deadly.
Hopefully the razor won’t be God’s decision.
I wonder if they have emergency provisions.

With a few passes of the fast razor.
My fro has passed onto the floor.
Now I’ve become a race traitor.
Time to go rob some banks and make myself greater.

Ode to an Urn in the closet

It's too bad you had to leave us so soon.
You had a lot ahead of you but now,
your in our closet, right next to the broom.
You should have dodged that bus but no....kapow.
You were too busy on your dumb ipod.
Brain too busy with practice, work and school.
So you were busted onto the thirsty sod.
So now you have plenty of time on your hands.
Stingy bastard have fun on celestial organs abroad.

Well…it’s no where near as bad as I thought.
Everything seems a little too sterile here.
The people are too nice like they are bought.
Something is wrong everything is too clear.
An uncomfortable warmth comes upon me.
Followed by a burning inferno of pain.
OMFG! I’m in hell please let me free!
Satan smiles at me and I’m a little sad,
But after what I’ve been through this isn’t so bad.

We’re in trouble

O no why did you spill that on the floor.
She just waxed it you know? Your craziness.
Sneak in the kitchen you are a food hoar.
Punched in the stomach your brain will be hazy.

Why did you write your teacher that dummy?
You must like to stay in your bed all day.
Well I don’t really care its your tummy.
Sneak in the kitchen tonight if you may.

I can’t believe I got into a fight.
Those stupid bullies just won’t let me be.
Bonnie won’t care, she will punish on sight.
I might have to try to dig myself free.

I just woke up and she wants me to clean.
My bed is not made, but why do I care.
Just wait of my wash cloth for me to ream.
Its just morning and I’m all out of steam.

I got caught playing games yesterday night.
I had thought she turned out all of her lights.
Nope, she was awake watching with a sight.
And now I am alone and in a fright.

I’m a bit lonely what a trouble maker.
He’s always in bed, something he must said.
He lied didn’t deny, try to fake her.
She saw through the disguise and now he’s in bed.

Judgement Life Death and Sentence (named by Camille P.)

I don’t like her very much she’s trouble.
Don’t listen to me, it’s not my feelings.
But when you get screwed don’t come reeling.
She likes both you and your stupid stubble.
Sirens going off, warning signs double.
Puppy love I don’t know what your seeing,
Few months, you’ll see, your heart will be bleeding.
Your are going to date that piece of rubble.
Nothing is sacred now a days, for shame.
I’ll go to your brothers and make some bets.
She’ll dump your ass and you’ll be blind, deaf, lame,
While I’ll be in the money and don’t you forget,
I’m right about everything it’s all the same.
Make your own mistakes, your bros are in debt!

We Stroll down a problem free life each day.
Relations never sour with your soul mate.
Gazing into glowin’ eyes you speak away,
Of true passionate love that by far is great.
Seems too swell to be true, I’m positive;
But we are an embodiment of love.
Might as well live the life we wanna live.
Space can’t get in our way we’ll push and shove-
Past our rents and onto the lonely train.
Into a week long embrace that soon ends,
But we know true love will maintain.
An angel in flesh….truly a god send.
I’ve never been happier in my whole life.
I’m going to ask this lady to be my wife.

She tells me that a ticket I don’t need.
Fantastic news you are coming down town?
She is still born baby silent….I frown.
She talks in a teary voice,”we can’t succeed.”
In this beautiful relation she concedes.
I feel blind, deaf, dumb, dead and beaten down.
I say everything’s fine….The word resounds.
“There’s been someone else” my heart starts to bleed.
All this time I’ve been counting off the days.
She says he’s a placeholder next to her-
In bed. She said she wanted to be true.
I squirm, this is all a bad dream, she says-
She wants to still see me. Something I dread.
She whispers she’s sorry and I love you.

Hum, you can’t be serious how is she right.
Everything seemed perfect, it was torture.
You and Bee were ridiculously tight.
Mom kept saying that I wasn’t for her,
But I grit my teeth and I just deny.
I will not tell mom nor will I comply
…..she already knows she’s a secret agent spy
I havn’t told anyone she sees through the lie.
Silently humble her vampiristic
Elation of my troubled misery
I feel a need for emotional difilbrilation
Why would such trouble come to be.
At the end of the day mommy is right.
Only few days did I cry through the night

Ya Got it?

What ever you do deny, deny, deny.
Into ridiculous hours we stayed late.
Don’t tell mom and don’t comply

She already know’ she’s a secret agent spy.
If you give too many details you will be sedate.
What ever you do deny, deny, deny.

You were not eating candy it’s not a lie
Just remember the truth that you are to state
Don’t tell mom and don’t comply.

You didn’t play stupid games you didn’t even try
Act as smooth as possible she knows your traits.
What ever you do deny, deny, deny.

She might make up things and she will try.
She’s a mental extortionist don’t add nothing to your slate.
Don’t tell mom and don’t comply.

We had a good time our rooms now a sty.
Do good in school so we can have another date
What ever you do, deny, deny ,deny.
Don’t tell Mom and don’t comply

Accomplice

Who would make me write about my mother,
Is there anyone actually tougher?
Dr. Robbins of course.
Her hand she will force.
Bets on who’s mentally tougher.

We’re pretty much screwed in the long run,
We’re not safe if we’re under the sun.
We’ll be buried alive.
Our oxygen depreived.
Or we could be shot from a gun.

But I heard iron maidens are great
Who knows what is exactly at stake?
Our blood will splatter.
Bones likely to shatter.
We’re in a potentially painful check mate

Not saying its all your fault.
Just hoping walls you can vault.
Cause I know mom can.
With bags filled with san’.
We may need plan, this is the default.

Here in lies evidence undeniable.
Are your body guards even reliable.
I’m saying beware.
Your in for a scare.
who knows..........................................

Final project: Liasons, Lost and Found

What else is “end” for, but to signal the end?
Villanelle

What else is “end” for, but to signal the end
Of an often-sought six-letter word:
A race to the finish of “friend”?

The spelling on which I have grown to depend
Is seen, yes, but seldom heard.
What else is “end” for, but to signal the end?

“I before E…” Do the letters contend?
Wouldn’t taking turns be preferred
In a race to the finish of “friend”?

“Two vowels, both alike in dignity…”
But we’re forced to pretend in an ending no less than absurd!
What else is “end” for, but to signal the end?

Is it fair that E is left to append
While I gets to take lucky third
In a race to the finish of “friend”?

And what if E’s me, to the gallows condemned –
Rejected, deserted, deferred?
What else is “end” for, but to signal the end
In a race to the finish of “friend”?

-------

If words be woven by the somber soul
Sonnet

If words be woven by the somber soul,
Then thou hast caught me in thy honest net.
For with such writings I have been made whole –
Too choked to swim away, mine eyes are wet.
If words be formed like dewdrops on a vine,
Which overnight collect in glist’ning pools,
Then yours art such that do with sunlight shine
As brightly as the earth’s most precious jewels.
My breath was stifled with a broken flow
When misty eyes afforded second glance,
For as dear Ashley read another go,
We laughed until we almost crapped our pants.

I’m sure you’ll make the perfect stupid wife:
Hell if I’ll be there, but have a splendid life!

-------

The eavesdrop
Diebhidhe

Watching, waiting for the sound,
Hearing ears and eyes abound.
Quiet sobs ‘scape from your lips—
Drips of which he vilely sips.

-------

You cannot hear my sleepless cries
Ballade/Aubade

The ceiling here is not my own,
But, barren, presses dark as night.
The corner where the glow-smile shone
No longer sheds that soothing light,
But madly scowls— teeth bone white.
And underneath these starless skies?
A tear-trail that my thoughts ignite.
You cannot hear my sleepless cries.

The lines denoting how I’d grown,
A sticker marking each new height;
The drawings on the telephone;
The butterflies and paper kite…
All distant mem’ries now tonight
For aqueous and weary eyes—
For fists that clench the covers tight.
You cannot hear my sleepless cries.

And Mommy lying there alone,
Where battered dreams and ease unite
On perfect pillows— sheets a clone
Of ones that sweethearts do invite…
It isn’t just another fight.
Don’t try to hush me with your lies.
No, this time it won’t be alright.
You cannot hear my sleepless cries.

Now daylight breaking, blazing bright—
No time to say all my goodbyes.
Oh, I am sickened by the sight!
You cannot hear my sleepless cries.

-------

An attempt
Blazon

I miss the salt and pepper fringe that used to crown your head,
The grays of which—all buried now— are reddish-brown instead.
Your eyes that once were sunny skies seem overcast these days.
The hedge above your lips has grown in some… nonstandard ways.
You passed your diet training, but I rather liked the fat.
What good is poking fun now, when there’s nothing left to pat?
And for God’s sake, will you throw away those lumps that you call shoes?
Or next time I come visit, you’ll be meeting my tattoos!

-------

Willow
Crystalline

Green tears suspended from a limb;
Has beauty ever seemed so grim?

-------

10 Russell Road
Exploring rhetoric

The carpets are covered with drip-stains.
The bookshelves are layered with dust.
The back stairs are sprinkled with crumb-trains,
The bathrooms embroidered with rust.

The bedrooms are crowded with pictures,
And none of them signify much.
The couches and tables are mixtures
Of memories that he would clutch.

My daddy’s alone in this household,
My daddy who rants on the phone,
My daddy who opens his billfold…
My daddy is simply alone.

-------

My quiet spot
Triolet

The figures passing do not know
I watch them from my quiet spot.
My quiet eyes look down below.
The figures passing do not know.
They press on, trudging through the snow.
But I am quiet, lost in thought.
The figures passing do not know.
I watch them from my quiet spot.

-------

release
Double Lento

conflicting signals from the brain
restricting higher judgment
inflicting words of wild disdain
addicting: no confinement
expecting all to fix itself
projecting hopes, deflated
correcting errors— (ordered shelf)
respecting’s overrated
believing every uttered word
deceiving motivation
perceiving progress; naught occurred
achieving isolation
it just keeps coming out like this
pit helplessly against him
spit callously like drool or piss
shit out with no retention

-------

Fisher on the quay
Terza Rima

Two gentle eyes peer down from overhead.
“It’s you,” I think, and dare to breathe once more.
The covers sink as limbs adjoin the bed.

They sink, exhaling air from out each pore
And emanate into the darkened space,
Expanding, banding, drifting to the floor.

A hand appearing on my moistened face
Surveys the damage of its swollen streams
With tenderness and unassuming grace.

It leads me, then, into the land of dreams,
Where worries wash away into the sea;
Where ardency is always as it seems;

Where you reside, collecting all debris
Upon the shore of my unburdened thought:
The rescuer— my guardian esprit.

“If ever your poor heart is overwrought
With troubles that reach past the sea and spray,
Remember, then, the moment you were caught

By this man, your dear fisher on the quay.”
Awakening, I find you by my side,
Asleep beneath the drowsy shadows’ sway,

And suddenly, with shutters open wide,
I weep for wonder, filled with pride.

some stuff

Hey there i'm posting the city paper's annual poetry winners

3rd place

Untitled
By John Mazur

now that we have television.
we won't have to talk anymore

2nd place

Business loafers
by Batworth

Were we ever to begin quenching
Our thirst for spirit, released from
The echoic trip of relentless tomorrows.
Abducted by the unstressed highballers,
Kneeling in green leafies...
Our apathy would be cauterized. Still
Eyeworms bleed from catatonia's
Only capsized shelter dwelling.
A pagoda inflamed with the
Accouterments du jour:

Bellyphones, buisness loafers, outfits
To outwit the nattiest; and we are to
Traverse another scorched soulscape
With watery hearts.

1st place

Dusk Arrangement
By Hastings Hensel

"The eye is burning, forms are burning, eye-consciousness is burning"- The Buddha
"Some say in ice." -Frost

Everything is burning; the ends of our cigarettes,
the charcoal-colored robins, the freckled sunlight
splotched and split like eggshell on the lawn.
Burning: the flamed hush of western pinks,
voices like wildfires in the city's under-story-
lawn mowers, buzz saws, cars at the far edge
of the ear's periphery. Burning: the top halves
of other houses, fenced in for the eye, the birch shadows like twisting runes, the burning glow
of Bradford pears sparked early like suburban stars.

Or melting: the ice cubes in our drink like stars,
the shade by the clothesline, the heel-print moon
in the sand-colored sky. Melting: box fan clicking
in the window, sentence of cloud, the cold ring
on the cocktail napkin. Melting: sky of stillness,
birdsong, dog-bark, ceaseless thrum of traffic.
Discuss

O and i found the comedian that Emma reminded me of. So this is his song "superheroes."

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vo6hhEFHn40

The Pied Piper of Hamelin

As promised, here are the links to the claymation of Robert Browning's "The Pied Piper of Hamelin." It's pretty dark, so don't watch it before bed unless you like that sort of thing. The whole video is just under 30 minutes. Oh yeah, and the narrator is amazing!

Part I
Part II
Part III

There is much dispute over what actually may have happened with the children, but historians do believe that the story is based in truth. (The rats may have been added in later, however.)

Dual response

Hi guys! The following is my response to "Ode on a Grecian Urn"... as well as "Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird." It just happened to work out that way. I'm not going to write a blurb! So if you're confused as to how this ties in with themes in the ode, feel free to comment and I'll get back to you.


Mommy’s friends

I
A repertoire of song–
Innate, melodious,
And clear:
It can be learned by human ears,
But never reproduced.


II
A bird on the nose
Is worth two in the hand.


III
Every morning,
When the sky is still deep blue,
Her hands sift seed
Upon sod.

She knows that they will come.

Poetry from outside the class

I just wanted to get your opinions on these... these are poems I've been having fun with outside of class.

R. and J.


In a town called Verona two households feud.
Not long into the fight the Prince did intrude,
“If anyone else decides blood should be shed,
Then he is awaiting his own deathbed!”

Later that night, a party, Romeo goes to.
He met Juliet and they said, “I love you.”
The next day the two became one.
And Mercutio and Tybalt were over…done.

Plans to marry Paris were all set.
But her parents did not know her little secret.
Since Romeo killed Tybalt he had to leave.
All Juliet did was grieve, grieve, grieve!

Tuesday morn Juliet goes to Friar Laurence.
She thought he could get her out of the non-sense.
He gave her a sleeping potion to take at night,
And she’d look so dead it’d give the nurse a fright.

The next morning Juliet was found “dead”.
Poor ‘ol Paris would not get wed.
Romeo came as soon as he could,
But he killed himself for he misunderstood.

Juliet wakes up a second later,
And in walks Friar, the instigator.
He asks her to come with him,
But instead she did herself in.

Lost Love

I drank your poison of love one day

And fell into a deep trance of ecstasy.

You made me feel like I was on a cloud;

To be your girlfriend, I was so proud.

They pumped my stomach; our love is at loss

My emotions feel like a game of toss.

To see that light, how the glitter fades;

It seems our relationship went down cascades.

But you wanted too much, my whole heart

When all I could give you was just a part.

I feel like this next poem was inspired by another poem.. but I don't know what it was... it was so long ago.

Nothing good to listen to

An American Idol, thats who I look for

In the poop section of my local record store

Ruben or Clay, oh which should I pick?

Its like choosing which puddle of vomit to lick

When I want something even more fruity and fake

I look up 'N' for N'Sync or 'T' for Timberlake.

So many skills Justins making a buck at

Does he rap? Does he sing?

He doesn't know what to suck at.

This is my favorite:

Litmus

What is litmus?

Why, it is me.

I am nothing but bland,

Ordinary.

Malcontents are thrown my way

And I react like fire.

Subsidence eventually occurs

Within my citric soul.

And I become blue.

Please tell me what you think! I have more to come...

buddy's response poem

Ode to an Urn in the closet

It's too bad you had to leave us so soon.
You had a lot ahead of you but now,
your in our closet, right next to the broom.
You should have dodged that bus but no....kapow.
You were too busy on your dumb ipod.
Brain too busy with practice, work and school.
So you were busted onto the thirsty sod.
So now you have plenty of time on your hands.
Stingy bastard have fun on celestial organs abroad.

Ode on a Sequenza

Pumping, it's pumping and living with breath
Human voice, saxophone,....human saxophone
Stable and unstable begin to merge
Sweet, soft, light, no conflict is desired
Harsh, grotesque growl is what most often is
Is this beauty disguised or redefined?

The buzz outside is one, the buzz within
Repeated notes, repeated thoughts, repeat
An internal insanity now is
Outside, cannot be, will not be stopped
By the imposing order, the structure
The structure is instability

A glimpse, a blink, a small part in time
So perfect, it becomes imperfection
It's living, breathing. Inhale and feel it
Touch it, live it, you are, there is no choice
Everywhere, usless attempt to escape
No characters trapped....unbound...

It exists before we can hear the sound
Living past the last note...what is the last?
Silence is, was, interwoven, tangled
Light pushes dark, dark-light, universal
Trying to catch up, just falling behind
Fourteen minutes of infinity...

Another response poem

Hello Poets --
I thought we would see what happened if we all responded to one poem. The poem I've picked is John Keats's "Ode on a Grecian Urn" http://www.bartleby.com/101/625.html.
Make sure you have a dyad in mind as your write your response -- I suspect everyone will respond in his or her own special way. Hint: if you really want to understand the poem well, read it out loud -- preferably with other people around. Try to imagine who is speaking and to whom that person is speaking.
I will have all of your poems back to you on Tuesday.

greetings everyone,
i figured i would post the burns poem and my response to get some feedback since time ran out during class. so here they are...

A Red, Red Rose
by Robert Burns

My luve is like a red, red rose,
That's newly sprung in June:
My luve is like the melodie,
That's sweetly play'd in tune.
As fair art thou, my bonie lass,
So deep in luve am I,
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a' the seas gang dry.

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi' the sun!
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
While the sands o' life shall run.
And fare-thee-weel, my only luve,
And fare-thee-weel a while!
And I will come again, my luve,
Tho' it were ten-thousand mile.


Ten Thousand Miles
by me

Behind me lies that winding road,
Which I have known too well.
My feet remember every step,
And snare by which I fell.
Ten thousand miles, I marked the length,
But still I stand, alone.
The Winter chill surrounds me now,
That hopeful Spring has flown.
And so the petals, faded, fall
From this, our wilted love.
You said "a while" but this is not
What I was thinking of.

To Win, Be Thin

Here's what I read in class today:

In response to: Fat is not a Fairy Tale by Jane Yolen (page 101)

To be pretty is to be blonde and thin.

At least that’s what they show on the TV

Mirrors will always say that you can’t win.

Dark California girls will tan their skin.

You exercise your butt off to lose weight.

To be pretty is to be blonde and thin.

You think that guys might notice you again

If you eat just one meal a day and run.

Mirrors will always say that you can’t win.

You lost some weight and bat your eyes at men.

A shame they did not notice you last year.

To be pretty is to be blonde and thin.

You look good and you show it by your grin

Sporting the clothes you always wanted to.

Mirrors will always say that you can’t win.

Too bad no one could see you’re great within.

I guess hard work does pay off in the end.

To be pretty is to be blonde and thin.

Mirrors will always say that you can’t win.

Ps: I wrote a new AUBADE for my poetry project collection and I set it to MUSIC!!!

...Flowers and Poetry Class...

Roses are red
Violets are blue
I really love this poetry class
Can we please have it next semester too??????????????

Lilacs are purple
Tulips are pink
I'll keep on bugging you
'Cause we pre-register next week!

The End.

Music Theory Poem

I did my response poem based on Walt Whitman's "When I Heard the Learn'd Astronomer"

When I Heard the Learn'd Astronomer

When I heard the learn'd astonomer,
When the proofs, the figures, were ranged in columns before me,
when I was shown the charts and diagrams, to add, divide, and measure them,
When I sitting heard the astronomer where he lectured with much applause in the lecture-room,
How soon unaccountable I became tried and sick,
Till rising and gliding out I wandered off by myself,
In the mystial moist night-air, and from time to time,
Looked up in perfect silence at the stars.


Now for my poem:

When I Heard the Learn'd Music Theorist

When I heard the learn'd music theorist,
When the cadences and set classes were in columns before me,
When I was told about modulations, muical forms and formulas to invent a piece,
When I sitting heard the music theorist where he lectures with a sense of accomplishment and self-pride,
How soon frustrated I grew tired and sick,
Till humming a tune to myself,
A simple melody, untouched by formula and organically grown
Realizing what was beauty.