Formalist poem

I cannot find it anywhere I look.

I search and search to no avail at all.

Not even in the pages of a book,

Or at the icy tops of mountains tall.

What is it I am looking for you ask?

Well it is happiness I suppose.

Its acquisition is no easy task,

Anyone who has searched for it knows.

Maybe this search is not what we all need.

The search could be what confuses us more.

That it is in ourselves we do not heed,

We turn this journey into a vast chore.

Try if you wish, cannot be taught or learned.

Rather acquired with wisdom and earned.

I chose to write a sonnet for this blog because I felt that it would be an interesting and beneficial challenge. I have honestly never really attempted to write formal poetry before so I felt that a sonnet would be a good place to start. I struggled with the poem sounding cliche due to the rhymes but I can imagine this is a struggle for anyone writing a sonnet. Since I am considering writing a sonnet for my formal workshop poem I felt that this blog would be a good exercise to teach myself writing in this manner. 

Book Thief Panel Reaction

            After attending The Book Thief panel last Tuesday I am extremely anxious to read the book myself over spring break! My favorite part was being exposed to the background of the book and how it came to be published. When she first read it, the publisher from Knopf fell in love with the novel but was very apprehensive when she first was told of the storyline. She enjoyed it so much that she even felt that there was very little editing to do which is rare.

            As for the marketing of the novel, it was really great to hear the publisher say that both she and the author agreed that to publish the novel as Adult Fiction would be to underestimate and shortchange young adults who they felt could handle the heavy elements of the story. They felt that the element of hope in the novel would make it perfect for young adults despite the fact that it is a holocaust novel told from the point of view of death. It was also really nice to hear that they did this despite opposition from the Australian publisher. This also occurred with the original illustrations of the novel that were commissioned by the author himself. The publisher informed us that illustrations are typically controlled by the editors and publishers, but she felt that the originals really contributed to the novel. It was interesting to learn of all of these marketing techniques and how they were trying to publish something that would appeal to teen boys and it has now become a best seller and popular with all ages and genders.

            Prior to this I never realized how much thought and strategy goes into publishing these novels. The Book Thief’s publisher even told us that in England the exact same book was published as Adult and Young Adult Fiction but with different covers as though they were different in order to appeal to the different demographics.  

Dream response

Hold fast to dreams
For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird
That cannot fly.Hold fast to dreams
For when dreams go
Life is a barren field
Frozen with snow.

Dreams by Langston Hughes

The Art of Dreams

Shape them as you wish 

They are yours to cherish

These dreams that you cling to

Will carry you to happiness.

 Sun streaming through a dirt smudged window, 

They give hope and motivation.

Clouds roll by but they remain, 

These dreams are yours to shape. 

Horoscope

Is it written in yours?

It is written in mine.

Comedy or tragedy.

Read with caution because it could come true.

Found in a newspaper on the side of a deserted street or

in a magazine.

Write them off or believe in them.

What they tell us will haunt our day or week or month.

Is it eye opening or just some nonsense?

What is written in yours?

Shrouded in thick fog.

Will it come true? 

Experimental Revision!

My original closing paragraph:

            Though I still think of him every single day, the logical part of me understands that we were no good for one another. His wandering eyes and screw the world attitude would never mix with my daddy issues and unbridled desire for a stable male figure in my life. He was my first love and my biggest disappointment. Disappointed in him and disappointed in myself, I allowed my life to fall apart like I was Mariah Carey. For him to allow this all to happen and not even fight for me at all is heartbreaking. Yet it was also eye opening. Maybe one day I’ll quit being so clingy or he’ll grow up and the stars will align and we will finally be together. But I’ve gone cold turkey on holding my breath. Slowly and surely I’ve accepted reality. For so long I was so far out in space that I could have moved to one of Saturn’s moons.  Now that I look at the situation head on I can recognize that our love was toxic and that there must be someone out there that I can love who does not make me utterly and completely miserable half the time. He can take his tattoos, his bad attitude, poor decisions and waste someone else’s time. My pride and self worth prevents me from being his consolation prize. 

After I changed it so it sounded as though I was addressing Jake:

            Though I still think of you every single day, the logical part of me understands that we were no good for one another. Your wandering eyes and screw the world attitude would never mix with my daddy issues and unbridled desire for a stable male figure in my life. You were my first love and my biggest disappointment. Disappointed in you and disappointed in myself, I allowed my life to fall apart Mariah Carey style. For you to allow this all to happen and not even fight for me at all is heartbreaking. Yet it was also eye opening. Maybe one day I’ll quit being so clingy or you’ll grow up and the stars will align and we will finally be together. But I’ve gone cold turkey on holding my breath. Slowly and surely I’ve accepted reality. For so long I was so far out in space that I could have moved to one of Saturn’s moons.  Now that I look at the situation head on I can recognize that our love was toxic and that there must be someone out there that I can love who does not make me utterly and completely miserable half the time. You can take his tattoos, your bad attitude, poor decisions and waste someone else’s time. My pride and self worth prevents me from being your consolation prize. 

I think the change I made makes it sound as though I am not over the situation at all and simply yelling at him. My original is more reflective and makes it sound as though I am making progress on moving on and truly am no longer holding my breath so I think I will stick with my original!

On Sleep Deprivation

            Eyelids like bricks. Stunted movements. Don’t even get me started on bright lights. Squinting through the words on the page you desperately try to keep reading despite all desire to collapse right then and there. Coffee is practically an elixir. Yet it is a fickle friend. One minute it is sustaining you and the next you are yawning with nothing to show for your liquid effort but a racing heartbeat. This scratching desperation that is consuming every part of you is akin to a few other choice feelings. Racing for water after a night of heavy drinking. Walking into an air-conditioned room after sprinting in ninety-degree weather. You. Need. Sleep. At this point it is all you can stand to think of. Scanning the table in front of you with an accusatory glare it is easy to blame the schoolwork sitting in front of you. Truthfully you know it is your own fault for putting things off to the last minute. This makes you increasingly bitter. The faint buzz from the lights overhead are practically lulling you into a stupor. Your mind drifts.

            He isn’t calling. He isn’t texting. No smoke signal. No carrier pigeon. Your throat is constricting and your stomach is flip-flopping on its own accord. You can barely stand the silence. You shift your weight on the couch you’re sitting on and pretend to be taking in the scenes on the television in front of you. Eyes fixed forward but mind wandering back to the last time you spoke. Hearing from him would be like being pulled out from under a frozen lake at the very last moment before slipping out of consciousness. Freeing.  Yet in reality you’re not free at all. Trapped by this inexplicable need it is though time is at a standstill.

            Mildly snapping back to reality you pivot your neck to read your notes again. Is this even helping? It floats through your brain along with the information in front of you. The very air around you is thick and still. If you could just push yourself a little further. The clicking keys and scattered papers make your very brain hurt. Checking your phone repeatedly as though someone is going to contact you at this ungodly hour, you finally succumb.  Practically throwing your books into your school bag you march back to room, toss your things aside and use the last drop of energy you have to climb into your bed.