Fear

Fear

“We have nothing to fear but fear itself”

Although it feels impossible to kick the fear,

That has bubbled inside moe for the last 15 years.

The endless thoughts of being sick,

Was a way I believed I would always live.

But now it seems I can finally see,

What this quote really is telling me.

To break the wall standing between,

Me and the uneasy acts us humans need.

To transform my fears into what I believe

To be a positive and to relieve,

The pent up stress within me.

Florida

Florida

Blow up arm life vests,

Squeezing my helplessly young arms.

To my star shaped

Sparkly pink sunglasses,

All left decorative shapes into my pale skin,

By the intensely bright yellow sun.

Building or mounding damp sand together,

To build, what I question now, a sand castle.

And flying vibrant lion kites in the bright blue sky.

Fishing alongside my cousins on a sail boat,

And the feeling of content as I real

In, a dangerously scared baby shark.

Are all memories which can never fade,

And all I have to blame is m age,

As to why I can’t re create these days.

Chris Martin's Poem Blog Response

Chris Martin Blog Response

Although Chris Martin’s style of poetry keeps me focused and involved, I cannot deny the fact that it is seemingly confusing. Lines such as “A muted computer Chip” and “the impossible Sky like itself only Vaster, bleuer, two and a half” makes me think outside the box as to what Martin could be saying. Unfortunately, I have not come to any conclusion as to what those lines mean. I have considered metaphors, symbols and even devices such as personification to try to uncover what the underlying moral or message in these poems and lines could be.

In the midst of my confusion I couldn’t help but analyze each line in each poem. The one that I disagreed with the most came from “The True Meaning of Pictures” :

“I see pictures every day and by

God there is as much

Truth in them as in any shifting”

I couldn’t disagree more. In my view, pictures are everything but truthful. Usually, pictures only capture the most exciting parts of someone’s life –or the worst. For example: While facebook stalking someone you don’t know you automatically click on their pictures. Their pictures often look glamorous causing you to envy this person’s life when in reality; your pictures do the same. These pictures you’re viewing are not a good indication of what this person’s life may actually be therefore they are not portraying the truth. I understand that Martin’s line about pictures could be analyzed and interpreted in many different ways; this is just the way I understood it.

In conclusions I think Chris Martins poems make me think harder than any other poems I have read. I believe that they have many different meanings to them and what makes the poems so confusing are the small details that make up the entirety of the poems. 

Vermont

In Manchester,

The towns are small

and the countless stories,

go back way beyond us all.

Here my Nani's paintings hang,

Of me, my family and my friends

where water colors wash away,

family differences which have been obtained

My annual visit never seems to be enough,

Because this is a place that I will always love

Joyce Sutphen Response

Response to Joyce Sutphen:

Two things that I really liked about Joyce Sutphen poems are that they are relatable and easy to interoperate. They paint a clear picture of what the circumstances are in a poem as well as the “tone” readers should be reading to. These two lines I believe are very similar:

                It wasn’t like that. Don’t Imagine

                My father in a feed cap, chewing

                A stem of alfalafa, spitting occasionally.

And

                Tilt your head slightly to one side and lift

                your eyebrow expectantly. Ask questions.

I like how she connects the poems to the reader; making it an “interactive poem.” It’s easier to read and makes the reading more interesting. Another thing Joyce Sutphen does is breaks up sentences over stanzas. I think this is a good way to connect or “string” the poem along in such a way that it makes sense. It makes you want to keep reading. This is well displayed in this part of “On the Way to the Farm I think of my Sister”:

Once you're on it, you don't have to stop
for anything, except congestion in July
when everyone else is heading

North. You'd like it: driving at 80 mph
with the music forty years past when 
you left the planet ... but no more

gasoline at 29 cents a gallon! No more
Beatles (John and George—both dead),
v no more cows in the stanchions, no more hay
in the barn. Otherwise, everything is
pretty much the way you remember it.

Fall Sonnet

Fall

The change in leaves from bright green to gold rust,

Suggests the autumnal cool is right about to arrive

From a kaleidoscope of colors, to the brisk wind gusts,

The thoughts and plans of thanksgiving are being contrived.

When summer falls to autumn your wardrobe shifts,

Which leads to a cozy flannel or the comfort of a scarf

Then brings the limited edition flavors into the mix

Slowly the days get shorter and the light gets dark

When pumpkin flavored lattes begin to be made,

crisp red apples are again on their way

The longing for summer quickly starts to fade,

And all you want is for cider and pumpkins to stay

In the end the pumpkin bagels and coffee leave

Which leaves myself and others to grieve. 

My Violin - Privilege Poem

Un-revised Poem:

Privilege and Oppression Poem

Nearing my fourth birthday,

I quickly outgrew my makeshift violin built of plastic and cardboard.

I was eager to toss away its inability to produce sound,

Its shapeless thin Popsicle stick handle,

And even its wooden stick bow.

Unfortunately the excitement of owning a violin faded fast

It caused me to give up my weekends,

and cast away my disposable social life

My ability to play violin is a privilege

Although unrecognized in the past,

I realize now, it is somewhat an image,

Something to set me apart from the rest

More generally to be used as an advantage

And create passion to be the best

Revised Poem:

My Violin

Nearing my fourth birthday,

I rapidly outgrew my makeshift violin,

built of plastic and cardboard.

I was eager to dispose its inability to produce sound,

Its shapeless thin popsicle stick handle,

And even its wooden stick bow.

The excitement of owning a violin faded fast

It made me give up my weekends,

And cast away my disposable social life

Which at the time—I deemed my first priority.

It’s only now that I realize,

It made me that much more privileged.

My ability to play violin is a privilege

Although unrecognized in the past,

I realize now, it is somewhat an image,

Something to set me apart from the rest

More generally to be used as an advantage

And create passion to be the best.

One of the ideas in the reading that was most important to me would be the "diction." I think vocabulary really does a lot to poems and without interesting words the poem can become very dull. The next important thing would be the "syntax and grammar." I feel like this sets the tone for poems and can really personalize them. The revision part of the reading also made a lot of sense. I like how they said to not consider your first poem a poem, but simply a draft of words that will form a poem. After reading this, it made me open to changing a lot more than I would've. I hope we have more time to revise these poems again!