Nicole Cooley and Julia Kasdorf

            During the poetry reading, Nicole Cooley and Julia Kasdorf would alternate reading different poems from the book they chose to share. Cooley explained how she would give her first drafts of poetry to Kasdorf to edit. She described how awful her originals were and how Kasdorf is credited for making them good enough to publish. They seem to have a very close relationship and said that they became partners before either of them had books. A large amount of the poems that Cooley read were about hurricane Katrina and how it affected New Orleans. She also read a poem about how the levees in New Orleans were used to save the white neighborhoods by having the water flow into the black neighborhoods. This was new information to her and was moved by not knowing about this earlier while she was living in Louisiana. She was also affected by hurricane Katrina because her parents lived in New Orleans during the time and she did not hear from them for days so this affected her emotionally. The details in this poem were very vivid in regards to the emotions she was feeling during the time, what her siblings told her, when she finally got in contact with her parents, and also the damage caused by the hurricane. My favorite poem that she read was about these notes posted on the building of this one local restaurant. Based off of the note, as the listener, I was able to tell that this restaurant meant a lot to the people located in the community. Cooley said that there were hundreds of notes and she spent an hour in front of the restaurant writing them down. The poems Kasdorf read I found hard to follow. There was one about a kickboxing class and another I think that was about her childhood, but I was not exactly sure. With the poems that she read, I felt that it would be more effective if I read them myself so that I can analyze them and have a better understanding. Other than some slight confusion during the reading, I enjoyed listening to their poetry.

Playing God

Katherine used to be beautiful. She once had flowing black hair and green eyes that shined with life, but now her hair still dark is now dull and her green eyes always appear tired. She’s skinny, maybe too skinny, and her limbs just dangle about. Her meek hands wrap around the handles of her shopping bags. Her knuckles are white from gripping so tightly. She prefers to walk home rather than to drive since the grocery store is only a few blocks away from her house.

            On a typical day, Katherine would walk on the main road to get to the grocery store, but today there is construction being done so she decides to cut through a different street. She’s been this way once or twice, but doesn’t prefer it because she thinks it seems a little sketchy.

            Leaving the store, she makes her way with her bags through the parking lot and goes down a short street to get to the back road. The weight of the bags slows down her pace as she goes on. The road is empty of cars and the sidewalk is empty people. The only thing scenic about the back road is the expansive orange grove across the street. The few times that she took this road, she always admired the never ending forest of orange trees. The trees are dotted with oranges that are perfectly ripe for picking. She looks upon the grove as she walks by just thinking about how great those oranges probably are.

Walking pass and getting closer to home, her desire for the oranges keeps growing. “Taking one or two oranges wouldn’t be a crime,” she thinks to herself. She didn’t think of buying any when she was at the market nor did she have enough money to do so anyway. She glances to her left then to her right and crosses the streets with her long, boney legs guiding her. She goes to the closest tree to her and places her bags on the grass. She reaches up and tenderly grips an orange and forces it off of the tree. She takes the orange and stuffs it into one of her already filled bags. “I have room for a few more,” she thinks to herself again. Simple enough of a task, she picks about seven oranges and forces her bags to make room for them.

She was able to fit them all in, except for one. Even though the bag in her left hand is causing her enough strain and is just as heavy as the bad in her right hand, she forces her right hand to hold onto both of these bags. She takes the orange, puts it up to her face, and starts to peel it with her teeth. With half of the orange peeled, she takes a bit as she walks across the street. As her teeth sink into the orange, a faded black pick up truck is driving up the street. The more her teeth sink into the orange, the closer the truck gets. She successfully takes a bite. The truck smashes into her. The truck with only a dent on its grill smoothly rides along. Katherine is left there on the black gravel with her groceries and blood spread about.

Cracked Knuckles

            Quietly, sitting in the middle of class, I take my hand and make a loose fist. I then take my other hand and push pressure on it causing my knuckles interrupt the teacher’s lecture with a shattering crack.

“Emma!” the teacher exclaims in shock to the noise.

“Sorry,” is my automatic response and sunk into my chair embarrassed while seeing all the other classmates’ eyes fixed upon me.

            I always crack my knuckles. I rarely even notice when I’m doing it. I’ll be sitting down or walking and casually crack them without realizing I’m doing so. The only time I notice that I’m cracking my knuckles is when someone points it out or if my knuckles fail to make the snapping noise because I already cracked them not too recently.

            My mother always scorns me over this. Ever time she catches me doing this action, she’ll remark, “Stop that! You are going to ruin your hands!” Rumor has it, that if you crack your knuckles an excessive amount, you can get arthritis and thick knuckles. I keep hearing mixed comments about that theory. I hear that it is either true or false, but I don’t care enough to do research on it. I enjoy the feeling and sound of cracking my knuckles and it has now become part of my everyday life.

            A few weeks ago, this boy Chris in one of my classes decided to ask me on a date. We agreed that the date should be today. He picks me up from house and we go dine at Fridays. While we wait for our food to arrive after we ordered, he takes my hand and starts lacing his fingers through mine. He takes my small, delicate hand and is playing with my fingers looking at them. “You have musician hands. Do you play the piano?” He comments still examining my fingers. Chris is a musician himself. He plays various instruments including the banjo, so it took me by surprise when he mentioned that I have musician hands.

“No? Is that bad?” I respond.

 “Not really, your hands just seem overworked,” he says nonchalantly while sipping his ice tea.

            I take my hand back from him and stare at it. For the first time I see that my hands look rigid and most likely due to cracking my knuckles. My hands that I thought were thin and small now leave me self-conscious. I place my hands in my lap since I do not want him to stare at them anymore. I’m thirsty, but I don’t even want to grab for my drink.

Short Story

Right after I ended the call, I was more curious than concerned about what Brynn and Marissa had to tell me that was so urgent. Due to their reputation, I couldn’t help but assume that it had to do with their reckless partying habits. Scenarios raced through my mind. Was Brynn messed up on coke again? Did Marissa attempt to drive back drunk from her beach house? Or were police involved with their careless actions they tend to portray on a typical Saturday night.

I ran down the hallway towards my parents’ room. My mother was sleeping but my father was still awake since he tends not to go to bed till 3am and it was just about 1am at the moment.

“Hey Papa, um, Brynn and Marissa need me to meet them at Bell Tower. Can I go?”

“Why do they need you to meet them?”

“I’m not sure. They didn’t tell me. I’m assuming they’re incapable of driving at the moment.”

“They have parents. They can pick them up.”

“Dad, you know how they are and you know they’re not gonna call their parents.”

“Ok fine. Just be home by two so that Mom doesn’t start to worry if she wakes up.”

            I grabbed the keys to my pickup truck, deactivated the house alarm, and walked out. I then climbed into my truck and reluctantly pulled out of the driveway.  I was in no mood to go for a twenty-minute drive in the middle of the night to take care of my friends especially since my parents are going to give me shit for having such low life friends, but there are only so many people to choose from in this town. Plus, they are two of my best friends so I felt obligated to help them out.

            After driving through the empty streets while listening to Backstreet Boys to feel less lonely, I pulled into Bell Tower. Marissa was parked in the deserted parking lot waiting in her black Nissan Altima. Next to her car was and a police car where I saw Brynn being handcuffed with her face reddened from crying. There was another police officer talking to Marissa by her car. Right when I parked my truck, one of the police officers walked up to the window. They tapped on the window and I rolled it down to hear what he had to say.

“Who are you?”

“My name is Raven Blitz. The girl with the black hair called me to come meet her here but I’m not sure why.”

“Oh you were the person she called. She needs to be driven home. She’s too drunk to drive, but your blonde friend was drunk driving her car so we’re taking her in.”

Not quite sure what to say to all this, I only replied, “Thank you officer. Sorry about my friends.”

            I was unable to go up and comfort Brynn since the officers will just view me as an annoyance as ask me to leave. I refused to make eye contact with her. Not out of disappointment, but because there was nothing I could do for her so I did not want to bring her attention towards me. Marissa got in the passenger seat of my car and I started driving towards her house.

“What happened?” I asked so that I can get the full story of what happened.

“Ryan was having a party and the damn neighbors called cops so we had to leave before either of us were sober enough to drive.”

“So Brynn got a DUI?”

“Yeah and also arrested for possessing marijuana when they checked her, and I got a citation for underage drinking but luckily nothing more. Do you know what’s going to happen to Brynn?”

“I honestly have no idea and I am certainly not going to be the one to tell her parents.”

“My parents are going to be so pissed that I got a citation but whatever.”

            Once I dropped Marissa at her house she thanked me and was very appreciative that I drove her back instead of her being forced to call her parents. Marissa did not seem too concerned about Brynn. She was more focused on her parent’s reaction to getting in some trouble. I was worried for Brynn because she’s been in enough trouble as it is. She means well but just makes stupid decisions. I know when I get home and my dad will ask me what happened and I will obviously have to tell him. It’s guaranteed that my mom and dad are going to ridicule me for having a distasteful friend selection, but they can’t scorn me for helping a friend in need.  

The Blanket

Faded colors of green, pink, and yellow flowers

Are thrown upon the pillows of my bed.

With cotton exposed from the torn fabric,

Clean scent but a decaying appearance,

It maintains a soft and welcoming touch.

Woven into the decrepit cloth are my years

From the start of my life through my college days.

Resting in my bed I hold it tight to allow me to sleep,

The same way I use to when placed in my crib.

Though ragged and frayed, I shall never let go.

Optimistic Outlook

Optimistic Outlook

Ecstatic over the smallest of things,

While galloping through the wind’s breeze.

Love and joy is what he brings,

Though he thinks it is fun to tease.

He views the world as only kind,

That no harm will ever come his way.

When in regards to reality he is blind,

For he thinks all results in a brighter day.

Never in a disposition of gloom,

Because he only have a positive stance.

His personality brings happiness to bloom.

And his puppy face puts everyone in a trance.

This carefree personality is my inspiration,

How everything causes him a sense of adoration.

I decided to write my poem in the form of a Shakespearean sonnet. This is a form I have been familiar with, so I was more comfortable with writing a poem with this form instead of attempting another form. I also like this type of poem because it flows nicely and there are not too many rules to follow. I only have to remember the number of lines and the simple rhyme scheme. There is no set syllable rule to obey by. This form also fits the topic of my poem. My poem is about my dog that thinks everything in the world is perfect and does not see the bad in anything. He is very simplistic in personality but sometimes I think deep into his personality to try to figure out why he acts so happy. This poem form is similar to his personality. While reading the poem it seems simple enough with it’s rhyme scheme, but this structure is more complicated than it looks especially for someone who is writing it. The three rhyming quadrants all express the characteristics of my dog’s personality. The last two lines explain why I am writing about him. I chose to write about my dog because I truly do look up to him as a way to be a happy person even though he is just a dog. His love for all things intrigues me and I wish that I could, all the time, be as happy as my dog, to be happy just for happiness’ sake.

David Gessner

I expected David Gessner’s reading to be the same or similar to the Tayari Jones reading when I originally went to the reading. Instead it was quite different. He seemed like a funny and charismatic person, but I felt that he talked about himself a little too much. The concept of the book kind of bored me too because it is not a topic that interests me. Nature interests me while I’m around it, but not while I am reading it. Though I found the topic of his book kind of boring, he did keep me interested with his witty personality. I found the making of his book to be more interesting to his actual book. He gave me insight on what actually goes on when it comes to publishing a book. My favorite part of his reading was when he was talking about how he wrote in a part of his book is his belief on what is wild and the difference between wild and wilderness. He mentioned how he wrote about what he believes is the wild and gave it to his editor and his editor gave it back to him saying pretty much “no, that’s not what you believe,” and Gessner kept having to change what he believes to fit the editors view on what he “actually” believes, turning his “I believe” into “we believe.” He also gave me insight on how the publishing industry works by telling us how his book was bought by one of the publishing companies but they kept wanting him to make changes and kept pushing back the deadline before they actually published his book. I was disappointed that there was no Question and Answer section of his reading. For Tayari Jones, that was the most interesting part of her reading. Instead of just hearing Gessner talk about himself and read from his book, a Question and Answer sections would have kept the audience more interested in what he had to say. I enjoy audience interaction because it makes me feel that whoever is the speaker cares what everyone else has to say instead of his views about his own work. Other people’s insight and questions allows the speaker and the audience get a difference perspective about the work being discussed and also gives the audience more information about the reading and a better understand of the author’s intentions and ideas of the book.  

My Garden

There is Another Sky by Emily Dickinson

Published in 1890

There is another sky,
Ever serene and fair,
And there is another sunshine,
Though it be darkness there;
Never mind faded forests, Austin,
Never mind silent fields -
Here is a little forest,
Whose leaf is ever green;
Here is a brighter garden,
Where not a frost has been;
In its unfading flowers
I hear the bright bee hum:
Prithee, my brother,
Into my garden come!

My Garden

Florida is where I go,

For the warmth of the air,

And frolic through the orange grove,

Beaches are somewhere there;

Water washes up on the shoreline,

Dolphins are seen close by,

And the sun brings its shine,

Dazzling in the bright sky,

Poor weather I pardon,

For I will not say bye,

This land is my garden

Libra

Born within the Sun and Venus

Of October and September

Coincidence of these two yellows

Balance be brought upon me

Harmony, my life’s essence

Air is the sign’s element

Said to be kind and vicious

Resembles the stability of things

Playing with Order of Events

When we take our seats, I am by the window, the middle seat is empty, and my mom is seated in the aisle seat because she has a history of being claustrophobic.

            I remember her telling me that she became claustrophobic ever since she had a dream that she got stuck in an elevator. Ever since then it has affected her. During one of our vacations in Miami, we were taking the elevator to the floor that our room was on. My mom was arguing with us to not take the elevator and to take the stairs instead, but the elevator was more convenient. My sister, my mom, and I were in the elevator with about three other women. The elevator all of a sudden got stuck. My mom freaked out right away and pushed everyone aside to try to open the elevator door herself. Everyone else in the elevator stayed composed. My sister and I were trying to relax my mother while another woman called the front desk about the elevator. It wasn’t like we were going to be stuck in there forever and there was no way out. My mom caused everyone else in the elevator to have an even more unpleasant experience dealing with the current situation.

After take off, my mom and I both fall asleep for about an hour until the turbulence jerks us awake.

“Oh my God, Raven! The plane is going to crash! Oh my God!” my mom screams grabbing onto my arm.

“No its not. Stop it.”

“Raven, I’m scared!”

“Are you serious?”

“Why aren’t you helping me?”

“Because you’re overreacting.”

            Still, I let her hold on to me hoping it’ll help outburst which is freaking out the other passengers. But she doesn’t stop, not until the plane lands. The plane rolls up at the gate and stops. We have not been waiting that long but for my mom it feels like at least an hour.

Reflection

When I heard the class had to go to a mandatory book reading, I immediately thought of the word boring. I do not particularly like reading nor was I looking forward to someone reading to me. In all honestly, I was surprised to admit that I quite enjoyed Tayari Jones’ reading of “Silver Sparrow.” It was not so much that I actually liked the book; it was more due to fact that I enjoyed the author’s personality. The she read the dialogue in her story caught my attention. She performed each character and kept me interested. I expected a long boring reading of some book that I wouldn’t read anyway, but it was a positive experience and it did not cause me to believe that my time was wasted. Jones’ question and answer section at the end of her reading was definitely the most entertaining part. She was a person that the average person was able to relate to. She did not make herself to seem better than anyone. She told her audience to basically stay true to themselves and their writing. She expressed that writers need to be realistic about their writing and to know what is good, what is bad, and what the audience would find interesting. She was definitely a personality that almost anyone could get along with.

On Happiness

            You can argue what happiness is. You can argue how to acquire it. But we can all agree that it is a delightful feeling. I view it as the most important thing in life. It is subconsciously our overall goal to fulfill. In some it hides, in some it flourishes, but happiness has infinite meanings. I would describe it as a combination of everything that makes you feel content, but at the same time it is also somewhat indescribable. Some attempt to illustrate this emotion in words, but a verbal description would be ineffective. You just feel it; it fills your soul with warmth. When happiness takes its toll on you, you feel like nothing can bring you down. You do not need to explain to someone if you are happy, they just know, you just know. Your gleaming smile, the tone of your voice, your carefree spirit, these are all indications of the emotion we all strive to attain.

The simplest things cause me to be happy. The angelic voices of the Backstreet Boys create a natural drunk off life reaction for me. Coffee, Backstreet Boys, and my dog are the foundation to my happiness. Many other factors play a role to this feeling, but these three objects heighten the mood. For my friend, seeing the Penn State swim team is all that is needed to create happiness within. My sister only needs a party and my dog only needs her bone. To each their own.

            Some people are more demanding. My mother needs a new Chanel bag to be satisfied. My father needs to constantly upgrade his Corvette to be pleased. Of course they are happy just as they are. They have each other and that all that matters is what they will argue. Its true, but materialistic objects enhance the mood.

Various scenarios create this sensation.

 Cheap and expensive items, expected and unexpected occurrences, and little and large items. All these abundant factors support and prolong the attained happiness. There are different levels of happiness. Each level is accessible depending on person and cause. All depends how much of nothing or everything the individual has. To experience the affects of happiness, you have to have experienced sorrow. We all heard the saying, “to experience the good you have to experience the bad.” The good is what we would consider happiness. Happiness is an element for a healthy life. The key to life is finding the definition that most appropriately fits your idea of the word "happiness".

America

During my high school years, I never cared for the United States. If anything, I did not think my country was all that great. When the class would say the Pledge of Allegiance, I would stand up out of obligation but would never put my hand over my heart of recite the words. It was not until I travelled through Europe did I become in love with my country where people would flee to in order to start a new life.

Summer of 2010 and 2011, I was fortunate enough to visit Europe.  In the summer of 2010 I went explored England, Switzerland, France, Croatia, Turkey, Greece, and Italy. Since I went to these countries with a group of people my age on a Teen Tour, I did not pay much attention to the living conditions and life style of the areas. I was too focused on the social aspect of the trip. The European trip with my family in the summer of 2011 kicked me into reality. My family and I ventured through the Czech Republic, Austria, Hungary, and Romania. Every time my family tours a location, my father always makes sure we are paying attention to everything. He points out every little detail that he feels is important to the family’s experience for the trip. I recall visiting a Jewish cemetery in Romania filled with garbage and syringes. It was a depressing sight, not just due to the fact that its cemetery, but because it was an ill kept cemetery and just plain right disgusting. All through these countries I saw a repulsive amount of rubbish that took over the streets and sidewalks. There were even an unrealistic amount of stray dogs roaming through the area accommodating to the city life. The atmosphere in these countries grossed me out immensely. The whole time I was in Europe, I was comparing everything to the way of life in America. I compared how Europe you are not able to drink out water out of the tap because the water is not sanitary, the way most places in Europe do not have air-conditioning and that you have to pay to use the bathrooms. During the trip I kept thinking, “It’s beautiful and all, but would I really want to live here?” The appealing parts in these countries are the tourist attractions, but that is how it is for almost every country. Each country has their own source of beauty.

 That trip fully changed my perception of America. I now think it is the best country and am grateful to live here. Red, white, and blue are my official favorite colors. I even now go out of my way to buy American flag merchandise. I have a variety of different American flag styled shirts, an American flag backpack, an American flag purse, two small American flags hanging up in my dorm room, and a copy of the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution. I verbally defend this country during arguments and any song that mentions America in a positive context I automatically love. I am so thankful to live in the great, secure country and can not even dream of leaving elsewhere.

No Place Like Home

     Like most children, they typically feel comfortable in their homes and view it as a safe haven. 11-year-old Ryan Aguirre once thought that he was always safe in the comfort of his own home, until the night of January 5, 2011. Ryan was at home with his father while relaxing playing a game in his family’s apartment located in the Bronx when someone knocked on the door. Ryan is an innocent little boy and a well-behaved honor student at his school, he would never think something so undeserving was about to come to him. Ryan was casually walking towards the door when he heard the knocking. All he asked was “Who?” then three rounds of bullets started coming at him through the door. He was clinging onto the wall and calling for his father while his dark brown eyes stood out with fear. While latching onto the wall, Ryan just stood there while the bullets were cutting through the door and making their way into the apartment. He did not move only stood there. It was probably for the best that he did not leave his current spot, for who knows what would have happened to him if he tried dodging the bullets. While fear and a stir of emotions were running through Ryan’s body, he was shot in the stomach. He did not feel anything, fortunately enough, but is now scared physically and emotionally. The bullet did not puncture any vital organs or kill the young boy, if anything it only left a wound. This incident did more damage to his mental state. He is now paranoid that the shooter will come for him again. He’s terrified to stay in his own home. Ryan never saw the shooter behind the door; he was only a victim of the man’s anger. Ryan was not the man’s target. The shooter was actually targeting Ryan’s sister who is involved in a gang. Due to his sister’s poor life choices, Ryan got caught up in her mess.    

Source:

http://www.nypost.com/p/news/local/bronx/don_want_to_go_back_RoDrmcYTwsGZ9yRdmy7NwK

Daisy Dukes

            The typical daily outfit for the summer would be shorts and a tank top. Being from Florida, that use to my yearly attire. I interchanged my shirts but only had a few pairs of shorts. One of these pairs of shorts I had since 8^th grade and surprisingly still fit. I found them on sale at Abercrombie and knew I had to get them. They are exceptionally short and light blue denim with a ripped up look at the bottom. I refer to them as my Daisy Dukes. When I would wear them my mom would always complain that they were too short on me, but I brought them everywhere I went regardless. I remember wearing them during my most memorable summer.

Summer of 2009 was when I was fortunate enough to travel Europe with America Trails West teen tour. My shorts and I traveled through England, France, Italy, Switzerland, Croatia, Greece, and Turkey, which totaled exactly a month. I wore my Daisy Dukes when two of my friends and I got lost in Florence, Italy. We were touring art museums and Roman Catholic Cathedrals for half of the day with the teen tour. After the organized activities were completed, the counselors let us go shopping and said to meet them back at the hotel. My friends and I joyfully adventured through the city. We finished our need for shopping then went on a horse carriage tour. We then decided it was time to head back to the hotel but did not know which way we were suppose to go since the counselors never told us the directions to the hotel. We found ourselves a map, I forgot why, but the map was not useful. We then tried asking these two police officers for directions, but they did not speak any English and none of us knew any Italian. We attempted to figure it out ourselves by pretty much walking down some random street we thought was the correct way. Even though it was against the rules of the tour, we had no choice but to flag down a taxi. Thankfully most cab drivers in the area were able to speak and understand English. We gave him the name of the hotel then he started driving and made a U-turn, meaning we were going the complete opposite direction.

Later that night, still wearing the same outfit, my two friends and I almost got kicked off the tour. All three of us roomed together. We were supposed to be in our rooms at ten, which we were, but we did not know that the balcony was off limits. It was a small, compact hotel. Our room was on the second floor and our balcony faced the balcony of two other rooms of the first floor where some of the boys on the tour roomed. We were talking to them from the balcony. Somehow the counselors knew we were all relaxing on the balcony, and came to each of the rooms to reprimand us for not being in our rooms and threatened to kick us off the tour. Since the balcony was apart of the room, we all thought it was acceptable to be on.

I also wore my Daisy Dukes through my other adventures in Europe. I wore them the day the counselors forgot to wake my group up to tour Switzerland so we were given permission to walk around the town we were staying in. I also wore them during the gondola ride in Venice, the day a few kids on my tour got in trouble for getting drunk, and while I was at Disney in France.

I still wear my Daisy Dukes whenever I go back to Florida but only at the beach. They became even shorter than they were on me when I first got them causing them to be inappropriate to wear out in any other location. Even though I cannot wear them as much as I use to or in certain locations, I will always keep them to remind me of Summer 2009.