House Vignette

My house is like a Lego fort we kept on finding pieces for. We have always had the foundation but the kitchen came later. Riping out the old yellowing and facek wood my father replaced with cherry and oak. The tiles like a hop scotch around the island of sinks and dishwashers. Then the dinning room to family room was found hiding between two paintings in the garage. Bt before all that we could see the TV from the hallway by our rooms. Mom always sent us to bed at the same time even if we weren't tired and the sun was still awake. So we always snuck out with blankets and pillows to watch TV from 20 feet away. And thats how she would find us every night. Asleep in a row at the hall enterence.

That hallway got so much use from us. Zack used to take his mattress and stand it up so it created a barrier and then we would run at it and try to climb before it fell. But one time it got to close to the light in the ceiling and shattered it. Angry mom always put an end to that game. But she would always start a new one at the beach with a smile and a half deflated tube.

Photo Vignette

They always say 'Smile now, no not that way.' But this time I got it right. No more do agains. Besides Abigail's knees are boney. Zack and lizzy strain against their seat belts to get in the picture. Mom is turned all the way around with the camera like an owl in a tree. Lizzy was the one not smiling big enough this time. Dad makes us laugh. But shes been to cool to laugh now-a-days. Abigail and Zack still laugh when I put mudd cookies on Mom's bed and bring frogs to live in my room. Its to dark to look outside anyways. Just to see the trees. Sleeping is boring anyways. Dads stories are the best. Like the ones about the stuffed man he dragged across the road to scare drivers or the one about jumping off the roof into their pool in the summertime.

Name Vignette

My name means pleasant like some kind of blue. The number 5 - and winter. My mother chose the name first for my eldest sister, Elizabeth. But grandma Athena had her hand in that pot.

No grandchild of mine will have that name- she said.

So the first child was Eizabeth and the next Zack. And the next Abigail, another biblical name.

Once she had me, Athena was overwhelmed.

Shouldn't have raised you Cathloic- She would say under her breath as she hastily put her rosary back into her apron picket. Like the sight of Mother Mary would make another baby grow.

So my mother named me Naomi, pleasant calm. And average day. Average temperature. Average sky. Average life.

But to me, my name feels like it is unable to age. like it is supposed to be used by some heroine who dies young and is never able to have her years on this earth written on her face.

Dreaming Of Hair
by Li-Young Lee

Ivy ties the cellar door
in autumn, in summer morning glory
wraps the ribs of a mouse.
Love binds me to the one
whose hair I've found in my mouth,
whose sleeping head I kiss,
wondering is it death?
beauty? this dark
star spreading in every direction from the crown of her head.

My love's hair is autumn hair, there
the sun ripens.
My fingers harvest the dark
vegtable of her body.
In the morning I remove it
from my tongue and
sleep again.

Hair spills
through my dream, sprouts
from my stomach, thickens my heart,
and tangles from the brain. Hair ties the tongue dumb.
Hair ascends the tree
of my childhood--the willow
I climbed
one bare foot and hand at a time,
feeling the knuckles of the gnarled tree, hearing
my father plead from his window, _Don't fall!_

In my dream I fly
past summers and moths,
to the thistle
caught in my mother's hair, the purple one
I touched and bled for,
to myself at three, sleeping
beside her, waking with her hair in my mouth.

Along a slippery twine of her black hair
my mother ties ko-tze knots for me:
fish and lion heads, chrysanthemum buds, the heads
of Chinamen, black-haired and frowning.

Li-En, my brother, frowns when he sleeps.
I push back his hair, stroke his brow.
His hairline is our father's, three peaks pointing down.

What sprouts from the body
and touches the body?
What filters sunlight
and drinks moonlight?
Where have I misplaced my heart?
What stops wheels and great machines?
What tangles in the bough
and snaps the loom?

Out of the grave
my father's hair
bursts. A strand
pierces my left sole, shoots
up bone, past ribs,
to the broken heart it stiches,
then down,
swirling in the stomach, in the groin, and down,
through the right foot.

What binds me to this earth?
What remembers the dead
and grows towards them?

I'm tired of thinking.
I long to taste the world with a kiss.
I long to fly into hair with kisses and weeping,
remembering an afternoon
when, kissing my sleeping father, I saw for the first time
behind the thick swirl of his black hair,
the mole of wisdom,
a lone planet spinning slowly.

Sometimes my love is melancholy
and I hold her head in my hands.
Sometimes I recall our hair grows after death.
Then, I must grab handfuls
of her hair, and, I tell you, there
are apples, walnuts, ships sailing, ships docking, and men
taking off their boots, their hearts breaking,
not knowing
which they love more, the water, or
their women's hair, sprouting from the head, rushing toward the feet.

Reality

Lies bind this house

In morning, at night lust

Envelops these cold sheets.

Need ensnares her to him

Whose steps echo on tile not swept,

Whose hands caress

Contemplating reality?

Fantasy? This freckled

Skin covering his bones and beautiful entirety.

Her monsters skin is morning skit, there

The wounds fester

Her mouth heals the ragged

Massacre of his chest.

In the night he leaves her

And her house to

Live again.

Skin slinks into her thoughts, spreading

To her hands, covering fingers,

And stretches from her wrist, skin encases her mind.

Skin attacks the earth

Of her world- the plants

She grew

One green stalk and stem at a time

Feeling the flesh of the earth, listening

For a whisper from its mouth, help us!

In her days she floats

Past people and places

To the house

Captured in life’s brutal skin, the small ones

She aches and whishes for,

To her self at twenty, walking

Near them, keeping their skin under her nails

Along a new stretch of pale skin

The birds make nests for her:

Small and large. Oval pods. Full of

Fur and wool, soft and inviting.

The fox, her sister, chatters when she gathers

She brushes her skin, over the fur

Her skin is like the birds, there for a purpose

What covers the muscle

And shelters the heart

What glows at night

And darkens in the sun?

Where did she leave her mind?

What breaks and tears the earth?

What collects men

And kills their faith?

Our of the sky

The birds skin

Escapes. A feather

Lands on her hand, filters

Down stomach, past heart,

To severed wings it heals,

Then up,

Encircling shoulders, and heard, and up

Past her ear.

What lets her disappear?

What sets flight

To her thoughts and theory’s?

She is annoyed of dreaming.

She envies the people laughing.

She envies the skin of golden tones,

Needing a utopia

Where, laughing with a different one, she realized

Under his imperfect skin

A seed of wholeness

Was growing quickly

Sometimes her life is wrong

And she fumbles with the words.

Sometimes she realizes she is alone.

Then, she must feel

In another’s skin, she believes

Are wonders, miracles, laughter, sunlight, and him

Coming through the door, his world closing.

Not comprehending

Which he wants more, the world, or

Her skin, as it shifts over muscle and encompasses his body

Voice

Destruction

Electricity raced along his skin
Little bolts escaped and struck
Those who were too near
His eyes were pupils
As he gazed over them
They were sheep
And useless now
Feeling his wrath
Circulating just below the surface
Searching for a crevice
A weakness
To escape
Smiling as they cowered
He drew back the floodgates
And looked to the sky
As the screams started

Voice

Early In The Morning
By Li-Young Lee
While the long grain is softening
in the water, gurgling
over a low stove flame, before
the salted Winter Vegetable is sliced
for breakfast, before the birds,
my mother glides an ivory comb
through her hair, heavy
and black as calligrapher's ink.

She sits at the foot of the bed.
My father watches, listens for
the music of comb
against hair.

My mother combs,
pulls her hair back
tight, rolls it
around two fingers, pins it
in a bun to the back of her head.
For half a hundred years she has done this.
My father likes to see it like this.
He says it is kempt.

But I know
it is because of the way
my mother's hair falls
when he pulls the pins out.
Easily, like the curtains
when they untie them in the evening.

I chose this poem because I believe it has a simple beauty to it. A kindof average loveliness that people take for granted most of the time. I feel that the voice in this poem is remembrance, love, and a secret glee at having the knowledge not many people have over a subject. Remembrance because of when Lee starts off the beginning of the poem describing how he would have breakfast, 'While the long grain is softening/in the water, gurgling/over a low stove flame, before/the salted Winter Vegetable is sliced/for breakfast'. Love when he describes his father waiting to hear the music of comb against hair. Secret glee when he ends the poem saying the true reason why his father loves his mothers hair.

The Beautiful Manifestation

The Lagoon

Saturated in water
Dive deeper, imersed
No one around
Just silence
Begotten no where else
Blessed simplicity
I am the water god
In my ocean of chlorine
I am a crocodile
Adapted to chemicals
As my clawed feet
Slovenly push me along the lagoon
Of concrete steps
As green water licks
At blue porcelain
None would enter
Not even you
So put it from your mind
And leve it floopping
On cold tile
Go back to your dry world
And leave me here
Entranced by sunlight

1. The voice that i believe is apparent in my poem when i speak is my need for solitude away from humanity and the ongoings of normal life
2. I will try to be comanding, like I am God and they should be honored to be in my presence, because I think that, that is what my poem is about, being your own God.
3. Well I will be having an awkward silence, many arm movements and kind of swim around, you will understand when you see it!
4. The whole thing frightens me but it is kindof exciting to be performing because you get to become your own person.
5. It adds visuals to it which lets people make easy conections to what the writer is really saying.

Song thing

Genius by Kings of Leon

Everybody wants to be a showman
Yeah they all got another one
Everybody thinks they got a genius
Everybody got me on the run
Sometimes I think they come here
Just so you can say that you can
And I can't get alone in my bathroom
I need to give myself a hand

Ya'll cuh-cuh-cuh-creepin'
Creepin' underneath my skin
Fuck you and your flashbulbs
Snappin' my picture again
You drank all my whiskey
You stole all my smoke
And you're crowded all around me
Like I got nowhere to go

Eyes are gonna roll back
I'm here to kill
Time for you to go
I'm-a-gon' spill
It ain't yo fast train
I'll be the king runnin' near the wheel
I ain't lookin' to make no deals here no

You keep stickin' to me like a prickly porcupine
You're gettin' your information from the grocery checkout line
Are you through confessin' of your little girl obsession'
Cause I was only messin' and I had a little time

-My favorite line in this whole song is where he says “You keep sticking to me like a prickly porky pine” I just think this is very descriptive and funny. I also like the lines where he says “You stole all my smoke” because you could take that as the other person stole all of the excitement because where there is smoke there is fire. Overall I just really find the lyrics to all of Kings of Leon’s songs entertaining.

Late

Do you not see me?
Looking down every three seconds
You must
I am watching
Banging at the glass to get
Your absent minded attention
Watch me!
Never mind the world
Pay attention to me
As my hands leave dirty
Marks on the glass
But you don’t see
Or you wish not to
You will be
Late

Beginning

What was the earth before there was light
Were there any streams running over her face
Did god walk the land thinking he was strong
How long before he gave her skin
That thin layer did nothing for the cold
The kind that settles deep before morning

When man was formed did he look at the morning
In aw as his eyes registered the first light
Soon moving as he got use to the cold
As it skimmed over his body and face
Unused to feeling in his newly made skin
Strange that god made man so strong

But soon god saw that man was not as strong
As those animals who met the morning
Warm and wrapped up in one another’s skin
And so god laid man down and there was a great light
For Adam awoke looking upon Eve’s face
Never again to feel the empty cold

The did as god told them and faced the cold
Together in Eden as the trees grew strong
And the animals began to know their faces
They were rulers of this morning
Laughing at caresses feather light
Sending shivers trailing across their skin

But there was a new sin moving over Eden’s skin
Its passage leaving a path of smoke and cold
Entrancing all creatures with dancing lights
Whispering to Eve, it told her of the strong
Beautiful tree whose fruit was made of the mornings
Glory and gave the knowledge of gods face

The innocent creatures had god to face
He knew the moment sin had passed through their skin
Adam and Eve hid from god till the morning
Has spread her fingers over their garden turned cold
Sin now strewn across Eden, smelling so strong
Of dirt, with new eyes they walked to god in the harsh light

Not knowing how to face god in the cold
They covered their skin and tried to be strong
As they went into the mornings new dead light

Distracted

I was gone
For a moment
Lost in my world
Following the rabbit
Down the Hole
Or was it a cat
Chasing a rabbit
Around the tree
But present is
What I’m here for
And I apologize
So forgive me
For following the dog
To wonder land

Family

We are different
Hair and faces
Still alike though
All of the same make

Oldest is calm
Peaceful
Beautiful one

Boy is wild
Kind
Mislead one

Middle is fierce
Strong
Warrior one

Youngest am I
Not beautiful
Nor kind as others
Quiet and strange one

Together we are best
Long since has that happend
We are dispersed

I am

I’m a book woman
I’m a walking woman
I’m a music woman
I’m a broccoli woman
I’m a pen woman
I’m a clutter woman
I’m a socks woman
I’m a plant woman
I’m a food woman
I’m a smiling woman
I’m a confused woman
I’m a glasses woman
I’m a spring woman
I’m an ignored woman
I’m a lying woman
I’m an ignorant woman
I’m a peaceful woman with warlike tendencies
I’m a shoes woman
I’m a cat woman
I’m an oatmeal woman
I’m a traveling woman
I’m a dreaming woman
I’m a friendly woman
I’m a sleeping woman
I’m a gadget woman
I’m an ocean woman
I’m a light woman
I’m a sharpie woman
I’m an entertained woman
I’m a truthful woman

Punch

First a thought
Calculatin retaliation
Muscles contracting
Pulling inward towards center
Fingers moving to your palm
Nails biting slightly
Eyes on target
Smirking face
Left cheek dimple
Breath releasing
Arm moving with rushing air
His eyes darting to movement
Half smile falling
Fist eradicating the rest
Skin beneath skin splitting
Satisfaction

Be

Blue be juice that drips from your lips
Sweet be dreams of flying dogs
Hot be islands of white sand and molten centers
Orange be socks that litter your floor
Playful be words that fall from your mouth
Scintillating be cords of opals wrapped around your waist
Open be sky above your head
Light be your feet dancing over harsh faces
Many be chairs at your table
Joyful be wind combing through your hair
Peculiar be cats sleeping in your bath tub
Bright be lights in distant places you wish to be
Clean be ground your sleep on
Singing be the tone deaf woman on the end of your street
Racing be blood in your chest
Full be coffee pots in days to come
Green be nail polish on your toes
Dry be deserts you walk in
Loud be life you live
High be sweaters in your closet
Lazy be man sleeping on your couch
Strong be arms lifting you up
Purple be rubber ducks in your sink
Smiling be your face reading my words