A thing I wrote a while back

thusfar, I have dedicated this page to strictly poetry. I understand that the free writing assignments are just that-- an opportunity to post anything that I have written, but I have been interested in making myself write poetry. I wish to post something that I once wrote. A piece of prose. It is one of my favorites and I mentioned it in class, though I got the name wrong. Twirl is what I called it, but Twirl is not what it is called. Twirl was the first story I used the single word method with. This is called seagulls and it is sad, so I present to you:

Seagulls

By: David Mathis

His name was Aden. He was a wiry kid of about seven. He came up to my chest, but he was stronger than I at the time. I remember seeing him run across the fields in a wild fury almost like a beast child. The wind would blow so hard that his hair would waver in the wind like a banner as the flower petals danced around him and I thought he had the world in his hands. The livelihood that I found in his eyes could spark wildfires and his imagination flowed like the mightiest river. I liked to chase him as he ran sometimes, but I never could keep up with him. He was always just a step ahead of me. It was quiet where we were, overlooking the sea with our grassy fields, rocks crumbled and scattered beneath our high ground. On stormy nights, the lighthouse was the only landmark visible and I would lay there wondering where Aden was and if he was safe. I would always find him the next day with ideas that giant krakens were in the puddles. I wasn’t allowed to step in any of them myself. He had a pair of big rubber boots that came up to his thighs that he would awkwardly stumble around in for the few days after, never complaining about the wet air being ragged breathing material. One day though, I arose to see him splashing in the waters of the sea. Running out, I found him far out at sea, paddling. I called to him, but he didn’t listen to me.

It’s been a long time since I’ve seen Aden now. This place gets lonely sometimes. Storms aren’t any more frequent, but without him around to worry about, I find I worry about myself a lot more. The sea salt stings more than it used to when it gets in my eyes. I can’t decide if it really stings more or if the tears always linger in my eyes. A few months ago, the lighthouse stopped working and I wonder if anyone even knows that it stands here still. It’s a silent observer now, no longer showing mighty ships the way and I wonder if it parallels my life with no direction. I sometimes wonder about Aden on days like today. Sunny ones that used to make my soul glow and the butterflies erupt out of bushes in great, flitting swarms as the honeysuckle plants sang sweet melodies. They don’t do it so much anymore and I think maybe his heart was more infectious than I thought. Someday though, I think he might be back. Someday, I suspect we may meet again if not on this earth.

Closing out the set

Poetry is not my thing obviously, but I find that I can appreciate it on some sort of strange level that I previously thought impossible. What I'm really trying to say is that while I'm new to this, I can swing the jive, bro. This next poem is something born of a word-scat session and is my attempt at a free verse. Enjoy or reject it. Your call (Note: I earlier mentioned I would base a poem off of one of the book poems, but this is not that poem).

There Were Things in that Cave that Once Crawled on Many Legs but now Slither for Fear of the Air

by: David Mathis

The air was tinted pink and gold, like little bits of colored glass had been smashed to powder and thrown into the sky. Swirling, galaxies formed, dark void unchained-- renewed with twinkling vigor that could never be extinguished. A sigh, the Earth creaked, groaned. Cool shadow pools at the nape of a neck that is a tree which cannot be a tree; trees shine brightest when grown horizontally. Beaks. Sharp beaks snap. Their rigid lines purely straight, they crunch. Feathers rigid, they drift, snow-like from the mouths of boars. Once eaten, the bird must make a perilous journey through unknown caverns. A roar, a rumble, a grumble. Earthquake shears ear drums in half. A cacophonous parade of splintered earth and broken homes will follow in the wake. Deep inside this dark and brooding quake there lies an ancient mackerel. Silently he toils with tools of iron and steel. He hammers the kinks from the earth. There lies a scale that always rests at 0 and at his fins it waits. Molten earth surrounds him in his cold cave.

Dusk flits past, faster than a camera shutter. Butterflies drift lazily. The smooth of stones and the heat of day fading. Stars sing the most haunting melodies where they rest. The ripples can be felt on a silent and cold night, reverberations without sound. Close your eyes on a night like this. Breathe the stars. Your life is connected. Stardust. There is no whole. Trembling fingers, icy tears-- in each one there lies countless stars reflected. they sing in tandem.

Reading Responses Parts 1 and 2

I was simply looking through the blog requirements when I remembered that I should probably get cracking on writing my reading responses. Being an avid reader, I thoroughly enjoyed reading the materials. I thought I could break it up between poems we read vs instructions.

1 - Poems

There were two really stellar poems that we were assigned that I wanted to talk about, the first one being A Martian Sends a Postcard Home by Craig Raine. This poem was beautiful in the way that it looked at ordinary things. I found myself drawn into it and captured by the diction as well as the very refined sense of style. There is something about the words on that page that make me want to read the poem over and over again. I find the work highly appealing and highly useful as standard by which to measure poems.

The second poem that I really, really enjoyed was The Gulf By Campbell McGrath. I will be most likely basing my free verse poem on this very poem. It has such words about it. I envy the words, the imagery, the mastery of the English language. When I speak of art, I speak of things I can see-- line, texture, balance, ect. I look at this poem, and I can only say I love the words, but the words are no less art. My head erupts with sharp sea imagery when I read this, and I am a sucker for poems about the sea. I myself have written several things about the sea. If I had to pin this to an artistic style, I would say Surrealism.

2 - Instruction

The part that I enjoyed about the instruction is no doubt a part that most students enjoyed about the instruction part of the reading. I very much liked the question/answer device that the author has implemented in class. I think I may adopt this very strategy for myself and add it to my many ways to start writing. It can only make me stronger. I know that I was probably supposed to pull more from the reading and while the style is really flowery and skillful, the Q/A device is really the thing that spoke the loudest. I think it will be invaluable in my writing.

Junkyard! YEAH! Pt. 2

So, my cat initially posted a blank blog post for me. Thank you, Moose. You're the best cat in my life. Therefore, I dedicate this Junkyard listing to you.

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QUOTE #1

"In rearranging the structure of this dish, I have challenged your conception of "DISH"... I have caused you to SEE this dish in a new way.."
Bucky katt from Get Fuzzy

+ I really like this quote because it really just reminds me of any cat that I've ever had. They always seem prone to knock my pottery down on the floor and break it, but never seem to really care. In case you didn't know, what Bucky is referring to is the dish he broke. He then called it art. I feel as though Moose would most certainly do the same

QUOTE# 2

"you forget Zach, I have arms on my head!"
Samuel Thompson, my good friend

+He totally meant that his arms were propping his head up and were therefore near his head, but it gave me mental images of him having head arms. That image is worthy of a poem, it is. I found it both interesting and flavorful for lack of a better word.

QUOTE# 3

"Fatigue is all in your head, David. You must learn to not require things like sleep, food, or toilets."

+Nick Bruce, my good friend

+Though admittedly, some of the funny things he says are from other sources, and therefore, this could be a misquote, he tends to say very amusing things to me. This was one of them. I was trying to look up something online without a computer, using my training that he claims he gave me. I mentioned I was too weak and this was his response. It was an interesting phrase that I think could find its way into a poem.

QUOTE# 4

"Shoot for the stars! If by chance you hit one, you'll likely combust."

Me

+This was a thing I said long, long ago. I am still trying to figure out if I meant anything by it. I possibly meant that shooting for the highest point possible, striving to improve is great, but that it is entirely possible to grind yourself to powder in the process. Slow down. Live.

QUOTE# 5

"End? No, the journey doesn't end here. Death is just another path, one that we all must take. The grey rain-curtain of this world rolls back, and all turns to silver glass, and then you see it. White shores, and beyond, a far green country under a swift sunrise."

Gandalf from Lord of the Rings

+I love this quote and I don't know why. He has such a peace with this life that he can be assured that there really is nothing to fear in death. Such security and hope in a thing that normally mortifies people.

Response: Whitney J.

Yet again, I ring in with an awesome response about another person's Poem!
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I'd Rather Date His Truck...
by: Whitney J.

It was big and had me going.

Its curves were enormous and had me from the first moment I had set my eyes on it. If only I could get my hands on it. I knew I could take it for a ride and treat it like a road king. My hand lingered down the smooth side of its walls while my mouth salivated. The anxiousness of wanting to ride it was so titillating.

The truck shook as my date plumped his annoying ass down into the driver’s seat. He slowly put the key in the ignition and the sound was pleasantly unbearable. The roar of the engine was loud. I observed the interior as he backed out of the confined area. The radio thumped and the speakers vibrated underneath my ass. The vibration sent a sensation of satisfaction up my spine. It was the best part of the date.

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What I liked: I loved that the poem was so intensely sexualized in the beginning when it talks about the truck, but loses all sexuality once the boyfriend arrives. The imagery makes the reader think of anything but a truck when she describes her reactions. I also liked that it was a free verse set up because free verse is scary for some people to try right from the start.

Improvements: I think that there are only a few problems. If she wanted to keep the reader guessing what she was talking about, then she should probably remove "Road King" from the first half of the poem because it makes it instantly obvious that we are talking about an automobile. Also, "I observed the interior" seemed a bit out of place in the poem, but it isn't necessarily a bad thing.

Frills and Hairballs: IMPULSE!

As I type this, my cat chews on my right arm.

Frills and Hairballs

by: David Mathis

A curtsy and a soft, warm smile

Framed by golden curls, wispy,

Blowing in a breeze that was cool,

Refreshing even. A sip of tea.

The tea was hot, steaming in its cup.

Soft, padded hands grasped the handle

delicately. Daintily. Pink Dress pressed

with care and a ribbon, faded but new.

She brushed some stray hair from her

Tufted ears. She soothed her tea, calming

And cooling it with gusts of wind from

Her snout. Blackened lips smiled sweetly.

Her legs, crossed, covered in long, golden

Hair. Her tail wrapped around four spindly

Metal legs of a stool. She playfully batted

A stirring spoon with careful claws.

As clouds enfolded the shining sky, she

Gently grabbed an umbrella-- a tastefully

Layered, iced cake-- pink, white, pink.

Slight frame protected from rain, she walked.

Silence between bird calls, soothing shushing

Of raindrops lulled her and cradled her as she

took small, careful steps. Umbrella held just so,

she took the path that wound eventually home.

Turtles. Yes, that's right... Turtles.

And now you can enjoy a poem about Turtles. I wrote this and it's just for you.

Latherwhopple

By: David Mathis

Ancient and oaken, he opened his creaking mouth

And when he spoke, it was wheezy and slow:

''The stars were once crystal and they shone in the

Sky during both day and night; a ceaseless glitter

hung in the air and it was so beautiful.''

His shell was a variegated brown and green.

The moss hung in trees like curtains-- maiden's hair.

Shadows crept and grew and the great brown turtle

Inhaled, breath ragged and raspy. He inhaled

The leaves, the petals, the seeds; he breathed life.

His old bones creaked, the grass swayed and he yet

Still drew his breath before settling down, looking

Out across the failing light of day, waiting and watching.

''The stars will erupt anew one day, though my tired

Eyes will never see it come to pass.''

-The End-

Classroom Response -- Jami Lynn

This is a poem that I did not write. Occasionally, I will be critiquing somebody else's work and this is what I am doing now.

Bored with life
I've lost myself
Living in lies
to hide myself
Constantly high
to numb myself
Crying at night
heading straight to hell

Trying to find
my old self
Continuing to fight
my new self
Wanting to like
myself
Still constantly high
heading straight to hell.

Hating this life
I chose for myself
Empty inside
as I chose myself
A different high
that kills myself
A fucked up life
living in hell!

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What I liked:
The poem seems honest and straightforward. I like the openness that the writer has with some deeply personal issues. I think a lot of art should be emotionally charged and deeply personal; I see both poetry and prose as art and therefore I feel they need emotion.

What needs improvement:
I understand what the writer was going for with the repetition of ''myself'' in trying to pull the poem back to an internal issue, but it got old having ''myself'' rhyme with ''myself'' over and over again. I think the technique could be powerful if used sparingly. A possibility would be to only do it in one stanza, or to open and close with the method. I will say this: I enjoyed it in the first stanza, but by the end, it was worn out.

Junkyard Quotes

Occsionally (occasionally being once a week or so) I will have the pleasure of dumping my life directly into your life in the form of Junkyard quotes. Anything that I might have read or said or heard that I find interesting, I can simply place here and you can read it. This, while fantastic, may overload you at first with a wealth of information that you did not know existed. Be not afraid, for I am wholly good.

1 - ''Well, I'll kill you WITH Linda. She makes an excellent bat if only you grasp her legs firmly.''

This was said to my friend Nick on Maple Story, which I am sad to admit I play. Whoever Linda is, she does not appear on my Buddy List. Regardless, he said he was going to kill Linda, to which I gave the reply in quotes. This is totally shameless self promotion because I want to point out that I made myself laugh and thought it was a rather clever thing to say.

2- ''No matter how fast light travels it finds the darkness has always got there first, and is waiting for it.''

-Terry Pratchett, Reaper Man-

I love this quote not only because in context, the quote is somewhat humorous, but also because it makes me sit around and think for a bit. I find that most of the book this quote comes from is both funny and deep and I think that marks a successful writer-- that is, the ability to make a person laugh, but immediately after the laughter to evoke a disquieting period of thought.

3 - ''And if all others accepted the lie which the Party imposed—if all records told the same tale—then the lie passed into history and became truth. 'Who controls the past' ran the Party slogan, 'controls the future: who controls the present controls the past.''

-George Orwell, 1984-

1984 is riddled with excellent pieces to quote and powerful reminders against a Totalitarian government system, but this one is what I believe the core of the book is about. The message rings true throughout history echoing adages about the winner of wars writing history books and even being applicable in every day life. Truly, it is a quote that transcends history.

4 - ''His mind was crowded with memories; memories of the knowledge that had come to them when they closed in on the struggling pig, knowledge that they had outwitted a living thing, imposed their will upon it, taken away its life like a long satisfying drink.''

-William Golding, Lord of the Flies-

I had actually wanted something straight from the pig killing scene itself, but It's just a bunch of screaming. Essentially the scene is an extremely sexually charged piece that is symbolic of an orgy. The pig scene is in many ways a turning point for the island-- after the pig scene there will always be the madness of killing against the wisdom of piggy. Looking back on it, the fact that his name is piggy and they slay a pig should have been an extremely obvious foreshadowing for me to read. The fact that killing is referred to as a long satisfying drink really drives home the change that has been made in these boys. The degradation of their society was always inevitable and is driven by the need for blood. Wonderful piece of work.

5 - ''Who overcomes by force, hath overcome but half his foe.''

-Milton, Paradise Lost-

The final quote I wish to lay down for you would be one from Satan. Simple in nature and yet amazingly true, the quote illustrates the problem society has with intellect. Intelligent people are apparently evil by nature where honest, brute strength is the bastion of godliness. A good example: Superman vs Lex Luther. An even better example: God vs Satan.

I write! I live!

Well, I am David Mathis and I guess I better just hop right into this. I'm in a creative writing class and this will serve as my blog. We're starting out with some nice poetry. The last time I wrote poetry, I was in middle school and it was part of a required assignment, so we'll see how this goes. All Poetry and prose on this page will probably be posted on my tumblr as well, so you guys can check that for additional writings and random rants about my life. So, without further ado... My very first actual poem.

Rumble

By: David Mathis

A flare, bright-shining and hot sparked the depths.

The four pushed deeper, deeper into receding black;

Away from the light-- it slithered into cracks like

Tails formed of tremendous earthen serpents.

Down the four spiraled, through twisted caverns.

Inky blackness billowed around them, fighting the

Heat and the light of the beacon, struggling with weak,

Lifeless arms to embrace just one of the four.

The walls grew algid and smooth -- scraped bare.

Each of the four felt a shiver; bleached and dull

The walls were as coral and the ceiling full of stalactites

bore down like hundreds of rows of teeth-- jagged.

Plunged into rippling darkness, the flare choked, died.

One of the four fell, gashed against the salty rocks

Tendrils encircled, squeezed-- the one struggles, tears.

A spear thrust, a shriek, the striking of a match.

The four were two, an island amongst the red foam.

Fear washed over them, rocked the two like a boat.

As they clutched their spears, they stood stricken,

paralyzed, their eyes darted, their feet shuffled.

The torch fell silent, the room murky, dark, serene.

A calm quiet passed over the two remaining; a gentle

Feeling of rest and peace. The smell of grassy meadows

Warmed them as they sank down, down, down.