A Poem for Mom - Assignment 8

Mother Dearest,

The oven sits preheated
Numerous ingredients await
My recipe drawn out.

Before you begin, remember that baking is a journey
Pleasures and regrets, nothing easily gained.
Just give me lots of time and please be patient.

Crush your wisdom into fine granules
Salt me safely and softly,
Watch out for my health.

Be careful with the sugar,
Too sweet and I'll spoil
Too bitter and I'll sour.

Flour me with experiences
But forget about the food-coloring,
it's a little too outdated.

Be stern with the butter
But one good spanking
should be enough yeast.

Don't criticize my size or looks,
Afterall, you kneaded my shape.

Now set me free to bake amongst my peers,
Watch me rise against the world.
Kick me off of the counter and into the oven,
Don't set a timer, just let me grow.

Don't worry about me crumbling,
My dough was fortified with milk.
Thanks for all your gluten and honey,

I promise to be a good loaf.

Poem Choice and Discussion

On a Maine Beach
By Robley Wilson

Look, in these pools, how rocks are like worn change
Keeping the ocean’s mint-mark; barnacles
Miser on them; societies of snails
Hunch on their rims and think small thoughts whose strange
Salt logics rust like a mainspring, small dreams
Pinwheeling to a point and going dumb,
Small equations whose euphemistic sum
Stands for mortality. A thousand times
Tides swallow up such pools, shellfish and stone
Show green and yellow shade in groves of weed;
Rocks shrink, barnacles drink, snails think they bleed
In their trapped world. Here, when the sea is gone,
We find old coins glowing under the sky,
Barnacles counting them, snails spending slow
Round lifetimes half-awake. Beach rhythms flow
In circles. Perfections teach us to die.


My Explanation:

I originally was interested in this poem because it discusses the beach. Since I grew up near the ocean, I was inclined to choose this poem. But the verses have a dark secret. They speak of death and reflect on our inevitable mortality. Now I’m not a masochistic person or anything but let’s face it, we are all going to die someday. It’s a fact. You can eat as many vegetables as you want to stay healthy but that’s not going to stop a bus from running you over. Things happen. My dad died when I was only six years old. Death has always been in the back of my mind. Currently, my grandmother is in poor health. The entire family just seems to sit around with crossed fingers because death can’t be stopped. Death isn’t something that will go away. You can’t hide from it so you mind as well accept it.

Different Perspectives and Stories - Assignments 5 and 6

TAKE ONE: Another Rainy Day

“Stop it! You don’t play fair!” I bellowed, racing out of the backyard in a desperate escape from my brother and his friends. I had narrowly darted a mouth full of mud pie but an almond speck managed to freckle my cheek.

In the middle of the street I discovered my faithful companion. She was crouched down, deeply entranced by the newly created pond. Her hands grasped my favorite pink umbrella and she wore my old swimming suit. The clouds continued their tantrum, sprinkling droplets onto the soiled terrain. Thanks to the embracing arms of my nylon shield, she was protected from the weather.

As I approached, Sarah smiled displaying her petite teeth. I joined her underneath the pastel arc. A pasty worm surfaced. Its withered body squirmed, displaying its deep anguish of being discarded from its dirt home. Frightened, Sarah cried out and clawed my arm.

“Silly! It’s only a worm! It’s not gonna hurt you! Look!” I poked my finger at the poor creature. She cooed in admiration. I cupped my hands around the umbrella, tightly clenching her left hand. “Nothing can hurt us when we are together.”


TAKE TWO: Sarah’s Side

"Hey Sarah!" Emily shouts as she runs across the front yard. "Look at my new swimming suit. Isn't it cool?"

"I hate the Little Mermaid," I say quietly. Emily doesn't seem to hear me. That would have made her really mad. She loves Ariel. Our room is full of her. She's on the bed sheets and on the wall. Emily even has a mermaid doll that looks like Ariel. We're always watching the movie even though I always want to see Beauty and the Beast. But Emily gets whatever she wants.

She continues, "Well, do you want to play house?"

No, I don't want to play with you! Not today. Not after you ran off to Jake's house and left me alone yesterday. I hate it when you do that. You have so many friends and I only have dolls. They aren't even new. They're your stupid rejects, your hand-me-downs. Old ones with ugly hair and dirty clothes. I'm tired of them. I want new dolls with bright pink dresses and soft blonde hair. I want to go to preschool and make a lot of friends so I can play with them all day and not you!

Since I don't say anything outloud she asks "Are you mad?"

She waits for an answer but I keep my mouth shut.

"You can hold my umbrella for a little bit. I mean, if you want to, you can."

Again, I look into the water, silent.

"Sarah!" She whines. "Why won't you talk to me?"

"Because you're mean!" I shout. I stomp my feet in the rain water and make little balls out of my hands.

"You're just mad because Mommy told you that you can't go to preschool with me."

"No I'm not!" I shriek. I sit down in puddle and cross my arms. "I'm sad because you don't like to play with me anymore." "

That's not true!" She says. "Mommy makes me go to Jake's house because he doesn't have any friends. Don't worry. I like you more than him. You're my sister so you will always be my favorite."

"You promise?"

"Cross my heart and hope to die."

I smile and grab the umbrella.

Description Using Five Senses - Assignment 2

Over the years, the bombardment of barreling waves during high tide has carved a bowl into a stone wall. Avoiding its inevitable disintegration by time, the contorting rock has accepted its deep cracks like wrinkles on an aging face. The veined boulder claims home to thousands of suckering plankton. They feed on the thin layer of sea algae that cloaks the gritty backdrop. The plankton are animals of the jungle, each vying for survival against the ocean of a lion.

Daily, when the roaring ocean subsides and ceases to rage against its prey, a sanctuary is unveiled. Seaweed hairs race across a garden of rocks. They find themselves entangled amongst dozens of various shaped stones. The rocks are fruit, each varying in texture and prosperity. Several appear calloused and bruised by the water or spotted and mildewed with seaweed. Others are as free as birds. Not feeling any distress, their smooth and slick bodies lay un-weathered and in season for prime picking. The sun can’t quite stretch its arms into the area which accounts for the dim lighting. A salty stench lingers in the air.

Today a young man is able to find solitude in this cavernous oasis. Nestled behind a jumble of rocks, his sun-soaked body dramatically contrasts the glossy green seaweed. The chilling ocean breeze forces him to hug his legs for warmth. Damp seaweed drapes the landscape like plastic wrap. He finds its slick, gooey texture unsettling. Burying his face between his knee caps, he becomes aware of the dryness in his mouth. His nostrils burn from the saline atmosphere.