Sonnet experiment

Sonnet of sensation

The notion of substance without the sensation,
Without the softness of your skin on my hands.
An open head, I am afraid of such a liberation.
Feeling no pain when my mind mixes into the sands.

I fear the loss is eternal and I am forever doomed.
When out of my limb sensation begins to grow,
Delicate, like a flower that's just bloomed.
I feel my tongue tease soft skin, nice and slow.

When the sensation of your softness quickly fades,
cells of your skin strike my skull like miniature blades.


Sonnet of Episodes

Syrupy and delicious,
Quick but tenderly it travels over my throat.
Nights with such episodes are precious,
Long ever lasting episodes of gloat.

Episodes which I find delightful
so peaceful, oh so mild and pure,
seem ever so spiteful,
sharp bitter nights I will surely endure.

The effect of them on my chest is pleasing,
enough to ignore my mind's teasing.

Spinning sonnet
I have a spinning top in my head,
colors and colors are all I see!
For the spinning food I was fed,
I forgot to pay the fee.

The spinning food isn't cheap,
it can't pop out the ends of my tree...
But the spinning top is mine to keep,
the spinning top was free.

Now that the spinning has caused the colors to mix,
the painting will be hard to fix.

The Ballad with lack of fear [Final draft]

The mountain sun made His skin brown,
His tender skin was forgotten once He entered the town.
The town was a small one full of life
surrounded by lovely green hills, seemed clear of strife.
The people in the town were too busy to see...
He who walked unnoticed by anyone but me.
Unnoticed as if He were a regular, no one to know.
He who by monstrous hands was pulled into a pub's glow.
Inviting myself in, I walked in to the perfect balance
of curiosity and malice.
Despite their intentions the pub heads were quite fair,
with this stranger their liquor they were eager to share.
'Bring him some bourbon!' one of them said.
No sooner had I blinked that bourbon He was being fed!
Dance! Dance! Till joy spills out of their eyes!
Laugh! Loud enough to drown out his sighs!
The joy that spilled was sure to become His addiction,
at that time that was only my prediction.
Soon...moon to moon in the town the whiskey bit His lips,
no work, no pay, just taking sips.
Pleasure and leisure left Him no time to rinse His hair.
Yes, the people of the town, they began to stare...
'He's a drunk! Don't cross His path night or day!
Don't dare look Him straight in the eye!' they'd say.
I was sure to mark down our meeting date,
busy as I was it'd be terrible to arrive late.
Without surprise, I lost track of time,
I managed to arrive at the bell's chime.
There He was, He'd had enough.
Idleness and vomit had been too rough.
Even in the darkness His tears did shine,
poor tired little creature, He was mine!
'Who are you? What do you need?'
"I've come to rid you of your harmful greed."
My face made it easy for Him to remember,
when we distinctly met that day in November,
When He fell like a broken Nightingale...
For wings made out of paper often fail...
When we met He took me in as a muse,
my presence let the rope around His desires loose.
When He fell- they cheered like a faithful team...
O buckets of pity! Of pity He had reams!
"A long day it is when shopping for a coffin,
we shall depart soon, fruit or muffin?"
'Plenty of things I hold dear,
yes, but you sir, you're no one to fear..."

[By A.G. about D.T.]

Ballad [extended but not finished]

The mountain sun made His skin brown,
His tender skin was forgotten once He entered the town.
The town was a small one full of life
surrounded by lovely green hills, seemed clear of strife.

The people in the town were too busy to see...
He who walked unnoticed by anyone but me.
Unnoticed as if He were a regular, no one to know.
He who by monstrous hands was pulled into a pub's glow.

Inviting myself in, I walked in to the perfect balance
of curiosity and malice.
Despite their intentions the pub heads were quite fair,
with this stranger their liquor they were eager to share.

'Bring him some bourbon!' one of them said.
No sooner had I blinked that bourbon he was being fed!
Dance! Dance! Till joy spills out of their eyes!
Laugh! Loud enough to drown out his sighs!

The joy that spilled was sure to become his addiction,
at that time that was only my prediction.
Soon...moon to moon in the town the whiskey bit his lips,
no work, no pay, just taking sips.

Pleasure and leisure left him no time to rinse his hair.
Yes, the people of the town, they began to stare...
'He's a drunk! Don't cross his path night or day!
Don't dare look him straight in the eye!' they'd say.

I was sure to mark down our meeting date,
busy as I was it'd be terrible to arrive late.
Without surprise, I lost track of time,
I managed to arrive at the bell's chime.

There he was, he'd had enough.
Idleness and vomit had been way too rough.
Even in the darkness his tears did shine,
poor tired little creature, he was mine!

'Who are you? What do you need?'
"I've come to rid you of your harmful greed."
My face made it easy for him to remember,
when we first met someday in November.

To be continued...

Ballad: with Rhyme List words [so far]

The mountain sun made His skin brown,
His tender skin was forgotten once He entered the town.
The town was a small one full of life
surrounded by lovely green hills, seemed clear of strife.

The people in the town were too busy to see...
He who walked unnoticed by anyone but me.
Unnoticed as if He were a regular, no one to know.
He who by monstrous hands was pulled into a pub's glow.

Inviting myself in, I walked in to the perfect balance
of curiosity and malice.
Despite their intentions the pub heads were quite fair,
with this stranger their liquor they were eager to share.

'Bring him some bourbon!' one of them said.
No sooner had I blinked that bourbon he was being fed!



NOT YET FINISHED!

Rhyme List

Sound
Hound
Profound
Surround
Found
Pound

Green
Bean
Clean
Dean
Jean
Lean
Scene
Screen
Seen
Teen
Mean
Queen
Cuisine
Machine
Marine
Unseen

Reason
season
treason

Understanding
Demanding
Outstanding
Standing
Expanding
Landing
Branding
Handling
Handing

[Mushroom] Cloud
Loud
Proud
Allowed
Shroud
Aloud

Fume
Broom
Assume
Doom
Groom
Room
Perfume
Pressume
Consume
Costume
Gloom
Womb
Boom
Zoom
Tomb
Whome
Plume

[He interprets] Literature
Allure
Brochure
Cocksure
Capture
Confiture
Colure
Conjure
Conposture
Contesture
Colorature
Troture
Digesture
Mixture

Homework five sentence stories

Archetype for location:The star

Like a small child to the word of a parent she obeys. Not because she wants to but because she has to. Although the sermon the man in white is giving should calm her thoughts, her mind is still drifting back to yesterday. Yesterday she had stood outside the cafe awaiting someone seeking her solicitation. Today she sits in a pew holding the beads that would bring her bread and warmth.

Short story #2
Little dada walked down to cody's Candy Store whenever she had a dime. Today Little dada held a dime she deserved for wiping up the Lady's stench. Little dada walked down that street and could already taste the sweet and sticky caramel and the fruity suckers she was soon to buy. As Little dada walked into cody's Candy Store the little bells attached to the door went "Ring, ring, ring," and the swinging puppets on the wall went "Ha, ha, ha," and Little dada walked up to the counter. Little dada pointed through the glass counter at the caramel and suckers she wanted but before cody could reach in for them the Owner arrived.

Short story #3
The last thing she expected to find in the middle of a cornfield was a farm house with a yard sale. She walked up to the farm house and was greeted by an elderly woman who sat in a rocking chair in the front porch of the place. She surveyed the tables and boxes full of toys, books, pictures, tools, films and clothes. She didn't desire anything they sold but offered the elderly woman a donation for the yard sale and placed her ring on the table. Rubbing the bear finger she walked off.

Short Story #4
What can one do with a blank page? If I hadn't the imagination I'd draw her the way she looked that day, beautiful with that flowing white dress and the lovely red roses. Around her I'd draw that garden with the beautiful fountains and the little children chasing butterflies. Thankfully I have the imagination and I can replace the man with which she shared her love and kisses that day with myself. Then maybe I'd pick up another blank sheet of paper and draw us growing old on a veranda sipping wine while our grand kids tear the wings of butterflies.

Homework stories

Archetypes: Horse & Judgment
Length: Five sentences
Title: Untitled

The man no longer worked and because of this his wife no longer cried, the kids no longer worried, and the yellow ribbon never had to leave it's box. Joe no longer received interesting snacks that the man bought for him at the many airports in which he had made a stop. But Joe wasn't sad, the woman who no longer cried now fed him on time and the children who no longer worried now invited him to frolic about the yard. After the frolic Joe would often join the man by the fireplace to watch TV. Now the dog was watching the television show but the man was watching memories through the screen of his own glassy eyes.

Short-shorts based on archetypes

HERO
He needed a name to wear at the office, at last he decided on William.

SON
Stressed he looked into the mirror; he needed a miracle for the facial spots.

Daughter
She wasn't visibly blue -unlike the sky- she was busy gathering the books which had been scattered on to the floor by her husband.

Mother
He didn't seem the type to spend the night in a strange woman's house, yet he walked right in and let her put him to bed. The room smelled like her but the touch of the sheets and pillows were no comparison to the softness of her skin

Father
It wasn't easy for Paul to watch the strange man lift Nikole's baby, the man who kissed her on the neck each night while Paul found himself 500 miles north.Yet he watched as she smiled at the thin man without the knowledge of her observing fiance.

The Man
He bears the name of a hypocrite, he was born one and could do nothing about it. He finds himself sitting in their desk, paying their bills,feeding their children. He wants to break out of this bubble, the bubble that he was born into; he wants to punch her in the face- she who condemned him to live in such a place. He merely sits in the desk however, whistling as he pays their bills and feeds their children.

The Lovers

Jenna reminded him of his mother when she was angry but he never told her that.He was sure she knew how he felt about her and he needn't remind her nor did he need to make her angry by telling her she reminded him of his mother. No point in saying it anyhow, his mother would never lay in bed with him the way Jenna did.

The Horse

The boy named Jeremy has never once smiled at a person, at least not at school. People say he goes home and sits infront of the computer typing up poems that say how much he hates humanity, after that they say he cries himself to sleep. I've never been much for paying any mind to gossip but after hearing such things I spend most of my time focusing on the eyes of the boy named Jeremy, I want to see if they have any visible trace of tears.

The Lion

Mentor

I fell down the stairs in my haste and nearly dropped the child to its death. I ran into the car and sped off while they ran into their cars and rushed on after me.

The wheel

The family couldn't wait, they were the reason she rose up so early from her bed to mix eggs that were now swimming in hot oil. She poured the swimming eggs into the five plates that were set on the table and on her way back to the kitchen she tripped over the legs of the small boy. The boy lay cold and stiff on the ground, she searched desperately for a place to hide him, all the while his father was walking into the kitchen.

LISTS
http://www.listology.com/content_show.cfm/content_id.22873/Writing
http://jamoutloud.org/



hero, son daughter, - 1 sentence
mom, dad,2 sentences
the man, lovers-3 sentences

Santa sings 80's love song

The streetlight always delays changing from red to green on the left side. The businessmen men -who have been made late to work by both the elevators in their condos and the subway crowd- push hastily past me in order to be the first to cross the street. I never pay attention to anything in particular in the street since I always have my nose buried in a text book or note portfolio. Today's no different, I need to review for the quiz in class.

Cell phone chatter fills the atmosphere along with the scent of morning cappuccinos.

"Oh you did" "I'm on my way to the office, will probably be there in about twenty minutes" "Oh really..."

'Now I see you standing with brown leaves all around and snow in your hair'

The voice singing the familiar lyrics isn't one that would belong to a sucked on rock star, the voice belongs to sucked on old man. He doesn't lack hair, it's all over his face and head and he really does look like the dirty -full of lice- homeless version of Santa Clause. Perhaps this is him in disguise, he's probably just observing my every move in order to find an excuse so he can remove me from his 'nice' list and place me on the 'naughty' list.

Santa sits at the doorstep of an old fashion tavern. He sings with his eyes closed, slowly and peacefully but loudly. I don't think he wants to be heard, I think he just wants to hear himself. I take a second look at him and realize his resemblance to Santa is not all that strong. Except for the hair he looks nothing like Santa, he is a semi-thin man with very sun burnt face which wears a very peaceful expression. Like most people in his situation he is very pathetic.

'Now you're telling me you're not nostalgic...Then give me another word for it...'

I should really get back to reviewing my notes; I should really be paying attention to the street light; I should really take my eyes off this old man, yet I can't help but look at him. I'm wondering what he is singing about, what made him want to sing that song out loud? Perhaps he is merely insane like the people say, or perhaps he is honestly pained. Who could she be? She who haunts him...An ex-wife? The memory of a high school sweetheart? No. He's most likely just one of the band's oldest fans. There are no tears rolling down his filthy cheeks, his face is still peaceful and his eyes remain closed. Maybe I should give him a dollar...

'Yes we both know what memories can bring...'

But since the red light turned green as I turned my head I think I'll just be going.

Haiku

Haiku 1
Selflessness involves
The important lack of opinion
Willingness to die
Archetype: Hero

Haiku 2
The crops are failing
Crying of the innocent
Burning at the stake
Archetype: Scapegoat

Haiku 3

Not eternal life

But given infinate glory

Swimming with your soul
Archetype: The Devil

Haiku 4

Warm hands for comfort

Fierce fangs to all who seek them

Warm food awaits one

Archetype: Mother

Haiku 5

Not pure with the men

Seductive like the snake is

The apple brought man woe

Archetype: The Temptress

Haiku 6

Invisible force
Pushing from behind you
A man or a wind

Talent isn't Genius

When a writer wins the prize or the recognition he/she

starts to get the feeling of accomplishment and greatness. They have the talent, and because of that talent they got the recognition. Is their talent really what the writer should rely on? Any writer with talent can take a familiar plot and personalize that plot with a creative setting and lovely descriptions and earn a decent dollar. However it takes a dedicated and active mind to come up with the original and famous plots the other 'talented writers' will someday take and 'personalize.' Arrogance sometimes follows the trophy and writers like to go off and smile in the camera's face. When it comes to giving feedback they like to come across a beginner and point out pitiful mistakes while placing themselves up on a pedestal with a gigantic grin. Never do they like to recognize the fact that the only reason they stand on that pedestal is because of their talent and not their genius. It is highly hypocritical to place yourself above others who are just starting in the art. You might just be placing yourself above someone who will someday stun the world with their genius and talent and not talent alone. Common sense it seems will be absent in the minds of our arrogant 'talented' writers, and until it arrives I wish them a good time 'personalizing' the genius works of those before them.

:]