Thursday, January 12, 2012

The Ashes



The ashes cinder to the ground
Only a lifeless body,
No emotion, no love, only selfless ignorance awaits
As if something was missing from this swollen reality
A dream within a dream that only one could understand
The sinful flesh left glowing in anguish
The smell of desire and hate fill the air
As the moments turn to reality
A shaking appears as if the ground is tumbling below
But the world does not follow



Time freezes, and I stand alone among a crowded room
I can touch, but it rebounds
Is my imagination faltering, or is this how regret feels?
The mind reverses to this moment time after time again
But its as though I scream to my motioned body through a vacuum
An unending spiral, I reach out to touch,
But it dissolves away, unfolds
And I wake
Back to where I was
Back to anger and relentless mercy
Back to the merry-go-round of my own decisions
To the person who I betrayed
And I fall to the ground, hands wide
I round up the ashes and try to piece together the fallen sands of time,
But the tears fall and ashes turn to mud
The liquid washes away
Lost in time, to be forever gone

What Happens Next?

I am going to use this opportunity to share with Mr. Dwyer my 
experiences of Ms. Mckenna and Mr. Good.  The yaa’s and the naa’s, the do and the don’ts, what did and did not work may help him interpret an even balance and spur a new productivity among us. First I will begin with my walk down McKenna Hall of Fame. This woman inspired me by pushing me to my full potential. When I handed something in that I slacked on and just did enough to get by, she would know. She knew what was sub par; she would turn around and put it right back into my hands and sometimes not say a word or sometimes tell me, “you know what to fix.” Of course, she was always right. I did know what to fix. I knew I could do better, and so did she. In this sense, she drove me.  She pushed me. Even when I put my soul into something, she just slightly poked me to reach out beyond the cliff. Her bag of props, lines of books, poetry flying across the room, and new opportunities were always enough to get me moving. We would not just write on our own, she would present writing exercises to get us moving. For example, we would pick a prop out of a bag and create a story from that item. But, by far my favorite was when she handed me an envelope, just a plain white envelope.  The mystery was enclosed inside, but was mainly in the mind. It was an envelope filled with random words, which we used to create a poem. This poem was one of my all time favorite pieces. I preferred creating “The Ego,” the JDHS school magazine, instead of blogging. It meant more to our school, our community, and ourselves. We got to publish our work for others to read and it became a community read magazine.  No one goes on the Internet and reads our blogs. Writing is so much more meaningful when we can share it with others. Also, the “trash n’ fashion show” must be reincarnated. Just because she is gone does not mean the traditions must disappear. Enough ranting on Mrs. Mckenna, I am going to move on to what Mr. Good brought to the classroom. He brought spirit, stories, and fun. He brought desire and motivation, and fast writes. This is how class should begin. We spend the first half hour either writing or reading on our own.  It is based on quality vs. quantity. If we are on task and working we keep our participation points. If we are goofing off then we loose them, and we get rid of the dreaded point system. I am very opposed to the point system because to me it takes away meaning. It takes away the joy of writing and the love of just doing it for the literature and for self. Having these excessive amounts of points lingering over my head took away from my emotional experience and instead created a sense of urgency. Everything was about how many points were going to come out of it, or what I had to do to bring my grade up instead of just being about writing. My favorite part of creative writing has always been the fact that it wasn’t about grades or points. It was about interpreting human life, creating soul, and learning to better ourselves. This is what I miss from the McKenna grading system, the push that school is not all about grades. It is about engaging ourselves and learning. Grades are just a torture device that we created to make ourselves look better on paper. They do not measure true knowledge or success. It is all about how much we grow from point A to point B and what our true potential is. Did we catch up with it? I hope someday I will push that potential right out the window. 

Wednesday, January 11, 2012

What I Learned (My Experiences)

Quite frankly, I was devastated by the loss of Ms. McKenna. In my eyes no one could even come close to beginning to replace such an inspiration, a light that shined on my notebook. Even though I still haven’t got over the loss of Ms. Mckenna, and I don’t think I ever will, when Mr. Good stepped into the room I knew that there was still hope left in the world. I miss the ways of Ms. Mckenna, but Mr. Good brought something fresh into the room, something new. Laughs filled the air around me, people were smiling, and teenagers were using their hands. Everyone was writing, they were engaging their brains. It was a shock for me; it was a challenge to pursue myself to write everyday. I had to push myself to put the pencil to the paper. Some days were easier than others, some days I was looking forward to putting out a new style, opening my mind, while other days I just wanted to lay my head on the desk and fall into a deep sleep. It taught me perseverance to not give up on myself so easily. I learned that I had skill; I have a knack for putting words together in a meaningful rhythm. I am by nature a writer. It will never be a career choice, but a way to express myself. A hobby for the soul, a flame of passion. I enjoyed getting my words out on paper and it taught me how to use my words. I created and destroyed, and got a feel for the flow of words. I attended the four hour-long writers retreat with Martin and I took away a feel for not just words on a sheet of paper but that they had a spoken meaning, it was a different dialect. I felt, realized what words flow and work together and which ones tangle and fall apart. It’s like I developed a sixth sense in the world of written language. In an overall summary of what I took away from the moments of second quarter as a whole is confidence in myself and my writing. I used to be wary to get up in front of the class and share my work, but now am I comfortable in my own skin and want to share what I see as beautiful to others. What use is poetry locked in a dusty notebook to the world? It means nothing to anyone when it is stored away, its beauty unfolds as it is read. Writing is a fruit to the mind and an inspiration to the soul and the human life. It is my most treasured talent that I will carry in my suitcase until the day my body gives out on me .