End of the Quarter Limerick

There once was a man named Bob,
Who searched and searched relentlessly for a job.
One day he drove to the mall
And found a store that sold baseballs.
Too bad that job went to his best friend, Rob.

Artist's Statement

My poems typically consist of simple language, though I try to incorporate as much figurative language as possible. I am a fan of using similies in poems. I would describe my writing as more Americanesque, like Denise Duhamel's work, compared to late 19th century European writers. The endings to my poems are slightly ambiguous and philosophical, which could be good and bad at the same time. My endings are something I'm trying to work on. One of my biggest challenges at the beginning of the quarter was trying not to rhyme in my poems. That's something I have worked on and I certainly don't rhyme in all of my poems.

Do I Live Here?

Left turn
Right turn
Up the stairs
Down the stairs
I'm back to where I started.
Frown.

It's my first day here
And my mind is full of fear.

I'm a freshman euphonium player,
Who's here at Ohio University,
A week before school starts,
For the Marching 110's Freshman Training Camp.

As if that isn't overwhelming enough.

I'm supposed to be living in James Hall,
that one dorm on West Green.
Too bad there's construction going on over there,
And did I mention there's no running water too?
UGHHHHHH.
Just my luck.

Now, I'm stuck in Weld House for the weekend.
Weld House.
What kind of a name is "Weld" anyway?
So far away from everything,
Like when prisoners behave badly,
they're sent to an isolation chamber.
Ya, isolated is how I feel
When I'm in my poorly cooled room.
Sharing a bathroom as small as a shoe
With at least three other girls.

Too bad I've only been there once
And I can't seem to find it.

On my lunch break,
I'm sprinting to find this place,
All by myself.
The sun is beating on my back like a bass drum.
I'm sweating so much, I'm like a waterfall.
I need my music binder,
But I can't seem to locate my room!
I'm going up and down the stairs,
Practically running around in circles.
Like a mouse on a spinning wheel.
Trying to reach for that cheddar cheese,
But can't seem to reach it.

All I see are hideous brick walls
And off-white colored doors,
Just making me even more confused.
I want to break down and cry.
This building's like a maze.
Which is funny, because it's miniscule compared to other dorms.
I feel so silly,
Because it's been 45 minutes of nothing.
I need to hurry back to practice,
Without a music binder in hand.

Left turn
Right turn.
I'm back to where I started.

Critical for Paper

For my final paper, I want to try and work on it for about 20 minutes a day. After looking at my peer review, I definitely want to make some corrections to my paper. I noticed that the person who looked at my paper really liked the quotes I used and liked some of the sentences I wrote. A couple of them were creative. I’ll try and keep that up! I might want to change my topic sentences, since they begin with, “first, second, and third.” Since I am discussing elements of pain in my paper, I may want to look at a fifth poem. The poem, “The Lost Land” by Eavan Boland specifically deals with loss and pain, so I may want to incorporate that poem into my paper.

Critical Assignment

For my final paper, I want to look at the different elements of pain that certain poets convey in their work. The poems I want to look at are, "One Art" by Elizabeth Bishop, "Arbor for Butch" by Terrence Hayes, "W" by Denise Duhamel, and "Sick" by Shel Silverstein. In these four poems, the speakers experience some sort of pain. In "One Art," the speaker seems to be missing her significant other. She hasn't gotten over this person, yet she tries to deny this throughout the poem. This is the pain that people feel when they miss someone. In "Arbor for Butch," the poem deals with pain of the unknown and the pain he went through with his parents, especially with the photograph that is duscussed in the poem. The speaker wants to know what happened to the two happy people he saw in that photograph. He didn't know his dad well and the poem mentions that his mom was raped, so he wonders how they lived through that pain. "W" deals with physical pain. The speaker's mother had her hair ripped out in a horrible accident and is dealing with it. There are vivid descriptions in the poem concerning what the speaker sees when she looks at her mother. This type of language in the poem ties in perfectly with W.H. Auden's essay, "Poetry as Memorable Speech." Lines such as, "I face the swelling, the blue and pickled bulges," and "Her head a labyrinth of pus and scabs" provokes emotion in the readers. They won't seem to forget those lines, making them memorable. Like Auden says, "Memorable speech must move our emotions, or excite our intellect, for only that which is moving or exciting is memorable." I also want to use the poem, "Sick" by Shel Silverstein. Though the speaker at the end jumps out of bed and is miraculously "cured," The poem does go to great lengths to mention all of the symptoms the child has and the horribleness of being ill. Since a child is the speaker of the poem, he is more vulnerable to being sick and it's more painful to him, because he's miserable and can't go out and play.

Dramatic Monologue

On a crisp Fall morning,
I'm still snug in my king
Size bed.
THUD.
I feel the panting of my yellow lab,
Cooper.
"Hah, hah, hah"
His warm breath is on my neck
Making me sweat.
I groan.
I roll out of bed.
With a cup of hot coffee in my hand,
Bacon sizzling on the stove,
It's a beautiful day to catch
Me a duck.
I put on my hat, jacket,
And boots.
Then I grab my rifle and Cooper.
Out the door I go.

After walking for several miles
In the deep woods,
I finally get to the duck pond.
I find the perfect one.
I slowly riase my rifle and
SHOOT.
Right on target.
Cooper already knows what to do.
He's in and out of the pond like a rocket.
I'm glad I got my first kill.
But as Cooper drops the duck at my feet,
My feelings change.
He's just dead.
Lying there, motionless.
Dead.
I took its life.
Is that how I'll be in years to come?
Or even my dog, too?
When we die, we'll be soul less.
Forgotten about, like this duck.
I hunted him and death will hunt me.
Eventually.

Well, tonight I'll go home,
Make some duck soup by a fire,
Sleep it all off and forget.

The Day My Coach Gave It Away

The room keeps spinning
And I'm stuck in a whirlwind.
I feel a fire burning inside me
And it's not of passion...
It's of anger.
Anger towards that one person who destroyed
My dream.
My swim coach.
I snarl at the thought of his name.

For years, I worked hard to be a swim captain.
Seven years in fact.
I thought I was a shoe in for the spot.
I guess that shoe fit the wrong
Foot.

I persevered, held a positive attitude, and
Gave it all
I got.
As a senior, I was shocked my coach believed
A person less motivated,
Less willing,
Is worthy of the spot as team captain.
Why?

I feel as though most people won't understand
The pain I feel.
The let down.
But I really wanted this...

I've cried and cried
As much as a waterfall.
The tears wash over me,
Like the water rushing over my face,
Every time I jump in that pool
To swim.

Perhaps when you believe you
Deserve so much and lose it,
All you can do is cry.