#4 Poetry Continued

Feelings stay

Such great things must come to an end
Although, these three days seemed as only a beginning
You know, journeys do take some time
Going here and there, meeting and greeting
Making memories that will surely almost fade-
Even though the feelings are sure to stay.
You can’t always remember a pretty face
Or every intricate colour of a flower.
Lest you ever forget the beat of a drum.

#4: Poetry Continued

#4: My Poetry of 'Woodstock' (Continued)

Colour Your Music

This was no rehearsed orchestra,
No music to beautiful for words.
They did not discriminate against an ugly noise,
Welcoming every sound and silence
Every pause and every outburst.
Sound would flow out into the high sky
Where the rainbow caught it in it’s hazy tide,
For it will always colour and collect the music.


A Lick Of Fun

Over a head
My head, they said.
My head is ten, I said.

Your all just one
Glowing lights, they sprinkle sun.
I thought this was just to much fun.

Only the rainbows up ahead,
The shining sun and the joyous screams-
The one who is and will be.

It’s all ahead, we said.


Music And A Man

Music and a man

A drummer and his band.
The music played the people to the beat of wailing instruments
Hearts leapt and the collective stamp of musical feet

Well, it turned the farm into a stage

And a sea of rhythm where bodies swam,
Although no drowning did occur of any souls,
A few we’re lost out in this colossal sea.

Music and the fans

A singer and his voice.
Electric feeling and a chorus
When the time was young with harmless love

The flame of people heating the rainbow air
Unleashing fires filled with soul
Starting from the music and felt by the man.


The Sun Beats Down On Everyone

The beat went up with the shimmering,
Morning sun.
Beaming, pointing rays
Wash over the bodies full of life and love.
High noon is where the chorus stays-
Playing, playing, this beat doesn’t ever lay
And every man and women sang.
At all hours of the day the crowds still came
Laying, and hanging; everything was alllllright.
An electric static of music, amidst an inferno of humans.
A Forest fire of people, the trees moved aside
To avoid combustions of true soul.
While all the good auras floated and mixed in the air, rather
A rainbow you could say.
These half a million heads aren’t sane
They keep on stomping, although avoiding the flame.
Then the sun starts to fall from burning exhaustion..
Water colour clouds and splashes of pink scatter the sky-
It must have been so noisy they couldn’t quite
Keep the colours straight in the sky..

#4: Woodstock (continued)

Here is my other picture from Woodstock.

#4 New Creative Piece: Series Of Poems on Pictures of Woodstock

For my new major creative piece, I decided to do a series of poems on two pictures of 'Woodstock.' My poems describe the feelings of being there, the music, and much more. I hope you enjoy reading them!

#3: Creative Non-Fiction/ Travel Writing

Rough Draft:

During the Spring time, there is a slight warm breeze from where I stand on the ground, while up in the mountains a sheet of white hangs over the mountainside, snowing relentlessly.
It’s almost impossible not to take in the magnificent views provided by the incessant blue skies, (Doesn't really make sense)connected to the numerous mountains along the outskirts of Madrid. Not only are they stunning to be surrounded by, they also provide the fresh water for the amazing city and the tiny suburbs dotted along the edge of Madrid.
Don’t miss out on hiking up the trails for some vigorous exercise and the beautiful scenery the mountain grants you with, as many locals take part in this as part of healthy living. Walking home from school every day towards the mountains is picture perfect! (I was unsure of how to end it, I find this ending doesn't fit).

Good Copy:

Madrid

Spring time in Madrid. A slight warm breeze caresses your face while you watch the snow fall relentlessly in the mountains constructing a sheet of white to hang over the mountainside.
Take in the magnificent views provided by the incessant blue skies. It is impossible not to - they are simply stunning.

They connect effortlessly to the numerous mountains along the outskirts of Madrid, providing fresh water for the alluring city and tiny suburbs.
Venture through the beautiful scenery the mountains grant you. Get a taste of local healthy living with some vigorous exercise - hiking will expose you to picture perfect surroundings. This is Madrid.

Reflection:

I included this piece in my portfolio because as challenging as I thought this piece was going to be, and it was to some extent, I really enjoyed writing about different locations in the world.
As for the audience, this piece is for people who enjoy travelling of all ages- it's always interesting to find out about different places in the world. I don’t think there is an age limit to traveling and it’s something I can definitely see myself writing about in the future.
In this piece I tried to use as many verbs and adjectives as I could, trying to fully describe my experience there and why people should visit Madrid. I think that it came across quite well, although it could have been better- perhaps a bit longer.

#2 Poem: The Child Martyr

Rough Draft:


The battle raged on for far too long,
Lonely empires still ruled my heart.
Peace was the war
I could do without both.
Every emotion locked into my hope chest,
Although I’ve never had the pleasure of holding
The most beautiful jewel of them all.
Love,
The glimmering hope.
Light,
The joyous dance.
While darkness- despairingly it clung to every shadow.

(Needed to be longer so I revised the piece and added).

Although, cracks of hope,
Happiness, even quality appeared-
These splinters are too frail to keep hold on, (these cracks are too hard to heal)
Bound to snap away, ever so far and few. (even if they are so far and few)
And never, ever can I begin to walk away (I cannot even begin to walk away)
or attempt to even crawl.


Revised Edition:


The battle raged on for far too long,
Lonely empires still ruled my heart.
Peace was the war
I could do without both.
Every emotion locked into my hope chest,
Although I’ve never had the pleasure of holding
The most beautiful jewel of them all.
Love,
The glimmering hope.
Light,
The joyous dance.
While darkness- despairingly it clung to every shadow.
Although, cracks of hope,
Happiness, even quality appeared-
These splinters are too frail to keep hold on,
Bound to snap away, ever so far and few.
And never.. ever can I begin to walk away
or attempt to even crawl.


Reflective Exploration:


This poem was one of the best that I had written during this course. Some techniques I attempted were free verse- which I believe is my best and more preferred style of poetry even though I could clearly brush up on my free verse. This is my preferred style because I am allowed to make the poem in my own way, ending lines where I think it is necessary. As well, I was not confined to certain poetry structures therefore allowing me to express myself fully.
The Audience I was going for in this poem was just really anyone that can relate. When I write I am my own audience and for poetry I don’t really think of how others will react to my poetry, either they can relate or they can’t. This poem is more of a depressing poem, so perhaps the audience will be a little bit more gloomy, otherwise for this certain poem I didn’t really care.
‘The Child Martyr’ represents my growth as a writer because I was able to dig emotionally deep to get my point across in the poem through writing very descriptively. I think the reader was able to get my point or draw a conclusion on their own on what I’m trying to describe.

#1. Story - Toy Soldiers

First Draft:

"Time really doesn’t heal; it just blurs things..” He muttered, his face immune to every emotion it tried to portray. “Have you ever noticed that flowers don’t bloom for every season? Well, I am a howling winter with a sheet of solid ice. I haven’t seen life for years.” A repetition of images displayed in his mind, passing like a movie of the times his father held his hand, with sheer warmth and love. His mouth contorted into a bittersweet sneer and then calmed, the images subsided into the abyssal depth of his mind.
The day was sunny while the breeze was absolute cold, cutting through his layers of clothing. “The wind never held any common sense,” He replied as if the weather was talking to him. “It never held any common sense or happiness - why should I?” A pile of grey stones lay in front of him only to be scattered from the kick of his black boot. No matter how many times he kicked that pile of rocks they would never form the shape he wanted, just as whenever he tried to control his life it would never follow through as he wanted.
Abruptly he stopped, while the wind carried on. “I stand here today, just as any other day. But today I stand here no longer as a naïve boy of misfortune, today I am a free man who will do as he wants and live as he wants. No more toy soldiers or guns, nor being governed by the shadow of that little boy and that mountain of a man. This is a new day of hope and clarity, this will be THE day, a day that I will tell my son about. Son, That day I stopped believing in high above and down below. That day I stopped believing he was ever coming back.

Final Copy:

“Time really doesn’t heal; it just blurs things..” he muttered, his face immune to every emotion it tried to portray. “Have you ever noticed that flowers don’t bloom for every season? Well, I am a howling winter with a sheet of solid ice. I haven’t seen life for years.” A repetition of images ran around in his mind, passing like a movie of the times his father held his hand, with sheer warmth and love. His mouth contorted into a bittersweet sneer and then calmed, the images subsided into the abyssal depth of his mind.
The day was sunny while the breeze was utterly freezing, cutting through his layers of clothing. “The wind never held any common sense,” He replied as if the weather was talking to him. “It never held any common sense or happiness - why should I?” A pile of grey stones lay in front of him only to be scattered from the kick of his black boot. The stones strewn over the road reminded him of the scattered pieces of his life, never would he be able to put them properly back into place.
Abruptly he stopped, while the wind carried on. “I stand here today, just as any other day. But today I stand here no longer as a naïve boy of misfortune, today I am a free man who will do as he wants and live as he wants. No more toy soldiers or guns, nor being governed by the shadow of that little boy and that mountain of a man. This is a new day of hope and clarity, this will be THE day, a day that I will tell my son about. Son, that day I stopped believing in high above and down below. That day I stopped believing he was ever coming back.

Reflective Exploration:

I included this short story as one of my final pieces in my portfolio as I think it is one of the best pieces I drafted over this semester in class. I thought that I went really in depth with the man’s emotions and described the setting very well.
For my target audience, I drifted towards teenagers/ young adults. This is what I seem to do a lot of the time because I feel it is the only audience I can relate to and feel that the audience can relate to me as well.
As for techniques- I tried to use flashbacks when he thinks about his father and the times they use to share, imagery- to try and make the reader imagine the place and feelings. I also used metaphors to give an even more vivid picture of the scene and emotions.
My self-evaluation in attempting to use the aforementioned techniques is that of course it can always be better. I believe that I can create some good metaphors and similes to describe a scene or a person. I need to increase my vocabulary to create more modified and descriptive scenes and emotions to make the plot even more realistic!
Overall, this piece does contribute to my growth as a writer I believe, because I really tried to be as descriptive as possible and tried to put in as much emotion as possible, more so then anything I had written previously!