Wednesday, April 30, 2014

Ars Poetica

Poetry is
Words sliding like
Cream, slowly
And coating, sweetly
So rich, tasteful
Poetry is
Feelings smashing
Like Roman soldiers
Waves crashing
Into open sores
Poetry is
Love speaking
Then death, slowly
It’s life and death
And the next step
Poetry is
Words, words, words
That begin and end
But continue on
Until the reader begins and ends

That is poetry

Tuesday, April 29, 2014

The Beat (Ars Poetica)

Nouns, pronouns, adjectives, conjunctions,
Verbs, prepositions, adverbs, interjections,
Locked together by a Beat.

Each Beat has its own stamp.
Each stamp its own stamper.
Each stamper its own heart.

The hearts of poems are unique
Like snowflakes or fingerprints.
Each individual.

Hearts can vary the speed and length to control the tempo and change the message.
Size can be deceiving and

Beats can be ocean waves,
Ripples in a pond,
Or a cannonball in the pool.

Poetry is the speaker for the Beat,
Enhanced by the words,

Controlled from within.

Poetry is

Poetry is staring at a ceiling and finding words
To relate that ceiling to your love life

Because the right words can make any man think
That the ceiling above his head
Perfectly relates to
His love

Poetry is a complex piece of art that most critics
Consider meaningless

But those few critics who take the time to look at
And observe the art form find it
Not only beautiful, but
Important for us
To see

Poetry is an emotion that is not captured by one word
But is rather captured by alliteration

Or maybe it’s captured by an image or two
Or maybe some rhymes
Or a metaphor
A simile or

Poetry is a skill that is deeper than meaning
Poetry is thought provoking thought that is teaming
Poetry is needed and even though that I kid

I desire the art that makes language live

Ars Poetica

Waylon Jin
British Literature E Block
Mr. O’Brien
April 30 2014

Ars Poetica

A world without expression
is a world of depression.

Poetry is an avenue which people drive on,
Leaving tracks of expressed feelings and life experiences

Poetry is a person’s canvas
Brushed stroke by strokes with words
Words and thoughts of communication.
Silk red metaphors, bright yellow similes, and flaming orange rhymes

Poetry is a song
Repetition and rhythm, the pattern of sound
Pouring of emotions like rain showers in April
Meters of unstressed and stressed dew

Poetry is radiance
Illuminating all darkness that lies in the heart
Creating a blank verse for beginnings
Life is harmonious in poetry

My feelings create poetry
Your distinctiveness envisions poetry
Our voices define poetry.

Ars Poetica


Consider poetry as a work of art

Similar to a painting, sculpture, drawing, or photograph.

A poem should paint a picture in the reader’s mind

Using rich imagery, figurative language, similes and metaphors.


A poet should not rely on the words in a poem to tell the story,

But rather the systematic sequence of events painted by the words chosen.

Each word and phrase is chosen for a specific reason

Therefore poets need to take connotation and denotation into consideration.


All groups of rhyming words are not poems

And all poems are not groups of rhyming words.

A poem is not determined by a mere sound that two words mimic

Nor by a set meter that the words must fall into.


People so often get caught up in the specific structure of a poem

But structure is the least important aspect.

Poetry should never be forced to fit a certain format;

The words should naturally flow onto the page.


One of the reasons poetry is sometimes despised is that it is confusing.

A way to avoid confusion is include allusions to events, people, and places.

However, sometimes confusion makes a poem even more interesting

It all depends on what the poet is trying to achieve.


And that leads to the absolute most important part of the art of poetry:

Every decision is up to the poet.

All of the power rests in the poet’s hands and all the poet needs is inspiration,

And that is the key to poetry.


Ars Poetica

Ars Poetica

 Lines, rhymes, stanzas and breaks

Meters, pentameters, verses and


Most importantly words

Create an image the poet is trying to portray.

Poets pour their life, hopes, dreams and experiences onto paper

And people read and interpret what they see.

Even though it may not be what they are supposed to see.

Poems are open ended

They are filled with emotion

But every person lives a different life

And that emotion can be taken in any direction.

Poetry is up to the reader

The poet gives a foundation for readers to start with

The real power behind the poem is up to them.

Poetry can be fun and upbeat like Doctor Seuss

Or filled with despair and sorrow like Edgar Allan Poe.

There is a poem for every mood and moment

Because it all depends on you.

Wednesday, April 16, 2014

To Just Be

To Just Be

I don’t experience this type of pain first hand
I don’t know what it feels like to be pushed deeper into the dark
Farther into my closet, farther away from the truth
But movies, shows, videos, stories explain the pain some cannot understand.

How do these kids, teens, adults face cruelty about something they hadn’t planned
Why are there people who make these beautiful individuals go stark?
People who are so angry they punish anyone who seems different
People that are trying to make others feel as irrelevant as a grain of sand.

No one deserves to feel like they cannot be themselves
As Ash states there are three rules in life:
Be Authentic. Be Direct. Be Unapologetic.
These rules all point to one thing.

Why does one person feel they are that much better that they can destroy lives
Innocent lives that are now scarred
With cuts and marks that will never heal
Some so extreme that they never got the chance.

There is an opportunity to fight this
It must be stopped
Because no one should be punished for just trying to live out the three rules
To just be.

Tuesday, April 15, 2014

Car Ride

Three hours go by as we head down south
Hasn’t rained in days but still not a drought
With nothing to do I let my thoughts entertain me
Only problem is that I’m reeeeally really hungry
So we stop at Sheetz
For a few good eatz
To stretch our feetz
And in the process
I checked out some tweetz

After a few minuets though
We got back in our car
And continued the drive the seemed farther than far
It got really dark, which is kind of bummer
So I closed my eyes and took a quick slumber

Another hour passed and we are still not there
But I really don’t care
Or dare to ask one more time
“Where are we?”
So I keep my mouth shut and let it be
Like the Beatles back in the 70s

Can’t say that I enjoy long car rides
But ill let this one slide
After all, I was able to get some work done
This way I could go out Saturday night and have some fun

Get Over It-the unprompted poem about societal norms

There are some or a lot of things you can’t just get over

There are a lot of wounds that take longer to heal

Than the standard six weeks

So why do we feel so weak

When we need to ask for help?


It’s because our society sticks a bandaid over addiction

To cover up the mess

And feeds a cocktail of pills to the mentally ill

So they’ll quit their whining


And they just “get over it”



But what about when that bandaid gets torn off

From being picked at too much

Or the pills don’t work the way the said

And just make you feel a different kind of crazy


Or even after the standard six weeks

I’m afraid of falling down again

And becoming one with the kitchen tiles

I fear my teeth falling out

Like that reoccurring nightmare that means your life is a mess

But I did my time, so I’m fine.

Monday, April 14, 2014

I Don't Waste Food

I used to be able to sit cross-legged when I was 5
I would curl up into a little ball
Most likely because I was 4 feet tall
And my body could bend in all sorts of ways
And bruises and scraps would magically go away
Like the problems we faced on a regular day
Of school
Kindergarten was where we used to rule

But 11 years later and my mind is all torn
I’ve got people to see and work to do
And a laundry list of things to get done
Some days it’s likely I don’t see the sun
Cuz I’m crammed in my room suffering from work
And I complain to my father
That it’s senior year and I should be out.
We all have hard.

And that’s all I really have to worry about.

But you see
Its my complaining and maintaining which
Makes me realize what I’m saying
And how my words actually sound
To the people I see around
The ones who struggle and fight for food every night
And those who are forced to find the hardest ways
To get any sort of pay
We all have hard.

But I see
More than the average rich white American.
Because I see
The opportunities given to me
My parents always told me “Don’t waste that food on your plate”
Because food was a gift but I was too cross-legged to see that.
It’s the gifts I’ve been given that I need to make a living
Not for me
But make a living to better someone.
Life is about relationships
And I need to make them meaningful

There’s no major in college for the collage I’ll major in
Relationships with people of different backgrounds I’ll savior it
Helping people finding jobs to raise their kids who do nothing but sit
Around and wait for someone to educate their minds that haven’t been lit
Because I complain and maintain your average GPA
But I’ll gladly try to fix problems of the world without seeing day
Because sometimes that cross-legged kid curled up inside you like a little ball
Feels forced to change the ones who struggle into the ones
Who can tell their dad it’s their senior year
And that their family no longer has something to fear
Because they will get an education and a job
That can keep this family alive and away from the mob
And they thank their parents for the opportunities they were given
They will live well while wilding living.

My body used to bend in all sorts of ways
Now it’s sore and rigid and I must stretch to play
But my mind which was once so torn at 16
Is now bending in directions and I’ve got a new view
And it starts with the relationship of me and my food

The Underdog

Because I said so
He yells as the door slams in my face
The whipping wind blows through me
As I stand facing the place
That I call home

In a square of light I see my mother
The gravitational pull of shame
Keeps her eyes fixed to the floor
Father’s not the only one to blame

I fall asleep on a park bench
Listening to the creek of swings
Whispering memories of childhood
The dry crunch of wood-chips brings
Me back to those days

I awake and walk to school
Through the halls I hear the gossip
Kids pointing out my dirt stained clothes
Unaware of my hardship

Frustration builds inside of me
Without a way to make it stop
They circle like vultures on the hunt
I’m on the edge about to drop
Collapse into myself

The tears well up I need to hide
I burst inside a room about to blow
But a solitary student’s in my way

“Get out” I shout, “Because I said so”

Normal Day

I walk down the halls and feel restrained .
“You should be happy!”
“What’s wrong?”

-What isn’t wrong
The expectation to smile at every person I see through the halls
In passing it’s profane to respond to “how are you?” with
-“I’m doing fine”.
Nobody cares enough to hear the truth.
It’s irreverent, it’s offensive it’s improper , its profane…

But shouldn’t you care? Shouldn’t someone care?
I don’t want to be dishonest with you.
So, don’t make me.
Don’t make me create a new character just for you
Don’t make me do this.

Terrell Smith


Be a leader
A person who is independent
One who does not follow
A leader is someone who does not succumb to pressures
Some one who doesn’t conform to society
Be yourself
Be your own person
A leader is someone with strength, bravery, compassion,
Hope, and courage
And through it all he is one who stays true to his self
Being a leader is not always the easiest thing to do but
As Robert Frost said take the road less travelled, that has made all the difference