Author: makayawiseley

She sit’s in a corner, she does this so can see everything around her, the slightest move will alert and startle her, a bump in the night isn’t disregarded, it’s thought about over and over almost as if it happened again, when she listens to music it’s always at a low volume so she can hear around her, when she comes home she looks around her house to make sure no one is there, then when she is in her room she checks everything, locks the door and finally rests. But not before she thought about everything that could be and more.

She sit’s in a corner, she does this so can see everything around her, the slightest move will alert and startle her, a bump in the night isn’t disregarded, it’s thought about over and over almost as if it happened again, when she listens to music it’s always at a low volume so she can hear around her, when she comes home she looks around her house to make sure no one is there, then when she is in her room she checks everything, locks the door and finally rests. But not before she thought about everything that could be and more.

I told a million lies now it’s time to tell a single truth Sometimes I cry It’s hard dealing with my pride Not knowing whether to fight or flee Sometimes I cry Hard to maintain this image of a tough guy When deep down inside I am terrified If I ever told you I wasn’t scared I lied Struggling to make it back To society and my family I cry I cry for my son who I barely see Due to these mountains And me and his mom’s beef I cry for my siblings who never knew their older brother Because he stayed in the streets I cry for my grandma who is now deceased I cry for my life, half of which they took for me I cry for my anger and rage The only emotions I can show in this place I cry for how we treat each other inside these walls I cry for the lack of unity we have most of all When will it end I want to know Till then all I can do is let these tears flow

I really like this poem because it has a over whelming since of crying when life gets tough. I like the way that the author shows some of the really tough things in his life and how just sitting and crying can be a reliever. Many people cry for many different reasons and it’s a great way to feel better by expressing those emotions by crying.

What kind of thoughts now, do you carry
   In your travels day by day
Are they bright and lofty visions, 
   Or neglected, gone astray?

Matters not how great in fancy, 
    Or what deeds of skill you’ve wrought; 
Man, though high may be his station, 
    Is no better than his thoughts. 

Catch your thoughts and hold them tightly, 
   Let each one an honor be; 
Purge them, scourge them, burnish brightly, 
   Then in love set each one free. 

I really liked this poem because I always have a lot of thoughts in my head and it’s always many different none really related but I always believe that thoughts are powerful. I see that the author is doing a lot of self reflection to notice her thoughts and ideas. I really like how the author kind of poses a question for the audience so they can reflect on themselves the same way.

I am not yours, not lost in you,
Not lost, although I long to be
Lost as a candle lit at noon,
Lost as a snowflake in the sea.

You love me, and I find you still
A spirit beautiful and bright,
Yet I am I, who long to be
Lost as a light is lost in light.

Oh plunge me deep in love—put out
My senses, leave me deaf and blind,
Swept by the tempest of your love,
A taper in a rushing wind.

I thought that the overwhelming theme of being lost in love was a good way to write. The author is clearly writing from a place of passion. She uses many metaphors to emphasize the tone and emotion. She says she s not lost in his love but she is.

To fling my arms wide
In some place of the sun,
To whirl and to dance
Till the white day is done.
Then rest at cool evening
Beneath a tall tree
While night comes on gently,
    Dark like me—
That is my dream!

To fling my arms wide
In the face of the sun,
Dance! Whirl! Whirl!
Till the quick day is done.
Rest at pale evening . . .
A tall, slim tree . . .
Night coming tenderly
    Black like me.

The author’s title very much corresponds with this poem, the poem is all like a dream. t s all serene and peaceful. The author describes this so vividly that it really does seem like a dream.

—then lightly rubs the
                                          inside of her wrist

to wrist         the flower
                                          fullness         the furrows

like heirloom roses
                                          or attar crushed from 

weapons thrown aside
                                          the century gone

as though bound         now in
                                          not shame         not shyness

meanwhile         and lace cuffs—
                                          making scent circles—

Phrases in italics are from “Black and Copper in a Crush of Flowers” by Carl Phillips.

I choose this poem because it reminded me of the one we did in class where you used a line from another poet and poem. The author used metaphors to emphasize the poem. The way the poet used the line from another and combined it with their own words to create a whole alternate ending.

Letters swallow themselves in seconds.
Notes friends tied to the doorknob,
transparent scarlet paper,
sizzle like moth wings,
marry the air.

So much of any year is flammable,
lists of vegetables, partial poems.
Orange swirling flame of days,
so little is a stone.

Where there was something and suddenly isn’t,
an absence shouts, celebrates, leaves a space.
I begin again with the smallest numbers.

Quick dance, shuffle of losses and leaves,
only the things I didn’t do
crackle after the blazing dies.

What I interpreted was that many things can disappear fast, the poet uses the term fire in a way that is that all things leave or can be destroyed easily. After physical things leave you only have yourself and your memories.

I have learned to need the body
I spent years trying to rid the world of

have learned to cherish its pale rebel hymn
warped by ghost heat, carried, carried

by all my loyal dead. I have learned
to crawl backward into the wildnerness

to ask, to eat, to steep in your gentleness. 
Let this be where I permit forgiveness

to know your name, to leave our cruelest years
where & how we need them most—

The way I interpret this poem is that her life was messed up with issues over time and life. But when writing this she was starting to put her life back together. The author used many metaphors to convey the idea of the poem.

Breathe
. As in what if
the shadow is gold
en? Breathe. As in
hale assuming
exhale. Imagine
that.      As in first
person singular. Homonym
:. As in subject. As
in centeroftheworld as in
mundane. The opposite of spectacle
spectacular. This is just us
breathing. Imagine
normalized respite
gold in shadows
. You have the
right to breathe and remain
. Imagine
that

The poet used a lot interesting forms, first off just the structure it kind of looks like an eye if you turn the page. Then the line breaks and the way she creates two meanings with the different lines. I like how the author is one with herself, she has become centered and found her self. The way she splits the lines and words creates two different meanings.