Let the Wild Rumpus Start!

Three of my roommates and I went to see "Where the Wild Things Are" tonight and it was AMAZING! I realized on the way to the theatre that it would be the first time that all four of us (Karina, Maddie, Sharlene, and I) were doing something fun together. This is an incredible feat. Karina, Maddie, and I found housing together for this year after being thrown together at The Villa (so many memories *sigh*)but Sharlene didn't join us until Summer term and Maddie had left for home. After being reunited (physically, at least) this fall, the four of us have had a hard time finding that friendship again. This was kind of perfect considering the story told in the theatre. Watch it! I promise you won't regret it!

PS: Bet you can't guess which character I relate to the most :P

Sweet Validation

Walking the pleasant one-mile slope to my apartment from campus, I'm sure observant passersby would have laughed to see my childlike grin, but I just couldn't help it! You may mock me when I tell you the cause, but I know you have probably felt a similar sense of exhilaration at some point. My creative writing professor returned our graded collections of poetry today. He started out by giving the traditional introductory lecture in which he expressed his general satisfaction with our work and spoke of general strengths and weaknesses that he saw throughout the class's collections, and so forth. As he went on, the anxiety and excitement in the class rose. We knew what was coming. At last he brought out the giant stack of papers, some few bearing the badge of honor (an orange sticky note) that named them worthy to be read before the class. He began. Inside my head I had reverted to elementary school and I began to chant the mantra: "Please read mine, please!" I wanted so badly for the teacher to validate my hard work and to tell me that I had done a good job, that I wasn't a horrible poet like I had feared. Sounds wonderfully melodramatic, doesn't it? Well, he read a few poems from other collections and I calmed down, telling myself it didn't matter, that he wasn't going to read any of my poems and that it was okay that he wasn't going to because it didn't matter. As I was saying this to myself, what did I hear but the title of my elegy ("Grandpa Said"),and then the first line, and the second ... He was reading my poem! He liked it! And I could tell from the reactions of my classmates that they liked it, too! Call me crazy, but it made my day!

Words, words, words

It is somewhat of a liberating experience when one puts down a book after reading two-hundred pages or so in one sitting ... until one tries to stand up and realizes one's foot is dead, and one cannot tell if it is one's head that is spinning or if it is the room. This was the state of things late this afternoon as I got up to go to my evening class. I am never excited to attend this class, which saddens me, because it is a history class and I love history. It's so fascinating to learn about the giants who have gone before and those who were not so giant who lived in this world and are now living in the next, to connect the dots between cultures and religions and peoples and nations and governments around the world and across time. It's fascinating! Alas, much to my chagrin, this brilliant time of discovery is clouded o'er by the idea of three hours of lecture starting at five. But I suppose I shouldn't complain; I survive it well enough. Well, I suppose that's all I have to say about today. It seems at times that my life has been taken over by school and that I have nothing else to talk about ... except maybe the lack of any sort of dating life at all, which is just depressing and pathetic, so I won't go into that. Until next time, my friends, adieu!

"I Could Have Danced All Night ..."

I'm sure you've been wondering what it is that I do, exactly, aside from write poetry for my Creative Writing class and avoid blogging for several months at a time. Well, my friends, tonight I shall tell you a story which will send chills down your spine. Okay, maybe not 'chills;' perhaps 'tingles,' or just a general feeling of mocking - I mean - enjoyment.

Tonight, this fateful 28th of October, my dear Madelane and I attended the Social Dance Lab in the Ballroom of the Wilk. What a night! The dance floor was shaking with cha-cha and fox trot, waltz and swing. The music was classy. The men were far too few ... *sigh.* Alas, much of my time was spent awkwardly swaying to the music and either making conversation with other ladies off the floor, or stalking the outskirts scouting for someone that wasn't already flirting with another girl or stuffing his face with food (with little success). Also, the soul of my right character shoe decided that it no longer wanted to be attached to the rest of the shoe, forcing me to wrap it in scotch tape, since we had no stronger adhesive readily available, and hope for the best. It was a little slippery, but I survived. As has become the routine, I had a fun time despite the ever-present awkwardness.

Maddie, on the other hand, seems to have done it again. Exhibit A: Alias James Darcy. Approximately 6'1." Returned missionary. Junior at BYU. Aspires to be an eye surgeon, giving sight to the blind, or something like that. This relatively good-looking young man is in our dance class, but is generally not very talkative in said class. Tonight, however, he was very willing to chat with Maddie. They talked for a good 5-10 minutes after dancing together. Up-dates to follow. Exhibit B: Alias Andrew Bingley. Approximately 6.' Freshman at BYU. Affectionately called "Pre-mi." Computer Science major, aspiring to work for the CIA, and a big fan of the white power ranger, as he announced to the floor at the end of the function. He stuck around with us for a good 45 minutes toward the end, after coming in and out of our company for the entirety of the dance. Despite his youth and over-enthusiasm, Allan is a very appealing young man, and very funny. They were hitting it off so well that I ended up giving him a ride to his car, which he had parked at the Marriot Building, not realizing that nearly all parking on campus opens up to students and the public after 7 PM. Oh, yes. Maddie has found yet another Freshman lover. Once more, up-dates to follow. Exhibit C: Alias Tyler Knightly. Approximately 6'1." Information systems major from Utah who is in our ward. Excellent dancer and another very attractive young man. Most of the time, he is surrounded by girls. But, there was a shining, glimmering moment of time when he was in between partners and about to head for the refreshment table and when Maddie was conveniently positioned about three feet to the left and back from where he was standing. Yet, after all of the success of the evening, she shied away and let him walk over to the table and become enveloped once more in a semi-circle of flirtatious females. Ah, well, there's always nest Sunday ...

Confessions of an Unwilling Romantic

Normally, I wouldn't bore you with yet another poem after that rather lengthy post, but I couldn't resist, and I'm sure you'll see why (not because I'm such a fabulous artist, but rather because the subject matter is quite dear to the hearts of most single BYU females, and most of my friends fit that category).

To Live

I do not know what it is that supersedes rational thought
when the mind meddles in matters of the heart,
why we conjure up images of charming princes and perfect gentlemen
to give us their hearts, neatly wrapped, in a shower of flattering words.
It is an acute torture of both mind and heart
when out of these sweet dreams we are confronted
with the sticky remnants of the ice cream tub and the blur of the television.
This is the pathetic state of impotence to which we drive ourselves.
But stop. This is not love; this is not even life.
To live is to forget what you long for,
to drink in the joy of the mundane and to glory in the unremarkable
adventures that wait for you in each minute of each hour of your life.
There are no charming princes on gleaming white horses. There are only
remarkable people who live remarkable lives under unremarkable circumstances.

Disclaimer

(Another disclaimer: I couldn't get the format to work exactly right with these poems - the lines that are off to the side are not supposed to be that way, in case you were trying to figure out the artistic meaning of their placement)

The Return of the Prodigal Blogger: Meditations on the life of a non-poet

Well, it's been a while! I promise I do exist and I have actually been having some very unremarkable adventures lately, but what can I say? I'm just going to have to be better at blogging more regularly. Today I would like to share with you some poems I've been working on for my creative writing class. This is my disclaimer: I'm not much of a poet, so don't get too excited or you'll be sorely disappointed, but what are blogs for if not to make a fool of yourself, right? Here it goes ...

Too Small

While my big brother

plays basketball with

his friends, I sit on the edge

of the lawn, watching

Wondering

Will I ever be Big enough?

Big enough to keep the steady rhythm

of the game, running

panting springing, pouncing –

Into the net. Swish, din, pat pat pat, shh.

Big enough to break away

from the force of gravity,

leap into the air, spinning

like a dance.

Big enough to feel the slap

of my brother’s hand on my back,

to laugh at his jokes,

to see him laugh at mine.

Big enough.

Then my big brother walks

over to my little corner, lifts

me on his shoulders, places the ball

between my two hands, too small.

My big brother and I

walk over to the hoop.

“There it is.

Take the shot.”

Big enough.

Swish, din, pat pat pat, shh.

Little girl

Little girls grow like daisies in spring,

dancing their way with arms reaching out as far as they can go.

Count the sun beams and the smiles that they bring

and you’ll be counting past the grown-up years but still, you will not know.

Somewhere in the process of counting bright smiles and sunny rays,

a little girl may just lose sight, over too-long miles and too-short days,

of the girl that she had been and the daisies she would pick,

‘till the little girl becomes lost in big thoughts and long lists

and the loudest sound heard is tick-tock-tick

and of all the things lost only one thing persists.

She dances her way still, though she stumbles a bit.

Through grown-up mazes, refuses to quit

But her arms strain under the weight of her books

and time drives her faster through a sea of unfamiliar faces.

She searches for friends, finds mostly strange looks

that question her quest as they go, counting paces.

Yes, the flooded crowd flows, a steady stream, trudging

Eyes locked in their place, minds cloudy with judging.

She dances her way still,

fixes a smile on her face, grasps a hope in her heart.

Perhaps some day she will

find her way out of the maze, stand apart.

At last the day’s ended and the little girl sighs

as she makes her way home with an eye to the skies.

Stumbles gently down the hill in the evening,

books closed, thoughts free,

Sees the clouds can’t bar the sun-beams streaming,

lighting mountain, rock, and tree.

So the little girl dancing from class to class

finds freedom in a blade of grass.

Grandpa said

Grandpa said patience

would always bring success,

except when it didn’t, because sometimes it wouldn’t,

and that was the way of things.

But he didn’t say it to me.

He whistled it to the fish in the stream as he sat on the bank,

waiting with patience.

Grandpa said a working man

would always find a way,

except when he didn’t, because sometimes he wouldn’t,

and that was the way of things.

But he didn’t say it to me.

He wore it in the palms of his hands as he did what he could,

a working man.

Grandpa said a man’s heart

would always lead him straight,

except when it didn’t, because sometimes it wouldn’t,

and that was the way of things.

But he didn’t say it to me.

He whispered the secret into Grandma’s ear, and took her hand in his,

a man’s heart.

Grandpa said life

would always be an adventure,

even when it wasn’t, because sometimes we can’t tell

that this is the way of things.

But he didn’t say it to me.

He showed it in stories, the life that he led,

his life that now discovers a new adventure.

He didn’t say it to me,

But I heard it, just the same.

Grandpa said patience,

a working man,

a man’s heart,

life is an adventure.

Learning to Love

My rocking horse sways

under shy infant fingers

until sure working hands

hold it, firm, standing still.

Another hand steadies me;

I lean back.

Hands lead to faces,

and faces to smiles

and hearts that glow with love

stronger than life.

I am drawn to the light of it,

my face to those faces

and breath escapes loudly

when my body follows –

much faster.

Another hand catches me;

I reach for it.

The hand that guided the wood

and shaped the small seat,

that smoothed the rough patches,

gave life to the horse,

and love.

It holds me, and I hold it.

My fingers close about that

hand. Five of mine and one of

his. He holds me

And I hold him.

My rocking horse sways

as I'm learning to love.

Waiting

Wide carpet, tall walls, spans of large tiles.

Motor walkways, ropes to keep people in line.

Rows of televisions, scrolling screens.

Signs that lead to more signs.

It is a world between worlds.

Crisp uniforms and hair tied back, neat.

Clear voices speak in controlled tones, a low buzz behind,

the Tower of Babble.

Cool air that is the air of everywhere

And nowhere, here in the

in-between

place

where people are

Waiting

waiting for friends and loved ones,

for co-workers and peers,

for home, for adventure, for success,

waiting.