Sonnet on Doing Laundry

     Hey, if Edgar Guest can write about suppertime("The Perfect Dinner Table") and reading bedtime stories, and Brad Paisley can write about being bored stiff in church("Long Sermon") and crushing beer cans("Crushin' It"), then anything is fair game when it comes to writing. (They both have also written about much bigger topics, too.)
     So when Dr. Mackie assigned a sonnet as homework for Poetry Writing, I thought a while late the other night and remembered that I need to do laundry when I visit home this weekend. So I wrote about doing laundry.

Time to wash the laundry,

Everything needs to be cleaned;

Hoodies, T-shirts, socks and sundry

Travel into the circular machine.

In a way I suppose it’s urgent -

That semi-dressy shirt for Tuesday has a stain.

How much do I use of the detergent?

Thought I just did this…now here I am again…

…Huh, look, here’s a quarter! And a guitar pick!

They don’t really have to be color-sorted, do they?

By tossing it all together, it’s an efficiency trick,

That hoodie sleeve is starting to fray…

With expeditions frequent in lost-sock retrieval,

Let’s face it: Laundry is a necessary evil. 

Runaway Boomerang

     This sestina was one for workshopping in Dr. Mackie's Poetry Writing course, so I'll rearrange stuff and try to tell the story clearer. A classmate during Dr. Dial-Driver's Lit Traditions class mentioned that her mom was a doctor's daughter and her dad was a welder's son; and I loved that phrase, so I scrawled it down, and then ran from there. The narrator, Starr, she came from nowhere and totally took this over. (It's kind of frustrating when that happens, but also really exciting....you have no idea where you're going, or how you got there. Sort of like talking with Jon or Amanda, or how our conversations with Jed or Sam went.)
     This poem takes place in the mid-to-late nineties, and that threw some people off during the critiquing, since the one about the square dance was purposely timeless.

She was the doctor’s daughter,

he was a welder’s son.

What else is there you can say?

 They fell in love, there was a huge scandal;

 that was all they wanted, and they were everything…

 Happens in most places in small towns, just seems distinctly America.

 Fast-forward to my generation’s America;

 I’m the Bon Jovi runaway daughter

 who embodies everything

 that no self-respecting preacher’s son

 can look at without feeling scandal.

 I feel shame, I say,

at some of the things my parents say;

it’s stupid, but this PC fucked-up America

makes giving any opinion at all a scandal.

Much less the tatted slut daughter

whose past is brought up like the rising of the sun;

my misdeeds are seen as everything.

But Mom and Dad did everything

from the stories I’ve heard ‘em say,

too… His dad threw his son

out of the house, even. It was the age of rebellion in America

where if you weren’t a dove daughter,

now, that would cause a scandal…

Now there’s been that Monica scandal,

I swear, lost my faith in politically everything…

My parents see their daughter

Starr’s life I’ve patched together and say

that maybe there’s hope for America

after all. I strap my six-string Gibson

to my dirt bike and ride into the sunset

trying to make sense of my parents’ town’s scandal.

I just don’t understand America,

or how twisted everything

can be its reported people say.

Guess I am my parents’ daughter...

Now my son is my everything;

I can’t care less what those scandals say.

I may damn America, but I’m still its daughter.

Just Be There

This is the same type of deal as the Gen Y Lament; thoughts during a hike around campus, aching for all the things that go wrong in the world cause of sin. I don't know whether it's supposed to be a poem or lyrics to a song, but it's what I scratched out.

What can you say to the girl, when

Her boyfriend’s over a thousand miles away in Toronto,

And he’s just finished berating her over the phone?

It’s another late night after work, as she sits on the bed

TV is on, but she’s crying alone…

What can you say?

What can you do?

How do you tell her “I care about you,

And together we’re gonna see this through”?

What can you do?

What can you say to the man,who’s

Been preaching for years, but still hears the siren call

Of that devil known as alcohol?

After a day full of counseling folks; he’ll turn on the news,

Crack open a can and hope nobody knows?

Congregation’s dropping like a rock

And his daughter a prodigal?

What can you say?

What can you do?

How do you say, “We care about you,

And together we’re gonna see this through”?

What can you do?

Lend them a listening ear;

Let them know you’re here;

Put a smile on their face,

Take an expedition to their favorite place,

Answer the call, be it night or daytime,

Pray for and with them,

Just be there,

That’s all.

Who do you see that needs help?

What are you going to do?

Movie Quotes Poem

     Practicing poetry writing one night, I wanted to see if I could string something together that was composed almost entirely of movie quotes; the literary version of those awesome mashup videos that leave you amazed at the editing. This concept certainly needs more work in order to make sense, but it was fun to do.
     Quotes from, in order, the Rocky series, While You Were Sleeping, Spider-Man, A Bug's Life, A League of Their Own, The Avengers: Age of Ultron, Guardians of the Galaxy, The Big Green, The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance, Field of Dreams, The Breakfast Club, The Outsiders and the Toy Story series.

Yo, Adrian!

You’re born into a family. You do not join them like you do the Marines.

Uncle Ben used to say with great power comes great responsibility…

First rule of leadership: Everything is your fault…

But there’s no crying in baseball!

Humans are odd….they try to control what won’t be. But there is grace in their failings.

So, what’s next? Something good? Something bad? A little bit of both?

People only say goodbye when they plan on saying hello again.

This is the West. When the facts become legend, you print the legend.

…If you build it, he will come.

We’re all pretty bizarre. Some of us are just better at hiding it, that’s all,

So stay gold, Ponyboy. Stay gold,

To infinity and beyond.

Heroism Throughout the History of Storytelling

     This was my first essay for Dr. Dial-Driver's Literary Traditions course. Apparently it wasn't quite the right type....too wide-ranging, I guess.

     I am missing the annual book sale of the Okmulgee Public Library, since instead I find myself typing this essay. Does this matter? Not really; it will be held next year, too, after all. On the other hand, it comes once a year; so, yes, it is disappointing. But more importantly, that freezing-cold basement is filled with wonderful books, which is a treasure trove for many different reasons. They are very cheap; also, unlike borrowing from the library, those bought can be kept permanently. Unlike Kindle books, they can actually be held, smelled and displayed haphazardly all over the house. Through them, we are able see the world, as Ray Bradbury’s Faber tells Montag in Fahrenheit 451: “Most of us can’t rush around, talk to everyone, know all the cities of the world, we haven’t time, money or that many friends” (82). But most importantly, books teach us, as humans are creatures wired for story. This is how we travel from the scripts of Greek tragedies Oedipus Rex and Medea to Shakespeare to the pages of Mark Twain, Agatha Christie and Stephen King; and crossing media, viewing the latest projects from Pixar, Marvel Studios and Joss Whedon; or listening to the stories told through song by Garth Brooks, Avril Lavigne, Brad Paisley and Taylor Swift.

      G.K. Chesterton says in his essay “The Flag of the World” that “we all owe much sound morality to the penny dreadfuls” (Orthodoxy 72). These story-fed teachings are not typically explicit; instead, as Martin Cothran writes in his article “Is Fiction False?” for The Classical Teacher, “They lead us to abstract truth through concrete reality,” which is shown on a practical level through the plot. Cothran says in his Classical Teacher article “The ‘Demon Irony’” that “the tragic irony of Sophocles’ Oedipus led the viewer to sympathize with the hero who is being victimized by fate”. William Goldman’s Princess Bride is in this vein, containing (sometimes harsh) truths necessary to know, as Goldman tells readers: “Life is not fair, and it never has been, and it’s never going to be” (187). Of characters like the heroes of the Greek stage and men of action like Westley and Inigo, Chesterton states, “They gained their morality by guarding their religion. They did not cultivate courage. They fought for their shrine, and found they had become courageous” (Orthodoxy 73). Like Leonato in Shakespeare’s Much Ado About Nothing, we read so that when we encounter a villain, we know him for what he is, and so may avoid him (V.4.271-272). The merry war Beatrice has with Benedick is, in the words of The Princess Bride herself, farmgirl-turned-princess Buttercup: “because marriage involves love, and that is not a pastime at which I excel. I tried once, and it went badly” (Goldman 72).  Indeed, that is what Beatrice answers Don Pedro in Act II, Scene 1, lines 272-276. We must hang on to characters such as these, for In the words of Harold Bloom, “If you cannot read Shakespeare and his peers, then you will forfeit memory, and if you no longer remember, then you will not be able to think” (Fahrenheit 235).

     We readers are highly judgmental, as can be seen most days in English classes during discussions of course materials. This could be because we live in such a cynical age; it seems to be the only weapon available that ensures survival in the college environment. In their essay entitled “Corruptible Power” for the teacher’s guide Fantasy Media in the Classroom, Frances E. Morris and Emily Dial-Driver write that “Judgement should be based on experience and on knowledge of human nature – our own nature and that of others, both of which are a result of experience and education” (120). We know this, because we have read and consumed film, movies and TV widely; from British murder mysteries and futuristic space Westerns to ancient court tragedies and small-town character dramas. This gave us experience in empathy and other-oriented behavior, in addition to influencing our personal tastes in entertainment. For many college students, Harry Potter played a large role as one of the most-popular fictional friends of the past twenty years. Jim Ford writes in his essay “Fantasy Classics” that even though the books of British initialed authors like J.R.R. Tolkien and J.K. Rowling are “rewarding works of literature, they often do not feel like literature to students” because “a primary purpose of literature is enjoyment”. Hopefully they would have been introduced to Tolkien, Twain, and Harper Lee before this, but as works like these are taught, they show that “literature” is not a word to dread, but instead is a joy to dive into (Fantasy Media 140).

     When we enjoy what we read, those books become dangerous, Cothran tells us in yet another article(“Harry Potter and the Attack of the Critics”), because they give readers ideas. Some of these ideas could be explosive; indeed, in his article “10 Ways to Destroy the Imagination of Your Child”(a condensed summary of his book with the same title), Anthony Esolen points out that “in the wrong hands, a good book is like a bomb housed within a couple of red pasteboard covers”. And what about the Revolutionary War? That was caused by ideas. Going even farther back to the Reformation? Still it was those explosive thoughts which caused all the change in the political landscape. The ideas of luxury and gluttony were part of the fall of the Roman Empire.

     That potential lethality of that weapon, of a good idea sparked by literature, increases dramatically the better it’s made, since that one idea can be pulled all out of proportion. So the key to defusing this bomb is simple: Supply many more. This way, as the collection of stories we’re familiar with grows, the bad ideas promoted by one character’s actions can be counterweighted by the remembrance of a fellow cast member, or even someone from a different story (“Attack of Critics”). Claudio’s falling wholeheartedly in love with Hero at nearly first sight is balanced out by Benedick’s more thought-intensive eventual admittance that he loves Beatrice. Kaylee the mechanic from Firefly evens out Eeyore’s gloom. The self-sacrificing courage displayed by Steve Rogers showcases the cowardice of Prince Humperdinck.

     To become a detective like Sam Spade or Jim Rockford in diving into questions we are we faced with; then to analyze the facts gathered and making our own conclusion, is ideally what a well-educated student should be able to accomplish (Morris and Dial-Driver 120).  We do this by ranging widely in our readings, paying particular attention to those unfashionably earnest plotlines where the hero grapples with an extrinsic conflict. For those types of stories believe that there is an ordering principle guiding the world; a hierarchy where greatness(in the sense of goodness) is prized, with its opposite being on the low end of that scale. With our irony-drenched expectations for modern books and movies, that hierarchy no longer exists. And it raises the question, given that annihilation of the rule book of that ordering principle, can there be a hero any longer?

     My answer would be yes….kind of. As a society which no longer recognizes religion as something to believe in, necessarily, heroes in the manner of Oedipus are out; since bowing to the will of the gods is deemed unrealistic. With the exception of Michael Crichton and GMO-protestors, in general science is seen as the answer to most of our questions. And so the route our 21^st century heroes take is that of the cinematic superpowered variety, where through quirks or accidents of science, humans gain special abilities and must use what moral compass they have developed in order to decide what to do with that power. The best of these films convey the same principle that Cothran talks of when he states that great literature is not necessarily that which is reread over and over, or even that contains some great truth; but instead a great piece of literature always has more layers to discover, and many more depths to plumb (“Attack of Critics”). Heroes provide that. Which is why heroism is so vital to enduring literature. And so our task as readers and writers is to remember keeping these characters and principles alive long enough to pass their wisdom onto others.

Works Cited

Bradbury, Ray. Fahrenheit 451. 1953. 60^th Anniversary Ed. New York: Simon & Schuster Paperbacks, 2013. Print.

                        Bloom, Harold. “Introduction to Ray Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451”. 234-235.

Chesterton, G.K. “The Flag of the World”. Orthodoxy. 1908. San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 1995. Print. 

Cothran, Martin. “The ‘Demon Irony’”. The Classical Teacher. Memoria Press. Late Summer 2014. Web. 16 September 2015.

--------------------. “Harry Potter and the Attack of the Critics”. The Classical Teacher. Memoria Press. Spring 2008. Web. 16 September 2015.

---------------------. “Is Fiction False?” The Classical Teacher. Memoria Press. Late Summer 2007. Web. 17 September 2015.

Esolen, Anthony. “10 Ways to Destroy the Imagination of Your Child”. The Classical Teacher. Memoria Press. Late Summer 2011. Web. 16 September 2015.

Fantasy Media in the Classroom. Ed. Emily Dial-Driver, Sally Emmons and Jim Ford. Jefferson, N.C.: MacFarland & Company, 2012. Print. 

                        Ford, Jim. “Fantasy Classics”. 138-146.

Morris, Frances E. and Emily Dial-Driver. “Corruptible Power”.105-120.

Goldman, William. The Princess Bride. 1972.  New York: Del Rey/Ballantine, October 1987. Print. 

Shakespeare, William. Much Ado About Nothing. 1599? Ed. Barbara A. Mowat and Paul Werstine. New York: Simon & Schuster Paperbacks, 1995. Print. 

Book Sale

      A poem about books, for practice. The rhyme scheme was borrowed from Edgar Allan Poe's "Raven".

If you like, call it dumpster diving;

But you would, too, if the books were nearly free.

Cold library basement can be freezing,

So wear a jacket; then that won’t matter. You see?

Scoop the diamonds out of the ashes; it’s the annual spending spree

One of the best holidays of the year. At least, according to me…

Through donated works the sales are thriving;

With noble greed we buy so merrily, merrily, merilly….

Enough to sink the Ark. (Yes, now I’m teasing.)

Rags thinks if I’m on the couch reading, then that’s a fine spot to be

And so she is helping now with composing this little ditty

Which now is done; for I must move on to Chapter Three.

Sestina Homework

     This was for Poetry Writing during the fall 2015 semester at Rogers State University. One of our homework assignments this week was to practice a sestina, which has six stanzas of six lines each, plus a three-line epilogue, and the end-words all have to be same, just mixed up in a prescribed manner. The six end-words Dr. Mackie gave us were "blue", "forest", "understanding", "misanthropic", "calm" and "sunshine". The tone of this poem probably came from hearing from a guy I know that his wife just died suddenly a few days before. Guess I was somehow putting myself in his shoes while writing this.

 People say to me, “Forrest,

You’ve been feeling blue

Because you ain’t got no understanding

For folk’s feelings. In fact, you’re misanthropic!”

Is it my fault that my mind is somewhat calm

Only on days when it’s without sunshine?

Radio’s playing Johnny Cash’s “You Are My Sunshine”,

I can’t even – white-girl talk – so I bolt, hearing that “Run, Forrest…

You better run!” The weather’s too calm;

Sky going to the dark side, navy blue.

These thunderstorms, I swear, are misanthropic.

What a word, eh? Passes most all understanding.

Like baseball, for instance. Always had trouble understanding

How folks can spend all day in the hot sunshine

Watching players stand still for three hours. I’d say the misanthropic

One was Abner Doubleday. I’d rather be in the forest

With no traces of Dodger or Mariner blue

Caps; the wild things nap, their routines calm.

Lisa was always so calm.

And popular, and kind, and understanding;

That’s what people said. She fixed up our place all in baby blue…

On our way back from a Sunday sunshined

Baseball game we wrecked outside the forest…

I’m an introvert and grieving, not misanthropic.

How do you even spell “misanthropic”?

It’s a Jeopardy word; they always seem so calm

Questioning answers like “What is the Amazon rainforest?”

To “Alex the parrot hails from here; he could help ours with understanding

The difficult tongue-twisters.” $800, question: “What is sunshine?”

I wouldn’t be bad at this game, final-round scrawling on the screen of blue

My answer-question, for why I seem blue.

I wagered $11,200 on “What is misanthropic?”

And then the alarm goes off and there’s the sunshine

Bright through the window. Time for work. I leave, calm

As I can fake, to help patients today by appearing understanding

And coming home to the empty crib that should’ve been Forrest’s.

I’ll retreat into the calm forest

Where whatever my misanthropic understanding

Of human blues will be eased by the warm sunshine.

Square Dance O'Clock

     This was the first workshopped poem for Dr. Mackie's Poetry Writing course at Rogers State, fall 2015. The format is a pantoum, which kind of goes in circles...a lot like everyone doing the Gay Gordon. Really, I'm not sure why I picked a square dance as the subject for this poem; I was just working on a fiction project where there was a square dance coming up and so I whipped this up as practice. I'll probably post updated versions as it goes through revision.
     Most classmates mostly liked it; they had some good suggestions amidst the arguments about what actually happens at a dance (between those who were familiar with them and those who weren't) and there was much discussion/argument of my use of collaquilisms. It was interesting to watch. The lighthearted tone was appreciated; especially since this week has been rather stormy. A lot of folks said they felt like they actually were there, so that was good.    

It’s time for the dance!

 Bring out fiddle, mandolin, guitar;

 Fix up the place all shiny,

 Folks are comin’ from afar.

 Bring out fiddle, mandolin, guitar;

 Tune ‘em to sing of Carra Lee

 Folks are comin’ from afar

 Hear ‘em jawing merrily?

 Tune ‘em up to sing of Carra Lee;

 Young people, unsure of their steps,

 Hear ‘em jawing merrily;

 Parents recall their courtin’ days,

 Young people, unsure of their steps,

 Wallflower garden grows on the porch.

 Parents recall their courtin’ days

 Stirring up the Dog Branch

 While wallflower gardens grew on the porch.

 Fix up the place all shiny,

 Stir up the Dog Branch;

 It’s time for the dance.

Swinging Above the Streets

     Practice homework for Dr. Mackie's Poetry Writing class at Rogers State University, fall 2015 semester. I left the line-markers in here to show how a sestina is structured. Peter Parker's life seemed like it fit this format well, and poetry's about the only angle I haven't written about Spider-Man yet. "Goblin" as an end-word was a bit difficult to work with.

1 “With great power comes great responsibility.”

2 They call me Spider-Man, say I’m amazing.

3 But really, I’m just Peter Parker;

4 Sometimes-photographer for the Daily Bugle.

5 Will I ever be able to get the girl?

6 That’s just one of my life’s many goblins.

6 Keeping those I care for safe from the Green Goblin

1 And stopping crime in general is my responsibility.

5 I got problems, too; doubt I’ll ever get the girl…

2 They call me Spider-Man, some say I’m amazing.

4 Others….not so much. Like Jameson at the Daily Bugle.

3 …But selling papers is his job. High school was Peter Parker’s.

3 Since that night at the library where Uncle Ben parked,

6 And everything… I swear, have you ever seen a goblin?

4 My uncle’s words have been echoing like a bugle:

1 “With great power comes great responsibility.”

2 My gift is my curse. And the irony is amazing.

5 Heroes just don’t kill the girl…

5 Gwen…she was perfect. We were a team. She’s the girl

3 Who eagerly leapt at adventure… And now she’s parked

2 Under a cemetery headstone? The ache is amazing…

6 And then to find that Harry’s dad is the Goblin…

1 It’s my responsibility to keep them safe, I know. But responsibility

4 Isn’t much fun sometimes. (E.g., slander in the Bugle.)

4 Occasionally JJJ coughs up a hairball and the Bugle

5 Says something complimentary.

1 Aunt May worries; makes sense, me being her responsibility.

3 After my parents died in the car crash, they were the closest Parkers.

6 I’m sure they thought my actions caused by Puck or some other goblin,

2 But when I ask, she says, “You’re my nephew, Peter. And I love you. You’re amazing.”

2 So through the City’s streets I go a-maze-ing

4 Timing shutterspeeds to get Spidey pics into the Bugle

6 Snarkily halting crooks and foiling Doc Ock and the Green Goblin

5 MJ Watson…we grew up together, if there were a girl

3 That I could…maybe… I’m not good enough. I’m just Peter Parker.

1 And I know that with great power comes great responsibility.”

The Avengers have an amazing responsibility;

I’m more local, dealing with the goblins at the Bugle,

Upholding the Parkers’ legacy while chasing after the girl.

High School Sweethearts

    This was for Dr. Mackie's Poetry Writing class at Rogers State University during the fall 2015 semester. The format is a rondeau, which is basically a serious limerick. This old man's response got stuck in my head, and I wanted to spend some more time with him. Similarities to Brad Paisley's "Waitin' On a Woman" wasn't intentional.

“Well, I married her, didn’t I?” – said with an old-man grin

As we sat there killing time, waiting on our women,

Prepping to have our wallets drowned.

He was reminiscin’ ‘bout places long closed down,

Distant chords of Journey, “Don’t Stop Believin’.”

Floyd said, “I was eleven, she was ten,

“when she moved; years ‘fore we met again,

“it was basic trainin’, Thanksgiving weekend hoedown…

“Well. I married her, didn’t I?”

“…ya learn to forgive and make amends…”

Quoting Shakespeare and football, we tried not to think about what we’d spend.

When they stepped out, time stopped, couldn’t hear a sound

With her grandma’s help, she chose and showcased that Homecoming gown…

I said we’d stick it out ‘til the end. Faith and me, we’re still friends –

Well. I married her, didn’t I?

Thoughts About College

     This was for homework in Dr. Mackie's Poetry Writing course at Rogers State. This assignment was actually misreading the instructions; I blended the prompts "Take a walk and report on what you see" and "Try to use the same amount of syllables in each line, and rhyme using couplets" by mistake. It's basically all my opinions and a lot of observations about college life. And this was written near the BEGINNING of a semester; if I wrote another while I'm actually posting this(several months later in early December, near the END of the semester) it would probably be much angrier. And maybe shorter.

Walking around campus, past the soccer field fence,

the turtle shells of backpacks mark fellow students

with heads hung low in despair, or moving in packs,

complaining about steep textbook prices and sales tax..

Fall sunset closing down, the picture’s mighty pretty;

cars rocket down the hill going into the city.

Red and navy blue all ‘round; the colors of Hillcats,

the streetlamps swarmed by a collection of gnats;

bored and frustrated, ask yourself old questions,

discipline means giving yourself directions:

Skim textbooks again? Play guitar? An aimless hike?

Or take a shower, work out, TV and the like?

I’m striding alone, acting like I’m on a mission;

studying my left thumb’s new paper-cut incision,

wishing I could enjoy college like they seem to…

A minor war, twice a year hell begins anew,

each semester a mental fight to glean knowledge,

survive today, dream for tomorrow; a collage

of broken hopes, cold dorms and all-night lonesomeness.

May have worked well once, but now the system’s a mess.