Poetry

I used to have an entire blog dedicated to poetry. But then that became too much work. So now I just shove it all into this one hodge-podge of a blog.

So, for my British Lit class, we had to create our own version of the Canterbury Tales using our own pilgrim. My pilgrim was a dancer with the Chicago Ballet Company. So anyway, we had to write a "prologue" introducing our "pilgrim" and then write a story that they would tell. And all of this had to be in Iambic Pentameter and Heroic Couplet. I was kind of super proud of my poetry, so I wanted to share it with someone other than my teacher.

Prologue.

The Dancer gracefully walked down the street.
Her music matched the pounding of her feet.
She wore tall boots with leggings and sweater
That matched her pretty boots of leather.

Calm in demeanor;her face impassive,
Thin in build, nothing about her massive.
For her, the studio is more a home
Than any building of brick or stone.

Routine is what keeps her sane every day.
Without routine, she'd slowly waste away.
In class, her movements, graceful and refined,
She twirls across the floor in perfect time.

Her feet are blistered, bruised, and calloused now.
She works them as hard as health will allow.
Her pointe shoes last about a month at best.
A leo and tights is, for her, fully dressed.

She's been on no date in over a year.
Dance is her boyfriend, the one she holds dear.
She is not so perfect, though, behind the scenes.
There's a reason she fits in size 2 jeans.

Though her appetite is constant, you see,
The size that she is, is not what she sees.
One, two, three, one, two, three, dancing all day
A dancer she is, she never will stray.



So, for her story, she basically tells an adaption of Phantom of the Opera. Partially because she is a hopeless romantic and she likes the idea that dark, scary things can be beautiful. It's kind of a symbol of her wanting to overcome her bulimia.

The Dancer's Tale

Long ago, a theater in London
Their ballet company went all "Black Swan"
Because their principal dancer named Maura
Became a proverbial Pandora
When a "ghost" dressed in black decided that
Someone else should take the "principal" hat.
Lottie, first soloist, was the object
Of his affections. Yes, she was perfect.
For the Phantom, as he had become known
Was in love with the girl, and it was shown
By his unconventional methods of,
Essentially, promoting his dear love.
Curtains are falling, people are found dead,
An entire wall is painted bright red.
See, the Phantom was awkward socially.
He had spent his life hidden underneath.
The theater, not for being a thief
Or a murderer, not by his doing
But his fatal flaw, or his undoing
Was the deformation of his poor face.
His unsightliness decided his fate.
So he hid from the world his entire life;
Lived under the stage, his heart filled with strife.
Yet, too bad for him, there was another.
Jem was his name. He was not her brother.
Though they'd known each other since childhood
They loved each other more than siblings could.
He meant, in fact, to be married to her.
The Phantom became jealous, as it were,
He became obsessed with the simple thought
Of dismissing Jem; usurping his spot.
But it wouldn't be as easy as this
Because Jem wasn't about to just kiss
His girl goodbye, as Phantom would like.
Jem assembled an army that would strike
The moment the masked phantom dared appear
As all knew he would when Lottie was near.
Sure enough, he did appear at the show.
Lottie was lead, as Maura broke her toe.
Or, more accurately, the Phantom did.
He greased up the floor, and down it she slid.
The house was packed with hundreds of people
Everyone dressed up fancy and regal.
Soldiers with guns stood in every corner.
Theater-goers saw them with horror.
What could they possibly need guards for?
It wasn't as if they were in some war.
The ballet started; everything was fine
Till the Phantom poisoned the lead man's wine
And took the man's spot in the pas de deux.
It was then that Jem knew what he must do.
He yelled to the soldiers, "Capture that man!"
But Phantom was not okay with this plan.
He cut the rope holding the chandelier;
Used the distraction to flee like a deer.
He pulled Lottie behind him; down he went
To the place where all his life he had spent;
Down into the depths of the theater.
Down far it was; almost fifteen meters.
Jem followed, and was captured by Phantom
Who gave Lottie a cruel ultimatum
"Marry me, and he will live, I promise.
Refuse me, he dies." And he was honest.
She cried for a while, her heart wrenched apart.
Then she wiped her tears, and trusted her heart.
Her decision was made, though her mind was fraught.
"For you need love even more than I thought."
She accepted the ring the Phantom held.
She gave him the love that she had withheld.
The Phantom, so touched by Lottie's display
Of love, broke down and said, "Please go away.
Go live your lives, happy without me there.
Forget about me. Be a lovely pair."
Then the Phantom left; never seen again.
The legend lives on of a man in pain
Who loved a girl, but it was not to be
And now suffers, anguished, eternally.
The chandelier that crashed down on that stage
Reminds everyone of the horrible age
Where terror reigned through the theater.
And for the Phantom never to return, prayer
Is said. That is it. Indeed, it's the end.
I hope you enjoyed the story, my friend.

Childhood

I was thinking today, for whatever reason, about things that remind me of childhood. I mean, I like to claim that I'm still a child- an almost 17 year old child- because, hey, that's way more fun than being a grown up. Anyway, I made a list. Because for some odd reason I like blogging in lists.

1. College football.
Okay, when I was little, I hated football. I mean, I'm still not a huge sports person (which is why I dance instead of playing soccer like everyone else) but football has definitely grown on me. I think it's kind of in my DNA. All of my family loves football, so it was basically inevitable. But it's always a sign that fall is here. It makes me happy just to have it on in the background.

2. Tootsie Rolls
Okay, this is a weird one, but when I was little I used to go to Hader Hardware store with my dad and they sold Tootsie Rolls for 5 cents, so we used to get them all the time. The day Hader closed was a sad day of my childhood, even though I was fifteen at the time, and it wasn't even called Hader anymore. But still. I had a lot of childhood memories there.

3. Home Depot
Okay, so I basically went to hardware stores with my dad a lot. But everything about Home Depot reminds me of Saturdays when I was little. Especially the smell of the store. I feel like that's weird.

4. James Taylor.
When I was little my dad sang me James Taylor songs all the time. And now every time I hear one of those songs I feel like I'm 6 years old again.

Okay, so it's a short list. But I was just thinking about those things. I also just realized that most of these involve my dad. What can I say. I'm a daddy's girl.

Reading, Writing, and 'Rithmatic

Okay, so actually this post is actually more about reading and writing than arithmetic. Because seriously? Math? Math = icky.

I do a lot of writing based on dreams I have. It always changes a lot, since dreams very seldom make sense, but I get characters and vague scenes from dreams. A little over two years ago I had a dream about a girl (I was observing through her point of view) who had no family, who became friends with a boy and his family- his parents and one sister-who ran an adorable little toy store. At some point in the dream, his family died. I had become good friends with his sister and I loved his parents, so it was hard. I just remember he had been in the process of painting the outside of their toy store this pretty mint green. He continued to paint after they passed. I just had this picture of me sitting their on the outdoor railing talking to him while he painted. He would just listen quietly, without ever contributing anything to conversation- and just paint. This eventually became the inspiration for a book I'm writing called Nobody's Girl. Although, and I hate to admit this, but work on the book hasn't really been happening lately...

More recently, I had two dreams with two sets of characters. The first is Ben and Kimber, and the second is Ryder and Laurena. I'm having quite a bit of fun with it, although I know neither of them will become books.

I am, however working on a story that I'm hoping will one day be developed enough for a book. I don't want to reveal too much, but basically there is a group of people who think the government is conspiring against them, and they hire a bunch of scientists to create a race of people with no personalities to create a giant army. Happy stuff. But it's going really well. Right now, I'm still working on backstory/what's going to happen in the book/the ending and all that stuff. I don't think I've ever worked on anything that needed so much forethought.

I also have a writing project due on Monday that I can't decide if I'm enjoying or not. We're reading some of the Canterbury tales in my British lit class, and we have to create a satire about some kind of.... stereotype, I guess you could call it. Examples would be, Hipsters, Trekkies, Truckers, Rednecks, Pageant moms. Those are just the ones we came up with. Anyway, I'm doing dancers, and I basically have to write a "Canterbury Tales-esque" prologue about this dancer. This means it has to be in Iambic Pentameter, and Heroic Couplet. In other words: IT'S HARD. It's kinda fun though. Because it's kinda like a puzzle just with words. Also, I feel like an evil mastermind while doing it, because I'm trying to count syllables, so I end up drumming my fingers together like a wacko. It's awesome.

So, yup. Those are my writing adventures of late. Oh, also, I went to visit my sister in Iowa, and I left my journal there. I don't know how I managed that, but I AM GOING TO DIE. Hopefully it'll come in the mail soon...

I will be checking every day.
Lisa