The Hand (a romantic poem)
|About the author of The Hand.
In this poem I hoped to capture the feeling of holding hands for the very
first time. Although I haven't found the right guy to hold hands with, this
is what I imagine it would be like.
I like reading, writing, and working on my web page.
Beyond Thy Violent Wound
Beyond thy violent wound I see,
The blood from which pours out of me.
The hatred blurs from which they came,
Never to be erased.
So lonely do I stand,
No one to lend a hand.
So I place my hand upon thy wound,
And tell it so it is not hurt,
With foolish desire to watch it heal.
So loud do they scauf at me,
So I close my eyes to see.
The place in which these memories,
Become lost in the pit of my misery.
But when this place shall pass away,
More loud do their weapons aim,
Toward the heart in which they came.
So lonely do I stand,
No weapon in my hand.
But love shall be thy sword,
And thy sword, thy heart so coldly torn.
|About the author of Beyond Thy Violent Wound
My name is Jon, and I'm 14. So many times I find myself not knowing how to
express my real feelings to friends, and to family. My one escape is poetry.
It's a tool, that so many people posses, but few use. It's the one way I can
share my feelings, my passions, and my desires. I hope you enjoy my work, as
much I do making it.
risk my feelings for a secret
throw out my consciousness
for a place on the wall
a place among the others
and still dig deeper.
still go lower,
I'll never be like you,
surrounded by the judges.
you call yourself acheivers
you call yourself believers,
and you'll call yourself God.
my heart has run dry
from the many punctures of lies
but you'll still risk my feelings for a secret
care less about a rainy day
my consciousness never existed
and neither did I
as far as you or I or the judges could tell
you'll get your place on the wall
but not before killing me.
|About the author:
I'm somewhat new to this website, but thanks to my friend, perhaps I can
share some of my poems. They usually are formed as an escape from my
motions or basically releasing them. Enjoy.
You looked into my eyes, just once.
I've never forgotten those eyes.
You told me you love me, just once.
I felt my exitement rise.
Your hand was in mine, just once.
I felt your warmth and how you cared.
You broke my heart, just once.
I was so alone and scared.
Now once again you look;
Deep into my eyes.
Now once again you reach,
For the hand to which you lied.
And again I long to do
All the things you ask.
Again I want to give my love.
But it's not a simple task.
Just once you took my heart,
And threw it on the floor.
Just once is all it took,
For me to beg "no more."
There are ways to find a man stuck behind his mind.
You could feed the man with thoughts,
Thoughts of fulfillment, joy, gladness.
Once the man is free, he will learn
Not everything is as it seems.
Time fades for the man who hides in his mind.
Believe in the horrors of man or perish by his hand.
The haunting of completely irrevocable sacrifice,
Will forever be daunting in his mind of absolute ignorance.
But the ignorance will eventually fade.
The man does not change,
What he perceives as the world changes,
As he enters the night he will find the demons
The ones who drift among the bigots.
The little tools of failure he uses to become himself,
Will eventually ingest his entire mind.
The child has been freed from his mind,
Now, let him go freely into his own adulterate beginning.
The cynics will devour the man of hatred,
Claiming him as one of his own.
But can a cynic truly be with his own?
A true cynic will stand alone, like the man.
He sees everything and speaks about everything,
But he will not be heard or noticed.
The sun will fall, with the darkness of incomplete tolerance.
Soon, even the cynics will brand him as a fraud.
He will live forever in the minds of the broken,
The ones who see the incredulous motion of eternal bliss.
He will return to his mental stupor after his final curtain,
Only to be forgotten.
They will chuckle and chortle at the man after his chronic demise.
The stars will appear brighter in his mind, in his mind the world is his.
There are no boundaries, there is no fear,
All he has is himself.
His eyes are never seen,
He reveals what he is,
Instead of what he is told to be.
The repetition has changed, in his mind darkness consumes light,
And where there is hatred he does not sow love.
"Oppose those who oppose me, Lord, and fight those who fight against me!
Take your shield and armor and come to save me.
Lift up your spear and your axe against those who pursue me.
Promise that you will save me." - Psalm 35:1-3
Do you not believe in the Son of Man, or God even?
Better yet, do They believe in you?
Calgary, Alberta, Canada
I've been hiding
You've taken me
Pale green eyes,
it makes me shiver,
Cock that grin,
I think I'm falling in love,
Smooth chilled voice
with that tosseled brown
I admire you
(does it show?)
|Well, I decided to experiment with parentheses, and I came out with this.
Time has frozen
Time has frozen
The water still rushes down the stream
The sun and moon still swap positions
The birds still hum
And everyone continues thier everyday life
but for me...
time has frozen
because not one thing I do seems to matter
Except when you're here
I can't feel anything I touch
Except your hand
Except your body
Things don't bother me like they used to
Everything that people say goes on by
Until they speak your name
I enjoy life now
Because it is frozen
So every moment I share with you
Will remain forever
If only in my mind
If only in my heart!
|About the author
I am a 15 year old lover of poetry who writes only from my heart."
Im having trouble sleeping
I feel like I am going to crash and burn
Im having trouble weeping
Maybe this is something I need to learn
The world is spinning downwards
My eyes are blurring up; the light is dark
I just cant still walk forwards
My lips cant form the words to remark
I reach my hands up high now
Grasping for the love I know is lost
My heart is pouring nothing
Out into the sea of those whove forgot
And my chest aches of heartbreak
My eyes come forth to bear their sacred blood
Why must my feelings forsake?
The window opens and out comes the flood
Im crying for the first time in years
My skin is being scorched by my tears
I cant find what doesnt exist
But my heart leads me to persist
I need to find perfection
But perfection just doesnt seem to be near
Of what might seem so far, existing hear
The end is drawing close now
Im about to reach the confrontation
Ive found all thats here to find
My sublimed heart leads to sublimation
Im crying for the first time in years
My skin is being scorched by my tears
I cant find what doesnt exist
But my heart leads me to persist
Oakville, Ontario, Canada
These are the lyrics to a song for which the music has yet to be written.
The pattern is 7,10,7,10 (noticeably), except for the Chorus, which is
completely free verse. However, there are a few cases of hypercatalectic.
She tip-toed over the glass, because he said to.
But once as he turned his head she walked on it. Only to find out it was
|THE NIGHT PRAYER
In the dead of night a scream is heard
An icy hand pulls back the blind
A dog barks, a door slams
A hurried prayer is sent above.
Sent up to the Lord above
to keep her family safe and well,
To bring them home, so she can tell
How much love she has to share
How much love thats everywhere.
The fire has died, the candles out
The clock ticks on, the morn has come
Some poor soul will not return
A prayer of thanks is sent above
For at least today she will not mourn
But one sure thing the night will come
And once again it will begin.
Cambridge, Ontario, Canada
Far of in the universe,
A tear falls.
I feel it.
I see it.
I hear it.
The sadness of one far away reflects within me.
I dream of their life.
I feel their pain.
Yet I feel their joy as well.
I feel joy I cannot comprehend.
Wisdom I cannot truly have learned.
All this I can see,
All this is merely empathy for another soul
Somewhere else in the vastness of space-
And they say we are alone.
Tears of Blood
There is a person in the corner,
>There is a person in the darkness.
>He has been locked in this dungeon,
>So dark that his eyes have become blind.
>He is dieing to get out,
>To leave this prison in his mind.
>Chained to the floor,
>And left to die this way.
>He knows that only he can unlock the door,
>But he does't know how.
>He knows that only he can break the chain,
>But he thinks he is to weak.
>So he sits on the granite floor,
>With his back to the wall.
>He bows his head.
>All he can do is cry and pray to be forgiven.
>The tears taste bitter on his lips.
>They are not normal tears.
>These tears burn his eyes,
>These tears stain the floor.
>Are tears of blood.
>That person in the corner,
>That person in the darkness.
The one I thought was different,
Was just like all the same,Who put me through this misery,
And put me in this pain.
hen we kiss I wonder,
What went through his head?
Was it me he cared for?
Or was it just the bed?
I know I should have never,
become someone like this,
To fall in love so deeply with one fufilling kiss.
Nothing ever happened
Except we aren't quite the same.
We are not together,
Though he says I'm to blame.
So now I lie here writing,telling this story to you,
About someone I fell in love with,
And made me feel so blue.
See, Love is something you should cherish,
And I've tried to in the past.
To find someone who loves me
But now this is my last.
Move Ahead Or Stay Behind
Move Ahead Or Stay Behind
Fate blows my life away from me like a
Desperatly trying to catch up somewhere in it
all I loose myself.
Though I seek and seek I do not find for I
know not where to look.
Through the darkness I wander not knowing
which way I head or am headed.
Struggling for my independence I find myself
hurting as I rip away from my childhood.
Wondering which step to make, which path to
take, whether to even move at all.
Do I risk others for my independence or do I
remain trapped, forever to stay a child?
|About the author of Move Ahead Or Stay Behind. Hi, I'm a Christian. That
may be personal but if I'm as good of Christian as I hope you would know it
if you had met me. I love to write poetry. I also like to write stories
but poetry is my favorite. I don't know what else to say.
An Ocean of Thoughts
On my bed thoughts
to me and
I .......no longer capable of a single
They have mixed and
Strangley even my room and hands seem
to have changed into similar
yet different figures..........
I could never answer that question
because my sight is disfigured
by the crashing waves
surfacing in my mind.
Music becomes my mood
and i am lost
to the lyrics
that never seem to make sense
but tonight have all the
meaning i need.
And i float
away to the stars
closer to God
but farther than ever.
Morning will come and so will myself
although who that is i will
never know for i am
and every morning.
|About The Author:
My name is Sara and i am from Lansing Michigan. I run Cross and Track. I
never used to like writing however, my impression of it has greatly changed
as well as myself since i"ve begun.
I Cried a Million Tears
I cried a million tears one night
For the pain I felt inside
A pain I could no longer conceal
A pain that would not hide
I cried a million tears one night
For the heart in me that breaks
A heart I know you don't deserve
Yet I give to you to take
I cried a million tears one night
For the time I spent with you
The time that we were happy
The time that you were true
I cried a million tears one night
For the feelings inside of me
The feelings that I wish you could find;
Just open your eyes and see
I cried a million tears one night
For the memories that we shared
For the memories of a time now lost
A time I thought you cared
I cried a million tears one night
And wished that you could hear
The pain that I'm constantly put through
When I find that you're not near
I cried a million tears last night
Tears oh so painfully true
I cried a million tears last night
And I cried them all for you.
Grand Ledge, Michigan
Just Another Hopeful
Chipped blue fingernails,
Innocent brooding eyes,
She wants to be an
So she strives,
cut through thick air,
Her pride is devoured by
Anything to keep her away,
Triumph takes the edge
of bitter memories,
The audience swore
Those were real tears,
Maybe they were,
Acting is living,
Writing is breathing,
Loving is lacking,
Wishing life was just
She just wants to be,
A Simple Gesture
A simple gesture.
He turned back towards her.
And his eyes caught hers and
she smiled. The wind blew her
hair, whipping it wildly in all directions.
She pulled her coat closer around
>her to block out the cold.
His mouth turned gently up,
the red of his lips. His eyes
creased slightly with the smile.
Her hand moved slowly to push
the hair out of her eyes. Eyes
the color of the sky, deep and
fascinating. The smooth curves
of her body, hidden beneath her
skirt. He raised his hand to his lips,
hands colored a deep tan with strong
He kissed his fingertips and let the kiss
loose in the
She stroked her cheek, and smiled warmly.
A simple gesture.
He turned back around and
disappeared into the crowd.
She closed her eyes for a moment, her lashes
catching the first new snowflakes,
and walked away.
For every life,
there is an end,
started by a strife,
by taking the wrong bend.
I fear some day,
I will take that turn,
go the wrong way,
forgetting the lesson I should've learned.
I don't know how,
I don't know where,
but I'm sure I will allow,
death to come without much care.
Sometimes I feel,
if I would just die,
ran over by a car wheel,
no one would ever cry.
I fear I'm lost,
my soul is gone,
I've paid the cost,
my debt to society is done.
For they've taken my wings,
I can no longer fly,
my hopes and my dreams,
all that's left is to die.
Die to find true passion,
die for there is no hope,
in this dark world of no compassion,
making it impossible to cope.
Tinley Park, Illinois
|About The Author:
I am a 15 year old writer trying to find my place in life.
Life's a Scream
They look, admiring the pretty picture that is your life.
Didn't anyone tell them it's paint-by-number?
Life's a circus and your the
but the audience paid to see the clowns.
Perfect girl from the perfect home perfect face with the perfect friends
perfect hair with the perfect clothes...
to bad straight jackets don't come with matching purses.
gently wafting through my
Slow motion dreams
as paper tears
burn in shut eyes,
I can't seem to forget
how I felt
not being so,
|About The Author:
I've been writing poetry since 5th grade, I have defiantly grown. I usually just post on a Poetry Board, but I thought it would be neat to see if they were good enough to publish.
Though, I am suffering through a writers block, so this one isn't one of my best works.
The Wonders of Death
As i sit here and begin to write
i see the signs of early night
clouds caress the earth so bold
a sad hatred begins to unfold
A river runs by, so sweet the flow
i walk up near it, nice and slow
quiet now, night is here
shadows loom, endure the fear
The moon hovers white in the fog-filled sky
as i turn around i hear a soft cry
A silent child sits near me
his eyes large, deep and empty
his beautiful, luminous eyes held all
i looked deep inside and felt myself fall
i see my future and past go by
and realize my life was just a lie
the child pulls me in his tears
shows me the world, and all its drears
closed me down, and took my life
he took my pain and all its strife
bringing me to what i lived a life for
erased my past whish made my heart sore
the time is now, my life is gone
God is calling from tommarows dawn
Its time to join him in solitude
a place for love and a happy mood
Goodbye earth, sun and moon
Ill see you all again someday soon.
Port Charlotte, Florida
|About the author of Allison Coggan. She lives in a small boring town in
south west Florida with her parents, grandmother, and two siblings.Not to
mention her four beautiful cats. She enjoys oil painting, writing short
stories and poetry, drawing, and listening to all kinds of music..She loves
ska and punk music, not to mention the oldies. In August she will be
attending the nineth grade, hoping to be in Drama to help with her acting
and stage fright. Also in August, she will be graduating the APP(Advanced
profesional modeling program) at the barbizon school of modeling. She soon
hopes to get an agent or two to continue her modeling career she had started
when she was eight years old. You will see more of her work soon!=)
Mounty, My Sister who Never Appears
19th December 1983.
It was night and cold.
We were in the hospital.
Waiting for a new born baby.
Suddenly the doctor came from the operating room.
And told us that he'd failed to save the baby.
That she was too young to be born.
But she was too innocent to deserve death.
My own sister who never felt the world.
My own sister that I always wanted.
My own sister who is always in my heart.
And my own sister who is always in my dreams.
She left before she met me.
She left without any feeling.
And she left without any sins.
But she died sadly.
I hear you whisper something to me.
I hear you cheering me when I am sad.
I know you are alive.
You just don't want to show yourself.
I ask you when we will meet.
I ask you when we will be together.
But you never tell me about this.
And I don't care about it, I'll keep dreaming just the same.
Union City, New Jersey
|About the author of mounty my sister who never appears. I am high school student. i like to write poetry, and short story. This poem is about my sister who died at her birth day. It is real story.
Comments: I like this site
A Christmas Story
We all have people that touch us in this way that no one else ever could.
My person died tonight. Jason was born with HIV; his mother gave it to him.
He was so strong and full of hope I thought God wouldnt take his life, but
God did. Now I am all alone.
I met Jason in high school; we had some classes together. He was a your
average teen boy, or so I thought. He liked sports, liked girls, everything
a teenage boy is supposed to like. I never knew he had AIDS. We became
friends quickly; he was such a likeable, outgoing person. Our friendship
grew over weeks and months and we became really close. Jason was my best
friend. One night we were watching a TV movie and the guy had AIDS and had
to tell his girlfriend. It was a sad movie. I could not imagine what that
would be like. Jason looked at me and said, Haylee, I want to tell you
something. I have AIDS. I sat there in shock, not wanting to believe it.
I sat there thinking not him, not him. I didn't know anyone with AIDS, and
my best friend just told me he has it. I wanted to believe it was a joke,
although I knew it was not. It must have been incredibly hard for him to
tell me that. I was never afraid of him; I knew how you could and couldnt
get it. Jason and I talked for hours after that. I had questions that I
did not want to ask, and he knew it. Therefore, he told me that he got it
from his mother when he was a baby. She had the virus and didn't know it
and passed it on to him. He never resented her for it, and decided that,
that was what God had planned for him. I guess that made it easier for him
to accept. He told me that he had come to terms with it, and it did not
bother him much anymore. He was a true fighter. He did have problems
though, when he got sick, or when people found out. Not everyone wanted to
accept it. Many ignorant people would shun him and cast him away. He said
that he hated it when people were narrow-minded. I'm glad that I was taught
about the disease and had no reservations about him. I'm sure Jason was
Jason and I only grew closer after that. One day I started to look at Jason
differently; I looked at him more than just a friend. I had a crush on
Jason. He was a great guy, and so full of life that at times I forgot he
has a terminal illness. Despite the fact that Jason could die before a cure
was found, I liked him. Little did I know Jason was feeling the same way.
We were taking a walk around the lake one spring day and I remember him
looking at me and smiling. I said, What? And Jason just hugged me and
gave me a kiss. I was so surprised and happy. My stomach has butterflies and
my heart beating so hard I thought Jason might hear it. I told him I had
been waiting a long time for him to do that. And he said, Me too. Jason
asked me out that day, on the lake. It was one of my favorite memories of
Jason and I going out concerned many people. My parents were scared I would
sleep with him and contract the virus. My parents and friends were scared
he was going to die, and I wouldnt know what to do with myself. I know that
they only wanted to keep me from pain, but pain is inevitable in any
relationship I told them. I also told them that we are all dying. I know
they were not happy about me going out with Jason, but a part of them loved
Jason just as much as I did.
I remember the night Jason had to go to the hospital. Out of no where he
had taken a turn for the worse. It was around Christmas time. Jason, I, and
all of our friends had a huge snow fight. He caught the flu from being out
in the cold, or maybe he caught it from someone is school. Either way Jason
ended up getting sick. I came home one afternoon from Christmas shopping
with my friends when my Mom told me Jason was in the hospital. I told her I
wanted to see him right away.
I walked into his hospital room to see him sleeping. It scared me. It then
hit me Jason had AIDS; Jason could die; Jason was not invincible. Im glad
he was asleep, so he couldnt see my tears. I gave him a kiss on the head
Jason stayed in the hospital for a couple weeks. He had to spend Christmas
Eve in the hospital. I went to visit him and we had dinner in his hospital
room. I was trying to make it the best for him I could. But there's not
much you can do in a hospital room. We were watching some Christmas movie
on TV when Jason said there was something he wanted to tell me. I looked
and him and waited for what was coming. I was positive it was going to be
bad news. Haylee, things dont look good. The doctor said my T-cell count
has dropped dramatically. I might not make it through this. I want you to
know something. I love you. I started crying. I could not help it. I
told him he was wrong that he was too strong, too nice, too loving to die.
All we had to do was pray and believe that he would make it through this and
he would. He tried to hold me, but he was too weak. I was crying because
of how much pain he was in, how he looked, he looked so sick, because he was
giving up, because I knew my first love was dying. I kept a good outlook on
things the year and half we were going out, but on Christmas Eve everything
fell apart. The nurse came in and told me I had to go, visiting hours were
over. I told Jason I would be there first thing in the morning to exchange
I woke up Christmas morning really upset. It is bad enough by the time you
are 16 Christmas has lost some of its magic, but it was even worse when you
were told last night that youre boyfriend was going to die. I got up and
took a shower. I couldn't eat; I hadn't been able to for days. I went to
the hospital see my sweetheart. Who would of known it would be the last
time. I put on a smile before I walked into his room; he hated seeing me
upset. When I walked in he was smiling and telling me how glad he was to
see me. I sat down next to him on the bed holding in the tears. I gave him
his present; a gold chain we saw once in a store. Aww thanks Haylee, you
remembered how bad I wanted this. Then he gave me my present. He gave me
a huge teddy bear with a necklace around its neck. On the chain was a
guardian angel. Jason took the necklace off and put it on me. I looked
at the angel, knowing that this was his way of telling me he would be my
guardian angel. I started crying I couldnt help it anymore. That is when
I heard him breathing more slowly and quietly. Jason was dying. I took of
my cross that I had been given at my conformation and put it around Jasons
hands and told him I wanted him to have it. I love you Haylee, be strong,
well meet again some day. I will always be watching over you. I'm your
guardian angel. I was sobbing. Not wanting to hear him. How could he
leave me? It wasn't fair! Why did God take him? He was too young to die!
I love you Jason. Then I kissed him. Bye, Haylee, Jason said. And
before I had the chance to respond he was gone. I sat there holding him in
my arms crying and that stupid machine with its endless beep. His Mom heard
me crying and came in. She sat there holding me and Jason crying.
I am not sure when or how I got home. I just remember waking up and my
little sister telling me to come out to the tree to open presents. I pulled
myself together and went out there. And we opened gifts as a family. That
was a couple hours ago. Im sitting here awake and writing because I cant
fall asleep. Its kind of funny no one knows what to say to me or what to
do. They just say sorry and tell me everything is going to be okay. But
it's not okay, and it's not going to be for a long time. My phone has been
ringing all day, but I dont want to take anymore calls. I just want to lay
here. I am going to put my pen and paper away now. But before I do I want
to say good-bye to Jason. My nana always told me I could talk to someone in
heaven if I talked to the stars. So, I look out at the stars and tell Jason
I love him and good night.
The foundation of the new building had just been dug. There was only a
big hole in the ground and a big pile of dirt off to the right. My brother, Allen, and I
were out checking the beginnings of the new building, when Aunt Amy and Uncle Michael pulled up.
It was a short walk back to the house. On our way back, we plotted a story about the dirt pile to try and trick our cousins, Nicholas and Angela.
As we were walking back to where the hole in the ground was, we tried our hardest to convince Nicholas and Angela that a meteorite had landed in that spot.
"A real meteorite landed here. We were really lucky, because it landed in the exact same spot that we wanted to build." I explained.
"Don't go near that pile of dirt. You'll die if you even touch the dirt. The meteorite is
radioactive. It is buried underneath that pile of dirt to keep the radiation from escaping," Allen said rather convincingly.
The story kept getting wilder and wilder. We told Nicholas and Angela that scientists had already been out to look at it. The scientists warned us about the harmful effects of playing on the dirt. The glowing color of the dirt, in the sun,
made our story even more believable. It was a bright sunny day, there were
no clouds in the sky. On days like these, the dirt becomes bright yellow.
The other buildings around cast shadows around the base of the "dirt
mountain". The shadows cause the mountain to have a glowing appearance.
Angela never did want to believe us. She kept talking Nicholas into not
believing us too. I finally took her aside and told her the truth, because I knew that she would play along and help us trick Nicholas.
Before Nicholas and Angela had come, I had put the orange flags that the
builders had used to mark off the boundaries on top of the mountain. We told Nicholas that the scientists had put them there to mark off where the most radioactive parts of the mountain were. It took a lot of >persuading, but we finally convinced Nicholas that a meteorite had landed in our backyard.
As we were walking back to the house, Nicholas was in awe of the mountain.
Allen, Angela and I laughed all the way back to the house. Grandpa was in
the barnyard playing with the dog, when we came up the hill from the new
building. Nicholas ran over to tell him of the big news. We stood behind
Nicholas and mouthed to Grandpa to just play along. Grandpa has a great
sense of humor, and played along. Nick still was trying to talk himself out
of believing our story, and was asking lots of questions.
Allen, Angela, and I left Nicholas talking to Grandpa, and we went in the house. When we got in the house, we busted out laughing.
"How could he be so gullible?" I asked. "He's twelve, old enough to know
The adults in the house wanted to know what was so funny. Once we told
them the story, they busted out laughing, too. Nicholas came in soon after,
and there was an uneasiness in the room. Everyone was about to bust at the
seams. After a long silence, Allen finally spoke up, and told Nicholas the
truth. Everyone in the room laughed so hard when they saw the look on his
face. The mountain was nicknamed "Mount Sputnick." Nicholas did not think
that it was as funny as we thought that it was. For years afterward, we
laughed at him. As long as the mountain stands, the story of "Mount
Sputnick" will always be remembered.
Oakville, Ontario, Canada
|About the author of "Mount Sputnick"
Life on a farm is a lot of fun and work. To be a good farmer, you have
to have a good sense of humor. To pass the time, we like to play jokes on
each other and try to trick others. My brother and I were blessed with
with a good sense of humor. We like to pick on the extremely gullible. The
whole ordeal was really easy to pull off.
A Gratuitous Blaze of Glory
On someday, on a random field, a battle had occurred. The day was a
cloudless day, yet it seemed so full of haze. One could not tell if the day
were early dawn or late afternoon, for the sun was only half over the
horizon. The sky was a crimson red for no apparent reason. It was as
though some great deity had cleaved a wound into the bluish flesh of the
heavens. As for the haze, it was because of shells exploding in the air.
On chaotic plains below, an enormous flatland exposed foxholes and wiry
fencing. No greenery had dared to show foliage in this rampage of
humankind. The soil was inadvertently upturned by bullets and bombs. In
some areas it was unnaturally black from the searing heat of civilizations
fire and might.
Major Havock, exploded out of a foxhole. A mysterious grin covered the
lower part of his face. Havocks grin was famous, because his teeth appear
so maniacally clenched together that it appears that they were inseparable.
Through his teeth, he gave a menacing laugh. Major Havock was an abnormally
tall soldier with a standard crew cut haircut, in which his hair was
probably immovable. His dress consisted of shining black boots, tightly
laced, fatigue pants, a helmet, and a full metal jacket. He was armed with
several grenades, two assault rifles, and a pistol. Although the pistol had
eight significant rounds, Major Havock saw no use for it. He tossed it
aside. He opened his ensnaring jaws, licked his lips, and grinned again. He
drew the two weapons from his broad shoulders, and continued the madness.
Here he is, our "hero," with two blazing guns. Each searing bullet
ripped through another mans flesh Shoulder, leg, stomach, chest or even
head, it mattered not, for the bullets had no conscience, and neither did
Major Havock. Amid the bedlam of whirring bullets, it was a wonder Havock
was never struck. With each bullet that curved just past his head, he felt
more and more like God. He imagined himself out of body and seeing himself
from a birds eye. He saw himself as master of all and taming all that was
his. With his two guns drawn, the ammo seemed infinite. A fire expelled
with each blast from each barrel, like a cascading stream. Each bullet
seemed like a link of a chain. It was as though he held torches. The prize
was near. What prize was there for our hero? What was he even fighting for?
What good was he doing? What nation did he fight for? What king or queen did
he bend his knee for?
Suddenly, he became a figurine holding only matches. Every one of his
bullets was for nothing. His was a gratuitous blaze of glory. His grin
disappeared, and all of a sudden a --click--. His frenzied torches had
Havock became frantic and reached for his grenades. His hands began to
shake and sweat. The bitter fluid flowed into his red eyes. His breath came
in rapid gasps. When his rough hands had finally perceived the grenades,
they were useless. He could not find it in his power to control the shaking
of his hands nor pull the pins the pins.
He discarded his useless weapons and began to run. It didnt matter
anymore. He just ran. He saw the fury in its reality. Each time a bullet
passed him, he his doom was certain. He ran farther and farther until he
saw a foxhole.
He wasted no time, and gave a dive. In this prayerful leap, he saw a
savior; he felt Providence. He landed with a breathless thud. Frantically,
he squirmed his back to a wall of dirt. To his uttermost dismay, he saw an
enemy soldier. Major Havock reached for his holster; it was empty!
Overcome by hopelessness, he stood up; his arms raised in failure. The enemy
nonchalantly drew his pistol, and fired twice into the heart of our "hero."
Havock staggered back against the dirt wall of the foxhole, which he
once thought would offer comfort. He was not dead. Like an animal, he beat
his chest to alleviate the pain of forming bruises. He ripped open that
armor that had saved him, and breathed the most beautiful breath he had ever
taken. Now lying on the floor, still gasping for air, he could hear
footsteps. Paralyzed, he felt that doom had arrived. The enemy soldier
stood over Major Havock and held his shoulder with the opposing arm, for a
bullet of our hero had found its way into his flesh. The soldier held his
pistol to our heros head. After that, there was just light.
"Douglas, time for dinner. Leave those soldiers alone, and come
inside!" a woman yelled from a partly open screen door. "Bryan, get you
brother to come in now. Its getting late."
Bryan glided down a few steps and walked into the dirt driveway. He
stood over Douglas and shadowed his toy soldiers. Bryan cocked his head,
and observed him astutely. Suddenly, he punched Douglas in the shoulder.
Douglas began to cry. While nursing his shoulder, he ran off screaming,
Bryan observed the scene abandoned by his brother. Two soldiers lay
within a shallow pit in the dirt. One was lying on the floor, cringing with
fear, and the other was pointing a gun at the other. He shook his head in
disapproval and sighed, "What a baby." He turned away, and began to walk. He
shoved his hands into his jeans, and gave a menacing grin to the world for
no apparent reason.
Los Angeles, California
|About the author of A Gratuitous Blaze of Glory
I watched out the toe printed window, as the clouds slowly drifted
past me, waving, waving goodbye. I rode in the backseat of a green mini van.
We rented it, and it smelled new. I always loved how the scent sunk into my
skin, so I could pretend, to be new, too, if only for a day.
Five pillows propped underneath my head and one in my arms, I
couldn't quite get, comfortable, though with all the comfort.
Three hours of un-touched fields and spring green trees passed by
me. I listened to the two Grandmas in the middle seat, talking about how
beatiful the trees were. I tried to see the beauty, and wondered what they
saw, that I didn't.
The road sang it's own lullaby, rocking me into a half consious
state. I felt the frosty cold of glass against my feet. I wondered if my
blue toe nails matched the sky.
It was just another one of those trips, my family loves to take.
Just to see cousins in other places or to relax beside a secluded lake. I
hear my mom put in a tape, as I reach for my CD player, knowing John Denver
seeping through the van's speakers won't calm my mind.
Time to slip into another musical hour with Silver Chair.
Concentrating on the proud assembly of clouds, I smile. They rush
by, as we rush by. I can see them, waving, waving goodbye, and I close my
Just another one of those road trips.
|I had just gotten back from a road trip, and it was fresh on my mind, so I decided to write about it.
All I needed to know I learned from Indiana Jones
Indiana Jones, with his sleek hat and leather whip, was probably my first inspiration on wanting to become an archeologist. He fought off Nazis and barbaric sacrilegious tribes, while at the same time conserving ancient relics. His job led him into the depths of the world’s most exotic and mysterious locations where he met the most unusual characters. His crusades filled my mind with dreams of visiting far away lands and unforeseen places where I would unearth long forgotten treasures. I foresaw museums exhibiting an entire collection of Mayan antiquities that I had discovered deep within the Yucatan and hoards of the world’s most prominent scientists would attend the unveiling. Junior high students, with their mouths full of bubble gum, would be forced into taking field trips to the museum just to see my collection. And, of course, even though they might be a little bored, they wouldn’t mind much because it would mean getting out of classes for a day.
Thus, after seeing The Lost Ark maybe too many times, I began my search for activities that would prepare me for my future occupation. My father enriched my digging capabilities by taking my brother and I on fossil hunts. We’d role up our pants and carry our sifters through the creeks of Poricy Park hoping to find the remains of ancient marine life. Many brachiopods¬ later, we found ourselves cutting open rocks under the Swatara Gap overpass in Pennsylvania. Our mission: to locate and collect as many trilobitesÁ as humanly possible. At first the only thing my brother found was an ancient copper penny from 1975, which needless to say wasn’t exactly what we were looking for. It took many hours of laboring before I, purely by luck, picked up just the right rock that inside held a complete remnent of a trilobite. No one had seen this fossilized being since the Paleozoic Era, five hundred and fifty million years ago, and I found it!
Replacing oceanic fossils, were the Anastazi cliff dwellings at Mesa Verde. Crammed into the cliffs of a plateau was an entire civilization. The black ceilings of the cliffs are evidence of the fires that burnt to keep the Indians warm. Just as the outline of the pit-like Kievs was all that remained of their religious denomination. Like most studies of ancient civilizations, an abundance of the information about the Anastazi was acquired from rummaging through their garbage. Much like the revealing papers that you might find in a politician’s wastebasket, facts about the Anastazi way of life were glued together from scraps found in the trash. To quote the often spoken words of the Fraggles of Fraggle Rock, "The trash heap has spoken."
Nothing prepared me, however, for what I found in the basement of an ancient Roman home in Maresha, Israel. We were filling up buckets of dirt from the basement floor to sift through. I brought up a bucket and, with some considerable help, sifted the soil. Then, all of a sudden I caught an object in the corner of my eye and, with a surge of adrenaline pumping through my system, grabbed it. It was an oil lamp! It’s hard to believe that a simple clay object could arouse such attention, but it’s like finding a needle in a haystack, except this was surely more important than any needle. Someone long ago, who lived in the very same house that now had turned to ruins, had crafted this lamp with their own hands and now I was holding it. Thank goodness, I didn’t drop it.
From the mud of a creek, the wastelands of Indians, and the basement of Romans, I found not only fossils and oil lamps, but also a sense of humanity. Even though Indiana Jones was the icing on the cake, so to speak, on why I want to be an archeologist, the most significant reason is a longing to know where I came from. How did humans get where we are today and what mistakes do we have to learn from in order to ensure a continued dominance? These are all questions of which the answers aren’t easily found. So, we must continue opening our history books and watching documentaries for the simple fact that, We won’t know where we’re going until we know where we’ve been.
1. Brachiopods, phylum Brachiopoda, are bivalved marine invertebrate: they were extremely abundant during the Paleozoic Era.
2. Trilobites, phylum Arthropoda, are marine invertebrates, consisting of 4,000 known species that were abundant during the Paleozoic Era. Most trilobite’s range from one to three inches, but some known species have been known to exceed one foot in length. One of the closest living relatives to the trilobite is the horseshoe crab.
Hazlet, New Jersey
Left in the Dark as America Shades My Eyes
Wouldn't it be great if there was a country that stood for freedom and a flag that represented freedom to all through the world? Freedom, now that is hard to come by these days, especially when simple freedoms such as the freedom to read is taken away. Ordinary People by Judith Guest is an example of a novel which has been censored many times. Although "censorship" or "censor" is defined by the Webster's Dictionary as "one appointed to examine books, plays, newspaper articles, etc. before publication, and ban them if containing anything objectionable," censorship is just an old tradition of those in power with the attempt to keep decency and ignorance among the people. Much of the greatest literature in the world that actually provides important values for individuals are or have been banned. It is too bad that censorship has continued this far with society and still affects every part of the world. Even America, a name which rings freedom to many people in nations across the world, still holds this immoral tradition of banning literature from its citizens contradicting its free name.
The United States of America's constitution should protect the "god given" freedoms of those governed under their democratic government. The First Amendment of the constitution states: "Congress shall make no law...abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press." Even with this amendment, the continuous banning of literature still occurs. What happened to the rights of the people? Isn't censorship technically illegal within America? According to the Westchester statement: "the freedom to read is guaranteed by the constitution" (Haight 126). So the right to read is not to be tampered with; however, society and the government take actions which makes that statement hypocritical. The government unfortunately restricts adversely related items into the United States (140). Yes, that may protect the stability of the country but still discourages originality and the realistic view that there is more to the world than the American way of life. No one or idea should be censored based on original ideas because that "would mark the end of the democratic process" itself (126). For as long in history that censorship has been around, it is a shame that America itself has sunk into that spell.
Censorship has been continuing far before the turn of this millennium. Even before the birth of Christ, censorship has been building a solid foundation in Earth's history. Over two thousand years ago in 387 B.C., a man called Plato made an attempt to ban Homer's The Odyssey (Schuldt 1). This just shows the striking similarity between censorship then and now. People were able to ban a book just because they objected to its contents. Even the Bible was banned from people throughout the world causing certain countries such as Russia only to allow anti-religious books (1). How can a book as respected and followed as the Bible be banned from human eyes? The arguments against the Bible were that it was found "lewd, indecent, and violent...obscene and pornographic," and that there are "over three hundred examples of obscenities in the Bible" (1). The Bible keeps the faith of many individuals throughout the world making its banning seem like an impossible task but it has been done many times. Because censorship has continued so long, man unfortunately has created multiple ways to censor.
Throughout time, many ways to censor have come about, some just and some unjust. Parents and librarians have created "Stealth Censorship" where books have been pulled off shelves due to disapproval and/or fear (Staples 1). Unfortunately, these people are ignorant about the contents of the material they slip off shelves. Most of the material have important values and experiences which could benefit students through life. So why would people make such irresponsible decisions? librarians fear for the loss of their job or the hassle they may have to deal with after a complaint has been made (1). Protection is the motive in parents' actions. Instead of letting children read and experience horrible events through a book, "parents want to protect their children from the vulgar side of life" (Keller-Gage N. Pg.). Unfortunately, parents are only harming their children. Children should be prepared for life rather than protected from it. Stealth Censorship is not the only way to censor. Institutions have created a more just and open style which is based on a system of votes. High school boards ban books based mostly on the complaints of parents as was the case with Ordinary People and Lancaster High School. This way of censoring fortunately can be appealed against and brought to the attention of anti-censorship organizations. Also, students can also give their own views on the banning and put up their own fight. As people and groups continue their banning procedures, they constantly create and support reasons for censorship.
For particular reasons, Ordinary People has been banned from school communities all over the nation. Few of these reasons are that this novel "contains foul language, graphic references to sex, and inappropriate handling of the subject of suicide" (Rey N. Pg.). In reality, these situations are very true in today's society. Most parents believe that their children cannot absorb these ideas but actually "kids are more capable of grasping complexity than parents give them credit for" (Staples 3). Many people, students and adults, use foul language and talk about sex in a graphic nature. It would be ironic to deny these situations from existence in our society. Maybe suicide is a less constant occurrence but what exactly is inappropriate use of suicide? Is there an appropriate use of this situation in novels? Probably not; however, when Ordinary People is read, people will see a "strong, honest portrait of a troubled boy" with experiences that will help others in similar conflicts (Dickenstein 18). People even banned the novel because they thought it would influence teenagers to become rebellious against their parents (Wilgoren N.Pg.). That is just a phase of a growing generation. No person should be thought of as a bad person because of unique views, styles, and distastes for an older generation. Anne Haight believes anything new is rebellious "until [that] idea is refined and tested" (126). Fighting these adverse claims against Ordinary People is a difficult battle; furthermore, many more arguments against the novel still keep arising.
After talk about sex, suicide, and rebellion, new negative claims against Ordinary People still come about. One of the stronger arguments is the books use foul language. According to Wilgoren: "the themes in the book are way more threatening than the language" (Wilgoren N. Pg.). This fact happens to be very true. People have attacked Ordinary People for many indecent four letter words like "f*** and "s***," but what is discussed in the novel is far more intimidating then words heard and used in everyday life. Reading someone say "I tried to off myself" may make people a little uneasy about the novel (Guest 41). Now put a gory description of blood, bubbling arteries with a slippery blood flooded room to support-"I tried to off myself" and a strong censoring argument is born (213). It is said that idea's from outside sources can influence individuals and if that is true, the book should be banned to avoid people slitting their wrists. That happens to be another major argument. Also casual talk of masturbation is used occasionally which refers back to sex. Along with sex and masturbation comes sexist remarks which points women as toys to be played with: '...breasts and legs and round-apple asses that [Cal] would like to fit his hands around..." (137). Women all over the country constantly fight against those who see them as toys. Although these negative arguments come strongly from people with major views, there will always be people that have positive arguments for the book.
Even if "Ordinary People is among the most frequently challenged books nationwide," many people are still against its banning (Wilgoren N. Pg.). Many students, specifically teenagers, are experiencing the most depressing and stressful years of their lives; in addition, these individuals feel like their problems are their own and they have no one to relate to. Ordinary People happens to be a novel that students can relate to and which "helps [students] understand they are not alone" (Wilgoren N. Pg.). Not only that but students can get an idea of where they are in their lives, where they are headed and who they are by reading Ordinary People and other controversial books (Staples 1). Because books have deeper meanings under its surface, many parents believe authors and publishers are pursuing to influence others (Staples 2). Actually, those immoral and disturbing subjects are usually just being acknowledged so that individuals can be discouraged by such situations. Who actually would read about Conrad slitting his wrists then inflicting upon themselves that same horrific scenario. Reading a book like Ordinary People helps people think and talk about problematic subjects in new ways (Wilgoren N. Pg.). Because of this, individuals can seek help and be helped before unfortunate results happen. If this novel is such a positive influence on others, why do people insist on making cases to ban it?
Ordinary People has been challenged and/or banned in many areas throughout the United States. Kennedy High School in La Palma is a good example of where the novel was banned (Wilgoren N. Pg.). One person said that the book "was a slap in [her] face" because she brought up her son sheltered from the ideas in the novel. What she does not know is how the book is indirectly preparing her son for life. Fortunately, the State Department of Education rejected the request but she continued on fighting. Another case is with Lancaster High, a school that actually banned the book. (Rey N. Pg.). Of course it was banned due to a complaint from an ignorant parent. Because of the school's inappropriate procedure in censoring the book, they now have a prestigious organization watching carefully over them. Hopefully, the close watch from the New York Civil Liberties Union will influence the school to allow the book into the school. It is a shame that another organization has to frighten a school from undoing its abominable acts. If the free United States can tolerate challenges against this novel and the freedom to read, one must wonder whether there really is a true free democratic society in this world.
The United States is in the middle of the information age, yet it bans information from human eyes. Why can't it follow the laws set in the constitution? What is to be afraid of? Ideas are born everyday, and almost everyone knows about communism but there is no one leading a potential threat toward the country. Corruption has taken over this nation and has led everyone into a dark hole of ignorance. That is why censorship is allowed and done everyday. Every year, there is another case for a books banning, and everytime the same arguments are brought up; nevertheless, censorship was allowed to be attempted because someone wanted someone else to lose a wonderful opportunity to experience something wonderful. This country has to discontinue censorship because later-"If nobody speaks up, somebody will tell us all what to say" ("Flap" N. Pg.).
Alle, John, ed. Webster's Dictionary. 1984. Chicago: Wilcox and Follett.
Dickenstein, Lore. "Ordinary People and a Fine Romance." The New York Times Book Review. 18 July 1976. 14, 18, 22.
"First Amendment." United States Constitution.
"Flap Over 'Ordinary People' is an Insult to Our Youth." The Buffalo News. 1996. 2b.
Guest, Judith. Ordinary People. New York: Bowker. 1955.
Keller-Gage, Shelley. "Censored: The Cather in the Rye." Family Circle. 13 March 1990. 182.
Ray, Jay. "Lancaster Board's Removal of Book Criticized by Civil Liberties Union." The Buffalo Nwws. 13 June 1996. 1D.
Schuldt, Christy. "Hendrix College Profile: Book Banning Threatens Freedom." Online. America Online. 1-2. 8 Oct. 1998. Available: http://hendrix.edu/profile/09.21.95/banned.html.
Staples, Suzzane. "What Johnny Can't Read-Censorship in American Libraries." Online. America Online. 7 October 1998. Available: http://scholar.lib.vt.edu/ejournals/alan/winter96/pubconn.html.
Wilgoren, Jodi. "Teaching Life Lessons." Los Angeles Times. 14 June 1994. E1.
La Mesa, California