This is the new version of "Sniffles." I wasn't really happy with that poem, and I wrote it while I was sick, so I decided to take the same assignment and write a new poem. See if you can find the influence of Paul's physics book.
Friction
Two objects in motion
Accelerate to a point
In the distance.
If one of them slows,
Changes course,
Or slams into a brick wall
Then how would that
Change the outcome?
If I could make
One person in the
World see sense-
I would take two
Hot Wheels cars
And drive them
In opposite directions.
See, honey?
This one’s you
And this one’s
Trevor.
Maybe the visuals
Would help,
So far my mission
Has been
Remarkably
Unsuccessful.
Can’t she see
They rub each other
The wrong way?
This isn't really a poem, it's more like a string of thought, but we were asked to include it in our poetry books. Basically we had to start with an object, and then from that object associate with other objects and on and on until we were out of time.
This Isn’t Poetry
Sterling silver ring
Flowers
Leaves
Vines
Ivy
Poison ivy
Batman
Comic books
Ink
Pen
Writing
Scrolls
Dead Sea
Salt
Flavor
Indian food
Full
Tank
War
Helmet
Bicycle
Wheel
Spokes
Chopsticks
Rice
Chinese food
Sticky tables
Water refills before your glass is empty
Clink
Shoes
Walk
Sidewalk
Tree
Leaves
Ground up leaves
Wet
Smelly dog
Miya
Skunks
Raccoons
University of Oregon
Locking Derek out of the van
Speech and debate
High school
No sleep
Last night
Dinner
Ring
1920s
Flappers
Red lipstick
Smoking
Grandmother
Sick
Fever
Flu
Birds.
This was an unassigned poem that I wrote during the revision process
Copper
My mom called me tonight
And she told me that she took
My sixteen-year-old puppy to the vet.
There was a growth in his mouth.
It’s benign, but Dr. Milner
Still took blood from my
Puppy to see what the other
Growths are. He’s got high blood
Pressure. His joints ache. He hardly
Bothers to lift his leg.
He used to roll over for carrots.
He used to fetch the tennis ball
Until I couldn’t stand to touch
The slobbery thing anymore.
He used to hear when you called
And come running.
He used to sleep on my bed,
In the least convenient spot.
He used to cover me in the hairs
He shed, not seasonally, but every
Single second.
He used to sit in my lap, though
He was clearly too big to be there.
And now I see his coat turning
Nearly white. It used to be like
A dirty penny. I remember picking
Him out at the pound. He was three
Months old, I was three years old.
I named him after the Disney movie-
I always cry when I see that movie.
And now I hear him clunking down
The stairs instead of padding down
Them lightly. He only barks when Miya
Does, she’s the only thing he can still
Hear. Every time he looks at me,
I want to cry.
I don’t want him to go
Without me there.
This poem I took from the class assignment poem. I didn't like very much of that poem, but there were a few lines about my trip to Mexico that stood out, so I turned them into a new poem:
One of the Guides Said scream
Walking down the cobblestone streets in Puerto Vallarta, black
Sunglasses, tendrils of hair whipping back and forth,
Volkswagen Beetles lining every street, too numerous
To count. A man was building statues from sand
On the beach. Men and women and saints being
Pressed together into form. More statues lined the waterfront,
Surrealist sculptures that surprised me with squat figures
Climbing ladders. Papa always taking pictures of us,
Or of bits of scenery that later turned out to be
Nothing but green blurs. Our shirts stuck to our skin,
We constantly lifted our sunglasses off the bridge
Of our noses, to wipe of the beads of sweat that had
Collected there in the thirty seconds since we had
Last wiped them off. Abby had her first taste of tequila-
Does it count considering it was flavored tequila?
Mango tequila, pomegranate tequila, sour tequila, and
A cherry tequila that tasted like cough syrup. Papa bought
Two bottles of the shop’s finest. Dad loved his.
What could have possessed us to ride in a “safari” truck
With a mostly open compartment in the back with
Benches lining the sides? Grit found its way into our eyes,
Nose, and mouth. I knew that everything valuable would
Be lost in the constant jarring. I wanted Papa to put his
Camera away. For the first time, the girls saw poverty-
Houses constructed from left over wood and aluminum,
Roofs covered in jagged bits of glass, two little girls,
Probably five or six years old walking hand in hand
With bare feet and ragged dresses, stray dogs lounging
On concrete or dirt or mud. We rode by the prison.
And then suddenly it was all replaced by leafy green,
And it started to rain. But the rain kept the bugs and
The heat away. I was grateful. I had enough to worry about.
I thought we were going to die in the middle of the jungle,
Eaten by whatever lives on the forest floor. The ropes
And platforms couldn’t possibly withstand this constant use.
I was shaking when it was my turn for the first time.
I was going to be sick. One of the guides said scream.
I sounded like I was being murdered. And then the next
Time, I pursed my lips together out of embarrassment
From Carrie’s teasing. I looked around and I saw how beautiful
It was. And now I never wanted to do it again.
Papa was waiting for us when we were done.
He had opted out of the brutal second half.
I wished I had done the same. The ride back
Took less time, but the whole way back the girls asked
Me what time it was every two or three minutes-
Or maybe that was just me looking at my watch.
We had to make it back in time for dinner.
We had earned it. We got back and then we were running
For the ship. My purse fell in the wet twilight, scattering
My things. I scooped them up and sprinted
To catch up with the girls. We were out of breath-
Moving as quickly as possible towards the cabin,
Yelling and scrambling over each other to change
Into clothes that weren’t drenched and slap on
Some makeup. We didn’t get lost on the way to the
Dining room. We were the first ones to the table.
Time to eat. Time to breathe.
