It's been about a month and a half..

Well, I apologize that I haven't posted in... about two months. I just got lazy and was caught up in school work. Sometimes I just wish all the work would disappear.
I got back on and noticed two new followers, welcome to insanity. It's summer now and, it's very relaxing so far. I have Cinnamon Toast Crunch stuck to my teeth and I can hear Finn and Rachel singing faintly. Yeah, not a very happy image but to me it symbolizes my laziness and happiness. I wrote a poem a while ago but misplaced it and since I have posted a lot of poems by myself lately I think it's time to move back to real poets. Poets that actually edit their poems unlike myself. Why you ask? 1. I'm not good at editing, however after reading my grammar book from English class for a final I am just now realizing all the annoying little mistakes. My bad. 2. I just am too lazy to edit them.
Crappy excuses but you know, I am a teenager and teenagers tend to have illegitimate excuses. My birthday passed a few days ago and it was fabulous. I got my own camera so now I don't have to steal my sisters. To top it off my mother made a chocolate cheesecake and I got to meet up with my writing buddies. It was a good day.
So, now for me to stop being so self centered and talking about myself.

Basho background stuff:

OK, from what I remembered in creative writing Basho is this really famous haiku dude who lived in Japan in the seventeenth century. It was either him or this other guy that really changed haiku, and I'm pretty sure it was him. Please keep in mind the syllables in Japanese match the simple 5-7-5 structure and in English there is a large change it won't match the structure.
Here are a few of his works, eat'm up:


((This was after his buddy died.))
Falling sick on a journey
My dream goes wandering
On a field of dried grass.

^^^^^ SAD. D:

And now for the rest:


From moon wreathed
bamboo grove,
cuckoo song.


Ah, summer grasses!
All that remains
Of the warriors dreams.


By lonely roads
this lonely poet marches
into autumn dusk.


Glorious the moon
therefore our thanks, dark clouds
come to rest our necks.


Orchid breathing
incense into
butterfly wings.


Spring morning marvel
lovely nameless little hill
on a sea of mist.


In my dark winter
lying ill, at last I ask
how fares my neighbour?


And, one of the most famous haiku's ever written also by Basho:

The old pond
A frog jumps in
The sound of water.



Well, this man obviously had some major skills, because each one of those blurbs gave me an emotion, and I feel like writing haiku now....
If only I could speak fluent Japanese, everything in Japanese just sounds more elegant. Anyways, all those above were translated by different people and those people are: R.H. Blyth, Stryck, and Beilenson.
Hope you enjoyed the haiku, I sure did. It's very soothing on the eyes. Have a good summer, I'll catch up with you all near the end of vocal camp. If anyone wants some of their poetry posted on my blog just message. I have rules though:

1. I don't want every other word to be profanity. It just looks so... stupid. Unintelligent.
2. Pleeaaseee don't send a sob-story, pity poem. We have all written and read a fair share of those. I want some that will make you wonder, or will make you feel peaceful. Write about a topic you have been wanting to write about. Bluhbluhbluh you get it.
3. Please edit your poems, because I won't and although you all probably do... well just make sure you do because I won't. XD
4. .... I don't like the number four.
5. Please no graphic stuff, sex or stuff. Nothing vulgar.
6. .....Yeah that's all.

I hope you all have fun splashing in some pools. :P

xXKathrynXx

Lunch is served

The line moved slowly
as we all shuffled to get
our own little plate of fear.
Each of us got our own special
scoop.
The kid screeched as a handful of
of spiders fell onto his tray.
By the time everyone paid for their food
they were shuddering
and shaking in their boots.
The girl ahead of me got 'food'.
Just regular food.
So that's the anorexic...
I don't think I could ever be afraid of food..
Inhaling unsteadily I stepped up to the lunch lady
whose eyes were vacant and the hair net
on her head looked painted on.
She lifted her wrinkly hand and twisted her wrist
letting a scoop of anxiety and loneliness
plop onto my plate.
My plate was always the empty one,
I always had the rhetoric scoop.
Others got metaphorical scoops
her name was Felicity.
She had been going out with this guy for two months
and every day for lunch they would give her
a pod with two peas in it, and the pod would look
more and more rotten by the day.
Then some got the 'real life' scoops
like the kid with spiders.
I would hate to get that..
The hardest part of the whole thing
is checking out with your meal!
I mean, getting it is one thing
but having to /deal/ with it for twenty minutes
that's the real torture.
Someone once told me
that middle school was the time
to face your fears and get over them
and high school was the time to test your courage
I didn't know they meant this so literally.
What does your plate of fear look like?


.: I apologize for not posting, life seems to be getting a bit tougher these days. I wrote this today and thought you all might enjoy reading it. After this I was start posting my favorite poems again, maybe introduce my favorite haiku poets. <:

Random Poem :P

I sincerely apologize for not posting these past two weeks! I have just had so many things to do. The convention went well, got second in the cosplay contest. :) Ummm... ya. SO I am going to post a poem, no this is not the depressing one I was talking about this is just a more... I don't know. I will be posting the depressing one right after posting this. So here it is. I love random prompts, 'nuff said.'


The hairs on my arm stood up
as the sticky kool-aid gelled them into place
The thick, heated air whirled around me and my little blue
shorts were sprayed with spaghettios
and the cement caught me as I dodged my brother.
Even the tiniest scrape can hurt
hot air gushing into the torn flesh but Texas
is always there to toughen you up.
A meaningless tear dropped from my eye
and dribbled across my sticky lips that were covered in a screen of blue.
I quickly scrambled to the gate and went inside my backyard
where burning poles were propping up the swing set that I had
hurt myself on so many times.
But I went back to it every single time
Acorn hats impaled my stubby toes but I ignored the small sting
and jumped onto the swing which was blistering hot like
every other thing.
I don't think you can write a poem about Texas
without using the word hot...
I remember every time I sat on that swing set
you would be deemed 'most amazingist' if you could reach your toes to the tree.
It was easiest when grandfather tree had leaves
that tree basically raised me.
It taught me not to be afraid of being upside down
not to be afraid of falling to the dirt
not to be afraid of the caterpillars
or hornets.
It taught me that not all surfaces are smooth
And so, I got off the swing, and listened to the tree and
do you know what the last lesson it taught me was?
Hush...
Just. Hush.
I still don't understand what it meant..
Maybe that's the way it's supposed to be.

If you want to, leave some comments but I don't care, this wasn't the best poem I have ever written but still good enough to publish on here in my opinion.

I hope you all have had a wonderful spring so far! I sure have, it's been... full of new experiences. ^^

.:Kathryn:.

Well... D:

I couldn't get a hold of Yusef Komunyakaa. Ya.. I know. I should have expected that but I did leave a message. He does work at NYU and I plan on making him answer some day... >8D
Anyyywaayyyss. So, again, in a class I wrote some poetry. This time it was in English not Geometry so.. yup yup. I will be posting that poem next time and I also wrote two haiku's. Unfortunately all of these pieces are quite depressing. I am sorry! I really do try to write HAPPY poetry! I just.... can't...
It's not that I am depressed it's because I think depressing or.... vividly disgusting poetry is the way to go. No I do not mean like.. 'And he had sex with...dah dah dah' I mean like, literally disgusting. Eating bugs, or something... That wouldn't be too interesting to me but you get what I mean.
I haven't posted in a while due to my foot. I sprained it and... hmm ya. How? I jumped over a corn hole board. You know, the game where you throw bean bags into a little hole. And no, I did not get my foot stuck in a hole and die. I made it over ON THE FOOT I HURT. And I landed fine, took the next step. It was all good... then... The next thing I know I am on the floor moaning like a woman in labor.
Well,I am going to post in a... time that is not tomorrow or Sunday.
By the way, TOMORROW IS AN ANIME CON AND I AM ATTENDING AS SOUBI AGATSUMA!
Bye bye~

__Kathryn__

Formatting and Yusef Komunyakaa

Facing It, Yusef Komunyakaa

My black face fades,
hiding inside the black granite.
I said I wouldn't,
dammit: No tears.
I'm stone. I'm flesh.
My clouded reflection eyes me
like a bird of prey, the profile of night
slanted against morning. I turn
this way—the stone lets me go.
I turn that way—I'm inside
the Vietnam Veterans Memorial
again, depending on the light
to make a difference.
I go down the 58,022 names
half-expecting to find
my own in letters like smoke.
I touch the name Andrew Johnson;
I see the booby trap's white flash.
Names shimmer on a woman's blouse
but when she walks away
the names stay on the wall.
Brushstrokes flash, a red bird's
wings cutting across my stare.
The sky. A plane in the sky.
A white vet's image floats
closer to me, then his pale eyes
looking through mine. I'm a window.
He's lost his right arm
inside the stone. In the black mirror
a woman's trying to erase names:
No, she's brushing a boy's hair.

I thought since I was doing a poetry project on him I would post one of his poems on my blog. This particularly, gives the best images in my my opinion. Very vivid and it makes you reminisce about how maybe you had a relative that went to war. I did, he exploded. But that's all in the past. What I am really excited about, is that tomorrow I am going to call New York University. Why may you ask? Yusef Komunyakaa works there as a Creative Writing professor! I was wishing I could try and interview him, but I am not holding my hopes too high. I mean, he is a famous poet so my chances are slim. But maybe if I say I am a majoring in Creative Writing in a high school performing arts program, maybe they will let me chat. Books that I would highly recommend reading by him are, Neon Vernacular, Taboo, and Warhorses. I have read through these, looking for a poem to annotate and so far none of them have been appropriate for class. Haha I know, however it's not that he uses an excess of profanity, rather he uses little. My class would have a riot if I used a poem with profanity in it and since they tease me already I don't want to encourage them.
Now you are probably wondering: why do you have the word formatting in your title? Because if you even try to format your copied poems on here it fails. This makes me very angry, because every time I try and fix E. E. Cummings' poems on here to make it look like how he meant it to, auto-blogger kills it. White space is what I need and it kills my white space. Darnnn youuu blooggeerr. Anyways, I will blog if I do get a hold of him and post what questions I asked him and stuff and tell you all about the details! I myself will squeal and convulse if I do get a hold of him.
Anyways, tonight I must go to bed early so I will leave it at here and continue this praise of Komunyakaa another time.

Goodnight everyone~!

.:K_a_t_h_r_y_n:.

So in Geometry... I was distracted.

Dear Mrs. Crawford,

You are a very nice teacher, however Geometry is such a boring subject that I don't pay attention. I sincerely apologize for not knowing the various questions you asked today. Instead of writing down the notes I scribbled down a poem that has no main focus.

Your Student, Kathryn


So I am going to show you, my fellow bloggers, the poem I wrote. It's not fantastic, however it has a lot of potential in my opinion.


-insert title here-

She fiddled with her lenses
trying
to focus her camera
on delicate fingers
thumbing through rich pages
of a novel

Eyes plastering themselves
to ink
sending intricate images
to her mind
piano keys chiming around her
lines of music wrapping around
her
like ribbons hugging
her hoodie.

Her eyes fluttered
shut
her lids heavy
contendedly calm
drifting into
a realm where
dreams can't come true because
you are in one.

She never woke up

Her dreams sent her into
a
Coma.

Many visitors passed by
offering a tear or two
except one
who cooed
"You can finally
escape
judgement."
with that
the mysterious man
left leaving a single
precious
silky petal
that shimmered a creamy peach

Turning off the
machine
may have been the hardest part
her already pale skin
fading to a cadaverous shade
one last exhale
and her body was sent to burn

but the stench given off was not
dreadful
but rather
peaceful
for it emitted the smell
of a single cherry blossom petal.



So originally this ended after the 'She never woke up' but I continued it on the bus because I had nothing to do. So the rest of that sprouted. Well, I think if I edited and revised a few parts it has the potential to be a.....decent poem.
Comments?

Oh ANOTHER issue. You see, a friend of mine and I have been trying to post on each others' blogs. But for some odd reason Blogspot just refuses to let us post. Is it because we are new? Have we not verificated our accounts? Questions, questions.

Well I am about to go to a sleepover so I will talk to you all soon.
With all my non-creepy love~

.:Kathryn:.

Rainbows and Knives

Random lyric moment!

End Of All Hope, Nightwish - "Wounded is that deer that leaps highest, And my wound it cut so deep, turn off the light and let me pull the plug"

That is one of my favorite lyrics of all time. Don't ask I have issues. Ok I will be posting my favorite poem today, however it is a bit complex and confusing, but that is just how this poet roles.

What a Proud Dreamhorse- E.E Cummings

what a proud dreamhorse pulling (smoothloomingly) through
(stepp) this (ing) crazily seething of this
raving city screamingly street wonderful

flowers And o the Light thrown by Them opens

sharp holes in dark places paints eyes touches hands with new-
ness and these startled whats are a (piercing clothes thoughts kiss
-ing wishes bodies) squirm-of-frightened shy are whichs small
its hungry for Is for Love Spring thirsty for happens
only and beautiful
there is a ragged beside he who limps
man crying silence upward
-to have tasted Beautiful to have known
Only to have smelled Happens-skips dance kids hop point at
red blue yellow violet white orange green-
ness

o what a proud dreamhorse moving (whose feet
almost walk air). now who stops. Smiles.he
stamps



Alright, so, if you don't get it.. read over it again and post your thoughts. I will post what my depiction of this is and what my creative writing class got, but then again don't over-analyze the poem, it ruins the beauty of it. I love this poem to death and in my opinion it is one of E.E Cummings best poems.
Just to clarify, all the punctuation and capitals are correct, that is just how he wrote it. Look it up he has a book, if I skip a stanza or something tell me, but I am pretty sure I got everything.



Well I got some good news, some bad news, some really bad news, and some recovering news. The good news is the blueberry pie for dinner that my mom made was reeeeaalllyy good. The bad news is, my right earbud died. The really bad news BURQBGVOEGBJ. Sorry my printer started making noises. Anyways, the really bad news is one of my acquaintances brought a pocket knife to school thinking he could beat up this one guy. No offense but he can't. He is waayy too thin. I would have rooted for him though.. I just hate the giuy he was fighting that much. Aren't I pathetic? And the recovering news is that my two friends who were feuding made up with each other and now everything is mellow. So.. Ya my week has been interesting.
Well I better go do my science homework and read my myths. If you have any poems that you would like me to post I would be happy for any recommendations.



-Kathryn-

Yet another.. odd poem

Well, I found another poem.... but... it doens't make sense to me now. But poetry isn't supposed to mean anything, it should just be. So i guess I pass that qualification.

Going down the street
all I see
are prostitutes
and peoples car keys
the world never seems to change
in the century we have to endure
people still losing things
people still selling things
if you know what I mean
not just their knick knacks
but their bodies
any surprise I see?
Not really
crimson satin corsets
brass keys attached to a metal ring
lying on the street
stabbing hot rubber
crashing, flying, dying
no one notices though
'just another incident in this century'
why did the owner of these keys leave them on the street?
must have been selling her figure
because the card on her keys
resembles the mascot of a strip club
down the street
Limp brunette curls
Skin hugging corset
and a skirt that barely covers her ass
why do women degrade themselves so much
to give their bodies to men
to be messed with
only for pleasure
it's sickening, disturbing, frightening
that these jobs are even available
int his godforsaken century of sluts and war
hopelessness, lying, calamity
as I walked into the strip club
to find the owner of these keys
the strong smell of beer
and mens pleas
paralyzed my senses
and sent me into a mood somewhat curious
and
melancholy
Why get drunk and have a hangover?
why have someone give you pleasure
When the next day all they do is take your money?
The complexities of the human mind
sent me into a typhoon
of curiosity
and pity
"Hey baby
want me to give you some pity?"
Oh Aphrodite I wish I could
But I am smarter than that
I would if I could
but I shant for the sake of my wallet
and my feelings.
I stuck the keys
in her cleavage and said
"Honey, baby
you have better qualities than your body
you have a bright smile sculpted from ivory
and an attractive personality
but an aura that emits a loathing touch
give up your job
and come live with me
for the sake of your humanity
and ple3ase..
don't leave your keys
where people can pass on
unknowingly
it's all your fault
you horrifying, seductive beauty
you are responsible
for this incomprehensible irony
but still come with me
and lets pass
through this era of tragedy





What's interesting about poetry is that certain images and colors show up in your mind. For this I was trying to get browns, and crimsons, maybe a beige and an occasional green. What did you get?

-Kathryn-

Well, if anyone is here...

I was going to post my first short story, but.. the paste button won't work and I guess there is too much because it won't transfer... 'URL too big'.
Stupid capacity. Oh well~
I guess I will just have to type it all out, how inconvenient. Anyways, the next story I am writing is in the point of view of a homicidal psychopath, and maybe I will put up my short story about this kid who has multiple personality disorder. Later to come: I will put up a poem about where I came from but I have to go take it from my creative writing teacher, it is in her possession.
Well hopefully I will post at least once a week. A summary of my feelings, and maybe a piece of poetry.

Random fact of the day: I love my dog, I have this heater thing right? She sits RIGHT in front of it and takes all the heat. She looks like roadkill. She's a cute little fat chihuahua who is more like a cat just FYI.


My favorite quote: "Life's a bitch, then you die. And for men, life's a bitch then you marry one."


OH life.

Poetry in my point of view

[[Readers, I seem to have written a lot of... depressing pieces when school started but I would like to let you know I am a hyperactive spaz who is happy but writes a lot of different things on paper so I'm sorry if you don't like sad things...]]

Poetry is the most disgraceful, exquisite, intricate way of writing
Poetry is a burning flower, yet the beautiful lavender stays as it c.r.u.m.p.l.e.s
Poetry is the cuts that are imbedded in my wrists
Poetry is what I painfully long for every day
Poetry is what keeps me .:sane:. and dEsPeRaTe
Poetry ruins me, and builds me up again just to smash me down
You. are poetry
Nothing. is poetry
Poetry is depression on paper
Poetry is the ~intensity~ in my song
Poetry is the air flooding my lungs
Poetry is that bloody knife on the floor in my kitchen
Poetry is a celestial blanket of *stars*
Poetry is that //godforsaken\\ rope .:scratching:. and strangling me
Poetry…. Is what I crave.

When I get bored in geometry..

[[This piece is an interpretation of the 21st century. Warning: It is not too optimistic and may not apply to your opinion.]]


Nicotine smoke
roaming in the lungs
of
the young

Nicotine smoke
hovering above
round, square, pointy
noses

gushing into nostrils
of speedy students
who courageously brave
the thick smokey fog

muffin tops and
overflowing cleavage
tight jeans and
see through shirts

this.. is the 21st century

snorting drugs
and drinking alcohol
dirty minds
and loads of lust

early mothers
cheating fathers
heart breaks
meltdowns
showdowns
breakdowns

drunk driving
texting
partying
'Pshh that is sooo gay.'

disobeying parents
lying
failing school
'no one can touch you'

Did you know
your butt cheek pockets
actually go behind
your knees now?

Ok now everyone has to change!
we all need to fit in
sag our pants
and stick out our boxer covered butts

Emo's, Preps, Nerds, Teachers pet
Scene, Gay, 'Fag', Jock
Popular, Smart
Bandies, crackers, straight A's druggies

Too many stereotypes

Too many styles
Too many worthless relationships
Too many drinks
Too much drugs
We just don't seem to care anymore...

But that's just the trend these days