Subliminal messaging?

I always see this on the bottom of Hershey's syrup bottles. Maybe I'm crazy, but I think they're trying to do a little subliminal messaging, here. :]

I got a Splash award! Thanks, Maggie! I don't want to post the exact same thing here, so I'll just link to the post in my regular blog. HERE!

In other news, the coffee house went well. I got a couple laughs from reading my haiku about crepes, so that was good. :)

French

Two haikus in French. 20 cool points if you can read them, lol. :)
These are mostly just for practice, but they're still fun.

#1
Les crêpes, les gaufres.
Je les aime beaucoup, vraiment!
Ils sont très très bon!

#2
Les nuages crient,
"Vous regardez, tout le monde!"
Maintenant, il pleut.

work in progress

I started writing this in study hall and I'm not sure if I'm done or if I'm going to change it. This might be what I read at the coffee house on Friday.

"Smells like rain,"
Said he to she.
"Smells like rain
And tastes like clouds."
Then no more words were said.

They listened, feeling
With their eyes,
As the first droplets began
To fall upon the ground's feet,
Reaching up toward their hands,
Which could now hear the
Abundantly tiny "Pat-a-tat"

"Smells like rain,"
Said she to he,
As they tuned their ears
To taste the sounds and smells
Brought to them
By smiling clouds.



On top of that, I really want to use this phrase somewhere in a poem. I just don't know what to put around it, lol.

"In my mind's eye, I
Rode along the road."

WHAT DO I DO WITH THAT? I'm thinking it'll be something about a dream.

a series of haikus

Here are a bunch of haikus I wrote during study hall. First time I'm posting something that wasn't an assignment!

If you don't already know, I'll explain what a haiku is. Basically, it's three lines long. First and third lines are both five syllables long, while the second is seven syllables long. It can be about anything, although I think people use them a lot to describe like nature and such, if I'm not mistaken. Anywho, here they are.



Teeny, tiny pats.
Happy, wet, and free they fall.
The smell captures me.

Dainty black flowers
Dance on a white ballroom floor
Softly touched by pink

Eating on the floor,
We laugh without abandon,
Love each other free.

Half-moon home of laughs,
Beautiful and oh so sweet
Perfectly crooked.

Yellow boxes sleep.
Others sleep on them, content.
While some-bored to death.

Subjects (in this order): Rain, my prom/banquet dress, my lunch group, a certain smile, study hall furniture.

This time, our assignment was to write "a poem." Like... pretty much, that was it. Ok, I'm lying, there was a little more to it. We had to write in the style of modern poets, like e.e. cummings or someone of the same time. We had to use styles like free verse, scrambled syntax, or "creative punctuation." We could write about anything we wanted to. I couldn't think of anything to write about, which kind of inspired me in a way, so I came up with this.

I would really like some input, actually. Not like "omgeez you suck" or "I like your poems" or anything like that. More like... do you get them? Do they make sense? Or are they just crazy? If they don't make sense, do you know why? (Some of them won't make sense to certain people because of what they're about, and that's fine with me.) Do they speak to you in a special way? Should I write more? Ideas on what to write about would be appreciated, too. I don't want this just to be school assignments.

Anyway, here's the poem. See if you can tell me what it's about. ;] Pretty easy, I think.

The great, invisible Parasite

The Block sits,
feeding off of The Writer’s
inability to think of
something.
anything.
any word at all.

why do they call it
“Writer’s?”
anyway?
if anything,
The Block is the owner
in that relationship.

“a blank page
is like an empty canvas.”
stop. erase. start over.

The Block is taking its toll.

The Writer shies away,
from The Block,
but it only gets heavier.

moment upon moment,
even days may pass.
The Writer can feel The Block
pressing down
soaking up
every loose thought,
every A, E, I, O, U
(and sometimes Y)

And Then It Happens.

suddenly,
The Writer breaks into a run.
faster and faster,
feet pound against the pavement,
pen races across the page,
all reaching out toward the happy ending
now in sight.
The Block stumbles
under its own immense weight,
trying to catch up and
trap The Writer again.

The Writer travels across the world,
through forests and oceans,
love and hate,
joy and despair.
new Friends are created,
allowing The Writer to make more.

but every once in a while,
The Block rears its ugly head,
a moment of panic strikes
The Writer.
but, after some time,
The Writer again escapes
and The Block begins the chase,
anew.

Us

For this assignment, we had to write some kind of love poem. It didn't necessarily have to be love like I love my boyfriend/girlfriend/etc. but just some way in which you've experienced love. We had just read "The Lovesong of J. Alfred Prufrock" and "How Do I Love Thee," so we could kinda use those as reference. It could be about anything or anyone. My teacher suggested perhaps something Easter-related (Christian school, you see). I didn't go with that, but I don't think it matters. Here's what I came up with. Every word is on purpose.


Us
There is no you, me, you, you, you, or you.
There is only us.
Us is all that matters, sometimes.
Othertimes, when the times are all that matter,
Us is what keeps us together,
Even when us is apart.

Us is love, laughter, life.
Us is dancing, day or night,
Rain or shine,
Even or uneven.

Us is a hayride,
It goes through the course,
Sometimes dark, scary, but always perfect.

Us is a movie theatre,
Drinking lemonade,
Laughing until tears are falling from every eye,
Shouting out at the wrong (right) time.

Us is us.

Us is love.

This is from my digital photography class my sophomore year (aka last year). It's the color selection setting on my camera set to yellow, not photoshopped, if that matters at all.

Ezra Pound got nothin' on me (only not so much)

When we reunite
Twin minds woven into unshared features;
Bread baking the same way in two different ovens.




(Our English teacher wanted us to write poems that were similar in format to Ezra Pound's "In a station of the Metro," with the two parallel yet unrelated phrases and everything. So... that was mine. It's about my sister, if that makes any sense... not great, but definitely not the worst in the class.)