Lyrics--Poem

"Banana Pancakes"

Can't you see that it's just raining?
Ain't no need to go outside...

But, baby, you hardly even notice
When I try to show you this
Song is meant to keep you
From doing what you're supposed to.
Waking up too early
Maybe we can sleep in
Make you banana pancakes
Pretend like it's the weekend now

And we could pretend it all the time
Can't you see that it's just raining?
There ain't no need to go outside

But just maybe, like a ukulele
Momma made a baby
Really don't mind the practice
'cause you're my little lady
Lady, lady, love me
'cause I love to lay here lazy
We could close the curtains
Pretend like there's no world outside

And we could pretend it all the time
Can't you see that it's just raining?
There ain't no need to go outside

Ain't no need, ain't no need, mmm, mmm,
Can't you see, can't you see?
Rain all day, and I don't mind

But the telephone is singing
Ringing
It's too early
Don't pick it up
We don't need to
We got everything
We need right here
And everything we need is enough
Just so easy
When the whole world fits inside of your arms
Do we really need to pay attention to the alarm?
Wake up slow, mmm mm, wake up slow

But, baby, you hardly even notice
When I try to show you this
Song is meant to keep ya
From doing what you're supposed to
Waking up too early
Maybe we can sleep in
Make you banana pancakes
Pretend like it's the weekend now

And we could pretend it all the time
Can't you see that it's just raining?
There ain't no need to go outside
Ain't no need, ain't no need
Rain all day, and I really, really, really don't mind
Can't you see, can't you see?
You gotta wake up slow

Lyrics-Poems

I think it is interesting that music lyrics are poems. These lyrics have the theme of a journey in common. It seem's to be someones erie? voyage through life. Something that definitely popped out to me was first reading the poems and then listening to them. For example, the Leonard Cohen song--I read it first without hearing the song, and it definitely read as a poem. But, then when I heard it, the singer sang with a monotone voice and it wasn't as enjoyable as when I read it myself. It definitely is different hearing the singer actually sing the song and then reading the lyrics without hearing the song.

First Poem

The sky brought the storm with no boundaries,
The earth was on her side, a helping hand.

Far, she would run along the stony brook--
Waiting, she would kill for a drop of love--
Run she would, far along the stony brook.

Shocked; her heart was still there and still beating,
First time love slipped away, can't get it back.

Losing him, hope was shattered instantly;
Felt like walking on shattered, broken glass--
A steel rail rusting inside her.

Poem Responses

Response to Mariannne Williamson:

I kind of fell in love with poem. Not only was it a smooth read but the message behind it really resonated with me. It captures a meaning that has to do with any age, through any time. Sometimes people are afraid to strive or show what they are good at, but that should be just the opposite (to an extent.)

When you are given talents and things that set you aside from others, you should be proud and rejoice that you were given amazing traits. "And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same." When others are watching us thrive, they want to do the same. We all help each other reach our goals and out dreams. We catapult on what others have done in the past, and in the future people will learn from what we do. "We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us." We were born and made for a reason and we mustn't not hide that within us. I just overall really enjoyed this poem.

Response to Love After Love:

This poem made me imagine my life when I am older. I can picture myself sitting at a desk in a large library, pulling down scrapbooks, memory albums, and pictures looking back on my life of myself and my family.

I'm not quite sure what exactly this poem is about but it reminds me of giving back to others time after time. You want to give love after you receive love.

"Sit." That is a powerful command. Sitting lets you take a break and think about things. Reflect on things. Look to the future. Like I said, I can see myself sitting down in a chair reflecting how my life was, looking at both the bad and good memories.

Shakespeare

This poem is quite comical. In this poem, Shakespeare is comparing his mistress to different things like the sun, coral, roses, etc. and saying that she is not as close to as beautiful as those things. He is essentially comparing her to beautiful things in the world and saying that she is close to neither; he is not working in her favor. For example, "My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun." The sun is a bright, big, beautiful thing in the sky, but his mistress' eyes are nothing close to that. This sonnet is comical because he doesn't compliment her in any way, but brings her down in every way. 

Poetry Analysis

This Be The Verse

BY PHILIP LARKIN

This poem, from my point of view, is about  how your parents mess up and they pass it on to you even though they don't mean to. They indirectly fill you up with their faults from their past and sometimes keep giving you more. I think the main line of the poem is "Man hands on misery to man," because it just sums up that people hand off when they are feeling bad to other people whether they take it out on them or they just give them their problems so they don't have to deal with them. I really like the end of the poem, " Get out as early as you can, and don't have kids yourself." It is a short piece of advice but it is also comical. I think the author was able to get his point across but also make sure the reader is bored. 

We Real Cool

BY GWENDOLYN BROOKS

This poem is very short but it has a definite meaning to it. It's a poem about the "cool" kids who have a troubled life and eventually suffer leading them to their death if they continue what they keep doing. Most kids don't like school, but these kids really don't like it so they drop out and and lurk around town late at night. They'll do anything if it is fun to them like sing, drink, and play, pretty much anything that helps them capture the feeling of ecstasy. These seven people travel together and do things together which is indicated by the use of "we." The poem really captures what kids think they can do when they are rebels. 

Poetry to me is...

Poetry to me is interesting. I think its fascinating how someone can tell a story through such few lines and such few words. I really enjoy poetry because one, it is short and it's easier for me to read rather than a book (because of my add), and two, it is fun to dissect what the author's purpose of the poem is. I don't read poetry often but my favorite book from back when I was little is "Where the Sidewalk Ends" by Shel Silverstein. The poems were easy to read as a kid but they were also very fun. One cute one that I can remember is called "Hug O' War." It reads: I will not play at tug o' war

I'd rather play at hug o' war,
Where everyone hugs
Instead of tugs
Where everyone giggles
And rolls on the rug,
Where everyone kisses
And everyone grins
And everyone cuddles
And everyone wins.

Final Draft

The Axe

            I was outside in my luscious green backyard that my mom tended to every weekend. Being more of my mother’s child, I wanted to be like her, so I helped tend to our small backyard that Saturday. The sun was shining—there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. Palm trees placed on every side with the light shining through—the typical California picture. The lackluster, gray, classic tool shed stood up against the house atop the rocks next to the crisp mowed lawn. Located inside: a rake, multiple shovels (handheld ones and large heavy ones), a couple buckets, two saws, some plant food, and gardening gloves—all jumbled together. My mom had been cutting down trees and large leaves, so the axe and long leaf cutter were lying in the grass.

My brother joined us outside. Justin didn’t have a good look on his face. A look of frustration and annoyance took over. No smile, no light in his eyes, not even a cute scrunch of the nose. One I’d seen many times before.

Something my mother taught me since a young age was to always clean up after you make a mess, leaving it better than it was. I, being my mother’s “mini me” was doing exactly that when my brother came out and joined us. Trying to be kind I asked, “Justin, what’s wrong? Can I help you with anything.” No response. He just grunted over and over again. Trying to ignore the situation (which usually helped), I kept gathering the dead leaves and tossing them into the trashcan.

I swear this only happens in movies, but no. This was happening in real life before my very own wide opened eyes. His body bent over, his hand dropped to the ground, and his fingered griped the handle of the axe. Thoughts were racing through my head. What is he doing? Why is he picking that up? Should I run? As I said each word slowly, I was being backed into the fence. “Justin.” One step back. “Put.” One more step back. “That.” One more step back. “Down.” My hands were in front of me acting as my shield (like that would do anything) and my back finally hit the fence. I am going to die. What is going to happen to me? My life flashed before my eyes. I remembered winning my first horse show, bringing our first puppy home, and even that morning of cooking a delicious breakfast including cheesy eggs and perfectly burned bacon with my family. All I could think of to say, while tears were flowing down my face faster than Niagara Falls, was, “Justin, please stop. Please put that down. What are you doing?”

Mom walked around the corner and immediately grabbed the axe out of his hands. I ran inside, trying to get the farthest distance away from him. Running into my dad, I grabbed him tightly and told him that Justin just had an axe in his hand, pinning me to the fence. His response, “Oh.” 

“ARE YOU KIDDING ME?” Why the hell was my dad’s response just “oh?” Shouldn’t he be nervous that his son had an axe in his hand pinning his daughter to the fence—almost to death? Why isn’t he being sympathetic to me crying my eyes out of fear?

Bipolar.

When I first heard this word, I (an adolescent) had no idea what it meant. After multiple anger outbreaks at home from my brother and multiple family meetings later, I understood how bipolar kids act. My childhood was filled with watching a screaming, high tempered brother who hit almost everything he touched. I was eighteen months younger than him but acted eighteen months older than him. It was my life and it was my story.

Slam.

His door would shut.

Screams from inside his room, “I hate everyone. It’s not my fault.”

Bang.

He punched the wall thinking he would get his anger out, but it only resulted in red, later black and blue, knuckles. I deemed myself the normal child, but it came with great responsibility. Patience; he didn't ever show me how to be patient as a little girl, but I had to be patient with him. Whether it be being patient for him to finish a tantrum, or being patient with him in his slow learning abilities, I had to be understanding of his condition and do all I could to help him. He taught me how to be caring when people (other than mom and dad) were watching. Nothing stopped him from opening the door for people to helping my grandma with anything and everything. Keep in mind though, this didn’t usually happen at home around my parents and I.  He usually treated us like scum. In his temper, he didn’t care what he was doing to us—we were his punching bag.

Through everything his disability had put me through, I still knew he loved me and he knew I loved him. Our childhood days consisted of playing on our five acre ranch; it was a place where boring wasn’t in the vocabulary. There was always something to do for us whether we were riding around on the golf cart until we got dizzy, fishing for crawdads in the murky creek that ran through the property, or even just playing with our puppy in the backyard.

            My life was like the shed—jumbled, with things that cut you down, but also help to fix you and cut off your dead ends. My brother was the jumbled in my life; his tantrums always were the downside to my day, but he was there to help me grow.

This was the point in time where my brother had taught me to count my blessings. He hadn’t taught me directly, but rather indirectly through his horrifying actions that afternoon. I had learned that growing up would have to be something that I would essentially have to do myself, as my parents’ attention would be stuck to my brother’s every action. I had never and still am not certain why I was given such a difficult sibling to live with, but I am certain it is for a reason. He is there to teach me lessons that no one else can, and I am here to teach him lessons he might never learn from anyone else. Although sometimes our hugs were forced, our love wasn’t. Brother and sister would always be there for each other.

The Axe

The Axe

            I was outside in my luscious green backyard that my mom tended to every weekend. Being more of my mother’s child, I wanted to be like her, so I helped tend to our small backyard that Saturday. The sun was shining—there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. Palm trees placed on every side with the light shining through—the typical California picture. The lackluster, gray, classic tool shed stood up against the house atop the rocks next to the crisp mowed lawn. Located inside: a rake, multiple shovels (handheld ones and large heavy ones), a couple buckets, two saws, some plant food, and gardening gloves. My mom had been cutting down trees and large leaves, so the axe and long leaf cutter were lying in the grass. They laid there in a sad manner—it looked as if they had realized that people only use them when they don’t have enough strength to do things with their own hands. They were always glad to help, but never glad to be thrown around, being whacked on trees or being thrown to the ground.

            Justin joined us. He, my brother, didn’t have a good look on his face. A look of frustration and annoyance took over his face. No smile, no light in his eyes, not even a cute scrunch of the nose. This hadn’t been unfamiliar to me.

Bipolar.

When I first heard this word, I (an adolescent) had no idea what it meant. After multiple anger outbreaks at home from my brother and multiple family meetings later, I understood how bipolar kids act. My childhood was filled with watching a screaming, high tempered brother who hit everything he touched. I was eighteen months younger than him but acted eighteen months older than him. It was my life and it was my story.

Slam.

His door would shut.

Screams from inside his room, “I hate everyone. It’s not my fault.”

Bang.

He punched the wall thinking he would get his anger out, but it only resulted in red, later black and blue, knuckles. I deemed myself the normal child, but it came with great responsibility. Patience; he didn't ever show me how to be patient as a little girl, but I had to be patient with him. Whether it be being patient for him to finish a tantrum, or being patient with him in his slow learning abilities, I had to be understanding of his condition and do all I could to help him. He taught me how to be caring when people (other than mom and dad) were watching. Nothing stopped him from opening the door for people to helping my grandma with anything and everything. Keep in mind though, this didn’t usually happen at home around my parents and I.

            Something my mother taught me since a young age was to always clean up after you make a mess, leaving it better than it was. I, being my mother’s “mini me” was doing exactly that when my brother came out and joined us. Trying to be kind I asked, “Justin, what’s wrong? Can I help you with anything.” No response. He just grunted over and over again. Trying to ignore the situation (which usually helped), I kept gathering the dead leaves and tossing them into the trashcan, attempting to make a three pointer.

I swear this only happens in movies, but no. This was happening in real life before my very own wide opened eyes. His body bent over, his hand dropped to the ground, and his fingered griped the handle of the axe. What is he doing? Why is he picking that up? Should I run? As I said each word slowly, I was being backed into the fence. “Justin.” One step back. “Put.” One more step back. “That.” One more step back. “Down.” My hands were in front of me acting as my shield (like that would do anything) and my back finally hit the fence. I am going to die. What is going to happen to me? My life flashed before my eyes. I remembered winning my first horse show, bringing our first puppy home, and even that morning of cooking a delicious breakfast including cheesy eggs and perfectly burned bacon with my family. All I could think of to say, while tears were flowing down my face faster than Niagara Falls, was, “Justin, please stop. Please put that down. What are you doing?”

Mom walked around the corner and immediately grabbed the axe out of his hands. I ran inside, trying to get the farthest distance away from him. Running into my dad, I grabbed him tightly and told him that Justin just had an axe in his hand, pinning me to the fence. His response, “Oh.” 

“ARE YOU KIDDING ME?” Why the hell was my dad’s response just “oh?” Shouldn’t he be nervous that his son had an axe in his hand pinning his daughter to the fence—almost to death? Why isn’t he being sympathetic to me crying my eyes out of fear?

            This was the point in time where my brother had taught me to count my blessings. He hadn’t taught me directly, but rather indirectly through his horrifying actions that afternoon. I had learned that growing up would have to be something that I would essentially have to do myself, as my parents’ attention would be stuck to my brother’s every action. I had never and still am not certain why I was given such a difficult sibling to live with, but I am certain it is for a reason. He is there to teach me lessons that no one else can, and I am here to teach him lessons he might never learn from anyone else.

So Long Ago

Pathos was definitely present in this story.

Everyone has grandparents or even great grandparents that they love so much, which makes this story very relatable for most readers. Even for me during it, I pictured different memories with my grandma even thought I was reading his story and his memories about his childhood.

Richard Bausch beings his story with a very simple yet inviting line, "Indulge me, a moment." This line not only is just four words but it makes the reader want to keep reading after that short introduction but it also makes the reader want to be involved in the story. Everyone experiences childhood and that is one thing that is very relatable. We all grow up as young kids wanting to be older and wanting to have a sense of authority, and so did Richard. He was seven and wanted to be called a big boy, but surely he wasn't if his father was still giving him baths.

Memories. Everyone has them and every makes them every day. You remember things big and small, things that happened from decades ago and things that happened this morning. "But it has never left me. It is will all the others, large and small, important and meaningless, all waiting in the same timeless dark, to drift towards the surface when I write or daydream, or sleep." I think this line was a great way to end the story. Everyone has things in their life that they remember whether they want to or not and sometimes they are the greatest thing in their life like their wedding down to the smallest thing like eating breakfast one morning. These are the things that relate us to each other. We share memories with our family, friends, and even people we have never met before.

My last post was late because I have had work training all day every day since Friday and I just never had a chance to post it online. Thanks.

Things That X Taught Me

Things That My Brother Taught Me

1. To be patient; he didn't ever show me how to be patient as a little girl, but I had to be patient with him; whether it be being patient for him to finish a tantrum, or being patient with him in his slow learning abilities

2. To be caring when people (other than immediate family) are watching; nothing stopped him from opening the door for people to helping my grandma with anything and everything; keep in mind though, this didn't happen at the house

3. To count my blessings every day; how can someone go through six car accidents and total four cars and still be alive; how can someone fall asleep in a car, drive up a hill, flip over in a car several times, and happen to get out while it was being caught on fire; although sometimes I look over my blessings, in moments like these, I am certain that he has a purpose on this earth

Things That My Brother Has Not Taught Me

1. To be kind to our parents at all times; it would usually end with a slam of the door or "fuck you," but only sometimes it ended with an "I Love You" or a hug goodbye

2. School work dedication; yes, the learning disability didn't give him an advantage over others, but neither did his drive. You could not know anything about something but have the dedication and want to know more--he didn't teach me that

3. How to make my bed; a simple yet challenging chore for a toddler or even a grown adult. his morning consisted of wide open eyes staring at the video games, and mine of making sure my room was straightened up before school. my lunch was made while he still hadn't gotten out of bed.