Planning and Writing Friday

Hi everyone,

First off, here is my new blog: http://clayxmatthewsxfan89.blogspot....log-party.html . I am now writing again for this blog because it was popular and people missed that. Enjoy!

I'm very tired today; it's been a very bad week. After being triggered at my cousin's high school graduation on Tuesday, it's evident that I really shouldn't be here, I'm not really happy here (I haven't been happy here in 13 years) and I really hope to be moving soon. I'm applying for more jobs and I applied for Write A House . This is what I wrote on my application:

Back in January one of my former creative writing professors posted a link to Write A House. I have been planning on moving to Detroit since December 2013 and I thought it was a great idea. My former professor encouraged me since she always thought my writing was strong. We both thought it would be a great opportunity for me to meet other writers, especially as a newbie in Detroit. Since visiting, Detroit is definitely a place I want to call home because of the diversity, history and strength of the city. I would love to contribute to the rebirth by mentoring youth in their creative and writing abilities. I would show them how their thoughts and ideas in the written form can really impact the world. I would also start a poetry circle for writers and non-writers alike that would meet once a week to discuss the craft.

I hope I get it because that would be so awesome. It would be nice to contribute to the community and be with fellow writers. Last night I signed on to my West Chester University e-mail and saw an e-mail from Dr. Wanko informing majors that someone was looking for a tutor. I don't want to risk going to West Chester and Cheney would be far, so I am planning on making signs to tutor people around here for a month or two to get experience for what I want to do with Write A House. I'll be volunteering with children at the library for the month of July, so maybe I can tutor for some extra money. I'm thinking of teaching writing to people ages 6 years and older. Does anyone have any advice? Of course, I'll still be applying in Michigan and I expect to be shipping out by the end of August.

Monday I have to call back the apartment complex in Roseville to tell her I'm still interested, but I am still looking for work. I guess it's good to have a backup plan, eh? Also, I connected with an alum from WCU (graduated in 1991) that moved to Roseville and she said she'll call me over the weekend. I'm nervous, but I'll write down questions.

I've also been busy writing. I'm writing down thoughts and ideas for stories or poems I'd like to write. The summer reading program starts on Monday at the library and I donated a prize: I'm compiling a book just for the prize, then matting a picture I took. I am also going to make a coupon for a percentage off of a scrapbook. I'm going to attach some of the book and the picture I'm going to use (I'll be writing more letters and flash fiction).

I hope everyone has a good weekend!

Jessica







AWAKENING FROM THE SHADOW BOX 
Dedicated to my best friend, teacher, and rock: Nan or Evelyn Cavaliere (May 4, 1923- January 25, 2013) and my mentor and great friend: Judith Bierman (July 9, 1946- January 31, 2010). Gone, but never forgotten!
 
AWAKENING FROM THE SHADOW BOX
 
GOD BLESS THE SNOWY ROAD
God bless the snowy road,
icy and slippery, I shuffle as I walk;
yet despite the falls, I continue to unload
with Twiztid, Orgy and Monoxide talks.
I set out every day at two,
on weekdays right before school gets out
and in Johnny Cash fashion, music blows my blues
away; the difference is it’s not a Folsom break-out,
though in the past five months I had my own jail—
God bless the snowy road,
day dreaming and prayer hoists the sails
to make it through, my own hell showed—
on display, to me at least, to all that view;
disappointment after disappointment,
yet in faltering it’s like the spirits knew—
a treasure found and to my enjoyment;
God bless the snowy road,
where dogs are walked with sun
and a few friendly faces greet after snow,
enough money found to begin my run
to a brand new snowy road and fun;
with a struggle and drive I won
the navigation of the long, windy road,
it’s in this lesson I learn that life isn’t all woe.
 
ICE OUTLINED BRANDYWINE
The fragile ice outlines the banks of the Brandywine,
a fear all week that Brandywine Creek would freeze.
Yet, the course is easier this year—
a rip-tide, ironically from the melting of ice,
the source of my distress and fear has been eliminated.
I plunge in, 35 degree waters, splash around me,
my legs and toes, frozen, I can’t feel the rocks below me;
dunking my head in the murky water,
coldness rushes around my nine ear and nose piercings
and the current plays with my brown, silky hair.
Silence. The racing and screaming of other plungers stop—
I don’t make it to the booty, the precious gold,
but that’s okay, I’ve reached the goal that I have planned,
I don’t want to get out, I splash around;
thinking about the fun of the day, becoming semi-finalist—
to think I’ll be taking the plunge in life in three months
when I embark on a new journey—navigating Eight Mile
and finding Grand Blvd with the Motown Museum,
or watching the Detroit Tigers and Max Scherzer
or going to see and meet Twiztid and Monoxide, my love.
Yet, whatever the currents of life throws at me,
Brandywine Creek and the polar plunge of 2014 remind me
that I can navigate the tides and be victorious in the waves.


RIFF CROWNED LULLABY

Tom:
I drowned
in drum sounds
neon and smoke
in my brown eyes, it pounds,
like the beating of my heart, pokes
the guitar's riffs, the bass hums, forever spoke--
droning dives in and out--static--out and in; palm
catches the rhythm, the chords never shook.
It is hard to contain, my bloke,
love knows and shows no bounds--
lullabies took,
concerts wound;
smoke crowned--
psalm.




MR. ARMY MAN
Dear Mr. Army Man,

Ah, I remember that was the name of the first poem I wrote about you back in February 2013. Only a few people (maybe only one person) saw it before a professor said the poem sounded too premature. I suppose it was - I met you the Monday after grandma died. She died on a Friday, at the end of January, during a big snow storm. I was reeling from that; maybe that's why I felt an attraction at first - something to kill the loneliness or just the confusion of what life would be like without my rock, my mentor, my guidance.

I suppose the first few weeks went well. You took me out and I had the opportunity to meet your friends. I think some of them liked me. They ribbed you a bit because I lent you my Packers hat (even though you're a Philadelphia fan, you didn't mind borrowing the hat), but you played along. Despite some awkward moments (me profusely sweating; yes, I even have hot flashes in 20 degree weather in February - and you forgetting my name: instead you called me Melissa), I thought you liked me because of the plans you made for us. You even braved the frigid weather to take pictures with me for my photography class - I still have those pictures and like to look at them sometimes.

Then it changed one weekend when you went away for reserve training. I didn't mention to you at the time that I was on medications and I was getting off of them. I'm so sorry for the withdrawal symptoms and worrying you over nothing during an important weekend. Things went to hell in my mind and we didn't talk for nine months.

I remember the first time we started talking again. I told you what happened on Devil’s Night with the costume and hazy memories. You took me to a shooting range to teach me self-defense because no one should ever be taken advantage of and no one should ever let scum get away with that.. You were really patient with me and a good teacher, I appreciated it and I appreciate all that you have done for me, despite everything.

I feel bad that I haven't talked to you in a few months: between looking for work and trying to move takes a lot of time. To be honest, I've been rather sad about some of the outcomes and I figured you would be tired of listening to that from what happened last Spring. I guess it's just a weird limbo I'm in because I feel that way about talking about these issues with my Southern and Midwestern friends; I feel stuck sometimes. I thanked you for your service last night on Facebook and you said I should thank the dead, but it should start with the living. Thanks for all you did!