Patience

Patience
by: Kay Ryan

Patience is
wider than one
once envisioned,
with ribbons
of rivers
and distant
ranges and
tasks undertaken
and finished
with modest
relish by
natives in their
native dress.
Who would
have guessed
it possible
that waiting
is sustainable—
a place with
its own harvests.
Or that in
time's fullness
the diamonds
of patience
couldn't be
distinguished
from the genuine
in brilliance
or hardness.

Kay Ryan is one of the best America poets because of her rhyming scheme that gives great meanings to her poems.  Most of her poems take years in making for they are both quizzical and philosophical.  She has a unique way of writing her poems, and anyone can see that from the patern of imagery she uses. She barely ever has patterns in the beginning, the images build up, and so do the emotions which makes the reader connect with the poem and follow through easier.  She has won many awards such as the Union League Poetry Prize and the Maurice English Poetry Award, and the Ruth Lilly Poetry Prize.

This poem caught my attention just by the title, because even though I do have patience, I still have a bit of a quick temper.  I can connect withwhat she is saying, because when I am patient, I see that things don'tturn out as bad as they would have if I didn't approach a situation calmly.  "Who would have guessed it possible that waiting is sustainable—a place with its own harvests."  I like this line because it popped out at me.  Most people think that it's better to take action as soon as you can, but Kay Ryan is saying that it's actually a lot better if you wait.  That "time" is the main"harvest" or award.  And I agre with that, for things dot end to be better when you wait.

The poem I'm presenting

The Idiot Boy
By:  Joseph Rudyard Kipling

He wandered down the moutain grade 
  Beyond the speed assigned--
A youth whom Justice often stayed
  And generally fined.

He went alone, that none might know
  If he could drive or steer.
Now he is in the ditch, and Oh!
  The differential gear!

My Picture

      My picture is of my mother and I at the park under a tree. The picture was taken around the summer of 2008, which with the years going so fast, I barely remeber it.  I remember the year by certains days because of pictures, and this one is one of them. Like any other photograph my mother and I are smiling, and my aunt was the one behind the camera.  It was a lovely day at the park.  This is where I realized that I was in love with nature, and that I enjoyed going outside to read, play sports, and just to be with family.  

      From that time until now, I notice that I was a lot more carefree, and my teeth were still growing/getting crooked.  After braces and full grown teeth, they are now completely straight.  Furthermore, even though I was more carefree before, I'm more outgoing and outspoken now.  My personality got a lot stronger, and I believe I've gotten more in touch with myself.  The only similarities that I have between then and now is that I'm still family oriented, and that I like doing new things just to have fun and enjoy life the best I can. I chose this particular picture because it showed that in a way, I couldn't stand alone as well.  Before I was happy when surrounded by people, which is why I'm actually smiling and with my mom. As I grew up I've become more independent, and I learned how to be happy all by myself and my thoughts. 

How do we know?
By:Caitlyn Vasquez

Fake hair
Transparent smile
Perky personality
Long chuckle
Mellow silence
How do we know?

Sitting on a scream
Whispering her troubles
Talking sweetly
Seeing everything colorless
and lopsided
devoured by corruption
and trouble.
How do we know?

They need to talk
They need to yell
but they lack courage
or even a heart.
They express their pain
in obnoxious ways,
waiting for someone to say
"are you okay?"
But they don't answer,
sitting on the muffled screams.
But how do we know?

Finally when it's too late,
we care  too late,
We notice what we've done,
but can't take anything back.
We now sit on muffled screams,
but how do they know?

Innocence

Innocence
By:  Caitlyn Vasquez

Who knew back then what we would do now.
Who knew that the young would be the old,
and that the old would be the young.
We are all in some smothering dream you too could pace
Our innocent past has floated away down a mythological river
whose name begins with a L as far as you can recall.
The loniness overwhlems us,
so we sing sin,
and I all alone beweep my outcast state.
Poetry used to be a santuary,
something people could relate too,
but now all they want too do is tie the poem to a chair with rope
and torture a confession out of it.
Our grandparents or forefathers probably look at us and say,
you don't think I suffer after I held my pain so long?
When we sing sin, everything anyone ever built for us in the past
is wasted down a sea of thoughts. 
But what can they do? 
There's no more to build on there.  Who knew that the young would be the old,
and that the old would be the young. 
The young die faster than the old.
So they, since they were not the one dead, turned to their affairs.
Our past is our father, and you, my father, there in the sad height,
curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Sonnet 29

SONNET 29

By: Shakespeare

When, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes,
I all alone beweep my outcast state
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries
And look upon myself and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featured like him, like him with friends possess'd,
Desiring this man's art and that man's scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least;
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, and then my state,
Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate;
For thy sweet love remember'd such wealth brings
That then I scorn to change my state with kings.


     "I all alone beweep my outcast state."  I feel like I can relate this to most people.  How people like to only take care of themselves and be independent.  Even when they need help they rather do it alone, and say they got out of their bad state alone.

Out, Out--

‘Out, Out—’

By: Robert Frost

The buzz saw snarled and rattled in the yard

And made dust and dropped stove-length sticks of wood,

Sweet-scented stuff when the breeze drew across it.

And from there those that lifted eyes could count

Five mountain ranges one behind the other

Under the sunset far into Vermont.

And the saw snarled and rattled, snarled and rattled,

As it ran light, or had to bear a load.

And nothing happened: day was all but done.

Call it a day, I wish they might have said

To please the boy by giving him the half hour

That a boy counts so much when saved from work.

His sister stood beside him in her apron

To tell them ‘Supper.’ At the word, the saw,

As if to prove saws know what supper meant,

Leaped out at the boy’s hand, or seemed to leap—

He must have given the hand. However it was,

Neither refused the meeting. But the hand!

The boy’s first outcry was a rueful laugh,

As he swung toward them holding up the hand

Half in appeal, but half as if to keep

The life from spilling. Then the boy saw all—

Since he was old enough to know, big boy

Doing a man’s work, though a child at heart—

He saw all was spoiled. ‘Don’t let him cut my hand off—

The doctor, when he comes. Don’t let him, sister!’

So. But the hand was gone already.

The doctor put him in the dark of ether.

He lay and puffed his lips out with his breath.

And then—the watcher at his pulse took fright.

No one believed. They listened to his heart.

Little—less—nothing!—and that ended it.

No more to build on there. And they, since they

Were not the one dead, turned to their affairs.

         "And they, since they were not the one dead, turned to their affairs."  Most people would say that the last line sums up the whole poem, but I don't think it is. I think it's just the beginningofa new life for the people described in the poem.  The boy died and they would have to continue their lives as if nothing happened; it will be a new experience for them. Death is an obstacle that people have and need to overcome. But in the poem it seems harsher because of all the images Robert Frost provides.  He makes it seem as if no one really cared, but in reality it was all their fault that the boy died.  "Doing a man's work, though a boy at heart," makes any reader see how hard they overworked their young boy.  If they had let the boy be a boy it would have all been avoided.