I have decided to list my favorite song lyrics ever, and my least favorite song lyrics ever.
My favorite: First of all, I am a glutton for Damien Rice. I love him, and if I could, I would marry him, and shoot out his babies.
"The Animals Were Gone"
Woke up and for the first time the animals were gone
It's left this house empty now, not sure if I belong
Yesterday you asked me to write you a pleasant song
I'll do my best now, but you've been gone for so long
The window's open now and the winter settles in
We'll call it Christmas when the adverts begin
I love your depression and I love your double chin
I love 'most everything that you bring to this offering
Oh I know that I left you in places of despair
Oh I know that I love you, so please throw down your hair
At night I trip without you, and hope I don't wake up
'Cause waking up without you is like drinking from an empty cup
Woke up and for the first time the animals were gone
Our clocks are ticking now so before our time is gone
We could get a house and some boxes on the lawn
We could make babies and accidental songs
I know I've been a liar and I know I've been a fool
I hope we didn't break yet, but I'm glad we broke the rules
My cave is deep now, yet your light is shining through
I cover my eyes, still all I see is you
Oh I know that I left you in places of despair
Oh I know that I love you, so please throw down your hair
At night I trip without you, and hope I don't wake up
'Cause waking up without you is like drinking from an empty cup
I love some of the images Damien Rice gives in this song. My favorite is "waking up without you is like drinking from an empty cup." I love it, because he shows how pointless waking up without his lover is through that line.
My least favorite lyrics: No offense Lady Gaga, you are catchy and all, but come on.
Disco Heaven
Oh, the disco heaven
Oh, the disco heaven
Get back, bunny
It's getting cold in here little honey
We got a show to put on your dress
Take a minute for us and relax, relax
Cupid's got me, oh with his bow & arrow, baby
He'll hit you in the pants, hot pants
Get the people to dance and relax, relax
Oh the lights still on, we're dancing
Yeah the floor is shaking
In this disco heaven
(oh, the disco heaven)
The disco heaven
(oh, the disco heaven)
Oh the lights still on, we're dancing
Yeah the floor is shaking
In this disco heaven
(oh, the disco heaven)
The disco heaven
(oh, the disco heaven)
Throw your head back, girly
Throw it like those girls in the movies
We got a show to put on your dress
Take a minute for us and relax, relax
The ball is turning, 300 mirrors burning
Through the hearts of the crowd
In the back hips just banging the track
To the music, the music
Oh the lights still on, we're dancing
Yeah the floor is shaking
In this disco heaven
(oh, the disco heaven)
The disco heaven
(oh, the disco heaven)
Oh the lights still on, we're dancing
Yeah the floor is shaking
In this disco heaven
(oh, the disco heaven)
The disco heaven
(oh, the disco heaven)
Oh we got that disco
D-i-s-c-o
And we're in heaven
H-e-a-v-e-n
Disco heaven
Feels just like heaven
Disco heaven
Disco heaven
A line up for the dance
Yeah bring those fancy pants
Y'know there's disco in the air
And hairspray everywhere
A disco heaven
A disco heaven
Disco heaven
Disco heaven
Oh the lights still on, we're dancing
Yeah the floor is shaking
In this disco heaven
(oh, the disco heaven)
The disco heaven
(oh, the disco heaven)
Oh the lights still on, we're dancing
Yeah the floor is shaking
In this disco heaven
(oh, the disco heaven)
The disco heaven
(oh, the disco heaven)
No offense. Hit me in the hot pants?
Monday, February 1, 2010
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Figuring Out Who I Am, As A Writer (Free)
Things that I like to write about:
I love to write about nature, people, and places. I seem naturally drawn to these things, but I would like to expand from them some. I think it is amazing when people can use objects, such as a pair of scissors, and make them into something more. I have never really been able to do that. I kind of tried to with the orange in my last poem, I tried to use it as a metaphor for a man, but I am pretty sure that it didn't get across to some people.
Also, I am not very good with rhyme. I attempted to do something with it in my last poem, to step out of my box, but it didn't feel "natural." I would like to learn how to do rhyme more naturally, so it is something that I will work on. I think Jenna did an excellent job in "Cosmo Girl," her rhymes were wonderful. I think it just takes practice, or maybe rhymes are just not for me.
I am also an emotional writer. I have a hard time being able to write from someone else's shoes. Most of my poetry is very reflective of the experiences that I have been through. Not that that is a bad thing, that is how Marie Howe's poetry is, but I would like to learn how to detach myself from some of the subjects I write about. If I can sometimes take the "me" out of my work, I feel like maybe I would be able to maybe write better. But then again, maybe that is my opinion.
I love to write about nature, people, and places. I seem naturally drawn to these things, but I would like to expand from them some. I think it is amazing when people can use objects, such as a pair of scissors, and make them into something more. I have never really been able to do that. I kind of tried to with the orange in my last poem, I tried to use it as a metaphor for a man, but I am pretty sure that it didn't get across to some people.
Also, I am not very good with rhyme. I attempted to do something with it in my last poem, to step out of my box, but it didn't feel "natural." I would like to learn how to do rhyme more naturally, so it is something that I will work on. I think Jenna did an excellent job in "Cosmo Girl," her rhymes were wonderful. I think it just takes practice, or maybe rhymes are just not for me.
I am also an emotional writer. I have a hard time being able to write from someone else's shoes. Most of my poetry is very reflective of the experiences that I have been through. Not that that is a bad thing, that is how Marie Howe's poetry is, but I would like to learn how to detach myself from some of the subjects I write about. If I can sometimes take the "me" out of my work, I feel like maybe I would be able to maybe write better. But then again, maybe that is my opinion.
Friday, January 29, 2010
Thought's on Howe
The Mountain
It wasn't only the mountain then,
but the mountain later
rising in sleep
or deep in teh middle of stuttered proclamation
-
when, startled, he saw it,
how it had looked to him before,
how it had felt underfoot
like the back of an animal
heaving him down over and over again,
and the small stones that fell with him
making a music
and the silence then.
Once, he put his ear to water almost weeping
to the mouth of a sleeping child
so many many dead.
And the gravelly walk down then
the stones singing
and the wrist of the branch that held him
when he caught it, held him up.
It wasn't only the mountain then, that day:
the sky clearing, his awful thirst,
but the day after,
and all the days when he, forever moving,
felt it move in him.
It was like that
but he could not say it.
It was what rose up in him one minute
before walking
what seemed to block his view whenever
he looked too closely at something
his son,
his own hand, his food sometimes.
Finally, can you understand how easily
he relinquished it? The grit
the cracked bone, the new land?
He was that tired of walking in what
he knew was the wrong direction.
And he knew
better than anyone, how long the way back was
to where he stared,
when tending the lambs, day dreaming,
for no apparent reason, he looked up.
In class, we defined poetry as something that we cannot get out of our heads. I cannot get Marie Howe's poetry out of mine. I love her work, I think that she is amazing. Especially in this poem, I feel like I can feel Moses, what he was thinking, how he was feeling. I think I could learn a lot from Howe's style. She makes the stanzas hers. Her stanzas never rule her, she makes them perfect for what she is trying to say, and she never seems blocky, or ridgid, unless she wants her poetry to be that way. I love her passion. I hope that one day I can become as good of a writer as she is. Until then, I will use some of her techniques in my own poetry, starting with the one due Tuesday.
Saturday, January 23, 2010
#7: Words and Phrases in Each Type of Foot
Iamb: aloof, rewrote, a dove, in love, unhappy, my heart, atop, italic, in meter.
Trochee: Must be, curiously, mocking, steady, lucky, trouble, double.
Dactyl: marketing, trust in me, soon you'll see, robbery, praise the sea.
Anapest: interrupt, in my mug, eat a duck, in a fuss, feel the thud.
spondee: smiling, shotgun, home sick, bleeding thick.
Trochee: Must be, curiously, mocking, steady, lucky, trouble, double.
Dactyl: marketing, trust in me, soon you'll see, robbery, praise the sea.
Anapest: interrupt, in my mug, eat a duck, in a fuss, feel the thud.
spondee: smiling, shotgun, home sick, bleeding thick.
Friday, January 22, 2010
#6: Redoing Poems
Original:
The Lemons
In April they were still tough and green,
strangely proud in the cold sun.
And all around the garden the leaves
conspiring in green on green on green.
By June they turned. The branches sunk
in the wind. The lemons shone with dust.
Some of them fell and rolled down
the hill to the town bellow us.
Packed tight against the sea's
wind, the town was abandoned now.
The roofs fallen away. The setting sun
cutting its way among the rubble.
At night we'd walk down
the big hill and look back up.
We couldn't see the house where we slept,
where our lives were decided.
But the lemons hit the black hill.
By their marks we found our way home.
The winds and the lemons wedded in August,
and the lemons dropped to the cool ground.
A crisp mist settled on the town.
The rains swarmed in from the sea.
All of it became inseparable in our minds.
Walking down the hill and back
again, your hand would fall
into my hand and stay there.
Redone:
In April they were still tough and green,
strangely proud in the cold sun.
And all around the garden the leaves
conspiring in the green on green on green.
By June they turned. The branches sunk
in the wind. The lemons shone with dust.
Some of them fell and rolled down
the hill to the town below us.
Packed tight against the sea's
wind, the town was abandoned now.
The roofs fallen away. The setting sun
cutting its way among the rubble.
At night we'd walk down
the big hill and look back up.
We couldn't see the house where we slept,
where our lives were decided.
But the lemons lit the black hill.
By their marks we found our way home.
The winds and the lemons wedded in August,
and the lemons dropped to the cool ground.
A crisp mist settled on the town.
The rains swarmed in from the sea.
All of it became inseparable in our minds.
Walking down the hill and back
again, your hand would fall
into my hand and stay there.
When you change the stanzas in The Lemons, it takes a different meaning. When the poem is written in couplets, you can see that the poem seems to be telling a story about aging. The couplets help her to present the stages of life individually, then allows them to come together so that they create a pattern and a flow. When the poem is put into quatrains, it doesn't give you that necessary pause between stanzas. The quatrain is comfortable, and "easier on the eyes," so to speak, but it also prevents the poet from giving the reader a series of events that must be separate to be understood. Also, when the poem is changed to a quatrain, the poem seems to be more about lemons, or growing up around lemons, and takes away from the deeper meaning that a reader could get out of the poem.
The Lemons
In April they were still tough and green,
strangely proud in the cold sun.
And all around the garden the leaves
conspiring in green on green on green.
By June they turned. The branches sunk
in the wind. The lemons shone with dust.
Some of them fell and rolled down
the hill to the town bellow us.
Packed tight against the sea's
wind, the town was abandoned now.
The roofs fallen away. The setting sun
cutting its way among the rubble.
At night we'd walk down
the big hill and look back up.
We couldn't see the house where we slept,
where our lives were decided.
But the lemons hit the black hill.
By their marks we found our way home.
The winds and the lemons wedded in August,
and the lemons dropped to the cool ground.
A crisp mist settled on the town.
The rains swarmed in from the sea.
All of it became inseparable in our minds.
Walking down the hill and back
again, your hand would fall
into my hand and stay there.
Redone:
In April they were still tough and green,
strangely proud in the cold sun.
And all around the garden the leaves
conspiring in the green on green on green.
By June they turned. The branches sunk
in the wind. The lemons shone with dust.
Some of them fell and rolled down
the hill to the town below us.
Packed tight against the sea's
wind, the town was abandoned now.
The roofs fallen away. The setting sun
cutting its way among the rubble.
At night we'd walk down
the big hill and look back up.
We couldn't see the house where we slept,
where our lives were decided.
But the lemons lit the black hill.
By their marks we found our way home.
The winds and the lemons wedded in August,
and the lemons dropped to the cool ground.
A crisp mist settled on the town.
The rains swarmed in from the sea.
All of it became inseparable in our minds.
Walking down the hill and back
again, your hand would fall
into my hand and stay there.
When you change the stanzas in The Lemons, it takes a different meaning. When the poem is written in couplets, you can see that the poem seems to be telling a story about aging. The couplets help her to present the stages of life individually, then allows them to come together so that they create a pattern and a flow. When the poem is put into quatrains, it doesn't give you that necessary pause between stanzas. The quatrain is comfortable, and "easier on the eyes," so to speak, but it also prevents the poet from giving the reader a series of events that must be separate to be understood. Also, when the poem is changed to a quatrain, the poem seems to be more about lemons, or growing up around lemons, and takes away from the deeper meaning that a reader could get out of the poem.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
#5: Interesting Facts about the Ballad Stanza
Some facts about the Ballad Stanza:
-In the form of a song.
-Usually deals with folklore or legends.
-Written in the rhyme scheme ABAB or ABBA.
-Usually a four to six line form.
-Used in The Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner.
-Used in early historic tales, such as Beowulf.
http://personal.georgiasouthern.edu/~dougt/terms.htm
http://www.freebase.com/view/en/ballad_stanza
http://www.writing-world.com/poetry/ballad.shtml
What I found interesting about my research was the different ways that ballad forms are used. I know that I really should know better, but often times when I think of a ballad, I think of sappy love songs and what-not. I didn't know that Beowulf or The Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner were written in ballads, or that people use ballads for story telling. I like how the ballad can be used for many different things as well. You can use a ballad to tell a tragic tale, a funny story, or to mock something. I just never knew ballads could be so interesting!
-In the form of a song.
-Usually deals with folklore or legends.
-Written in the rhyme scheme ABAB or ABBA.
-Usually a four to six line form.
-Used in The Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner.
-Used in early historic tales, such as Beowulf.
http://personal.georgiasouthern.edu/~dougt/terms.htm
http://www.freebase.com/view/en/ballad_stanza
http://www.writing-world.com/poetry/ballad.shtml
What I found interesting about my research was the different ways that ballad forms are used. I know that I really should know better, but often times when I think of a ballad, I think of sappy love songs and what-not. I didn't know that Beowulf or The Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner were written in ballads, or that people use ballads for story telling. I like how the ballad can be used for many different things as well. You can use a ballad to tell a tragic tale, a funny story, or to mock something. I just never knew ballads could be so interesting!
Sunday, January 17, 2010
#4 A Pretty Picture
I took this picture when I was in Salt Lake City, Utah over Thanksgiving. I was in Temple Square, and I looked to my left and saw this really beautiful berry tree. When I looked down, I noticed that the berries were mixed in with these dainty purple flowers.
The first thing that pops out to me in my photo is the contrast in the colors. The way the light hits the berries makes them this brilliant color, almost fuchsia, and I love how that vibrant color contrast with the dull, brown dirt. Also, I feel like the flowers really make this picture. Everything seems to blend in to me, yet it doesn't at the same time, if that makes any sense. I love this photo because it seems designed, but there is no design.
The best part about the picture is that everything was put in the order nature intended. True, the flowers bordering the wall that held the tree were placed there by man, but as you can see in the photo, the flowers began to grow on their own terms. You can see a couple of flowers mixed in with the berries, deciding for themselves where they want to go. Everything in nature seems to come together to create this work of art. The sun is in the perfect place so that you not only see the eye-catching colors of the flowers and the berries, but the sun also shows us the shadow of the tree itself.
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