Tuesday, January 4, 2011

AP Lit Poem that took me forever....yes....this is Dante

Infernal Glance

Into a deepest gloom I walked,
far from the light of Heaven’s glance.
A well-worn path, now desolate,
to turn back then there was no chance.

And to my view I saw an end,
a well-kept gate of blackened steel-
ominous, though enticing yet,
The gate to Hell: the final seal

Around this gate a worn group stood,
some in a moaning agony,
others in silent omission.
They hid against the gate from me.

And from this crowd a man emerged,
a sinister, yet smiling man.
He welcomed me and bade me come
to see the world of endless ban.

I watched him as he glanced around,
“They take the credit not their own”
He said, “These are the hypocrites.
Their worth is bit an earthly loan”.

“But now small blisters cover them
with pains of great intensity.
It is just like as they had lived,
as blisters to humanity”.

And through the gate we entered now,
into a land of desolation.
An arid plot of deadened grass,
where souls sat in isolation

The air was filled with soapy bubbles.
The millions rising towards the sun.
From out the mouths of the accursed,
they drifted to skies known by none.

I asked of what their crimes had been.
He lightly laughed and told me that
these rude people pushed to know
offending questions without tact.

And now they blow the tiny spheres
to make up for the personal
bubbles that they had cruelly popped-
a mental harm, yet physical.

But then we went on to the next,
a blazing land of endless heat,
where hotheads looked for something cool:
some shade, a drink, relief complete.

My guide said that these hotheads were
the kind that thought they ne’er were wrong.
But now they bake out in the sun-
a victim of their pride for long

And down some more we deeper went
until we found a rocky beach
where people sat and counted rocks.
The final total, out of reach

Deceivers who had climbed to fame,
they stepped upon the smaller guys
and cheated to the very top,
despite the honest people’s cries.

And now they live to pay respect
to the small and simple lost
“It’s fitting, yes?”, my host did ask
and on the ground, more rocks he tossed.

And by the beach there was a boat
on which we sailed through thick red sea
until we reached a swampy shore
where hateful eyes glared back at me.

Those hateful eyes were all I saw,
for that was all above the mire.
These are the people without ears
‘cause listening, it them would tire.

Hard-hearted folks who never listened
because on selfish thoughts they’d stuck
Now stick in the mud, a food for thought,
to helpless souls they’d left in muck.

But then we walked on farther still
to wearied men with bags of sand.
Who dumped them in the large red lake-
a tireless task to those course hands.

My host then said that these souls were
lazy, lethargic, nincompoops.
Who valued not a thing at all,
but barely jumped through life’s crude hoops

And now they build more room for pain.
They’re forced to watch the new souls suffer
and build the endless caves of Hell-
Pains to hearts, their hands grow tougher.

Then up we went into the night.
As howls arose my host did warn
that we would see a rougher part
of some savage souls, ripped and torn.

In the storming west wind blowing
and here the wayward souls lacked light,
They blindly searched for relief
as they had led the souls from right.

The leaders who had led astray
the people destined for God’s blessing
Do now lay blinded in the dark-
a vice that they are now addressing.

Then back onto the boat we fled
to find another ship out there
filled with sea-sick men onboard
from tossing seas of endless terror.

These men, my guide did tell me then,
were men who broke life’s precious trust:
Who caused internal waves of grief,
and they did harm the faith of just.

And up into the sky we flew
To find a burning flame up high,
where souls were burnt and tossed in smoke,
and roasting in an awful lie

These souls are those who hurt a child:
A cruel and heartless act of vile.
But now they burn in children’s tears-
a lasting taste of their poor trial.

But then my host grew serious;
he asked me if I could go on.
I softly gulped and answered yes
‘cause to the final spot I’d drawn.

Before my eyes a somber crew
hardened to my host and me.
Their eyes were dull and senseless yet-
devoid of love; they’d never see.

These were souls who’s snatched up life,
who played with life and lost it all,
and sent souls to an early grave-
with angels to their beck and call.

For them their fate was different
‘cause in their eyes the scenes played o’er.
The life of one removed from earth.
Of despair, it was for them a tour.

And in a flash that path appeared,
before the blackened gates of Hell.
And then my host did draw me near,
“And now you have your tale to tell”

“And now do not come back my friend.
You know of now the awful fate.
Go live your life and do it well
‘cause for your soul, I shall not wait”.

And then I turned my back to him
to walk away from awful gloom,
to see the loving sun again,
to brighten in its glorious bloom.

Wednesday, June 2, 2010

The Girl Called Chartreuse

The Girl Called Chartreuse

Mischievous feet pattered about drowned blossoms
A cool breeze on a blistering, mundane night
An oddity running away to enlist in the circus
Sighs of Unborn Sunbeams

Bitter sweet; a nibble of heartache
A blatant surprise, unsheltered from gaping stares
Sprinklers throwing rainbows to the sky
A relaxed laugh tinted with colorful hiccups
Dreams of bubbling sunshine

Zingy, Twangy, a hint of sunrise
A crooked smile that radiates, blooms
Clinging to doorways on Jamaican lanes
Blooming trance of sun's rays

Elegant, sleek in the soft glow of night
Candy to the worrisome eyes
A small sprightly thing grown far too fast
A warm reminder of winter's unyielding grasp
The dying hum of sunset

*Note: I did not take this picture. (....it works oh so perfectly though :) )

Sunday, May 30, 2010

Procrastination...the end :) (hopefully)

I've done an awful job keeping up with this blog. My only excuse--Life becomes a little too crazy a bit too often. :) However, I *DO* have a few plans of what I can be doing with this blog throughout the next little while. So---i'm definitely not at a loss for ideas. :) So---I've grown to love photography as well as writing oh so much more in the past little while. :) I think my love of these comes from that inexplicable joy of making something beautiful. Anywho,,,along with my poems, short stories and other such stuff, I will be putting some of my photography on here too. :) Good idea? (hahaha...actually...I can't say that public opinion matters too much....i'm a bit too determined. ;) )
...hahaha...I thought this picture describes my poor blogging pretty well ;)

Monday, December 7, 2009

New Moon/ Full Moon

A simple text can do OHHHHH so much. Something so small and almost pointless seems almost larger than life when unclear, unrealistic, and more confusing than where it should. New Moon---a movie blown out of proportion added with one of these small unclear texts can actually turn into something quite hilarious. Take for the example, "Why'd New Moon come out on a Full Moon?": it's a simple text. It's not quite so when people respond:

"Jacob---drool---", or "Did you FINALLY go see it?!?!?", or "Really Jasilyn?".

A simple question perhaps confuses people the most.

Sunday, December 6, 2009


Throughout the month of November, I was the happy participant of "Nanowrimo". With writing a hopeful 1,667 words a day in the month of november, one is to be able to finish an entire novel. My novel was all planned out before I got started writing. Heroes were created and found their way into my mind throughout several times of the day. Villans were also created, though not as easily, and were also a constant thought on my mind. I've always wanted to write a novel; it has always been my dream and hope. My story was set, and nothing could change it--or so I thought. My book DID start out the way I wanted it to. People were placed right where I wanted them; people acted how I had always imagined them. Then, the characters seemed to develop as much stubborness as me and decided that they truly weren't happy with how I was taking the book. Honestly, I don't think that I was the creator of this story. Elizabeth, Dawsney, John, Doc,....they are truly the writers of this story.

Tuesday, October 20, 2009


Silence revolves. Silence erupts. Silence grips at sliding pencils that threaten to mock its sound. Silence is the icy grip that clings to one's tongue. Silence mourns and cries foul play. Silence is beauty that spins and twirls and shimmers with brilliant light. Silence is a dark; silence is the light. Silence breathes a rancid foulness. Silence hurts and breaks and tears. Silence huddles, alone is shadows. Silence blinks and stares for ages. Silence howls and screams. Silence simply lives.

Humming Hands

Somewhere under an endless rainbow, gentle giants from afar sing drifting lullabies to quiet ears. Humming Hands strum lazily through groves of floral heat. Together, inspiration blossoms grow. They grow to sing, and sing for me. Joy will blossom but, like its roots, will die and wither away to the depths of watery graves. Rainbows have melted, tears have run, and empty strings remain the same.