Collaborative Poetry #2

More poetry collaboration, this time with a space theme!

I wanna waltz across the Heavens, while a band of Angels play;
I'd like to two-step on some stardust, just a billion miles away.
I'll play Ring Around the Rosie with Saturn for a day,
Then whistle a celestial tune as I leave the Milky Way.

On my way back to Earth, because of my girth, I was traveling at the speed of light;
But because I was fast, I had such a blast, and continued my trip with delight!
An asteroid flew by and threw dust in my eye, but I continued my trip past Mars,
I flew far and flew quick, it was a glorious trip, for now I am out amongst stars!

Love of Language

Have you ever just stopped and looked at or thought about a beautiful passage of writing? Perhaps you never have. We live in such an object-driven world that I think it's hard for us to appreciate the beauty of words because we're always looking for meaning amongst them. The problem that always seems to arise for people who don't like poetry is the fact that the poem "doesn't make any sense" to them. They try to see the meaning of the poem before actually stopping to think about the beauty of the words contained within the poem. While it is true that the meaning of a poem, coming about from the placement of words within the poem, does make the poem memorable/good for some people, I think we all should practice trying to love words for what they are. It seems that an ability exists for us, as users of language, that is quite special in the world; we can appreciate the beauty of what we say, not just the meaning, but also the word choice.

Someone once asked me if I liked little "sayings", and my answer was, unequivocally, no. I hate the cliche little motivational sayings, like "when there were only one set of footprints on the beach you were carried"etc., etc., because I think they come off as incredibly corny. Despite this, I like listening and thinking about word choice in songs/writing. For example, one of my favorite lyrics is from the song "My World" from hip-hop artist Illogic. It goes:

I'm traveling this maze,
With a javelin,
Taking aim at abdomens,
Stumbling as I guilt trip
From pixie dust particles,
Laced with the American way of conformity
I lash out in defense of culture to stimulate dormancy.

Do I have any idea what it means? Sort of, not really. Will I ever really know what it means? No, there's just no way. But I love the word choice; I love the imagery; I love everything about it. The fact that I don't "understand" it in no way diminishes how much I enjoy hearing the words. The saying "missing the forest for the trees" is all about how we focus on the little things while missing the big picture - something that's assumed to be wrong. In order to get around our tendency as a society to focus on the meaning of something while forsaking the thing itself, however, I often find myself trying to enjoy the trees before I even look for the forest. The forest is there, but it in no way diminishes the beauty of each individual tree.

Collaborative Poetry

Collaborations are fun. At work the other day, a fellow teacher and I wrote these two poems (or one long poem) at a teacher learning event. We each wrote two lines in rhyme scheme abcb, and this is what came out. We thought it was pretty good for no longer than 30 minutes' work, while also listening to a presentation during the workshop!

Love's Fall from Grace

Could we with ink the ocean fill
and were the skies of parchment made,
would all the words I could write,
be worthy of your sweet gaze?

What if every stalk on Earth a quill
and every man a "scribe" by trade?
Would the beauty of these thoughts and words
last long enough to sweeten our Earthly days?

Oh the love (we know) is rich and pure
and it is measureless and STRONG!
Through time and space, through life and death,
a love such as this cannot be wrong!

Your tears like waterfalls are raining down,
under a dark and moonless sky.
Walking sightlessly in puddles unseen,
the pain I feel gives me 'cause to die.

Once hopelessly in love,
now just a hollow shell, helpless and alone.
Aimlessly searching for my soul,
at last, I've found, it's always shone.

The Universe is Right

Have you ever had one of those days where everything just seems to be going right? I don't mean you found some money or kept your shoes dry while walking through a puddle, I mean a day where you feel completely right in the world. The place you occupy, the people you see and talk to, the choices you make - on the perfect day all these things just seem to fall into place. Everything about you and within you becomes fluid; days like these make us appreciate being alive.

So what is it that goes into that perfect day where everything goes right? It's more than just having everything go your way, although no one would object to having a day like that. No, more than just having everything go the way you want, a perfect day is more than just that. Have you ever just stopped and thought about your position in the universe? I'm not trying to sound mystical or corny, but really, just stop and think sometime about your situation. Who are you? What are you? What place do you occupy within the world? It's more than just your family, friends, or job. It's much simpler than that; what we're made to do, and the thing that I feel makes for a perfect day, is simply to be comfortable with all the things within our immediate power and control.

I experienced one of these moments a few days ago. I was driving in my car, the radio was playing, and it was raining. As I looked out the windshield, I could just feel my own exertion on the world. I felt my own little niche in the world, occupied at that moment by myself in my car, and could completely understand my effect on all others around me. Every rain drop on the windshield and note playing over the radio were a part of me. I was one with my surroundings, and I could understand my place in the world. It didn't matter what had happened through the day, and it didn't matter what anyone said or thought, at that moment I felt that I glimpsed something more than myself, and it was a wonderful feeling, one that sustained me for the rest of the day.

Wow. This post got really convoluted really quickly. In my defense, it's hard to describe a moment wherein you feel in control of your very being. Even though we've been told countless times by countless sources how small and insignificant we are within the universe, we should all try, as much as possible, to understand how giant we can all really be if given the right circumstances.

... nope, still doesn't really make sense. I tried.

Vladimir Nabokov's Lolita is a very strange novel. It's undeniably good; the language, the characters, even the situations are all interesting. The novel is humorous, also, and there are instances when characters are placed in situations that are funny, regardless of any moral implications that are also present. Despite these things, however, I think the thing that's most appealing about the book, as well as the thing that makes it uniquely strange, is the sense of underlying irony that's present throughout the novel.

For those of you who haven't read the book, or more still, haven't seen the movie, Lolita is a novel about a pre-teenage girl becoming sexually involved with a middle aged man. It's become sort of a cultural icon, even to the point that the name Lolita is synonymous with a sexually active young girl. The man, a self-confessed lover of young "nymphets", marries the girl's mother in order to stay close to her, and ultimately ends up traveling around the country with her, keeping her with him at all times. The relationship between the two is very complicated; on one had Lolita was the one who initiated the sexual acts between the two, but ultimately she becomes a kind of sexual prisoner, with the protagonist, Humbert Humbert, taking the role of her father as they travel the country. He fulfills his urges with her physically, and she responds by accepting gifts and rewards for her involvement, despite her disgust with the situation.

From this description, it would seem that the book would be a pervert's delight, filled with erotic scenes between the old man and his young sexual slave. The material of the novel is more conducive of this type of writing, and one would expect the language to match. But the language, however, is where the irony of the novel comes into play. Nobokov writes the novel from the perspective of the protagonist, a well-educated Frenchman, and as such he frames it with language that fits. The language is flowery and verbose, flamboyant and esoteric; it is full of figurative language and long words, and it is actually quite difficult to read. It's this juxtaposition of language and content that makes the novel so interesting.

Irony is a funny thing. It can be funny on many levels, both extrinsically and intrinsically. While the novel doesn't strike one as overtly ironic, when you stop to consider the content being described, in one particular scene Humbert has his "daughter" gratify him under the desk at her all-girls school, as well ass the beautiful language being used, the talent of the author in creating such an ironic and creative format is amazing. These ideas, that the content of the novel isn't reflected by the language being used, is very provocative, and because of them the novel is overwhelmingly good. It is an exercise and tour de force in irony, and shouldn't be missed.

The New You

School starts this week, so that means back to work for me. I've been getting my lesson plans ready, re-familiarizing myself with the material, and even getting my car ready for the daily drive to work. I'm doing things in a similar way as when I was younger, only this time I'm the teacher instead of the student. Despite this distinction, however, I still find myself falling into some of the same thought-patterns that I had as a student in high school, and even in college to some extent.


Like a "New Year's Resolution" that takes place in August, I used to find myself making resolutions to be better in the coming school year. Being a generally unorgainzed person, it seemed that my resolution at the beginning of most school years was to keep my things more organized than the year before; neatness is close to Godliness after all, or at least so I've heard. For a few weeks I would stick to this resolution; my papers would stay in order, my bookbag would be neat and organized, and I would even go out of my way to complete my homework as soon as I got home. I find myself making these same sorts of resolutions as this school year starts, as well. I want to be more organized, stay ahead of the game, do everything I can that will generally make life easier. There seems to be a multitude of things that I could do, but never get around to, that would make everything so much easier both inside and out of work.

Despite these resolutions, however, I always find myself falling back into the old routines. My things would stay neat and organized for a little while, but ultimately they would end up messy and strewn about. I would start doing homework as soon as possible, but before too long I would be finishing book reports at midnight the night before they were due. It seems that I can't break free from old habits.

This idea though, that we can't break free of old habits, got me thinking. Perhaps it's the bad habits that make us who we are more than the good ones. It feels like I'm not being myself when I'm not messy and procrastinating. Even though it would undoubtedly make life much easier, it just seems so unnatural to go about things differently than I normally do. It feels like I would lose some of what makes me who I am if I gave up these things. So maybe the next time you feel like changing some of your "bad" habits, you should consider what they add to your character, more than just what things are made difficult by these characteristics themselves.

Winter Dreams

Fitzgerald was a master. Let's get that out of the way to begin with. Overrated, underrated, whatever you want to cal him, the man had some serious insight into the world. While The Great Gatsby is his magnum opus, his short stories are often overlooked. However, one of his short stories, Winter Dreams, really stands out for me.

Without getting too much into the story, it somewhat covers that feeling of loss and isolation we feel when presented with something from our past that didn't turn out the way we expected. For Dexter, the protagonist of the story, this moment comes when he realizes that the woman he could never have, Judy Jones, a once beautiful and illustrious socialite, is now a plain house-wife, years after their trysts of younger days. His feelings of grandeur that he once held onto left him immediately upon finding out this information; it was as if a part of his older life, a part that he held onto, was torn away, and it could never be gotten again.

I think this is something we all face when reminiscing about the past. The things that we once knew, whether they be people, places, or even ideas that we held about certain subjects, often look less grand through the eyes of age and experience. Whether its the world beating us down with the stark realization of things, or just a change in our overall point of view, I think everyone, at some point in their lives, has felt that sudden pang of remorse when remembering something from younger days.

For me, it's seeing people from my school days. I will sometimes see pictures, or even just small bits of information, about people that I happened to know in school. Back then they were smart, beautiful, or popular; they were captains of the football team or prom queens. The most popular and well liked people in their teenage years, now relegated to grinding jobs or part of an unloving marriage. The years have worn away the old facade of youthful exuberance and only the wanton maliciousness of years gone by can be seen on their faces.

I think life wears at everyone. It's only those people that actively choose to reaffirm their life whenever they can that ultimately liberate themselves from the overwhelmingly mundane existence that most of us inhabit. Maybe Fitzgerald was right about losing something, but maybe that loss doesn't have to equate to sadness. Sometimes loss is necessary in order for life to begin anew.

Nostalgia, Nostalgia

It's amazing how difficult things become when you're unused to them. I can remember things being VERY easy, or seemingly easy, when I was younger, but now that I try them as I've gotten older, it seems that they're much harder. I don't know if it's the simplicity, or the different outlook as an older person, but it just seems that old things are more difficult to deal with than newer things.

Take video games, for example. I can remember playing something when I was only seven or eight years old, say Super Mario, and it being really fun, engaging, and easy to do. I got so used to playing Super Mario that it was no longer difficult. It represented the best video game of the time, and since it was cutting edge, it was very easy to become engrossed in the game. I'd find myself playing the game over and over, perfecting my skills, and eventually I got to the point where I was quite good.

Trying to play Super Mario now that I'm older, however, seems to be much more difficult. The graphics are horrible, the controls are unresponsive, and it's very hard to even like the game, let alone find the time to be good at it. Modern video games are infinitely more complex and challenging than the first games, but it seems that I've become so accustomed to them that their complexity becomes easier to handle. What was once simple and enjoyable as a boy is now difficult to engage with, even for the sake of nostalgia.

I think this is true of many things that we may do for nostalgia's sake. We can usually think of things that were downright AMAZING in our youth, but now that we're older, they don't hold the same appeal. Nostalgia is a funny beast in this regard; it makes us want to do things that we know and love, but once we start to do them, we realize how much we've forsaken our "old" ways in favor of what's new and exciting.

To Torture, or Not to Torture?

I was reading an article the other day for my AP training class aptly titled "A Case for Torture". While the irony of reading the article on the last day of a professional development class wasn't lost on me, the article itself was enough to rouse my interest.

The crux of the article's entire argument was that in times where the needs of the many outweigh that of a single individual, it is morally justifiable, even required, to torture the individual if it will save the many from harm. A terrorist, for example, has set up a bomb to explode in four hours, and in order to stop the explosion the authorities should torture the terrorist to find the location of the bomb. The author was basically arguing that any amount of pain/harm that was committed to this one person was worth the lives that would be saved by the disarming of the bomb.

The argument within the article was, for me, basically crap. The author resorted to a ton of charged epithets that were meant to evoke our inner American, and because of that his argument pretty well fell apart. The argument itself, however, wasn't what interested me. What became interesting as I read was how ubiquitous utilitarianism has become in our society. Utilitarianism is, in case you didn't know, the ethical philosophy that states that the right course of action is the one that maximizes the amount of "good" that comes out of a situation, i.e., you should always kill one person in order to save a hundred, etc., etc. This was sort of the central tenet of the argument the author was making, and it was interesting to see how many times it was appealed to within the article without the author seemingly knowing that he was doing so.


For the most part, it made me think about how much certain things disseminate within society without us even knowing. Many of our assumptions, if not all of them, have been passed to us through generations without our knowledge. Things that we take for granted on many issues, ethical or not, are often the product of the time we're raised in.

So, next time you're making a seemingly unqualified decision about something, stop and think about why you're really doing so. The answer just may surprise you.

Is There Really Any Order?

So, bear with me here. While I was in college, there were these "litmus tests" that were in some of our books to see if a person's "critical thinking" skills were good enough to operate on the level of some of the material. One of these tests was based on the understanding of one of Plato's dialogues, "The Euthyphro". In it, the question of piety was raised, i.e., is something pious because God loves it, or does God love something because there's already some inherent quality within the object that makes it "pious". This got me thinking about these exercises, and I've made a few of them in the same vein that I thought were interesting. Here's one.

If something is random, that means that it's able to become anything. When we think of randomness, it often evokes the idea of out-of-order, or mixed up; there's usually no symmetry in the things we consider random. By definition, however, if something is completely random, that assumes that it could also be symmetrical. For example, if ten numbers were placed in a hat, and each was drawn once for an infinite number of times, eventually the sequence of 1-10 in numerical order would be drawn, even though the numbers are taken at random. Following from this, it seems that any amount of order could come out of randomness. Take the image of a puzzle; if 50 puzzle pieces were thrown on the floor in a pile, very few, most probably none of them, would land close to their mate pieces. IF, however, that puzzle was thrown on the ground an infinite number of times, it seems that eventually the entire puzzle would fall in such a way as to be completely formed.

By logical extension it would seem, therefore, that one could make the argument that any sense of order within the universe is just randomness expressing itself to us as order through an ad infinitum repetition. Any order that exists in our world is just randomness manifested as order; it's just the roll of the dice wherein all five landed showing sixes. The things that we consider to have any amount of order, the human body, the life-cycle, etc., etc., could possibly just be completely random happening that appear ordered. This would mean that the word "order" would be invalid; nothing would have order, and the idea of order would be abolished in favor "things that appear ordered".

I know the rabbit-hole goes pretty deep on this one, but it's a thought-provoking idea to me nonetheless. I understand that it has to do with a function of language, word-meaning, our idea of the word "order", etc., but at the same time it's something that I like to think about. It makes sense to me, but maybe that's only because someone, somewhere, just rolled a Yahtzee.

The Allure of a Thunderstorm

What is it that makes a thunderstorm so fascinating? Am I the only one who often finds myself in a pensive mood when gazing into the blackness of a summer storm? More often than not I feel drawn to a storm; there seems to be something calling me to what the storm is, what it represents, and what it's capable of.

I think more than anything, a thunderstorm makes us realize, often times abruptly, how small and insignificant we are against the backdrop of the rest of the universe. We, as humans, often like to make ourselves lords of everything we encounter. Anything we're confronted with that's either unknown or potentially harmful is thrust away as quickly as possible. The finitude of our own existence, above all else, is the one thing that most seek to put away from themselves and pay no heed to.

Perhaps this is why it often feels so good to stare into the bleak darkness of the coming storm. For me, the storm is full of meanings; not only is it beautiful and magnificent, but it can also be seen as a metaphorical representation of where we're all inevitably headed as mortal beings, whether we admit it or not. The coming storm represents chaos in its most literal form, and I often try as hard as I can to embrace the chaos, if only to feel, for the briefest of times, what it truly means to be a human being.

Dream, Dream, Dream

It's almost always trite to talk about your dreams with other people. They're the ultimate "you-had-to-be-there" - not only do they not make any sense to anyone but yourself, but there's also a very good chance that no one will care at all that you had a dream last night where you were naked at your school and Jeff was there, but it didn't look like your school and Jeff was an octopus.

With that being said, I'm not going to lay out any dream specifics here for no one to care about; rather, I want to talk about that quality that almost everyone has felt after a dream. That particular, uncanny quality that's felt after a very vivid dream - there something about a dream that resonates with things that are happening in real life, whether it be a personal matter, work, whatever, that makes it stick around after sleeping is done with. I often pause and think, after a particularly vivid dream, that dreams are really one of the only things in our lives that can be truly paradoxical - they have completely no objective interaction with reality, yet at the same time they can influence all the same.

Dreams are an interesting beast in this sense. They fade away like nothing's happened after we've had time to go through our day, but in that one instant, that brief moment upon wakening that the fine line between what is "real" and what is "unreal" becomes blurred, these vivid dreams can mean very, very much.