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Vicki G. Glenbrook North High School Creative Writing Ms. Natt Table of Contents Ballad Poem – Street Woman The River Indecisiveness My Girl, Jill and Polly Rose You’re You Will Starve Juicy Pear Scar Poem Pseudo-Apology Poem Poetry Reflection

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Ballad Poem – Street Woman Strolling towards the upbeat chatter, the drinks make fools tipsy. Good company, new friends each night. Maybe they are crazy. Women seduce men Caution: they are swirling Spontaneously around. Drunken men, they are all flirting.


The River, 1942 O. Louis Guglielmi

The River The skid marks on edge, constant ramming waves. The water is but a wedge, and only Mama saves. The uneasy chatter amongst the shadows drifts as currents splatter. Only she knows. Crazy clouds in diagonal and the seagulls left unseen. We rest at a terminal only to be caught in between. Their attention captivated by the turquoise river. We stood and we waited. And only Mama knew I would shiver.


Untitled (Indecisiveness), 1999 Sarah Hobbs

Indecisiveness Oh, brilliant genius of uncertainty, you’ve done it again. Pondering, wavering such decisions to spruce up this place. Alone in such solitude, a solitude of indecisiveness. Such endless options await. Insecurities bottle in this tiny room, hesitant to reveal the final pick. Tear down these possibilities. Tonight the unsure ensures. The walls shall sparkle. Oh, but it’s still undecided.


Jill and Polly in the Bathroom, 1987 Tina Barney

My Girls, Jill and Polly Jilly, you silly. Oh, Polly my dolly. So pink and so frilly, you don’t look so jolly. Mother and daughter, I’ve seen you look hotter. What a little plotter! Don’t mistake me as a doubter. Can’t hate me for what I did. Floral and flowery amid, Jilly, remember to take the towel off the lid. My job is simply to be candid. Remove the tangled hairs from your brush, and give that toilet a royal flush. Your pinky nail polish so lush against the even pinker bathrobes of plush. I have to honest and frank. Those red glasses stink. Both young and old so swank, just don’t hurt my clicking flash as I wink.


Meditative Rose, 1958 Salvador Dali

Rose Mystifying indeed. I cannot marvel like they can. Perfection at its finest. My velvet rose, I wish you existed. Tranquility beyond limits. Pinky peace. My tear falls upon your petal like sadness from God. Clearest of skies, yet my mind perplexed. Water droplet of silence. Hovering beauty, I give my all to you, my fantasy of life.


You’re Skillful, not only with your hands but your mind. Pinkies cringe like the bulb in your brain. A prodigy of manipulation, dropping souls left and right. Self-esteem deteriorates by the sound of your rehearsed titter. You giggle and chatter like a music box awaiting destruction. Demonic thought processes control each intricate move, like a game of chess in the park of autumn. Precious, your voice picks them up, and they’re really stuck. Damn stuck, forced to follow the hubbub. Exploiting their opinion to your advantage, you’re interfering with sanity and morality. Tamper their every nerve to paralysis like a beast of your craft. Like a No. 2 pencil sharpened to its metal tip, use them until they’re shot and inept. Esoteric, very few can touch you. Your response is weak, yet your logic speaks from one hemisphere to the other, interested in interestingly, strange matter. Cheers to you. You are a wrecking ball.


You Will Starve When he failed algebra, I could not sympathize. After repeating such lessons, I advised him on what not to do. Lentils in the pot and chicken broth, now they bicker in disappointment. That rotten nuisance. Doesn’t he realize I cannot escape the dinner table tonight? The nearby chatter and television only pump tension. Like a tire releasing air from broken beer bottles, he cannot deflate this collapse. Years back he may have been their baby, receiving utmost petty attention, but not anymore. And not today. Bionicle and Harry Potter left, because escaping reality will not erase it. Passing potatoes, my input is worthless. Yet as he swirls crispy peas and pilaf, honestly, he knows he is a letdown. Now you are full, but later you will starve, especially once frustration flees. Because five minus x is two, and x cannot be two, too.


Pseudo-Apology Poem Forgive me, but wrinkled clothes are not a concern. I threw clean and ironed laundry on my floor. I’m sorry, but hanging them up doesn’t make me A terrible daughter.


Poetry Reflection The poetry unit was much like an experiment. While there was some guidance and direction with the assignments, I found it challenging when I had to force myself to write. I sat down to do the assignments, struggling to delve into ideas or choose words. However, I discovered that, like other forms of writing, poetry is definitely creative and that it makes me think. It’s not easy to write concisely or use beautiful language. Like math problems, conjuring details, descriptions, sound devices, or even ideas can drive a person crazy. As a whole, I really enjoyed the unit. Pushed out of my comfort zone, I worked very hard to incorporate the same creative thought I’ve been using into this new form of writing. I know story-telling and argumentative writing is a strength of mine, but poetry requires a bit more imagination. For instance, writing the concrete poem about a pear was a stretch. I’m not even sure how I came up with that idea, but luckily I made it work. My feelings about poetry changed after watching the movie about Sylvia Plath’s life. That movie alone brought me to another level when I had to write my own poetry. I have been analyzing poems for years, but using the devices that I’ve been told to look for to create something of my own was hard. I think I appreciate poems more now than I did before. The time and thought that goes into writing maybe ten lines could, unfortunately, lead someone to the same lows, which was the case for Plath. It’s a very emotional process that does take a toll on the author or wrier. The three poems I’ve chosen for my portfolio include my extended metaphor poem, my narrative poem, and my concrete poem. I think that because the metaphor and the narrative poems were inspired by real events and people in my life that they were more meaningful. Writing about actual experiences and genuine emotion allows a writer to be more personal and creative. In my narrative poem, I expressed a truth about what happens when parents express disappointment and frustration in their children. My brother failed algebra, my parents yelled at him at the dinner terrible, and I was caught in a terrible


position. While the story may sound insignificant to one person, it does encourage another to create this art form. Poetry is quite relieving. I really like my metaphor poem because it was inspired by one of my best friends. While I love her to death, she has a very unique quality where she chooses an individual, surrounds him or her with her utmost attention, and then one day decides to drop that person completely from her life. It’s a very disturbing cycle, but the way she can manipulate someone is what seems to keep people coming back every time. People are just so strange and inspiring. Lastly, I chose my concrete poem simply because I thought it was cute. To come up with the theme for that poem took me forever. I also wish I could’ve uploaded the more artistic version of the poem I created, but technology can only do so much for me. Overall, I believe these three poems are of my best work in the poetry unit, deserving recognition for pure creativity.

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Poetry Portfolio  

Creative Writing - Poetry Unit