The Climb

             I was asked to think small and write big, so that’s what I did. I was inspired by events in my own life to write this play. I was very intimidated at first. Dialogue is not generally something I enjoy, but as I started writing it all began to flow.

The Climb

     A group of three embarks on a hike up a mountain. Two of the three are adventurous and athletic, while the third member of the group is not. They leave the trail and continue blazing their own climbing up rock walls and jumping boulder to boulder. The weather is perfect and the sun shines down through the trees above. The scene starts as the group comes across their first serious rock wall.

JESSICA: Hey guys you know what, I think I'm just going to stay here. (Stops walking and looks up at the wall before them)

KATE: Nnnnooooo… Jess you’re coming with us. I'm not leaving you here. (Turns back and looks at JESSICA)

JESSICA: No really its fine, I promise. I’ll just wait right here for you guys. (Looks around for a nice boulder to sit on. Finds one that is appropriate and sits down) See this is perfect for me. You all can keep hiking up the mountain and I will just wait here. I’ll be perfectly content.

BEN: Come on Jessica, it won’t be that bad. I brought my little sister up here and she is the biggest wimp ever. If she could do it, anyone can.

JESSICA: So if your sister is a wimp, I am an even bigger one. That wasn’t a very convincing story.

BEN: But it was supposed to be…

JESSICA: Well that backfired…

KATE: Shoot, sassy Jess. He was just trying to help.

JESSICA: If he was actually trying to help he wouldn’t have brought us on this death hike. I’ve already fallen twice and slipped my feet into the creek, and that was without climbing any rock walls. If I try to go up that (Gestures toward rock wall before them) I would probably die.

BEN: Jessica, don’t be dramatic. It is really not that bad. I’ll even help you!

JESSICA: Unless you can fly me up that wall, I don’t think I'm going to make it.

BEN: That won’t be necessary, just watch me! (Walks bravely up to the rock wall. Sums up what he is about to deal with and plans his route up. He places his hand firmly in a divot in the wall and begins to pull himself up.) See Jessica, this isn’t hard at all.

JESSICA: Easy for you to say... (Rolls her eyes)

BEN: (Pulls himself up over the last bit of the wall and stands up) I made it up, so now I can help you.

JESSICA: Alright, fine I’ll try it. If I die I'm blaming all you.

BEN: (Nods) Fine by me

KATE: Fine by me too! Only cause you won’t actually die (Laughs)

JESSICA: (Walks tentatively up to the wall) so what’s first?

BEN: Well place your right hand on the wall above your head and your left hand in the hole above the little bump right there. Then step your right foot onto that stump, and your left foot onto that piece that sticks out. (Gestures towards the places)

KATE: (Starts laughing) This sounds more like a game of twister than rock climbing!

BEN: Kate, shut up! That’s not going to make her feel any better. And anyway, it works so who cares? (Continues to point to places for JESSICA)

JESSICA: I can’t believe you are making me do this! (Continues climbing until she reaches the top)

BEN: Look at you! You made it to the top! (Gives JESSICA a big hug)

KATE: I told you that you could do it!

JESSICA: I am going to be sore tomorrow…

Black out  

 

Laces

 

Laces

First comes first,

you must find a pair.

One for the right,

and one for the left.

 

Then comes the easiest part of it all,

slip one foot then two,

into the shoe.

 

Now things get tricky,

There are four straggling ends.

Two for the right

and two for the left.

 

You could leave them be,

but experience has told,

that these four snakes trip you up,

if you are to be so bold.

 

Rather it’s best to instead be neat,

and tie up these four

before you and the floor meet.

 

Each snake has a little long snake best friend,

and for each it lives on the other end.

 

At times they are left

loose and untied

forced to live separate lives.

 

When they are reunited,

one twists under real quick,

to give a tight hug,

be sure to lend a tug.

 

Doubling over in great laughter

they each form a loop,

but this time when all is said and done,

the two best friends are now one.

 

The Simple Days

The Simple Days

How I wish to go back to the simple days,

The simple days of play,

When all our worries had to do with fantasy,

And they would simply all just wash away.

 

How I wish to go back to the simple days,

When the playground was a castle,

And my bunk bed was my fort,

Guarded with loyal stuffed animals.

 

How I wish to go back to the simple days,

Hosting tea parties in the back yard,

Mr. Bear and Mr. Turtle were always on time

They were always the most courteous.

 

How I wish to go back to the simple days,

Homework was for grownups,

I never dreamed of doing it,

I rather color in rainbows. 

How I wish to go back to the simple days,

When a band aid on my scrape made my day,

It could make all the pain go away,

I would soon be good as new.

Little Blue Working Pants

              I chose to do a spin-off of “Little Red Riding Hood” but call it “Little Blue Working Pants”. I found this assignment to be easier than I had expected. Once I got started, the rest just flowed. I altered many parts of the story, but the main plot is the same. I also changed the ending.

Little Blue Working Pants

            Once upon a time, there lived a little boy. This little boy was, more often than not, called Little Blue Working Pants after a pair of sturdy pants he would always wear. He had been given these sturdy pants by his grandfather during the winter. It was now spring and not a week had passed where Little Blue Working Pants had not worn his favorite pair of pants as least five times.

            Little Blue Working Pants loved his grandfather very much and became very distressed when he heard his grandfather had fallen and broken both his leg and his arm. Now he would not be able to work in his blacksmith shop until they had both healed. Determined to help his grandfather, Little Blue Working Pants pulled on his sturdy jeans and announced he was going to his grandfather’s house in the woods to work in his shop until he was healed.

            Now, as Little Blue Working Pants headed off to the woods he mother told him to be weary. “There are many dangerous things that live in the forest between here and grandfather’s house,“ she said. Little Blue Working Pants simply responded, “I know.” He had grown accustom to his mother’s needless worrying. It seemed that according to his mother, there were many “dangerous things” everywhere. There was no sense in worrying since he had never encountered such things in his little adventures. So, as careless as a butterfly, he ventured off into the woods.

            Not long after he had set off, Little Blue Working Pants came across Bear. Now Bear is one who would fall into Little Blue Working Pants mother’s definition of a “dangerous thing.” However, when she had mentioned Bear, Little Blue Working Pants had not been listening. He had turned her out like a droning hammer.

            When Bear saw Little Blue Working Pants strutting through the forest one thing popped into his mind, lunch. When he jumped out of forest onto the path which Little Blue Working Pants was walking on, he was slightly confused when he did not try to flee. “Little Blue Working Pants, why are you not afraid of me?” Bear dared to ask. Little Blue Working Pants responded, “Why would I be afraid of an oversized teddy bear? I’ve wanted one like you for years! All I really want to do is give you a hug.” With this, the Bear realized that he would not have to catch his own lunch, lunch was being served today.

            Little Blue Working Pants was a talkative fellow and did not stop there. He continued, “Teddy Bear, you should accompany me to my grandfather’s house. I want to show him my great Teddy Bear. He doesn’t live too far away, just over the bridge by the swimming creek.” This Bear could not refuse. Two for one? Why not.

            Bear quickly hatched his plan to have lunch and dessert. He asked Little Blue Working Pants, “Why walk together when we can make a game out of this? Here, I’ll race you to grandfather’s house.” Little Blue Working Pants could not refuse such a game. Ready. Set. Go. They were off.

            It was not even close to a close race. While Little Blue Working Pants was a hard worker, he was a slow runner. Bear arrived at grandfather’s house and knocked on the door. Grandfather responded from within, “Who is it?” Quick on his toes, Bear responded in his best little boy voice, “It’s me, Little Blue Working Pants.”

            Now Grandfather had lived a good plenty of years, and was not one to be deceived. Unlike Little Blue Working Pants, Grandfather was wise. Try as Bear might, Grandfather knew this was no voice of a little boy. He cautiously peered out the window by the door and saw Bear standing by the door. Instead of opening the door, he promptly retrieved his rifle from its hiding place behind the bed and took aim by the window. Outside, Bear could hear much shuffling and clumsy movement, but he did not suspect a thing. When the shot went off, he was nearly dumbfounded.

            As Bear hit the ground, Little Blue Working Pants made it to his Grandfather’s house. Tears emerged from his naïve eyes as he saw the life leave his giant Teddy Bear.  “Grandfather what have you done?” he cried. Ignorant of the danger he had put them both in, Grandfather sat Little Blue Working Pants down on his uninjured lap and explained the dangers of the forest. This time, Little Blue Working Pants listened.

 

 

The Fork Speaks

             The day I wrote this poem, I happened to write two poems about a fork. I found this odd cause a fork is such a random object, but I figured one of the two poems should land on here. I tried to put my self in the shoes of a fork and tried to imagine what it must be like. Actions we think of as normal, can actual be quite weird from a different view point.

The Fork Speaks

I have a gentle soul,

And a strong core,

But all any ones tend to see me as,

Is forceful.

 

My neighbors are simply dipped,

Or even scooped,

But me?

I am made to violently stab.

 

My crown I wear,

I wear it with pride,

But it hurts when I am the only one,

To properly appreciate its beauty.

 

I have no say,

On the adventures I go,

I am just picked up,

And expected to be ready for anything.

 

After I'm used,

I go for a swim,

With the bubbles,

And suds.

Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Cloud

                This is a poem I cannot take full credit for. My classmates and I collaborated to create this poem. We were imitating the style of a poem called “Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird” as we passed this paper around the class to create a poem. I don’t really enjoy this style of writing and found the original poem quite odd. I didn’t understand the point.

 

Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Cloud

 

With the birds in the sky

Between the earth and the sun

Rest the clouds

 

Webs of dreams appear

Illuminating the desires of many

They sat there in the sky waiting to

Dissolve if and when they came true

They were as light as the clouds

 

The cloud clears its throat

And clearly dictates his monologue of nature

The rain crashes down

And the wind applauds the wonderful performance

 

First, I see a sailboat

But then I see a fish

I love how they change so beautifully

Clouds shifting is pure bliss

 

Laying my head in the soft grass

I watched as clouds pass me by

Before long the sun is gone

And my day is done

Clouds have covered the light

With looming shapes

The sun is gone

And the world is dark

 

The clouds

Miraculously open up

Shrouding him in a

Burst of sunshine

Lending a momentary

Halo of light

 

The peaceful melodies woven against the sky

Thin wisps rise and fall as the

Wind weaves a soft tune through the clouds

 

The cloud only slightly

Mimicked your face

Which made me shed a

Single tear

Which then another cloud mimicked

 

At the sight of Zeus

Flying across the clouds

Even the smallest object

Would bow to its feet

 

As Jack climbed the bean

It grew and it grew

Until the very tip passed through the clouds

 

With the clouds covering the sun

The ground hog came out

Not a shadow in sight

 

I looked up in the sky

Wondering when the cloud shaped like a bee

Would make its way around the world

And finally back to me.

 

Why am I not a Poet?

                It is quite clear that I was not in the mood for writing the day I wrote this poem. I was quite brutally honest with myself. Looking back I find it quite funny. Maybe not one of my best poems, but I think it shows a different side of me. This was my original conversation poem.

Why am I not a Poet?

I asked why
Am I not a poet
And my mother said
Dear, you are not creative
 
I asked why
Am I not a poet
And my father said
Honey, words allude you
 
I asked why
Am I not a poet
And my sister said
Silly, you can not write well
 
I asked why
Am I not a poet
And my brother said
Dude, you are just too boring
 
I asked why
Am I not a poet
And I said
Why not?