QUESTION
Final Poetry Portfolio
Submit a portfolio containing 5 pages worth of poems (examples of some of the ways this might look can be found in this unit but...), this can be five one-page poems, one five-page poem, three one-page poems and two-page poem, ten half-page poems, or any combination of poems that equals five total pages of poetry. You may illustrate your poems or find images online to go with them if you want (not required)
Example of portfolio attached
Please reach out to me for any questions.
EXAMPLE POETRY PORTFOLIO #2
By, Leah Roth Barsanti
Christmas
Last night was a bad night
When I think of your eyes
I think of
A Bombay Sapphire bottle,
A blue not found in nature.
If I could name you
It would be “Juniper,”
Because you’re like Christmas
In all the ways
That Christmas is terrible.
Forced joy,
I turn the corners of my lips upwards
As you commercialize me.
I wish
I could still find my reflection in the ornaments
But they’re all yours now
And I can’t see the forest
For the trees.
Miscarriage
Sitting by the open night window I think about
Motionless mobiles-
The stars blink on one by one like the red lights on baby monitors, It is past your bedtime and
You sleep soundly.
Barren winter treetops enter into my field of vision;
My brain kicks into a state of premature nostalgia that will never grow up. Stories of pirates and dragons remain etched in my memory and
The electrical sockets are still baby proof.
This is the only case in which
Love is not conditional.
A whispered lullaby
Rises from my throat to the ceiling’s silent rafters:
“I'll love you forever, I'll like you for always, as long as I'm living, my baby you'll be."
It was true, After
All.
Combat Boots
A memory:
A voice like
Neon pink Doc Martens
A laugh like a daisy.
I was a solider
Then
Angry that you were still
Little girl,
Still wading in the shallow end
As they pushed me into water
A million
Feet deep.
My own boots
Weighed me down
Made swimming
Impossible.
And your pink
Doc Martens
Laughed
From somewhere on the surface.
When I finally came up for air
You had gone to the next “game.”
Leaving only laces
That tied me in knots.
I was angry,
And when I finally found you
My own boots beat stomped ground you
Into dirt.
We became something else that day,
No longer sisters,
But strangers,
Separated by
Night and day,
Experience and innocence,
Black boots,
And pink ones.
I wear sneakers now,
A kinder shoe,
And hope
That our feet will find each other again.
That I can somehow manage
To tie us together.
An Ode To Writer’s Block
I used to think you were something that would happen when I no longer had any stories to tell,
Which is why I was never afraid of you.
Now I know the truth.
You are an affliction of too many words,
A blockage,
A clog of vowel and consonants
That restricts the throat
And curls my fingers
So they can no longer reach the keyboard.
And yes the pen is mightier but
No one
Writes
That way
Anymore.
Women Who Hate Their Jobs
I walk home every day with my eyes
On my high heels,
Everyday thinking the same damn thing:
I am too old for this shit.
But I’m too old to be doing anything else.
So I walk home with my eyes on the ground, don’t look around, don’t make a sound,
I got those middle-aged working woman blues.
Life is dirt and used chewing gum, beer bottles and aluminum,
Everything is yesterday’s news.
Until one day a children’s chalk drawing whispers in writing: LOOK UP,
And I , taken aback at a command from a chalk drawing raise my eyes.
And I look, and I see
Women just like me,
Women Who Hate Their Jobs.
I see artists and tellers,
Buyers and sellers,
Teachers and preachers and mothers who shout from the bleachers.
I see tired, I see wired,
I see liars, I see cryers,
And Women Who Hate Their Jobs.
And now I am face to face with Lisa, who can’t be more than 29,
She sits on the street and holds up a sign:
“HOMELESS AND PREGNANT
PLEASE HELP AND GOD BLESS”
I wonder if it’s true,
I wonder aloud.
Lisa laughs bitter.
“Every day,” she says, “I see actors and lawyers stuff their pockets with lies…
So why and O why can’t I?”
With that question in my head I take another look around,
Seems everyone’s fighting for imaginary crowns,
Seems like they’ve forgotten why they started.
I see lawyers on their lunch breaks reading Fifty Shades of Grey,
Dreamin’ ‘bout retirement and counting down the days,
Sad strung out somebodies who ended up here,
Getting through their days on a prayer and a beer,
Women Who Hate Their Jobs.
Striving for some solace,
I duck into a doorway marked with familiar gold arches…
And now I am face to face with Tanya, who can’t be less than thirty,
Her face is worn and her hands are dirty,
She holds a mop,
She smiles and sings,
She seems immune to ordinary things.
I ask her how she does it, day after day,
Is she familiar with God? Can she smile ‘cause she prays?
She stops, and she looks into my newly opened eyes with more grace than God has ever given me.
“Child,” she says, “I see women in here every day bitchin’ about their jobs, an’ shoot, I know they think they got it better than me. But the way I see it, it’s like this: it’s easy to find the things wrong in your life ‘cause it ain’t exactly what you want it to be, but when life ever gonna be exactly what you want? And they say all that ‘grass is greener’ shit, but hell, I live in a city of concrete and steel, ain’t no grass green from where I’m standing. But that don’t make it any less beautiful. What I do, it means something, even if that something is just makin’ sure people can take a shit in a clean bathroom. Because have you ever taken a shit in a dirty bathroom? Ruins your whole damn day.”
And with that, Tanya went back to work cleaning the stalls in the bathroom of a 24-hour McDonalds, so that when homeless Lisa wandered in at 3AM to puke from fake morning sickness or heroin withdrawals, her knees wouldn’t get any dirtier than they already were.
If The Brachiosaurus Statue Outside The Field Museum Could Talk…
Perhaps this is what he’d say…
From here I can see everything,
The history of the city unfolds and re-folds like a constant: all at once…
This is what I get for being a fossil:
Cursed to watch forever as swampland turns to wood, turns to ash, turns to landfill, turns to foundation, turns to skyscraper, turns to a future for which there are no words in the languages of man or beast.
We felt it too: the building, breaking, rebuilding,
But they didn’t consider our feelings when they dug to the center of the earth for my bones,
They forgot to study the lessons of extinction,
And then…
They got tired of digging and started to build monuments to Department Store Gods and Insurance Companies,
Because they wanted to prove that they could reach taller than we ever did,
Because the present is always more glamorous than the past,
Because they thought, like we thought, that it would last forever.
But from here I can see everything.
I can see the inevitable effects of forgetting and the tragedy of failing to count the ashes before we rise from them.
This is not a river,
Fate cannot be reversed on innovation alone.
I told them this once,
When my bones were lying in pieces.
They meticulously cleared dust and, in the monotony, allowed themselves moments of vulnerability,
That is when I spoke to them,
Gently reminding them that time is the great equalizer:
I wanted so badly for them to understand that it takes everything,
Well, almost everything.
It leaves truth. And it left me to tell it.
But that truth scared them,
So they moved me to a city they knew wouldn’t listen.
A city obsessed with moving forward from flood and famine and heartbreak.
A city of building, and breaking, and rebuilding…
And they sealed my throat in concrete,
Weighed down my vocal chords,
Left me to stand as a monument to the human ability to control history.
Instead,
Silly me,
I thought they would learn from it.
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| Subject | Literature | Pages | 22 | Style | APA |
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Answer
Poem Portfolio
The Reserved Stranger at Quickmart – A Narrative Poem
A quiet Saturday afternoon in a department shop,
I met a bloke in a store selling sneakers,
An exchange of goods for capital he insisted on,
On my mind all I wanted were squeakers.
“Any squeakers in your store?” inquisitive I was.
“For I believe no better way to spend my money.”
“No squeakers here!” reiterated the bloke.
The store keep found my request rather amusing.
“In the store you will find adorable dresses,
For those I will haggle a negotiable price that fits.”
“Never mind the sales pitch, I could however use some addresses.”
In awe, the store keep stood blinking whilst gazing at me.
The store keep’s demeanour had him look handsome,
While his approach and speech was interestingly peculiar.
In my standards I would not deem him hansom,
Although the contempt in his gaze grew with the longing stare.
Confused yet ready to help, he thought me odd at my request like many more before him,
Some argued I was reserved.
Still he stared long enough to acknowledge his judgement,
And with a slight nod to excuse himself, he stepped back,
At the back of his mind, thinking I was a bit peeved.
With a clank on the door, I turned in search of my squeakers.
Readily at the first step out, a voice bellowed behind me,
“What you seek, I might be of help!”
“If you seek lavished dresses or addresses,
Custom-made sneakers or squeakers, with me you shall find
Only I ask, that you have an open mind
Because down the Quickmart everything is here.”
So to Quickmart Market I decided to accompany the odd fellow,
The squeakers I solely craved ringing in my mind.
Although the winds sought to upset my quest,
I believed the day still held out for the best.
Some kiosks sold fruits from the countryside,
But in my quest I would still abide,
Shops that sold car parts of different shades
Yet diversity came in the form of all trades.
In a dark alley the fellow stopped by a strange old woman
A sheepish smile she bellowed, “ It is squeakers you desire, no!
Well then, wait and I will be back before you can say no.”
Before I could react, she hopped in a shop, the strange woman.
In her hand she appeared with a bag
Unclenching the bag on me, she retreated with a hug
Reaching into my pocket for her dues
All I saw were dress colors and hues,
Disappearing back into the store never to come again.
Illegal my quest was not
Yet I felt my stomach tie up in a knot
Guilty for not paying
I logged the money underneath the store door.
An Ode to the Horse
Faithful my horse you are, and inspiration as I clutch my pen to write.
My adoration for the robust thrust you have while racing and neighing,
An invasion into my thoughts you have my gentle steed through the night,
My dreams about each time you gallop down racing.
If I may compare you it would be to a fast buffoon.
Winningly more beautiful and wild.
Last sun heats the aghast peaches of June,
And summertime has the past idle wild.
If I continue I would count ways, in which I love you,
Your majestic hooves, skin and mane.
The sun glistening over your skin encompasses my days.
In comparison my affection for you rivals that of an elegant crane.
Now I must depart with a steadfast heart,
Remember my mild words whilst we’re apart.
For as your hooves charge down each gallop,
Let my heart’s yearning remain imparted in you.
A faithful steed that never tires
May we meet again in the race tracks.
The Comical and Mighty Chimpanzee
Whose chimpanzee is that? I may have an idea.
Its master is quite vexed.
Steam down his nostrils like a raging bull
His movements quick and steady with each cart pull
Watching his reactions, I give my salutations.
A bleeding limb, the master offers the chimpanzee a banana.
Although he longs for the days in Alabama
The sound of the chimpanzee’s pain makes him break,
While birds above fly in the morning’s wake.
The comical and mighty chimpanzee
Anger has been burrowed deep in your mind
Yet your reactions cannot hide
Forever I will fight against those who oppressed you.
I see the spark in your eyes start to rise
Maybe a distant hope that the trauma remains lodged
I will care for you against any uprise
For you will forever remain the comical and mighty chimpanzee
Reputation
I heard a happy, renowned regarding
On that day my soul grew honorary
Once I sat engaged and imaging
Deep into that darkness honouring
I awoke and flung the fame
'Reputation!' said I, 'thing of self-respect.'
In a kingdom full of storms
By the grave I saw the credentials
The Man and the Student – A Rhyming Couplet
Seeing the flapping of the man,
My thought maintains he might be vexed at the doorman.
Difficult in his anger to see the cube,
His emotions ran over him to only be interested by the proportional counter tube.
Form a distance he ponders who might be sleeping near a deer.
I think she’d like to eat the severe.
She is but a fancy student,
Beautiful and graceful as she takes up her seat by the coolant.
Her pleasurable car is just a biscuit,
It needs no gas, it runs on brisket.
In her presence she brings with her a squirrel,
A caged pet bird and lots of kuril.
The bird fancies to chase fish
Especially one that is in the guard fish.
The man shudders at the lying bird
He wants to leave but she wants the gird.
Love You Always
Let our love bloom beautiful, like orchids floating the lake in summer.
Let our hearts warm, like the fireplace down in the chimney at winter.
For when the sky turns blue, and there are no clouds in the sky,
Let me never depart from you and say goodbye.
May the music in our souls leave us dancing in the night.
That I may protect from the nights plights and frights.
That when the lilies bloom and their petals turn pink in spring,
May they show how bold my love is for this pretty little thing.
As the autumn leaves fall to the ground
May the golden rust from the leaves seal the earth like our hearts remain bound.
Through this Christmas, all the way to Thanksgiving, may our love grow,
For as seasons change, one thing is true as I tie this bow,
I love you always! My one, my only, my Pebbles.
The Night before the Storm
A cold winter’s night
The sound of ruffled leaves
The moon stood in the barren sky bright
The soldier, hand on his bag tight he cleaves
Standing on the aisle, his walk ready as he leaves
His expression of a smile so bright
Never in his mind, was this the night before the storm?
A woman in a bright yellow dress runs to him
He can spot her smile even in the light so dim
She runs up and hugs him tight
He is home, and everything is bright
Yet a boy in the background stands sheltered
An expressionless face with a thousand questions unanswered
Never in his mind, was this the night before the storm?
The last time he was home, the boy was not yet a toddler
Now afraid and clings to another with fright
Standing afraid as urine fills his bladder
Yet nothing beats the cold of the night
An afro on his head as if to say he never met a barber
Never in his mind, was this the night before the storm?
The taxi home filled with promises of craved meals
The soldier’s heart contented in not having a plate of eels
The toddler now on his father’s lap
Adventures spewing from his mouth like water from a tap
The taxi comes to halt
Home at last with medals as sign to exalt
Never in his mind, was this the night before the storm?
From the gate evident is a cloud of smoke
Neighbours salvaging what water did not soak
His first day home
Coming back to a charred home.
The wife left the oven on with the meatloaf inside
Now the family stands homeless side by side.
Never in his mind, this was the night before the storm.
References
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