Real Name Poems

My real name is Jennifer
To those that speak it well,
my name is frequent on their tongues.
The ones with power use and abuse it,
stressing the letters.
Secretly, my name is screaming out
against heavy responsibility.
My name loves being spoken
being needed
but somehow it hates hearing me say it.



My real name is Jennifer
In the halls I am married to Forrest Gump,
But at home Lynn seems to be my shadow.
Those that know me longer
say my name shorter.
Jennie
Jen
J

Child's Imagination

We would sit in that old apple tree. I smile just thinking about how long we would perch on the dead limbs. Somehow a game came out of the field in my front yard. Courtney was too young to climb the giant, and she would never make it through the high grasses. So that is where Ang and I dwelled all afternoon. Sitting in the hot sun, sipping juice boxes. There were no apples or leaves to entertain us, but we managed. I will never forget the day when it came crashing down. We were still sitting in it. Did you hear that noise? The trunk gave us a warning as it cracked open. It didn't hurt at all; no battle wounds. Only then, butt planted in the dirt, did I realize that the tree wasn't such a giant at all.

What Lies Beyond

Family road trips. This is the place that I looked at for miles along the side of the car. I always wondered what layed behind the turns of the trees; what followed the rows of corn on the other side? Who lives back in those woods? Is there a greener pasture on over the hills? This is like the place that I call home. It reminds me of this town, and small communities. I would fall asleep to the humming of the car and the wheels scraping the pebbles along the high way. I want to run through the rows in the pasture, just to see where I would end up. Then lay under a tree near a meadow, and see what the marshmellow clouds want to tell me.

Free Write: I remember...

I remember...
fur coats
sequence dresses
the tower of hat boxes
a rainbow of scarfs
piled in her closet. We would use her long hallway rug as a runway, putting on fashion shows for eachother.
I remember...
all of us piled into the spare room
sleeping with intertwined arms and legs
giggling at each snore
the morning birds calling to wake us up
before we even let our eyelids take us into a dreamless night.
I remember...
the smell of cinnamon
trickling french roast
red throw over my head
the sound of her voice
trying to wake me up in her calm state, playing with the strawberry curls of my hair.
I remember...
being young enough to have sleepovers with my favorite aunt, who spoiled me every chance she had.

Free Write: The People I Have Loved

I don't know about you, but as a thirteen year old girl in the eighth grade I kept a journal. It was my little get-away. I could write down all of my frustrations and then feel relieved once my entry was complete. Every night before I fell into deep sleep, I could express everything I had felt that day and then dream about it. One thing that was always a topic scribbled on my pages was my crush. He was unbelievable; perfect in my eyes. All I needed was a way to show him that I deserved his attention. This new boy was such a charmer; he knew just how to make everyone fall in love with his personality. So after I became his good friend, my mission was to make more out of it. Every word that fell out of his mouth made me stumble to his feet. He had this hold on me, for so long, without even knowing the damage being done. For the longest time I felt that out relationship might change. I was in a trance- falling off the face of the earth only to think that this fading figure would catch me. But I learned his games, his tricks, and saw his angle. It was too easy. Still I let myself believe that this fake and troubled young man would always come back to being the charming boy that he once was. All at once I let go. It was an awakening moment: I was free. That person will always make my stumble just a little. He will always make me think of what we could have been, and what he once was. Part of me knows that I did it to myself, and that I made this "love" up in my head. But what can you do.. We were all falling for fairytales at fourteen.

Comment Post

Hey Jeremy
This is the 7th time I am going to try to post something to you. Anyways... This poem reminds me of something a family friend used to say. He would call people "snake in the grass", or a "village idiot". Basically, he referred to things and people that sneak up on you, and are unexpected. The Silent Change gives me the idea that something has effected you or can effect you, without you even thinking about it cautiously. I like that this makes me think. Good work!

Full Moon Me

Songs of Passion

I am an antique ivory, lined with mahogany,
filled with sundry shades of calm purple.
Cool to the touch.
I am always watching.

No movement

is wasted;
perfect, calculated nature.
I am the sound of a spring tulip
blossoming into morning dew,
begging to scream at the dampening drops.
I release the naive, immature lemming within.
I would like to become a bird
changing with the clouds.
I will one day be heard.
The lyrics are composed,
not yet performed.
I am part of every heartbroken writer.
I am a sail boat,
always chasing the horizon.
Dipped in glistening water,
gliding through sparkles of the sea.
I am like the strings of a violin.
Strum me gently,
strum me with passion,
and I will fall in love
with your touch.

Random Words

Nouns

love: fidelity

much: exuberance

luxury: permissiveness

forever; endlessness: infinitude

horrifying; depressing: grisly



Adjective

happy; optimistic: sanguine

fun; vivacious: sprightly

active, busy, determined: sedulous

otherwordly; not of this world: fey

ragged; worn: scraggly



Verb

fascinate; captivate: enamored

remove; delete: elide

confuse: bedevil

wonder; drift: meander

compete: vie

With A Flower

I hide myself within my flower,
That wearing on your breast,
You, unsuspecting, wear me too --
And angels know the rest.

I hide myself within my flower,
That, fading from your vase,
You, unsuspecting, feel for me
Almost a loneliness.

-Emily Dickinson

I remember this poem from when I was in the fourth grade. I was in love with all of Emily Dickinson's work. Somehow, I think that I still am. Everything she writes is easy, but it holds so much meaning. The simplicity and honesty of her work makes me believe how she felt. When I read some peoms that use tons of crazy metaphors I find that the true meaning of how that person felt becomes lost. I suppose I like her work so much because I write similarly to her. The first kind of poetry I knew was of Emily Dickinson and Robert Frost, and I think that it has taught me to say simply what I am feeling and how to write my heart on paper.

A Day in the Life of Jennie K.

Hmm.. How do I go about my day? I'm busy; always busy. But I like to think that I find enough time for the people that mean the most to me.
I go to bed late, then wake up late. I can honestly say that I am okay with being tardy for my first hour- its a daily thing, I guess. Then I try to make myself look like I didn't just roll out of bed, throw on my gym clothes, and forget that I was still wearing my slippers. But that is exactly what happens every morning. Soon after that I find myself sitting in the yearbook room, writing down ideas that I thought of at two a.m. the night before. Danika, Reichle, and I talk about the progress, then we are on our own for the hour. The most important task that I look forward to everyday is completing another page in my last yearbook. It means so much to me, and I really hope that all of you appreciate looking at it as much as I did making it.
Then I have lunch with Avery in the yearbook room... we are lame.
The rest of the day, I have to use my brain, and not just my creativity. It's a hard commute. I think that my lit classes are more of a warm up, then a work-out for my brain. I'd have to say that this schedule makes my life a lot easier. Calc is a different story: it sucks. Everyday he teaches something that I don't, and most likely won't, understand. Somehow I am passing. I finish school with chemistry. There are only a handful of seniors, which makes it almost annoying. But I think that I enjoy Mr.Longuski's teaching so much that it makes up for it.
Then I work out with the football players in the weight room. Maybe I will be in shape for spring break.
The rest of the day is a blur. But no matter what, I find time to call someone up or look on Facebook for a little bit. That way I am still connected to society.