Journal 6: Prompt 2

Rule: One action image per line

The grass blows in the breeze
looking like rolling waves,
as it whispers on the wind
calling out.

The wildflowers glisten
and flourish under the sun’s warmth
spreading pollen for
newer fauna to grow.

The butterfly’s wings flutter
as the wind whistles across the field
pulling it this way and that
begging it to fly higher.

The sun’s rays beat down
filling the world with light
giving light
to hungry nature.

Cento: Fallen

Faded the flower and all its budded charms,
Yours is the name the leaves chatter,
The problem was finding that you were real
and not just a dream of clouds.

I carry your heart with me,
Yet less for loss of your dear presence there.
But we loved with a love that was more than love—
Destined not to be forever.

I know what my heart is like –
I’d rather have the thought of you.
It is pleasant, indeed, while the summer lasts
All under the willow-tree.

By: John Keats, Lisa Olstein, Sarah Manguso, e.e. cummings, Thomas Hardy, Edgar Allen Poe, Mary Jo Bang, Edna St. Vincent Millay, Anonymous, and Thomas Chatterton.

Lineation Experiment

The cows stand under the trees
in the wet grass,
lifting their necks to pull leaves down.
We slow the truck,
pull over to the side of the road
to watch them.

How graceful they look,
how unlike themselves.
We get out
and lean on the fence.
The cows don’t seem to notice
we are there.

The line breaks creating the shorter sentences cause the reader to stop and read this piece more slowly. This allows the scene to be absorbed more effectively and the beauty of the situation can be appreciated. The shorter lines also emphasize the softer words in the piece, again underlining the grace and peacefulness of the situation.

Similes Experiment

I can see it coming,
like a little warrior.
My eyes zero in on it
like I have magnifying glasses for eyes
and suddenly I can see everything about it.
It looks ready to attack
and I am frozen,
like I was just shot in the back.

I’m constantly on alert as if I expect an attack soon,
I’m always at the ready.
Most people tell me not to be so afraid,
but they do not understand that war has been declared and
I must defend my honor like it’s the last thing I have.
If they see my composure slip, they will know I am weak
like the other innocent souls
who have succumbed to their power.

I pump myself up
like boxers before a match.
I get my gear and weapon ready,
I can face the enemy.
We are still engaged in a staring match,
but I feel confident and charge
as if my life depends on it.
I can kill that spider.


I can see it coming like I can spot a designer handbag
from a hundred yards away.
My eyes zero in on it
like only having eyes for your significant other.
I can see everything about it,
as well as the pores on my face.
It looks ready to attack and I am frozen,
like a child caught doing something bad.

I’m constantly on alert like a flash sale at my favorite store,
I’m always at the ready.
Most people tell me not to be so afraid,
but they do not understand that the fight is on
like everyone reaching for the last cookie.
If they see my composure slip, they will know I am weak
like my self control for late night snacks
which begs for my presence.

I pump myself up like I’m about to take a test,
trying to keep the anxiety at bay.
I am armed with what’s necessary,
looking as if I’m ready for a hazmat site.
We are still engaged in a staring match,
but I feel confident and charge forward
like Seabiscuit.
I can kill that spider.



















“The Next Thing Always Belongs”

Running is akin to finding peace for me;
as if I’m speaking with Buddha.
I can hear the pulse of my heartbeat in my ears.
Though I am young,
I swear that my bones creak when I run.

Once I fell head over heels mid-stride, and cut myself up.
“Run for the Roses” was composed
for the 1980 Kentucky Derby.
I like to imagine myself moving as fast as a galloping horse.
Who knew that runners who wear red
are more likely to succeed in competitions?

I overheard that we must write a nine-page paper for this class,
I’ll need therapy for that.
I want to run to the gates of heaven.
I wish to run in the clouds, above the mountains.
Like the wind in my dreams,
I run with the Friesians.
My mother wants me to use Apple Cider Vinegar.

Once, I ran through a wicked big thicket.
For that,
my feet were in scraps.
While runners in red are more apt to win,
red cars get more tickets.
When can I swim
with the whales?

My body will get sore like rust covered nails
have been pounded in.
My mother says she loves that feeling.
Running is freeing,
my thoughts can leave their prison.
I can’t stop, no matter how tired I am.

My calves often burn, begging for a reprieve.
My back, my chest, my feet: all so tired.
What would the Dalai Lama do?
My heartbeat will get slower, the serenity will leave as quickly as it came.
Don’t look for the peace angel, you already have it.

Personal Universe

Taste: seawater, rock salt, snow, rain, toothpaste, milk, rich, fresh, stale, bland, black pepper, chamomile, vanilla ice-cream, caramel, cream cheese

Touch: sauve, gritty, humidity, slimy, soggy, silky, rough, waxy, gooey, dry, sticky, frozen, scalding, greasy, fried

Smell: sugar cookies, rain, snow, baby blanket, laundry, smoke, fire, wood, dew, nature, clean, new car, camp, old book, hydrangea

Hearing: giggle, deep seated belly laughter, wailing, gurgling, coo, sniveling, silence, peace, patter, pitter-patter, gunshot, whistle, pulse, neigh, crackle

Sight: smile, joy, fear, despair, mourning, calm, weathered, shiny, young, old, mountain, texture, exist, magic, glitter

Action/ Motion: rock, ride, bounce, knit, read, write, feed, run, dance, sing

Abstractions: love, death, courage

Anything else: Mom, Deer Valley, Friday, jasmine and white tea perfume, adoption, babies, beluga whales