NaQuan+Harding

="Poetry is emotion put into measure. The emotion must come by nature, but the measure can be acquired by art." Thomas Hardy=

Video Game Sonnet
They are the reason I get up each day. If they were gone for a single moment, Then my life would be in total dismay. But if they're with me, I will be content. The noises they make when I play them right, The destruction we all make together, Is enough to make me stay up all night. And after that, it only gets better. When my parents try to get defensive, Sometimes, I disagree, but they are right. I may have fun, but they're damn expensive. But they also help to spice up my night. I suppose I could just start throwing blames, But in the end, my life is video games.

Ode to Video Games
Where do I start? There are too many ways. Are they a form of art? Or a method to spice up my days? They're great at stress-relief. They let my mind wander. My times with them are never brief. And the list of others I want only gets broader. However, no matter how long I explain, I can never clarify why I'm addicted. I can't think of reasons with this brain, So an ode may be harder than I predicted. Being lost in the worlds they have in store, Being able to do whatever I want, It's an ecstatic feeling that I adore, But I don't think I can get anymore blunt. Put simply, if these things weren't in my life, I'd be mentally disturbed with a coconut as a wife.

My History of Consoles
I first got a PS1 And honestly, it was real fun But it was underrated, And soon got outdated, And its time was finally done. Then I got a PS2 What else was there to do? But it lasted for years, I bought games like beer, And now I'm stuck to it like glue. Then my mom got me a Wii, And an Xbox 360. The Wii games were crappy, Xbox kept me happy, I'm waiting for a PS3

Video Games are My Teacher
I was raised by violent lovin' stuff explodin' Lots o' cussin' Adrenaline pumpin' Blood rushin' "So epic, it'll make you tired" kinda games

Some real expensive, wallet drainin' Money wastin' Penny pinchin' "You best get a job and start savin'" Kinda games

Some stress-relievin' Ever-lastin' Major chillin' Cool as ice' Nice and relaxin' Frustratin' Tough as hell Ass-kickin' Ball-bustin' Controller-breakin' Profanity envokin' "Why can't I beat this level?!" Kinda games

Yeah, Those kinda games

My Rambling About Poetry (In Poetry Form)
Rose are red, violets are blue This cliché has been so overused. I'm not saying to get them all banned, But don't abuse them just because you can. And for the poems that are filled with love and crap, Those, to me, are my ticket to a nap. And what about the ones that don't even rhyme? Should I be grateful that I didn't waste my time Trying to find that rhythmic tune? Or upset because now I feel like a loon? Most poetry I've read was mostly boring. My spirits were never exactly soaring. Personally, I'm into the more crazy ones. The ones about aliens riding sharks into the sun. Unfortunately, I don't think those kind exist. So now I think I'll have to do something about it.

There were two aliens named Glock and Bark Bark looked at Glock and said, "Let's ride a shark."

I expected this page to be blanker than blank, but I actually had fun creating these poems. The only real inspiration I got came from video games. Other than that, all of these poems just came off of the top of my head, and because of that, I decided to play it safe, and stuck with short poems about video games with a fairy tale rhyme scheme. But I never liked doing the same thing over and over again, so I decided to vary it up, and went with a Shakespearean rhyme scheme. After writing that poem, that was when I knew I would enjoy writing poems. I played around with a limerick rhyme scheme, which was my favorite one, free verse, longer poems, and acronyms hidden in the poem. It's really hard to explain key techniques I've used because I never used a set technique, but instead kept making poems of all sorts of varieties. I like to do different things because if I do the same thing over and over again, it'll bore me very quickly. That's how I went from something as happy-go-lucky as my limerick-styled "My History of Consoles", to something as serious as my ode. Regardless, that's about everything I have to say about my short-lived life as a poet. So, bye.

= __Poems by Mark Strand:__ =

By: Mark Strand
Ink runs from the corners of my mouth. There is no happiness like mine. I have been eating poetry.

The librarian does not believe what she sees. Her eyes are sad and she walks with her hands in her dress.

The poems are gone. The light is dim. The dogs are on the basement stairs and coming up.

Their eyeballs roll, their blond legs burn like brush. The poor librarian begins to stamp her feet and weep.

She does not understand. When I get on my knees and lick her hand, she screams.

I am a new man. I snarl at her and bark. I romp with joy in the bookish dark.

The way the author writes this poem helps the reader glide through while at the same time leaving some meaning to be interpreted.

The very first line draws the reader’s attention into the poem by using strange imagery. Having anything drip from one’s mouth would be enough, but ink is very unusual. The author makes them want to know what happens next. Also, it seems like the longer lines have more interesting content than the shorter ones. By doing this, the reader is able to catch the more interesting content of the poem. Fore instance, the longest line in the fifth stanza “When I get on my knees and lick her hand,” really stands out, helping the reader catch that part, which would further draw their attention.

Speaking of stanzas, another smart move is the author’s consistent use of triplets to space out the entire thing. It also helps the reader glide through the poem, as it keeps them from straining their eyes, which would probably turn them away.

Another thing the author does to help the reader is that he uses very formal language, avoiding slang or strange orders of words. In doing this, it keeps the reader from pausing to try and understand what he just said, which would break the flow of the poem. But while he writes clearly, he also leaves things to be interpreted by the reader. Throughout the whole poem, the writer describes himself acting like a dog, eating poetry, licking the librarians hand, snarling, growling, etc. So, after the reader is finished, they still have something to interpret. Was he really acting like a dog, or was it figurative? That’s up for the reader to decide.

** By: Mark Strand **
Someone was saying something about shadows covering the field, about how things pass, how one sleeps towards morning and the morning goes.

Someone was saying how the wind dies down but comes back, how shells are the coffins of wind but the weather continues.

It was a long night and someone said something about the moon shedding its white on the cold field, that there was nothing ahead but more of the same.

Someone mentioned a city she had been in before the war, a room with two candles against a wall, someone dancing, someone watching. We began to believe

the night would not end. Someone was saying the music was over and no one had noticed. Then someone said something about the planets, about the stars, how small they were, how far away.

This is a very deep, depressing poem that talks about how things happen too quickly, and uses many metaphors to help get that point across.

One could almost feel the monotone voice of the narrator as they read this poem. One of the many metaphors it uses is “…about how things pass, how one sleeps towards morning and the morning goes.” It feels like it’s saying that as soon as something’s there, it’s gone in an instant, without one even noticing. That seems to be the main theme of this poem; sudden loss. How you only truly miss something when it's gone forever, and how quickly that something can disappear. This poem could connect with certain readers if they went through a similar loss where they lost something without warning, making this even more powerful.

Surprisingly, not having a rhyme scheme helps this poem, as it keeps the tone from sounding too fairy tale, and maintains its serious, sorrowful tone. It also keeps a consistent length of stanzas always having at least 4 lines, but no more than 6. One thing that's strange is its use of enjambments. There's one instance starting on line 20 where one sentence continues onto the next stanza. It's not that big of a deal, but it could throw the reader off and ruin the mood.

In the end, its use of metaphors, formal language, and lack of rhyme scheme helps this poem maintain its tone and helps it to tell a story of loss and sorrow.


 * Man and Camel **
 * By Mark **** Strand **

On the eve of my fortieth birthday I sat on the porch having a smoke when out of the blue a man and a camel happened by. Neither uttered a sound at first, but as they drifted up the street and out of town the two of them began to sing. Yet what they sang is still a mystery to me— the words were indistinct and the tune too ornamental to recall. Into the desert they went and as they went their voices rose as one above the sifting sound of windblown sand. The wonder of their singing, its elusive blend of man and camel, seemed an ideal image for all uncommon couples. Was this the night that I had waited for so long? I wanted to believe it was, but just as they were vanishing, the man and camel ceased to sing, and galloped back to town. They stood before my porch, staring up at me with beady eyes, and said: "You ruined it. You ruined it forever."

This is an unusual poem; one that uses to symbolism to seemingly describe an unusual couple as they have fun in the city.

The title of this poem would probably be enough to catch a reader’s attention, but once a person reads “…when out of the blue a man and a camel happened by”, they’ll most likely be hooked for the rest of the way. But the poem never really explains why they’re in the city or how they got there. It just explains what they’re doing; singing. Any reader could interpret this poem in any way, maybe even going so far as to actually believe that there’s a man and a camel walking past this man’s house. But judging from the line “…an ideal image for all uncommon couples”, one could also assume that it could be a relatively handsome man with a less-than-attractive woman.

Now, this poem definitely has no rhyme scheme and is only one stanza of text. The lines are of similar length too, so this poem could have some strain on the reader’s eyes. The tone itself, while using formal writing, sounds goofy, especially considering the subject. It creates a strange sense of humor, which would attract certain readers to finish reading it, but in the end, leaves much to be thought about. What did the man and camel represent? Was it really a camel, or just an ugly woman? After all, the last line, "They…said: 'You ruined it. You ruined it forever'" states that the camel talked. Is this poem fantasy? Is it just using a camel as a symbol for an ugly or despicable woman? A good poem can always be interpreted, and this one does just that.