Spoken Word Poetry

 

 

 

Poet - Taylor Mali

 

Poem - "4 Ways We Love Each Other"

 

Synopsis - Mali explains through his poem how different people have different feelings about falling in love.

 

Poetic Technique - Mali uses very strong imagery while he is comparing falling in love to jumping forward into the sea. This opinion he does not agree with and he states that when you jump into the sea "You end up with a concussion. Or [you drown]. And you break bones every time I try to break your fall, you expecting only water." This line gives someone's mind the ability to run free with it, but also it can be interpreted in many different ways.

 

 

Favorite Line - "The slow squeeze of the soft pillow of my love placed over your nose and mouth and kept there until it stays that way for good." This line stood out to me because it adds a little bit of dark humour to a piece that, for the most part, isn't too dark, Also, the tone he uses when he says this line really added to the poem.

Minorities: Senior Boys Basketball Losers

 

The dimly lit hallways of high school are all filled with a specific caste system that consists of cliques. The one group of students that is often overlooked because of their lack of social power is the senior boys basketball team. Above the team are the pretty girls, the hockey beauty's, the theatre geeks, the math nerds, the art hipsters; at the very top of the high school pyramid are the hard core smoke pit junkies. The junkies are worshiped when they walk through the tightly packed halls. People fall to their knees to praise them and kiss the ground they walk on just to show their love of the cigarette-smoking-rock-and-roll ways of the smoke pit junkies. Their face piercings sparkle under the fluorescent lights which lets the minorities cliques, like the senior boys basketball team, know that the junkies rule the school. The boys who play basketball aren't just oppressed by the students, being brutally ridiculed everyday for their lack of coordination, dorky style, and donkey like faces; they are also oppressed by the faculty. They aren't given any special treatment at all. When they miss every Friday class for a whole semester because of their meaningless tournaments, the teachers would never even dream of excusing them from their assignments. They have to do every single assignment that they miss every Friday, no matter what.  The teacher never falls for the “oh but we had basketball provincials” excuse. The pecking order in high school can sometimes be brutal, but there has to be a clique at the bottom. And with their complete lack of allure, sex appeal, intelligence, social skills, and friends, there is not better clique suited for the bottom of the social pyramid then the senior boys basketball team.

            Ailsa Craig

Synthesis Essay

“When I was a little girl I used to read fairy tales. In fairy tales you meet Prince Charming and he's everything you ever wanted. In fairy tales the bad guy is very easy to spot. The bad guy is always wearing a black cape so you always know who he is. Then you grow up and you realize that Prince Charming is not as easy to find as you thought.” –Taylor Swift

Children are exposed to fairy tales and fantasies from a very young age, and all this exposure gives youth an unrealistic and misleading impression of the adult realities of relationships. Little girls dream of waltzing around an extravagant castle ball room with the most handsome man in all the land, and of course, living happily ever after. These stereotypical romantic clichés are contradicted by Alice Major in her poem “Puce Fairy Tale” and also the article “Forget Prince Charming” written by June Callwood. The poem “Puce Fairy Tale” expresses the speakers’ annoyance and offense taken by the way the men expect perfect, pure, dainty, women. And “Forget Prince Charming” elucidates one grandmother’s unyielding advice to her granddaughters about the modern man hunt. Both pieces share parallel theories about dating and men.

Major depicts many well known fairy tales and her defiance to be like the princesses and maidens in the fantasy forest worlds She feels that men expect to find fair and beautiful women, which falsely displays how most girls are. Many women today feel that the pressures from men to embody perfection is impractical and improbable, Majors poem is an immaculate reflection of the feelings of many females. Men who seek women that resemble “Rapunzel waiting in a tower [with] braids of hair like ropes”, or “a lady sleeping in a garden, no rings on her fingers, [and has] never been kissed” are letting their minds become foggy and delusional from the influence of cartoon characters. The same cartoon character that always end up with Prince Charming, and always live happily ever after.

In Callwoods’ article, she tells her granddaughters that she “[doesn’t] believe [in] a perfect mate. And if such a freak of nature did occur that person would not be a heavenly match for [her] because [she] is imperfect and [they] would clash.” She continues by explaining to her granddaughters that they “cannot expect perfection” when looking for a relationship. Callwood believes that compromise is what holds relationships together. As she is giving this advice she goes on to say how punctuality, integrity, and humour make relationships enjoyable and less tense. Callwood believes that “prince charming is a narcissistic dope. [And] romantic novelists have the ideal all wrong.” None of these factors that Callwood declares crucial are upheld by the noble, handsome, and idolized Prince Charming.

If Callwood and Major were to share their thoughts on this topic, they would have some similar points about men and dating. Major believes that men have too high of expectations when searching for a partner and Callwood would agree. Both ladies, even though their views are different, have come to the consensus that boys and men are too caught up in wanting perfection that they forget the basics. Not all girls are perfect, and not all boys are perfect, but sometimes a boy and a girl are perfect together because “the pounding heart is not always an idiot; some inner wisdom or instinct seems to guide many people to the right choice.”

Love and relationships is a common topic for many literary pieces but Alice Major and June Callwood have taken a whole new perspective on the theme. Not all men are brain washed by Walt Disney and obliviously expecting a fairy-tale character for a wife, and not all relationships end with a happily ever after.

 

 

Lemon Juice Epiphany

           

I’ve amounted to nothing in my life. I feel nothing. And I do nothing. I’ve been content with this for a while, but lately I feel like I need to get back to being a normal, functioning, teenage, member of society. One Friday night when I was wasting away the night staring at my ceiling, I had a spontaneous spurt of a seemingly spunky thirst for something strange and racy. Without a second thought I slithered out from under my heavy, familiar duvet cover and bolted up the terracotta tile stairs to my kitchen. I flipped the middle light switch and soon the room was flooded with a lively and stirring rush of light. Feeling extra risky, I did a little Irish Jig over to my fridge. Shuffle right, ball change, hop, step, ball change, shuffle left, ball change hop, step, ball change. I swing open the fridge door, wanting to find the most exotic and bizarre thing I could possibly digest. But because it was Friday evening, most of the food bought on the previous Sunday has been eaten by the rest of my family. All I’m left to work with is a tub of cottage cheese, yogurt, radishes, mayonnaise, ketchup, and a few old soft looking apples. Just as I’m about to turn away and go back to my room to cry myself to sleep for the fifth time this week, something catches my eye. A bottle of lemon juice. Without a second thought I grab the green transparent bottle, grab myself one of my parents’ best wine glasses from the top cupboard above the coffee maker, and poor myself a mammoth amount of the lemon juice. I prance around my kitchen and pretend that I’m a seasoned wine connoisseur. I swirl the glass around in my eager hands, something I’ve seen my own father do many times before. I put my nose right in side the glass and deeply inhale. I feel a moment of ecstasy when the sweet and tingly aroma fills my nostrils and I lose myself in my own mind. I’m skipping threw a meadow with tall, fluffy, green grass and it’s raining lemons. The puffy white clouds look like lemons. The lemon trees are everywhere. And the song “Lemon Tree” by The Beatles is playing. My plush lemon-heaven starts melting as soon as I pull my nose out of the inside of the wine glass. The colors start to fade; the trees start to shrivel up into black, wrinkly shrubs, the grass all blows away in the wind, and the fluffy lemon clouds explode into giant grey storm clouds that sprawl themselves across the sky. I bring myself back to reality and I focus in on the milky yellow substance that is in my glass. The texture reminds me of a liquid daffodil, the soft, buttery yellow is like spring time in my wine glass. I admire the substance for a few seconds; I decide that now is the time. As I tilt the glass up to my lips I’m feeling anxious. The second the smooth surface of the glass touches my lips, I know that there is no turning back. The juice plunges down my throat like a gushing waterfall and simultaneously, my faces puckers and cringes so much that the result of it is facial muscle spasms. During the lemon juices journey from my throat to my stomach, my taste buds are still going wild. It feels like MTV Spring Break is having on of their beach parties on my tongue and the out of control spring breakers are at the peak of one of their demented midday bashes. By the time the deceivingly sweet coloured liquid makes its way down my digestive system I’m left with an unpleasant, bitter taste in my mouth. Compared to the initial taste that made me feel wild and young, the aftertaste made my taste buds weep. The displeasing and chalky taste left in my mouth is a temporary reminder that tonight, I did something adventurous. Kind of. Now all I can hear is the subtle hum of the light in my kitchen and my stomach making sharp, high pitch squeaks. I give my belly a good satisfied rub, smack my lips together and strut back down to my bedroom where I will lay for the rest of the night thinking about how that meager glass of lemon juice was just the start of a whole new me.

 

Pill Popping Parents

           

I can’t help myself, but I keep on checking my phone. I’m nervous; I’ve never done this before. I guess it’s not uncommon though; there are lots of housewives that start taking drugs to fill the desolate, dull days spent at home longing to have a real life. My once beautiful golden curly locks have dissolved into wiry, straw like strands of yellow frizz. My once full-of-life ocean blue eyes seemed gloomy and grey every time I stared at my reflection in the mirror. And my once flawless, porcelain complexion had acquired crow’s feet, wrinkles, and sun damage over the years from all the worrying about my three barbaric and conceited sons. And don’t even get me started on my husband, Hudson. Without him I could be a fashion designer. I could be a dancer on a cruise ship. I could be free. We met when we were in high school and the perfect kiss-in-the-rain-fairy-tale-serenade-me-at-my-window-cliché teenage romance. Things started off just how they were supposed to, we had a plan. Small little wedding, a cute old farm house by a sparkling blue lake, our first pet, a kitten named noodles, and a baby. Our first born was Cannon, then shortly following him were Bowie and Asher. After they were all born, Hudson started picking up more shifts down at the shop, just so that we could barely pay our bills. That’s when it started. He pays less and less attention to me, and more and more attention to his work. Our sons are growing more and more ungrateful of their mother, and less and less considerate of people’s feelings. I’m letting them slip away. Along with their bad attitudes and arrogant state of mind. Now that my boys are out of the house though, and is Hudson still working twelve hours a day, my life as a housewife has become bland and depressing. So why not turn to drugs?  It’s not a normal middle-aged women’s go-to therapeutic remedy for boredom, but I was once full of color and life. I lose myself in a daydream about how I used to be when I’m snapped back into reality by the vibrating pulses of my cell phone. It jolts me into a tornado of panic. Why did I pick the Starbucks at the mall to meet a drug dealer? I’m trying to be casual right now, but is it working? Do I look like I’m about to purchase illegal narcotics from a suspicious figure? Just as I’m at the peak of my panic a tall, stark man walks into the Starbucks, slumps himself onto the industrial metal chair across from me. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a crumpled brown paper bag, places it gently on the table and slides it towards me slowly. Right in this moment, I know I’m about to regain the sense of adventure I lost long ago.

 

College Application Essay

 

For many, there are a few key incidences, or experiences that define their simple lives. But, for me, every moment of my life defines who I am. When I was born, I did not cry, I simply demanded “I need all these people away from me!” When I was one I could already speak seven languages fluently. When I was five I had designed an upscale sky scraper that contributed to the New York sky line. When I was ten I composed my eighth symphony and earned my pilots license. In my middle school years, I starred in my school play. The play was Annie. I have blonde straight hair. I also have parents. My performance was praised by critics around the world for being “The best portrayal of Annie since the original.” In grade eight I stepped back from the fast-paced life style and learned to enjoy the simple things in life. In English class, I wrote sonnets. In gym class, I ran just for the sake of running. In art class, I drew for hours on end, just because I could. In my spare time I went into the woods behind my house to make friends with all the woodland creatures and whistle joyous tunes back and fourth with the mocking jays. After my relaxing year, I got back into the swing of things. The start of high school brought new friends, new opportunities, and a new me. Throwing myself into everything I did. Managing to end piracy in Somalia by the end of my first semester, I also received my babysitting certificate in my grade nine year. I was playing in a jazz band in Switzerland, playing on the top girls’ hockey team in Canada, playing with boys’ hearts, and playing with all the children in the local orphanage. I had a real connection with them because of my role as Annie. At the end of the second semester of grade ten, my Roll up the Rim ratio was 194/38.Tim Horton’s changed their name to Ailsa Craig’s after that, arguably the greatest moment in Canadian History. I really gained momentum in the eleventh grade. I was the president of many school clubs, I was the president of the 4H club in town, and I was the president of the United States of America. I was voted class valedictorian, even though I wasn’t even graduating for another year. Now that I’m in my senior year of high school, the “real world” starts to set in along with its frustrations and pressures. And my first step in the “real world” is attending your college.

 

Ailsa Craig

February 28^th 2013

Chapter 7 of “Of Mice and Men”

 

Slim and George sat down at the bar. Slim put a hand on George's shoulder and stated, "Like I said, George, sometimes a guy's gotta."

“I know, I know.” huffed George. His mind was foggy from the gallon of whiskey he had drunk. “I just… I…” his voice softly faded away.

Slim looked up from his mug of beer and stared at George. He looked like he was thinking, thinking very hard. He took another sip of beer and slammed the mug down on the roughed up surface of the bar. “I’m getting to damn old for this!” Slims outburst sent shivers down some of the patrons spines.

George shot up out of his seat, “You’re too old for this? You are? Slim? Are too old for this? What about me, Slim? I had to shoot my best friend in the back of the head. You know what it’s like to live with that guilt? It’s a living hell! Every goddamn morning I wake up alone! I don’t got nobody! You’re the head honcho on the ranch! Everybody loves Slim, let’s all worship Slim. Oh! I know a better idea, let’s all marry Slim! You think you have such a hard knocked life. Well I got some news for you, you don’t. You wouldn’t know a tough life if it walked right up to you and slapped you across the face!” George was livid, Slim could almost see the steam coming out of his ears, and he could definitely see the veins popping out of his neck.

“You better watch your tone young man” Slim got up out of his seat too, “let’s go, right here, right now.” Slim put his fists up, ready to take on anybody who got in this way.

“You want to fight me? Well I think we are a little too old for that. Or are we?” George was now pacing around Slim, his hands were behind his back, and the whole bar was eerily still, “I don’t think that’d it’d be a fair fight though. You are so big and strong. And me, well I’m no you, Slim.”

Slims hands were still up; he was ready to strike at any moment. He started to speak in a voice that was shaky but still firm “Well George, are we gunna do this, or what?” his voice rose to a shout “C’mon George! Take your best shot. You can have the first one, punch me right here. C’mon pretty boy, let’s dance!”

            Now still, George stood directly across from Slim, hands on his hips, and his eyes were fixed on Slim’s fists. “Alright Slim” said George. And with one swift motion George reached behind his back and pulled out Carlson’s luger and shot Slim in the middle of his forehead. He pulled the luger up to his lips and blew the smoke out of it with a smug expression on his face. He pointed up to the sky and said “That one was for you big guy.”

            Satisfied with Slim’s cold lifeless body lying in the middle of the bar, George pivoted on the heels of his boots and walked out the front doors of the bar. He walked over to his trusty steed, a horse named Leon, he hopped onto the saddle and the two of them rode off into the sunset and were never seen again.