Lovin’ Life

Just lovin’ my life with Jesse

ExCeLLeNt… April 5, 2005

Filed under: class,life in general,random — Lois Sparks @ 9:56 pm

“This is so good. The best so far. You made it so coherent. You’ve got the mark of a poet…EXCELLENT!”

My heart skipped with joy as I read my instructor’s note on the paper I turned in. It was an extra credit point. The work was to take any words, phrase, or sentences in Tim O’Brien’s “The Things They Carried” and make up a poem of our own. It’s the author’s words but our own idea of topic. I like writing poems even though I’m bad at it. Most of the words and phrases I chose are from the first story of the book, “THE THINGS THEY CARRIED” since most of the parts of the story is the Lt.’s love for a girl…and most of the poems I used to write are about that kind of stuff. So I tried to scramble everything up after I chose every words and phrases and sentences that sticked to my mind…and walah! There’s my work below…

The blue-green ones are the words/phrases IN A SENTENCE that I put some place else…the purple ones are the ones I just made up to give more meaning to the poem (coz I tried not to make up words at first and it was so awkward and had no sense). I was so afraid, because English is not my native language, that my work will be just bad. But as I read my teacher’s comment, I really felt good about it! Maybe I have to work harder on writing papers (research) and essays coz that’s where I always get “not-so-good-and-not-so-bad” comments from our instructor.


iT wAs WoRtH eVeRy OuNcE…

Filed under: class,hobbies,random — Lois Sparks @ 9:44 pm
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(chosen words and phrases from Tim O’Brien’s The Things They Carried)

It was a mid-April bright morning,
He unwrapped the letters
Held them with the tip of his fingers.
She wrote of her truest feelings for him
and how it lingers,
She wrote the best letter there could ever be.
But he wondered what her truest feelings were, exactly.
She signed the letters love but it wasn’t love.
Instead it was, “I’m sorry but I’m gone!”

Though it was painful, he wondered who had been with her that afternoon.
He would slip away into daydreams, just pretending.
Spend the last hour of light pretending,
He would imagine romantic camping trips,
he was smiling.
He found this romantic.
Everything seemed part of everything else.
He would feel himself rising.

Stupid, he thought.
Sentimental, too, but just mostly stupid.

He remember kissing her goodnight.
She received the kiss without returning it
She looked at him in
a sad, sober way
Why so sad?
Why that grayness in her eyes
on that beautiful day?
He was quiet for a time, as if counting a pulse,
It was a
swallowed-up kind of feeling with a repulse.
The man understood that words were insufficient.

He understood. It was very sad, he thought.
He loved her so much.
His love was too much for him.
Nothing moved.
No clouds or birds or people.
He felt a kind of falling, falling higher and higher.
All that peace, it felt so good it hurt.

The nights were cold, and the monsoons were wet.
He felt a balance between crazy and almost crazy,
A matter of knowing without going.
He felt the pain. He blamed himself.
Right then, he thought, he should’ve done something brave.
He should’ve risked it.
He hated her. Yes, he did.
Love, too, but it was a hard, hating kind of love.

You couldn’t burn the blame.
You can’t change what can’t be changed.
He was just a kid in a war
of love.
He would shut down the daydreams
And the vows he made to her through the stars above.
He would be man about it.
His heart would still beat.
Love was only a way of singing
And did not mean what he sometimes pretended it meant.
But it was worth every ounce.