Poem: The Big One

“fall of the year they penetrated a weird lake country, sad and silent, where wildfowl had been, but where then there was no life nor sign of life—only the blowing of chill winds, the forming of ice in sheltered places, and the melancholy rippling of waves on lonely beaches.

The lake darkens as the ominous clouds race across the sky, as black as the devil’s soul, and swallows the bliss-blue complexion of the sky faster than you can blink. The world has abruptly become cellar-dark and the heavens above look to collapse down upon me. A deafening wind runs over the landscape like a thousand horses, the noise of the raindrops their clattering hoofs. The threatening force of the gales knocks and blows the trees in precarious ways, almost as though, if it had wanted to, the wind could blow them away as if they were but feathers, not heavy pines. Lighting lights up the sky like liquid, golden ore streaks being forged into forks up above. Wriggling and writhing with the pain of their own existence. Flashing once, twice, three times, polished and glossy like the cold prongs of the apocalypse. Shaking myself from my weather-caused trance, I hurry for shelter under a nearby fern tree. Staring deep into the blackness of the storm I wonder whether I will ever see that bliss-blue appearance

We had not gone a rod when we found ourselves in a heap, in a heavy drift of snow. We took hold of each others’ hands, pulled ourselves out, got into the road, and the cold north wind blew us down the road a half mile south, where the Strelow boys and John Conrad had to go west a mile or more. When they reached a bridge in a ravine, the little fellows sheltered a while under the bridge, a wooden culvert, but Robert, the oldest, insisted that they push on thru the blinding storm for their homes. In the darkness they stumbled in, and by degrees their parents thawed them out, bathed their frozen hands, noses, ears and cheeks, while the boys cried in pain. “My brothers and I could not walk thru the deep snow in the road, so we took down the rows of corn stalks to keep from losing ourselves ’till we reached our pasture fence. Walter was too short to wade the deep snow in the field, so Henry and I dragged him over the top. For nearly a mile we followed the fence ’till we reached the corral and pens. In the howling storm, we could hear the pigs squeal as they were freezing in the mud and snow. Sister Ida had opened the gate and let the cows in from the field to the sheds, just as the cold wind struck and froze her skirts stiff around her like hoops. The barn and stables were drifted over when we reached there. The roaring wind and stifling snow blinded us so that we had to feel thru the yard to the door of our house. “The lamp was lighted. Mother was walking the floor, wringing her hands and calling for her boys. Pa was shaking the ice and snow from his coat and boots. He had gone out to meet us but was forced back by the storm. We stayed in the house all that night. It was so cold that many people froze.” Although most of the information that was collected or the stories that were told were in South Dakota, Nebraska, North Dakota the temperatures took

Ted Kooser, the thirteenth Poet Laureate of the United States and Pulitzer Prize winner, is known for his honest and accessible writing. Kooser’s poem “A Spiral Notebook” was published in 2004, in the book Good Poems for Hard Times, depicting a spiral notebook as something that represents more than its appearance. Through the use of imagery, diction, and structure, Ted Kooser reveals the reality of a spiral notebook to be a canvas of possibilities and goes deeper to portray the increasing complexities in life as we age.

The poem, "The World Is Too Much with Us" by William Wordsworth argues that people's disregard for nature's importance makes them lose their humanity. Wordsworth sees materialism as a "waste of our powers" (359). Our powers of being able to keep in touch with a fundamental part of themselves. To preserve and see the beauty of nature. Instead of building upon it.

A Dream Deffered: A dream someone had that got put off and what happens to It

In the story “So What Are You, Anyway?” by Lawrence Hill, the protagonist in the story is a relatable character because she goes through racism, she gets really frustrated and irritated when someone is judging/questioning her race and she is innocent.

Richard Blanco is a Cuban- American poet who was given the oppurunity to write an inaugaration poem for Barack Obama's second swearing-in. He wrote a poem titled "One Today" that praised the good and unique things about the United States and also the everyday people who's daily routines help to make America the proud country that it is.

She had barely lain down beside her baby when she heard the howl of the wind, followed by several claps of thunder and the lashing of the rain on the roof. She closed her eyes but would not sleep. It was amazing how every attention of her husband’s people had quickly shifted from the long-awaited grandchild to her missing husband. Despite the mosquitoe net hanging over their heads, mosquitoes in their fives kept humming steadily into her ears. A few slaps at the bestial things drove them away for a while, until they returned, singing in her ears

Tyrone was this 6 foot 220 lb. black man who alawys wore a skull cap no matter where he went. Man if you saw him you would think that he would insert steriods everyday and then goes and works out for about 48 hours straight. He reached down on the table to grab a remote, he slid a bright orange lighter. Once he got a hold of the tiny remot he switched on the television to 9 news KOA.

A drop of serenity fell upon my body as I watched the towering, leafy trees cover the magnificent sunrise of Star Island, itself a constellation in my eyes. The trees scrutinized me like the all mighty God admiring his millions of children. While sitting there, an overwhelming perfume of Christmas scented the air: fresh pine trees. Furthermore, I dropped my hand off the side of the luxurious pontoon as we glided on top of the soft, aqua water. The cool, delicate breeze brushed through my wavy hair removing the sun’s beaming heat rays from my body. Then, I caught a glimpse of an adorable family of ducks; the baby ducklings followed their mother in a lengthy, straight line traveling to the other side of the island. Jealousy zipped through

The verge of summer was upon the land and everywhere I looked, there were flowering vines and trees. The mixture of white dogwood blossoms and the lavender clusters of wisteria were pleasing to the eye and complimented one another well- the scent drifting through the window was heavenly. The long drive left me with nothing other than my thoughts to occupy me- my thoughts tended to be dark and heavy of late. The night of the Promenade du Boeuf Gras and the succubus haunted my thoughts. I knew that was what she had to be; she nearly tore me to shreds with her fierce

They tried to cheer up by eating the hearty stew but still went home with a sense of dread. Surina felt drained and exhausted by the morning’s events. Nevertheless, she was glad to meet with the council members and explore every option available to halt the distribution of the Stinguard viral vector. Moreover, at least someone else now shared the grim knowledge that she had carried by herself for so long all the way from Earth. The cloudless sky outside was resplendent with the three suns shining their benevolent rays on that peaceful, restful Sunday. The laughter of the toddlers riding on the carousel filled Seneca Square. On the playground swings, jubilant children urged their parents to push them higher. Under the shade of the gazebo,

BOOM! My heart racing, as I waited for the smoke to clear. "Just sittin in a tree, sittin in a tree, sittin in a tree...a night" I hummed along to quietly as my evening hunting expedition slowed to a crawl. It was four in the evening when I had first got into my stand and its now close to seven-thirty. It was cold outside – 30 below – but the sun brought a sense of warmth to that chilled November evening. The trees leaves had fallen in the fall so the trees were now bare. I hadn't saw any deer in the three hours and thirty minuets I had been there; a few squirrels, a couple rabbits, and one very sly fox. Peace, quiet, and the simplicity alone was enough reason to had made the trip out there. I had grown hungry and since it had been well after my dinner time I decided to have a snack to hold me off until my evening in the woods was over; so I pulled out the PB&J sandwich.

It was a warm fall day in early October, a day that I recall quite vividly. The smells of the transition from summer to fall were in the air, accompanied by the sounds of birds singing and the wind blowing through the trees. It was on this beautiful day that my existence was almost terminated. A quick hunting trip could have ended my life.