General Reflection
Before taking this class, I never really enjoyed writing for school. Not to mention, studying poetry was the worst. That was probably because I never really understood how it was done though. After looking at various student and professional samples and studying the techniques they employed, it got me curious and eager to try writing poems of my own. It’s fun to play with wording, rhymes and meter — almost like a puzzle for me to work out. I began thinking of these poems as less like work and more like games. Soon, I really started to enjoy the process, and now I’ve come to really love writing poems.
Villanelle Reflection
Honestly, I didn’t want to write the villanelle. I really, really, didn’t want to write the villanelle. When I finished the rest of my poems, I thought I could get away with just barfing out something quickly and calling it done, but after I reread it, I knew I couldn’t turn something like that in. It stuck out from my other pieces for all the wrong reasons — the rhymes didn’t work, it was choppy, and I didn’t like the story I was trying to tell. I felt stuck.
I kept slaving over it for the next few days trying to put out something that was worth turning in. Deleting and rewriting, my page kept fluctuating between being empty and having at least a few lines written. During this time, I wasn’t getting anything else done. I started to panic as the deadline kept steadily approaching and the number of pieces I was missing wasn’t decreasing. I was tired of writing about myself, and I couldn’t think of any event that has happened to me that would work well as a villanelle. It was then that it hit me. I didn’t have to write about myself.
I went back to my desk and started browsing my folders for inspiration until I stumbled across a drawing I did for my portfolio. The three sleepy figures lounging around on the living room couch sparked an idea, and I started writing almost immediately. I thought I finally had it — this “golden idea” that I could ride on until I finally finished the villanelle. I wrote and rewrote line after line, patting myself on the back for what I thought was a job well done. Until I got it back.
After all that work, I found out that I neglected to make all of the “B lines” rhyme. That and the image I wrote the words over made it hard to actually read anything. Frankly, I was pissed at myself for doing something so dumb. I actually really liked how the villanelle came out, and now I had to go back and change half of it. At that point, I was actually considering just using my literary letter submission to replace the villanelle, but after I thought about it for a while, I figured I might as well just continue working on it until it could truly be called done. After all, I had spent so much time working on it and trying to think of what to even write about in the first place. It would be a waste to just let it go.
I let it sit for a while as I cooled down by working on other pieces. I let it sit until the last few days before final submissions were due. In the end, I actually liked how the revised version came out a lot more than the original one. I made all of the “B lines” rhyme, and I took away the image under it, but I was still a little nervous to hand it in for fear that I made another huge mistake like that. Despite that, I handed it in anyway.
I smiled to myself when I got it back with a “final” marked on the side. I was ecstatic to learn that all my hard work had paid off in the end and I had a villanelle I was proud of. I kept thinking that I would end up just giving up and not continue writing it, but I’m glad I chose not to abandon it. After all of the effort and time I put into creating it, I can proudly say that it is one of my favorite pieces included in this portfolio.
I kept slaving over it for the next few days trying to put out something that was worth turning in. Deleting and rewriting, my page kept fluctuating between being empty and having at least a few lines written. During this time, I wasn’t getting anything else done. I started to panic as the deadline kept steadily approaching and the number of pieces I was missing wasn’t decreasing. I was tired of writing about myself, and I couldn’t think of any event that has happened to me that would work well as a villanelle. It was then that it hit me. I didn’t have to write about myself.
I went back to my desk and started browsing my folders for inspiration until I stumbled across a drawing I did for my portfolio. The three sleepy figures lounging around on the living room couch sparked an idea, and I started writing almost immediately. I thought I finally had it — this “golden idea” that I could ride on until I finally finished the villanelle. I wrote and rewrote line after line, patting myself on the back for what I thought was a job well done. Until I got it back.
After all that work, I found out that I neglected to make all of the “B lines” rhyme. That and the image I wrote the words over made it hard to actually read anything. Frankly, I was pissed at myself for doing something so dumb. I actually really liked how the villanelle came out, and now I had to go back and change half of it. At that point, I was actually considering just using my literary letter submission to replace the villanelle, but after I thought about it for a while, I figured I might as well just continue working on it until it could truly be called done. After all, I had spent so much time working on it and trying to think of what to even write about in the first place. It would be a waste to just let it go.
I let it sit for a while as I cooled down by working on other pieces. I let it sit until the last few days before final submissions were due. In the end, I actually liked how the revised version came out a lot more than the original one. I made all of the “B lines” rhyme, and I took away the image under it, but I was still a little nervous to hand it in for fear that I made another huge mistake like that. Despite that, I handed it in anyway.
I smiled to myself when I got it back with a “final” marked on the side. I was ecstatic to learn that all my hard work had paid off in the end and I had a villanelle I was proud of. I kept thinking that I would end up just giving up and not continue writing it, but I’m glad I chose not to abandon it. After all of the effort and time I put into creating it, I can proudly say that it is one of my favorite pieces included in this portfolio.
Teamwork Poem - Reflection of the Song Analysis
(Collaboration between Joella and Gina)
Group projects are usually a bother
but when we worked with people we knew
together, this analysis we fathered
and revealed our prose debut
It wasn’t hard to decide
how to divvy up the parts
when it came down to business, nobody dared hide
Despite our determination, we had a few false starts
each had their own responsibilities
no slacking or goofing around
In this timeframe, we concentrated our abilities
And the queen of bad puns we crowned
Trying to break down the song
Proved at times to be difficult
Shinji, oh Shinji, where did things go wrong?
This whole analysis should be considered criminal
In an effort to convey Shinji’s incompetence
We went line from line trying to decipher it
As we kept typing, we realized Shinji has no confidence
None at all — (not) even a little bit
Crowded around a single screen
Squished in a room that smelled of cat
We analyzed the life of this poor teen
Who is nothing more than a whiny brat
We were shouting and screaming with each bad pun
At the rate we were going, it was quite surprising
Nobody ever thought we would get this done
We couldn’t call it done till after all the revising
but when we worked with people we knew
together, this analysis we fathered
and revealed our prose debut
It wasn’t hard to decide
how to divvy up the parts
when it came down to business, nobody dared hide
Despite our determination, we had a few false starts
each had their own responsibilities
no slacking or goofing around
In this timeframe, we concentrated our abilities
And the queen of bad puns we crowned
Trying to break down the song
Proved at times to be difficult
Shinji, oh Shinji, where did things go wrong?
This whole analysis should be considered criminal
In an effort to convey Shinji’s incompetence
We went line from line trying to decipher it
As we kept typing, we realized Shinji has no confidence
None at all — (not) even a little bit
Crowded around a single screen
Squished in a room that smelled of cat
We analyzed the life of this poor teen
Who is nothing more than a whiny brat
We were shouting and screaming with each bad pun
At the rate we were going, it was quite surprising
Nobody ever thought we would get this done
We couldn’t call it done till after all the revising
Independence Reflection
Reflection - back seat d isconnect
My poem, “back seat d isconnect” actually has a lot of personal meaning to me, though it may not seem like much at first glance. A while ago, I went to the mall with three of my friends. Two are the same age, while one is two years older. After dropping off the person who was sitting in the back with me, the whole car fell dead silent and it made me feel incredibly uncomfortable for some reason. It was probably the most awkward silence ever. As we waited at one of those “forever stoplights”, I thought to myself, What about this is making me feel so uncomfortable? It wasn’t like this before at all. And I realized that it was only the fact that we were all similar in age, yet I was sitting in the back all by myself — it kind of made me feel all singled out and a lot like a little kid. There was a huge disconnect between the front and back seats. I kind of just sat quietly the whole way home and occasionally glanced at the two sitting in the front, thinking of how much it reminded me of when I lived in Florida and my mom and dad would take me out for drives at night to help me sleep. In all honesty, I had even become a little drowsy by the time we reached my house.
It made me feel a little sad inside because I never get to go on those drives with my family anymore. I know I won’t be able to lie down and take up all the seats in the back while the lights from the nearby “Perkins” we used to always drive past reflected on the car windows. I guess I still kind of wish that I could do that.
It made me feel a little sad inside because I never get to go on those drives with my family anymore. I know I won’t be able to lie down and take up all the seats in the back while the lights from the nearby “Perkins” we used to always drive past reflected on the car windows. I guess I still kind of wish that I could do that.
Reflection - Spaggettie
“Spaggettie” was about a stray cat that always used to hang around my house. Nowadays, he doesn’t show up too often, and instead, another cat called “Chunk” likes to sit outside the front door and meow at my cat in his place. My sister and I actually first tried to feed Spaggettie as we sat on the front steps of the house last summer.
The bony cat only made himself known once in a while, and emerged from behind the bushes only when he thought it was safe to reveal himself. He always froze and would cautiously eye us. At the time, my sister, still fixated on the cat, slowly extended her arm forward — beckoned him with a bowl full of food. She shook it a few times and food pellets rattled around. I could tell that Spaggettie was on edge. I wasn’t sweating because it was hot that day; I was sweating because I was nervous he would run off all of a sudden. I thought that this would finally be the day we get to play with Spaggettie for a while. After all, we had never tried to feed him before. Nevertheless, Spaggettie gradually inched forwards.
Enduring the mosquito bites and stagnant summer air, we sat in the stare-down for what seemed like forever. He always stopped just before he reached the bowl. We could tell that the cat wasn’t coming near us any time soon. My sister eventually couldn’t hold it in anymore, and she let out a loud, shrill laugh that made Spaggettie scatter. Yeah, I was pretty disappointed, but there wasn’t much we could do. We left the bowl of food outside for him and we both crowded around the front window to see if he would come back. It was the ultimate kitty stakeout of the summer.
The bony cat only made himself known once in a while, and emerged from behind the bushes only when he thought it was safe to reveal himself. He always froze and would cautiously eye us. At the time, my sister, still fixated on the cat, slowly extended her arm forward — beckoned him with a bowl full of food. She shook it a few times and food pellets rattled around. I could tell that Spaggettie was on edge. I wasn’t sweating because it was hot that day; I was sweating because I was nervous he would run off all of a sudden. I thought that this would finally be the day we get to play with Spaggettie for a while. After all, we had never tried to feed him before. Nevertheless, Spaggettie gradually inched forwards.
Enduring the mosquito bites and stagnant summer air, we sat in the stare-down for what seemed like forever. He always stopped just before he reached the bowl. We could tell that the cat wasn’t coming near us any time soon. My sister eventually couldn’t hold it in anymore, and she let out a loud, shrill laugh that made Spaggettie scatter. Yeah, I was pretty disappointed, but there wasn’t much we could do. We left the bowl of food outside for him and we both crowded around the front window to see if he would come back. It was the ultimate kitty stakeout of the summer.