Sign Inventory - week 12

Serenade by Zach Savich

The sentences are short and choppy throughout the piece at many moments. It keeps the reader reading along on the journey we are discovering. We get glimpses of Ann throughout the piece (a more depressing tale) mixed in with more lively experiences and circumstances to lighten the mood of the poem entirely. We have the comical instance of the "Elmer's glue" man along side the dying Ann character. The poem paints vibrant images begging with the "technicolor weather". We are also introduced to the trumpet player who brings life and alertness in contrast to the dying mildness of Ann. We have trees blossomed outside the hospital. This is another contrast between life and death. We also have a rave at the end of which the speaker is leaving right before the mother of Ann shows up with Ann bruised so we have more contradiction of mood.

Calisthenics - week 12

The Nude Tug of War

Bare and bones stacked in seated positions, yielding order and rule.

Control and manifest destiny, yearning for more land, more power.
Men adorned with beaded sweat pulling frayed bits of rope.

Two sides, opposing, are demanding war, creating battles.

Nude sacks of flesh scrape along the pavement,
Bleeding for the Kings and fighting for the commoners.

Their bodies alone are a fortress of shelter and safety.

Vulnerable carcasses of humanity representative of their country.

Their home of which they long to return .
All they have to do is pull the rope out from under the other army.

Yank away the weapon of which you fight and you are destined to fall.

Force the hands to bleed against rough fibers, so it cuts through their palms.

 Stacked in front of each other like a line filed for death.

Like a stack of dominos, one streak of men will fall down.

For war stems from the primitive instincts to protect what’s yours.

Bones and flesh are the foundation that creates war, the nakedness of man.

And given one form of weaponry, war will be fought, even if it’s your own fists.

free write - week 12

Wheat Stalk

Church doors always open,

Swung wide at late hours of the night.

A man in a brown trench coat,

Pockets hidden inside overflowing

With loaves of wheat and grains.

A woman, hoarding children away,

Playing during a slumber party,

Gawking in awe of the bearded man.

He wants help, shelter, feet washed by Christ.

The woman directs him to a shelter,

Too far to walk, but she needs to rid him,

Like a fungus infection on the sole of your foot.

She can’t give him money like a harlot,

Or a ride to the shelter like a charitable taxi service,

for the safety of herself and the children,

She can’t even give him deli meats and cheeses

To adorn his tall loaf of white bread tucked in the coat.

So he tracks sewage into the church,

And leaves just the same,

Christ could not heal him at his haven.

There is no saintly presence beneath the steeple.

All that man was good for was making children glare,

 Wide eyed at the miraculous loaves of bread,

From a white young image of Christ,

And all wondered, “Where was the wine?”

junkyard quote 4 - week 12

"waiting for someone else to write their names in the air or water"

junkyard quote3 - week 12

"this poem in our pockets like a charm"

Junkyard quote2 - week 12

"Snow like tissue after tissue pulled from a box"

Junkyard quote - week 12

"i count thousands of names in my head"