Monday, March 12, 2012

Akash Patel Poem

Tom Brady

He was an average boy
Who was born in California.
No one would ever believe
That he could throw as well as Joe Montana.

No one believed in him,
He got drafted 199th overall.
Once he got a chance to shine,
He proved that he was better than all.

His first year in the league,
he was as skinny as a twig.
who would have ever guessed
that his game was so big?

He has accomplished
Many things in his life.
Most importantly,
His super hot wife.

Sunday, March 11, 2012

Momma, say sorry

My name is Katelan Pryor, and my major is currently Exploring. I don't normally write poetry, so this wasn't very easy to do. It took about 5 days, working on and off on it. Inspiration came from family issues, which is something I though is something a lot of people could relate to. Here it goes:

Maybe I want to be free
like the leaf when it let's go
the arrow coming from a bow
I think It'd be best for me

Leave the weight behind
let my spirit do the talking
my heart do the walking
and keep your hatred confined

I'll smile like the sun
when I see that white rise
because there'll be nothing left to despise
knowing both battles are done

But until that day
I'll keep wishing
that maybe you'll say
I'm sorry



Throwing the line out,

And waiting for the bite.

It feels like a jerk,

Like a dog pulling the leash.

Reeling in the fish is such a surprise,

Not knowing what you’ll find.

Whether in the cool of a summer night,

Or on the ice in the winter cold.

The wind blows on the water,

Like a twister heading for the shore.

It provides a time,

Of relaxation and a time to think.

Every aspect of fishing,

Makes me fall in love.

Re live the Moment

Re live the Moment
By: Aladin Saleh

Three, two, one, and the crowd goes wild.
I look out to their faces and I feel like a child.
Content in my mind, I suddenly feel okay.
I have just won it all, I have gotten my way.
We were back twenty yards with only seconds to spare.
I ran as fast as I could, caught the ball in the air.
The leather felt smooth, fitting tightly in my hand.
I had stiffened my grip to the sound of the band.
My cleats stabbed the turf leaving behind trails of dirt.
Stadium lights flashed over me like I was at a concert.
The cheerleaders screamed at the sight of the action.
I looked over and winked with egoistic satisfaction.
I felt the world in my presence with one simple touch.
All eyes settled on me with one moment of clutch.
The other team wept insults and yelled in despair.
May the best man win, it has always been fair.
Now I leave my season, played my last successful game.
Leaving behind conditioning and workouts I overcame.
I will always miss the game, remembering my finest time.
I stole the championship ring, my committed victimless crime.
My team and I are one; I did not succeed alone.
Now we leave the broken turf, our names famously known.

Never Forget, You're Never Forgot

Never Forget, You’re Never Forgot

It has been thirteen years now since you have passed,
These past few years have gone by fast.
I miss your smiles and all your hugs
Wishing that I had someone to bug.
You stayed with me through thick and thin
Even when it appeared I wouldn’t win.
Every day I sit and wonder what it would be like
To have you be the one to teach me how to ride a bike.
Basketball games were never the same
Without you sitting there yelling my name.
The more time that goes by, the harder it is to remember
But I know that everyone is here to help me.
Grandma and Grandpa still send their love
And I know you sit and listen to me from way up above.
You come in my dreams, but I have never said good bye
Because I know you are the one who is teaching me how to fly
I’m trying to be everything that you want,
Just never forget, you’re never forgot.
-Laura Katherine Neff

On Washing Hands

The essay "On Washing Hands" was about the importance of washing your hands. It takes place in the hospital that the author, Atul Gawande, works at. The problem that is occuring in the hospital is that "we doctors and nurses wash our hand one third to one half as often as we are supposed to" (Gawande, pg 207). Because of this, doctors and nurses spread infections and diseases to patients when they do not wash their hands when they move from patient to patient. Several different strategies have been used to reduce the spread of infection by having doctors and nurses wash their hands more often. But a lot of the doctors and nurses cannot break their bad habit so the problem continues. As an EMT, we have to do the same thing, including sterilizing our truck and equipment between each transport to protect both us and the patients from any possible infections. Some of the older EMTs don't follow the rules as strictly because they developed the habit of not doing it and they are stuck in their ways. New EMTs, like myself, have had it drilled into our minds that we HAVE to do this. Even though it seems like we are OCD with the process of cleaning, sterilizing, and going constantly using hand sanitizer, and going through sheets and blankets like crazy, it is a habit that will protect our patients and help stop the spread of infections to other patients.

Exploration 6

Part One:
Gelareh Asayseh, the author of "Shrouded in Contradiction," is conflicted because of the differing cultures of her home country Iran and America, where she lives now. When she visits Iran, she is forced to wear her hijab (Islamic covering). She hates that she has to wear it, but sometimes she also values the culture of her home country. She has a love/hate relationship with her culture. From my own experience, I have a love/hate relationship with college. I hate how much work and time studying that has to be put in or having to take some general education courses that just aren't interesting. But I love how with each of these classes that I take, I get closer and closer to studying what I'm interested in and getting out of college and into the job I want.

Part Two:
The passage about Aung San Suu Kyi was really interesting. The personal sacrifices she made in being under house arrest for sixteen years instead of taking the option to leave politics and the country if she was reunited with her family. She chose to stay and in order to continue her work to free Burma.

The Show Ring

The Show Ring

The work the sweat,
The drive the bet,

The strength the tears,
The fight the fears,

The class the ring,
The belts the bling,

The show the claps,
The work no naps,

The blue the gold,
Its' done its sold,

The life, of a champion

Wednesday, March 7, 2012

Published fiction writing by Mike Lohre

As I've read a considerable amount of your writing, I thought some of you may be interested in reading some of mine. I published this short story in The Atlantic magazine a few years ago, and it's still available online. You can read it here.

I wrote it out of respect for the older people I grew up with in southern Minnesota, and my father, who I saw growing old and struggling with his health in profound ways. I wanted to capture some of that old hope.

My new hope is always that our writing and conversation strikes a chord that will resonate and deepen our experience in this mysterious life.

It's been my honor to be your teacher this quarter. Hold on to your dreams, my friends.

With respect,

Mike Lohre

Judy Garland

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Bob Marley

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Henry David Thoureau

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George Carlin

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Paula Deen

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Andy Warhol

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Monday, March 5, 2012

Death Bed

Arctic mists loom over the decayed forest
The roar of death draws near,
For when I stand before the paths
My heart fills up with fear.

The first of two shrieks loudly
The sound gnawing at my ears,
In madness I look up to find
My wife of many years.

She stands aloof yet beckons
Her lips made out of gold,
But as I move to take her hand
I see into her soul.

Her beauty is beholding,
A succubus from afar,
But inside lies a lifeless heart
As black as oozing tar.

I gasp for breath yet bellow
As we exchange out countless blames,
But my lips seal shut and quiver
As the Beast of many names,
Leaps out and tears my very neck,
His titan grip and endless wreck,
The jaws of blight,
A massive sight,
Infernos sweep the endless night,

But the second path I did forget
A light shinning from the Son,
And although my eyes were darkened
It caused Lucifer to run.

He grasped my hand and pulled me up
While holding the Sacred tome,
Then he winked and led me down the path
The day my savior called me home.

Frank Lloyd Wright

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Michael Jackson

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Steven Spielberg

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Jim Henson

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Saturday, March 3, 2012

Poem: What Motivates Me?

"What Motivates Me?

Clank, Clank, Clank,
the orgasmic sound of heavy weights.

Dedication keeps, my muscles pumping,
like the pistons on a machine.

I push the boundaries, of my endurance
and the limits of my pate.

Clank, Clank, Clank,
like a train on searing tracks.

My mind screams, as my body tears
the muscle from shear bone.

Scorching lungs, ache for life
in the despair of my lack.

Clank, Clank, Clank,
I must never stop this race.

My heart rends, from my heaving chest,
boiling blood strengthens my resolve.

Why am I here? What is my coerce?
For me it's the thrill of the chase.