Octavius+Collins


 * A Sonnet**


 * I am the hidden bomb in an airport.**
 * You are the detonator for this bomb.**
 * Where were you when I needed your support?**

**Mother Ode By Octavius Collins** **You aren't my friend, you're my parent.** **I've learned to understand that, & it's apparent.** **You've been here since day 1 in counting.** **You've been my motivation, dedication, inspiration.** **I admire your hard work, and obligations to be a fine example of success.** **Single parent, no relaxation, you put us first with no hesitation.** **I show my appreciation in ways like abbreviations.** **but here's… to you, I'm appreciated.**
 * By Rachel Wetzsteon**

**At the Zen Mountain Monastery**
 * A double line of meditators sits**
 * on mats, each one a human triangle.**
 * Evacuate your mind of clutter now.**
 * I do my best, squeezing the static and**
 * the agony into a straight flat line,**
 * but soon it soars and dips until my mind’s**
 * activity looks (you can take the girl...)**
 * uncannily like the Manhattan skyline.**
 * Observe your thoughts, then gently let them go.**
 * I’m watching them all right, unruly dots**
 * I not only can’t part from but can’t help**
 * transforming into restless bodies -- they’re**
 * no sooner being thought than sprouting limbs,**
 * no longer motionless but striding proudly,**
 * beautiful mental jukeboxes that play**
 * their litanies of joy and woe each day**
 * beneath the shadow of enormous buildings.**
 * Desires are your jailers; set them free and roam the hills, smiling archaically.**
 * It’s not a pretty picture, me amid**
 * high alpine regions in my urban black,**
 * huffing and puffing in the mountain air**
 * and saying to myself, I’m trying but**
 * it’s hopeless; though the tortures of the damned**
 * make waking difficult, they are my tortures;**
 * I want them raucous and I want them near,**
 * like howling pets I nonetheless adore**
 * and holler adamant instructions to --**
 * sprint, mad ambition! scavenge, hopeless love**
 * that begs requital! -- on our evening stroll**
 * down Broadway and up West End Avenue.**


 * 1 This poem is complicated, but I think she's writing to women, and what they go through.**
 * 2 No, I can't really find any type of pattern, or repetition in this poem.**
 * 3 there's a lot of punctuation in this particular poem. When she goes through feelings at the end, you could tell the vibe/ mood of the poem was slowly changing to a serious, and slightly angered woman. The exclamation marks say a lot as well.**
 * 4 The lines are averagely about 6-7 words with a few accept ions. I guess she felt as though she could right until the thought of starting a new emotion came along.**
 * 5 the language of the poem is very strong. It's like a stream of consciousness feelings, just being poured out of someone brain. Deep inner feelings that she's kept inside for too long, and is finally getting the chance to vent.**
 * 6 The tone start seems to be angry. if not angry then extremely serious. Words like " mad ambition" or " hopeless love that begs requital!" Are clear give aways of tones.**
 * 7 I can literally see the thoughts being poured out of her head, and out into the world.**


 * THESIS: What's interpreted by one person, is understood by another.**


 * Sakura Park**


 * by Rachel Wetzsteon**


 * The park admits the wind,**
 * the petals lift and scatter**


 * like versions of myself I was on the verge**
 * of becoming; and ten years on**


 * and ten blocks down I still can’t tell**
 * whether this dispersal resembles**


 * a fist unclenching or waving goodbye.**
 * But the petals scatter faster,**


 * seeking the rose, the cigarette vendor,**
 * and at least I’ve got by pumping heart**


 * some rules of conduct: refuse to choose**
 * between turning pages and turning heads**


 * though the stubborn dine alone. Get over**
 * “getting over”: dark clouds don’t fade**


 * but drift with ever deeper colors.**
 * Give up on rooted happiness**


 * (the stolid trees on fire!) and sweet reprieve**
 * (a poor park but my own) will follow.**


 * There is still a chance the empty gazebo**
 * will draw crowds from the greater world.**


 * And meanwhile, meanwhile’s far from nothing:**
 * the humming moment, the rustle of cherry trees.**


 * 1 The environment of the park. All 5 senses.**
 * 2 Their's a slight rhyming pattern, after every other verse. Or after every other stanza .**
 * 3 Punctuation is on point, their aren't any opposites, their aren't any repetitive words either.**
 * 4 The line length is about 5-6 syllables, and continues to the next line, then there's a thought stop. Similar pattern to her previous poem.**
 * 5 This poem is classic. It goes back into a period of time in which she used to be at the park, and**


 * MacDowell**
 * by Rachel Wetzsteon**


 * For once I fought back,**
 * answering Oh yes, someday**
 * when a restless muse asserted**
 * This golden age needs treatment on the page.**
 * It was the strangest lesson—**
 * all that ink to make me think**
 * shadows were real, this silence**
 * when one true heart so manifestly was.**
 * Time passed. Themes amassed;**
 * I scoffed at amber, basked in oxygen.**
 * Now in this little cabin**
 * where no sightings slake my cravings**
 * and my pen gets back its need to conjure,**
 * on the ingots I have stored, oh pine, opine.**


 * 1 This poem is more complicated. The environment is not obvious but my best guess is that she is in her cabin, writing, until the ink in her pen dies out.**
 * 2 This poem was the 1 of 3 that had a rhyming pattern/scheme.**
 * 3 It' not a poem that I'm necessarily familiar with, the structure is un recognizable.**
 * 4 The punctuation was a little "iffy". She'd start another verse, w/ no punctuation left after the last one. This did happen numerous times**
 * 5**