Preface to the Preface

Samuel Johnson was pretty witty.

Hodge was the name of his kitty.

Words were his game,

A dictionary was his fame.

This he said of Shakespeare:

Success, he has, does, and can

For he writes in species not man.

Dictionary Johnson needed not fame,

He had his own to claim.

Yet his compass was wrought,

Moral purpose and plot he sought

He found neither.

Sometimes out of place;

Time and face or force of lace

Determine truth in the fabric of the weaver.

Therefore his heart was a believer

But his mind couldn’t conceive this ridiculous,

Seemingly neurotic, and raucous disgrace.

Shakespeare was not misplaced

There was good even among his disgrace.

And Johnson, although not a firm believer,

Decided he must write a preface.

My Hero Samuel Johnson: Dedicated to James Boswell

Whan upon an aprile day,

I sat and stood, and sat some more

Pondering words, and words, and words galore.

When upon my mind those words did rise

To say to me: you have no right

you have no time.

For we have risen

beyond thee and thy comprehension

In this dire moment, when hope was forlorn, a figure rose

From pages past.

This figure had no armor, shield or sword,

but a pen he did raise.

And with that pen he defined a way.

And hope did find, with its evervescent rays,

My pondering upon that fateful day.

Good sir said I.

Dost thou have a name.

“Aye” he replied.

Samuel Johnson is mine name.

I took a breadth,
making sure I could.
I thought it was supposed to be my breath.
Instead, when I saw you, you stole my heart beat.
Without a beat my heart became a contradiction.
It once gave life, now it took it away.

When the beat escaped through my pumping veins,
I lost the ability to dream. I lost the ability to believe.

“He who giveth can also taketh away”
I gave my heart. It had only been a look.
A look was all it took.  
I had to take a breadth
just to make sure I could.
When I broke our gaze, I realized you’d gotten away.

Unreachable

Alone I wish to walk,
battling my internal conflict.
I pray for strength,
but I'm destined to break.
Your sympathy and words of care leave me stripped bare.
You seem so sincere, but I don't care!
My heart is torn,
why do you persist?

You joke, we tease, but it is insufficient for me.
would you please refrain?
I'm left wanting a change.
Melancholy ensues, blocking my view.
Could you please move?
You laugh and tease, leaving me in a dream.
Please Please refrain.
Stop laughing, stop smiling.
Can't you see this is hurting me?

Solitude embrace me.
I'll accept thee.

My Name

The south seas called my name,
birds and fish, the people too.
they called my name and I came.

For days I stayed remembering
not much more than that.
It was good because

The seagulls cry, but their noises are washing away like the breakers. What I really notice is the soft green wood planks that line the pier. There are some cement posts too, but even these seem soft. Everything seems soft and green. The water and the wood, the grass and the rocks. Not hard green, or bright, but a various shade of green. The water is the darkest green. The wood on the pier is also green, but this is mixed with dark browns. A slight fishy tang tickles my sense of smell. Just like the light breeze does to my hair. The morning air is slighty chilly but not enough to make me stop. A few boats are tied up. They rock gently in the rising tide. In the distance a lone seagull dives into the water. I can't see if it caught a fish. Even with all of these silent noises romping about, I feel relaxed.

Give and Take

“He who giveth can also taketh away”
I gave my heart. It had only been a look.
A look was all it took.  
I had to take a breadth
just to make sure I could.
When I looked away, you walked the other way.
My heart, well,
it remained. 

Considerate Feelings of Nothingness

Descending from above, not unlike the creator of a dove. A multi




The string pulls at the puppets arm; raising and then lowering it. Another string moves the leg. One step, then another, then another. Quizzically the puppets head turns, pulled by yet another string. The puppet lurches forward. a string is pulling at its chest. Panic enters his eyes. All these strings, pulling every which way. Where was his control? The string attached to his arm became taught, his arm began to rise. He tried to resist, he tried to pull down, but his arm still rose. Then his other arm followed suit. He spun around. These strings controlled him, pulling every which way. His only hope of freedom was to break them.

The puppet breaks the strings that control him. Just to realize they were not controlling, they were moving him.

Jumbled in a lifeless, wooden heap, the puppet realized his mistake. The strings were keeping him awake?.

The red rock, rubbed me raw.

Loyal as a Dog

What makes a truly great friend? From my experiences, being able to trust someone is the key ingredient to true friendship. When you are in a bind these friends will always be right beside you. Unfortunately this caliber of friendship is rare to come by. Most people are inherently good, but when it comes down to it they look out for themselves first. A truly great friendship is one in which you know the guy beside you would sacrifice everything for you. It isn't easy to become this kind of friend. I find it all too natural to serve my needs first.

Hannah, "Zac if you find something in your bed, it wasn't me."