Monday, June 29, 2009

Motives

I find it incredibly frustrating that all the mistrust in the world, all the lies and backstabbing, has affected people so much that they can't accept favors from honest people without completely doubting their intentions. While I know that most people doubt with reason, because they've been burned before by people they trusted, it still makes me sad.

The truth is, I would consider myself a good person. Yes, I've made mistakes in my life and I have misplaced the trust of close friends. But when it comes to helping people, my motives are pure. I want to help people for the sake of helping people. I want to help people because I know how it feels to be struggling through a hard time and wishing there was someone to come along and carry part of the load with me. Yet more and more lately, I see my offerings of help greeted with cold suspicion and doubt.

A friend of mine is going through a rough time right now. We aren't very close, but I can tell that she feels alone and abandoned. So the other day, I sent her a message telling her that I didn't know what was going on, but I could tell that she was having a hard time, and that if she needed to talk about anything, I was there. That's all I said. She responded by asking,
"What have you heard, who told you? are you only kidding with me?"
I was surprised, and a little hurt. I hadn't overstepped any boundaries or made any wild accusations, yet she suspected malicious, ulterior motives. Is that how everyone sees me?

If we live our lives doubting the motives of each person who comes along trying to help, we will only be buried with whatever it is we need help with. It will completely envelope our lives, and eventually we won't be able to let it go. I understand the fear of trusting every single person who comes along, because there are some shady people out there. But sometimes we need to open up and let someone reach out, or in most cases, reach in.

Thursday, February 5, 2009

Poetry

We are working on a poetry unit in English, so naturally, we've been analyzing poems. Unfortunately, that's all we've been doing for the past two weeks- analyzing poems to death all period long. It's been incredibly boring, and my teacher vehemently shoots down anyone whose interpretation of the poem isn't textbook. It's been incredibly frustrating for me, who believes that poems are subjective and can be interpreted differently by everyone. When she gave us an assignment to pick a poem and analyze it, I was not excited. Until I found this poem.


Ars Poetica
by
Archibald MacLeish


A poem should be palpable and mute
As a globed fruit,


Dumb
As old medallions to the thumb,


Silent as the sleeve-worn stone
Of casement ledges where the moss has grown—


A poem should be wordless
As the flight of birds.


*
A poem should be motionless in time
As the moon climbs,


Leaving, as the moon releases
Twig by twig the night-entangled trees,


Leaving, as the moon behind the winter leaves,
Memory by memory the mind—


A poem should be motionless in time
As the moon climbs.


*
A poem should be equal to:
Not true.


For all the history of grief
An empty doorway and a maple leaf.


For love
The leaning grasses and two lights above the sea—


A poem should not mean
But be.



Yours,
Stephanie

Friday, January 16, 2009

meantime

I haven't posted in a few days, but that's because I've been formulating what I would write in my blog. I'm coming up with some good topics, but I'm not quite there yet. In the meantime, here's something to tide you over. I wrote this poem for a creative writing assignment and this is just the rough draft, but at the same time I don't think there will be any more drafts either because I like it. Enjoy:


Letting Go

Standing.
Sharp edge, steep cliff
Miniscule pebbles crumble into black abyss
Craggy rocks stand guard below
Jutting sharply out of muddy walls.

Upward.
Sky painted a quiet blue
Sun illuminated, a brass button
Alone in the empty expanse
Stretching for days, months, decades.

Alone.
But not lonely
Kept company by painful memories
A beautiful melancholy of days past
Every thought, millions, hang in the air.

Clutching.
The same strong grip
That leads us back each time
To the place we cannot bear
Refusing to let go.

Helium.
Suspends a balloon in space
Like hopes in the back of our minds
Things we know we can never achieve
Always holding us back.

Strength.
Uncurling wishing fingers
Sets a plastic sphere rising slowly, slowly
Quickly, quickly a little planet in the sky
A mere speck on the face of the universe.

Letting go.