Jesús+Jimenez

I would define, in brief, the Poetry of words as the Rhythmical Creation of Beauty. Its sole arbiter is Taste.
 * - Edgar Allan Poe**

**Self-Poetry Analysis**
Poetry has been one of those things that I cannot tame for personal and reasons unknown to me. Every time I write a poem it fits the cliché of other teenage poets. It’s crazy! I feel like I’m doing something different when I write them but that’s the problem. Everyone tries so hard to write and be different. Since everyone tries to be different, being different isn’t unique anymore. I’ve come to the conclusion that going to the roots and studying the fundamentals of poetry has helped me create and revolutionize the vocabulary plonked in my creative writing. Anyway, in my poetry I incorporate things from real life, like painting a picture with words. For example, in my poem “MEH”, “Morgen overlooked the chicory”. Which means “the morning did not not come”. Since Morgen means morning, and chicory is a flower that blooms in the morning, I’m the chicory in my poem so, “Morning did not come for me”. I just hide some messages in poems by using imagery. Repetition is something else in poems that I don’t like using. I think it takes away valuable space from a poem. If I need to fill in space for some reason, I resort to similes and metaphors. I enjoy using with them because of the countless multiple meaning they can have. Poems are just words written on paper if you don’t put emotion into it. When I write, I have to make sure that the ink on that paper comes from the mind and heart rather than my brain.

=**Descriptive Study of a Poet: Gary Soto**= Gary Soto is a Mexican-American (otherwise known as “Chicano”) poet. His poetry is heavily influenced by the working class he was born into when he was young. Gary writes about the many examples in his life and takes advantage of the simplicity of the scene to give it life and feeling. One of his poems “A Red Palm” is about the hard working, dedicated worker in the fields. You don’t have to be an expert to understand the deep meaning of Gary’s poems. You get a little peak of the worker’s life. The average everyday thing THEY experience. The title of the poem seems like it has nothing to do with the poem at first. After you read “You go to sleep with a red sun on your palm” you understand why the worker’s palm is like that, and the reality of the whole situation starts to sink in. In his pieces “Nelson My Dog” and “Who Will Know Us” he uses descriptive writing to explain certain events or something. There is no secret message hidden in the poem, theres no code, there’s nothing like that. Gary is just using make the scene beautiful. He is moving the flowers of descriptiveness to the window sill of poetry. That last sentence right there could be an example of what he does! One of his examples are “It is cold, bitter as a penny. I'm on a train, rocking toward the cemetery” from his poem “Who Will Know Us”. To sum up what he’s obviously saying in these lines; it is cold and he is on a train, currently heading towards the cemetery. The reason he says “rocking” is because the train is a little shaky while going on the track. You should know this feeling if you have ever been in a subway or train before. The lines that Soto writes are full of interesting adjectives. I assume they are carefully chosen so they can be understandable to a broad audience and give the poem some pizzaz. Gary’s metaphors and similes can seem creative to an extent. But many times they are literal. The line “The wash of rubber in our lungs” from “Mission Tire Factory 1969” could be taken as a phrase with double meaning. It looks literal when I read it, it’s obvious that they were in a tire factory. But also, the feeling of “the wash of rubber” could be how they felt during the incident. One final thing I want to write about is Gary Soto’s use of memory. Most of his poems are about memories in his life. He always seems to be remembering something and tries to explain a piece of the experience he has had. It’s good that he writes about things he knows. I believe if a poet write about something out of their experience, the words and feelings will come out all wrong. Gary Soto has done a great job demonstrating his memories through his poetry, and continues to do so. Hopefully his writing will set an example for anyone who aspires to be a poet. You don’t have to know fancy words in order to do poetry.

Poems

Morgen overlooked the chicory. Wearily awaken, zest was absent from thy form. I heed the lay of the land.
 * Meh... by Jesús A. Jimenez-Lara**

A fractured pair of two, there is no glue for this broken vase. A sprouting flower without the Sun and Rain. Only the soil has kept it up.

media type="file" key="Meh.mp3"
 * Hear me recite it!**

She wears them once in a blue moon, almost never see them on her, I'm not the type that stares.
 * Ode to Bee's Gray Pants by** **Jesús A. Jimenez-Lara**

On this morrow, her knees were on the chair. Where I can see them. She sat there silently, ignorant of the spiritless color she wore.

It was the feeling of depression when you your waiting in the office of a doctor. The color of the crayon everyone avoids. With the exception when you draw rocks.

She felt comfortable, unknowing of the brilliance such a dull color could show. The green color of her head phones

I've never noticed them, until now.

Now! Time has allowed me to observe these trousers. With texture of white streaks, making them seem worn.

To be honest, I'm not envious. I'm neither enlightened, nor delighted. I am just... observant. Thank you, pants. For allowing me to enjoy the little things in life.

What's a minus? Minus doesn't exist In this world.
 * Riff Poem by** **Jesús A. Jimenez-Lara**

Absence only exist, There is only absence and presence.

There is only Black and White. White and Black.

Noir and Blanc. You cannot have Almost or Nearly.

You cannot go Negative

You can't go below zero.

There is always a place to start all over.

You won't know anyone, Owe anyone, or trust anyone.

Start from scratch.

I was raised by the innovators and creative minds of the past. The theorists and philosophers that were once in my shoes, many, many, years ago.
 * "I was raised by" Poem by** **Jesús A. Jimenez-Lara**

I was raised by people who did not believe in limits, they kept going, past the stars, past the universe into the abeyance... where they waited for the next generation.

I was raised by sages. Who's magic already existed in the world, but was used in ways, too pure for the likes of any John or Jane Doe to experience.

Raised by people who saw me as the next Galileo, forever gone but not forgotten. Full of potential only to use enough to feed a mouse.

Each time the shoes has a new owner, the weight on youth grows more and more. These are the people who raised me.

Alone I stay, to wait for the right time. Gosh. We're strangers not aware of ourselves. Dawn's end comes slowly, as I wait for prime More aware of the dust gathered in shelves. Strangers keeping each others company. Not knowing what's going on, confused as Confused ducks. Our sun rises steadily, Moon falls also.Your presence like Jesus, lass. Your voice, is a staggering melody. Chances of running to the moon were the same as meeting you, very unlikely. Your ABCs make me feel stupid, duh, Your mind, not mine, doesn't know when to stop, That smile worth while make bunny go hop.
 * Sonnet aka "Sonnet to the Morning" by** **Jesús A. Jimenez-Lara**