Sophia+Henninger

=Sophia Henninger=

**Page of Poetry**
Poetry is a way of taking life by the throat.  [|Robert Frost]

 Can I just write a  Haiku? It would be short, sweet,  And straight to the point.

It donned my head So warm and fluffy Dotted with gold thread It was only a hat but I would love it until I was dead
 * Memory Poem: My Hat **

But on my way home As it sat comfortably, Calmly, on my dome It was ripped from my scalp But the culprit continued to roam

<span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">He walked away, <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">As I wept for my lost friend. <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">My heart was a fillet, <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">Burned, charred, <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">Only sadness, I could convey.

<span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">Now my head was cold, <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">My hair would no longer mingle <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">With it's thread of gold. <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">My warm fluffily hat, <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">I could no longer hold.

<span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">Fire is an untamed beast <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">The extent of it's power is never known <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">Until it is unleashed with full fury <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">It engulfs all enemies <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">As if it were a snake <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">Unhinging it's jaw to <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">Swallow it's prey whole. <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">It is insatiable <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">Never satisfied, <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">It will not stop until <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">All it has touched is merely soot <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">To be stepped on and collected <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">By the soles of those passing by. <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">It is the Reaper <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">Come to incinerate <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">Your soul and only leave behind <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">A pitiful charred casing <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">Of something that deserved that death.
 * <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">Ode: An Ode To Fire **

<span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">But when taken care of, <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">When treated with patience and care <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">It only warmly caresses. <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">The red tentacles flick up <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">To gently kiss your cheek <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">And warm your dead soul. <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">As the waves of sultry air touch your face <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">You cannot help but fall in love, <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">To be lulled into deep, sweet, dreams. <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">It thaws your frozen corpse <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">And awakens you <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">To new life <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">When thin, frail, cotton <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">Strewn carelessly across your body <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">Is not enough to defrost <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">The casing of numb skin <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">That surrounds and <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">Suffocates you. <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">When you allow <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">The glowing, red fingers <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">To approach your own raw digits <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">The orange, red tongues <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">Soothe them to revitalization. <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">It's warmth awakens your mind <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">From a frozen wasteland <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">Of the mundane thoughts <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">Of day to day life <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">And allows your intellect <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">To reconnect to the passion <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">In your spirit.

<span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">I was raised by uncertainty, <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">And without rhythm. <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">Repetition was off beat <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">And unanticipated. <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">The song of my youth <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">Had verses <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">Of screaming <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">And bellows; <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">Choruses <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">Of whispers <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">And sweet murmurs. <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">Remixed so often, <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">Impossible to duplicate.
 * <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">I was raised by Poem: The Rope I Was Raised On **

<span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">I was raised by fluctuation <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">And changes <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">To a so-called "routine." <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">A routine <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">That was improvised, <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">To say the least. <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">Performed everyday <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">With similar characters <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">And consistent settings <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">With varying lines <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">But identical queues, <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">All provoking <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">different retaliations.

<span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">I was raised by a rope <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">That had to be walked <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">With precision and patience. <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">The song <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">And <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">The so-called "routine" <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">Were winds <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">That swayed me, <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">Shifted my footing. <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">They kept me on my toes <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">And prepared me <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">To throw my balance <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">In any way <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">That would keep me <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">From plummeting <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">To my death.

//<span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">"When Did I Become A Ghost" Ghost! - Kid Cudi // <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">When did I become a ghost? <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">A mere specter of my former self, <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">An apparition that has taken my body <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">And left my mind clouded, <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">Not sure of the things that surround me. <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">It is as though my mind is planted <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">In the ground. Frozen and impenetrable. <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">While my body is unguided <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">And stumbling around the earth <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">Sampling all substances <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">Handed to it, never thinking <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">Of the consequences. <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">My body has become it's own being. <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">Separated from all intellect and spirit <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">It is only carbon now, <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">Shaped into human form <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">Identical to what I used to be. <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">It lives the life I used to live <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">It goes through my past motions <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">But without the motivation <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">I once held while performing them. <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">Maybe people will notice, <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">Finding fault in it's choices <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">Realizing what inspires it to move <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">Is not quite right, <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">Not quite what it used to be. <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">But I guess that's difficult for them <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">Since buried next to my mind <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">Are the minds of those people. <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">The people that would have saved me. <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">So here we lie, stuck, fixed, <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">Buried by our samplings, <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">Frozen by the foolishness for thinking <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">That for a minuscule moment <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">These samplings would not bring us here <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">To where our minds <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">Are anchored, rooted, immobile, <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">Underneath the bodies <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">Of those before us <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">Who also partook in these samplings <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">Who's minds aren't even in existence <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">Anymore. <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">They've been abolished <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">By the bodies that once held them, <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">By the bodies who hold us now. <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">We are powerless products of them <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">But we are the only thing that can help them <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">And uproot them <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">From madness, insanity, <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">Death.
 * <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">Riff Poem: When Did I Become a Ghost? **

<span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">I wish I could write <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">like you. <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">Your words are beautiful, <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">Really. <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">I wish I could move people with a simple phrase <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">like you. <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">Your phrases make me think, <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">Really. <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">I wish god had blessed me that simple yet breath-taking talent, <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">like you. <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">Your talents are monumental, <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">Really. <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">I wish my words choked your soul for answers about it's purpose in this world <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">like yours. <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">Your words force me to revaluate my life every time I simply glance that them, <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">Really. <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">My most beautiful words are nothing in comparison to the weakest, most tasteless thought to ever present itself in your mind. <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">My words are the things to stepped on, spat on, pissed and shat on by your untouchable words. <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">That's all my words are, <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">Really.
 * <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">Random Poem: My Words **

<span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">To feel the beauty of air rushing past <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;"> Your face, you have to run against the wind. <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;"> You must sprint as if this one were your last. <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;"> If you're quick, run with it, intertwined <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;"> With it. Please, allow the divine air to <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;"> Envelope you and know you are alive. <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;"> Without the wind your soul cannot come through <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;"> Because without the wind it cannot thrive. <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;"> It stirs your spirit, reminds it to move, <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;"> To move in a way that inspires you. <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;"> The gusts incite you to quickly remove <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;"> The abhorrent weight from your running shoe
 * <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">Sonnet: Run **

<span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;"> And run, for the first time and not be bound. <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;"> Now fly, you are no longer tied to the ground.

//<span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">Audio of Sonnet: // <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">media type="file" key="Run (Sonnet).mp3" align="left" width="240" height="20"

=<span style="font-family: Georgia,serif; font-size: 140%;">Detailed Study =

<span style="font-family: Georgia,serif; font-size: 140%;">Charles Bukowski

<span style="font-family: Georgia,serif; font-size: 110%;"> Charles Bukowski is one of the most famous American authors of modern times. His work is mostly prose with topics ranging anywhere from women to a childhood memory. Probably his most famous poem, So You What To Be A Writer?, sums us his entire writing career. In it he says that you cannot try to write, you just do it and if you can’t write then you simply can’t. Nothing will make you a better writer. When you do write, it should be purely what comes to mind and not something you had to give a lot of thought. That’s what his poetry is. His poems vary in topics because they just spring to his mind. His poems often seem to be written in real time, whether the thing is actually happening before him or he is recalling it. <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif; font-size: 110%;"> Many of Bukowski’s poems talk about a childhood, though they’re in first person, they’re not necessarily autobiographical. In most of his childhood memory poems, it talks about how he spent his time as a child. Whether it was about his daily rituals like in the poem, My Secret Life, or if it was about him and his mother dealing with abuse in the poem entitled, A Smile To Remember. These poems often used very detailed language and seem as though he’s retelling the story, as opposed to as if it were happening as he was writing. Another common factor the childhood memories hold is that they often show that his father was abusive. In A Smile To Remember, Bukowski speaks of his mother telling him to smile even though they were both beat by his father on a regular basis. In the poem he uses goldfish and his father’s treatment of them as a metaphor for him and his mother. His father throws them to the cat while his mother smiles. They’re as defenseless against him as the fish are and all they can do is smile. The poem, My Secret Life, speaks of him being alone in his house and what he would do without anyone around. He’d toy with specific records, watch the lady across the street, and play silly games. He had a ritual but once his parent came home, his father would ask what he had done all day. He says he’s done nothing, fearing his father’s opinion and says, “..whatever it is I have done, it belonged only to me.” These cherished moments without his father were the only things in his life he could control. <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif; font-size: 110%;"> Another common theme of his poetry was women. He wrote of all kinds of women, from ones he’d only looked at, to women he’d married. His poems of women are plentiful. In the poem Girl In A Miniskirt Reading The Bible Outside My Window is simply about that, a girl in a miniskirt reading the bible outside his window. He is telling her story, where she sits with her long, dark, legs in the sun and moves in rhythm with his music. You can sense the desire in this poem, especially when the form of the poem suddenly changes from just telling her story to him inserting himself in it beyond being the writer. The last stanza is, “she is dark, she is dark-- she is reading about God.-- I am God.” Once he does this it changes the poem from just plain text into a deep piece of literature. He connects himself to a random girl by saying she is dancing to his music and reading about him. In an obscure way he is saying that he has some sort of power of her. Many of his poems portraying women are like this: biographical of the women while still incorporating himself in a major way.

=<span style="font-family: Georgia,serif; font-size: 150%;">Personal Study =

<span style="font-family: Georgia,serif; font-size: 110%;"> In this poetry unit I learned a lot about my style as a writer but having to write different kinds of poems definitely helped me develop my writing skill. It challenged me to go beyond my comfort zone and try new styles and by doing that I grew as a writer. We had had to write a memory poem, an ode, an “I was raised by..” poem, a riff poem, and a sonnet. We also had to do a detailed study on a poet that we previously didn’t know much about. I chose to research Charles Bukowski which I believe effected my writing. <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif; font-size: 110%;"> Before this unit I didn’t write much at all but now that it’s over, I find myself wanting to write often. But before whenever I did write, I frequently attempted to make everything rhyme. I thought that only poems that rhymed were “real” poems. Only one of the poems in this unit was allowed to rhyme, which limited me and forced me to go be creative. Once I began writing, one themed to present itself often. In a few of my poems I mention a soul. Usually, I write about how our souls are trapped and how they need to be, which I think is true for many people. In the riff poem, titled When Did I Become A Ghost?(which is a quote from the Kid Cudi song, Ghost!) I talk about how it’s like I can’t control my body anymore and my mind, and soul, is trapped where it can’t be accessed. Though I never actually say the minds are trapped because of drug abuse it is definitely implied. Also in my sonnet, named Run is about how the wind is supposed to release your spirit. It says that running with the wind inspires you and allows you to let go and be free which is mentioned in the last two line, “And run, for the first time and not be bound. Now fly, you are no longer tied to the ground.” By this I don’t actually mean you should try to fly now. I just mean that whatever it is, whether it may be the wind or whatever, find it and allow yourself to let go so you can “fly” and not worry. Everyone needs something like that so they don’t go insane. <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif; font-size: 110%;"> Charles Bukowski affected my writing in numerous ways. I found his writing style interesting and I enjoyed how sometime he can write something that seems simple but also has a deep meaning. His poems told stories but still had deep meanings and after reading some of his poems, I tried to imitate it. Though that might not be very prevalent in the poems written on the wiki, it definitely has effected my personal writing.