The following is a revied edition of my workshop piece War or Wood.

War or Wood

A crucial craft,
Curved like a crescent moon.
Two faced survival meant for men.
Torn flesh hacked limbs,
to bury,
to build,
to burn.
How to measure what you’ve gained.
How to measure what you’ve won.
Through strength and in cords.

This next piece is a revised edition of my worshop piece I'll Fry.

I'll Fry
why do people cry
when others have to die
yet some still ponder why
people even try
to understand the angels fly
that we'll never be that high
I admitt that I am not shy
wondering if God is a lie

This next piece is the spawning of the color green.

A long time ago in a galaxy far far away, the two supreme colors of the universe Blue and Yellow, came forth to spawn the ultimate color. They decided that this color would rule over nature. It's beauty would flow in waves as the blue wind would fly, and glow with the Yellow sun shine. Excited, Yellow and Blue sat long and hard to determine the name in which their new color would be, and on arbor day, the spawn the name Green.

This next piece is the spawning of the color green.

A long time ago in a galaxy far far away, the two supreme colors of the universe Blue and Yellow, came forth to spawn the ultimate color. They decided that this color would rule over nature. It's beauty would flow in waves as the blue wind would fly, and glow with the Yellow sun shine. Excited, Yellow and Blue sat long and hard to determine the name in which their new color would be, and on arbor day, the spawn the name Green.

Here is my current peice for workshop:

I'll Fry
why do people cry
when others have to die
yet some still ponder why
people even try
to understand the angels fly
that they'll never be that high
I admitt that I am not shy
wondering if god is a lie

I really must sya that i like the activities the last two pieces of writing is based upon.
those activities had a way of getting my mind racing with ideas, and they both lead me to ideas about further editing the works.

This next piece is a follow up to the last, not quite finished but a step closer.

Going to a place they believe is heaven
men leve this world through violent acts
to a place thats not paradise.
one level lower than the earth above it
watching up as they experience turmoil
where one feels the levels of earth upon their soul.
where rebellion marks it's place in life
where the beast can ride for free.
the content in which he inspects
he presumes that emotions ar enot of the soul
because someone presuming to be smarter than you said:
look to your peers, they rule mind and soul,
never looking inward and upward
to a place near to hevaen


needs alot of work but it is a start i think

The following is a piece that has been edited some, it is a poem that is based on 5 lines out of a poem by robert frost, a book of human devleopment, and ones i made up.

As near a paradise as it can be
between ages 15 and 25 men dies violently
going to a place they believe is heaven
one level highest than the earth below
1 percent of people expiernece scizophrenia
where one feels the levels of earth upon thier heads
one level nearer to heaven overhead
peers play a role in kid's minds as they grow
look inword to find oyur own heaven
it lifts a gaunt luxuritating beast
the most dramtic thing in life is the act of rebellion
don't let the beast run your life
content with thebund inspecting, they presume
emotional regulation is part mind part soul
said by someone greater than you

The following piece of writing is about a piece of furniture in my house and this is his poem.

Stan

Stan with his four legs and a broad back,
he carries all that would be a snack.
Standing on all fours housing an area where my dog would sleep,
he stands tall supporting his friends feet.
lounging on the carpet grining as he hides the remote,
parents screaming, lets see if he can float.

This piece of writting is about a place created by combining two place into one. It has not been finished, but it is a start.

The Luggage conveyor belt, rotates condements and snacks. Folded chairs half filled with viewers lined up to see the picture on the side of a 747. Attendants push down aisle ramming viewers with carts of food, screaming for tickets. The landing tower surveys the audience while shutting down the runway lights, security covers the exits as oxygen masks fall from the ceilings. the screens plays previews as people spread out to enjoy the movie, using parachutes as pillows. As the previews end the no smoking and seatbelt lights flash, and the movie starts.

This piece of writing is speech by a character created in my Creatiuve writing class.

"I know right away i am going to hurl. That rotten milk and fish head soup has turned my stmach to chymes. That ghastly smell of death and drunkeness does not bode well for my situation. I know right away that scum of a harlot will wake up and try to find me.It is of no matter i will lose myself in the hospital. no money for her, she was limp, besides shes uglier than my uncle Mitch's mutt. I know right away if i do not find this doctor, i will have to clean up this mess, damn him! how i hate him, no less then her, but atleast he does not smell of sewage, Damn! i almost gagged, why did I stay there? I knew she would be there, how i loathe her, how i loathe that place."

For anyone who has taken a Multicultuarlism in Literature class, or enjopys reading aabout, here is a site where i have posterd comments before, on reading i have done, or thoughts about a subject.http://mynameisnotmark.livejournal.com/

Have you ever wondered what writing means to you? I am not sure what it means to me, i never have tried to figure it out. I've never considered my self a good writer and still don't, but i no longer mind to write,i use to hate it. I find it funny that this change came about. I think i have pinpointed it to a choice. The choice I have about what to write.

"The birth of my procrastination,
cause of my frustration.
What the fuck, why me,
no enjoyment, not glee".
x circle triangle square,
"this is just not fair".
Suddenly standing staring at the screen,
Emotions in a blend,
triumpt: the end.

My name is Josh McAdam, i am setting this blog up for a creative writing class. I can be summed up as a liberal arts student who commutes back and forth to college. I also happen to read alot of fiction and mostly fantasy. Some would say that it is a great habit to have, but i call reading my curse. I find it hard to concentratre on reading assignments when i know i have somethign more intreasting to read. Although i must set this blog up for a class, i have never found myself as a good writer, and through this class and your help i wish to change this thought, even slightly.

I always wondered what it would be like to be an author and have people review your stuff. Today in class i found out, i felt a variety of feelings, ranging from confusion, and laughter. I was honestly suprised at some answers i recived on what people thought my work was about. One person came to me and asked me about it and told me " josh when i first read your peom i was like what the hell are you thinking, then i read it again and got it" Over all it was a great expiernece and i had alot of fun and i was able to take alot of advice on how i may improve my work. Here is my poem


"War or Wood"
A cursed craft,
Curved like a crescent moon.
Two faced survival meant for men?
Torn flesh hacked limbs,
to bury,
to build,
to burn.
How to measure what you’ve gained,
how to measure what you’ve won?
Through strength
and in cords.

The following poem is one i created not for the creative writing class i am in now. This poem is about a research project i was asked to do in another class, then asked if i would write this poem about the paper. The paper was on how violence in the media affects young minds as they grow. After i wrote i got little criticism so i thought i would post it for any who would comment on it.



"You Are What You Watch."

A click of the clicker,
animates the mirror.
The mind stares like children
in a candy store,
as cops catch crooks by the courtyard.
Bullets fly, and nooses tie,
yet his mind’s eye absorbs life’s color
red, as it flows to the ground,
like a stream in the spring.
Watching mud and blood becomes a flood,
of reality as he crawls through it,
while life taking sounds wail in harmony,
with approaching, alarming lights.
Matching bracelets lock freedom away,
as Life’s cold embrace,
shows new colors and shapes.
Confined to walls, for 15 to 25,
he’s not getting out till he’s 95.

Hi again this is Josh McAdam