Winston+Wright

" Poetry is as precise a thing as geometry" - Gustave Flaubert Wait Wait Wait, thoughts are just distant irrelevant dreams that freeload in my mind it is the spastic erratic human actions that confirm my choices in life now thanks to my parental units, I don't choose to tickle 9's or stickies but to the crooked crows I crumble erb everyday? no no no no, so let's throw up all the negative humus we have digested through our eyes these days I talk all this mess while I'm listening to outkast. southernplaysiticicadillacmuzik to be exact well folks this program only runs for so long before the star goes to rehab might as well do what we can while we can do it right? welcome to my poetry portfolio if you can really call it that....
 * @p03M0fMY<h0!<3???**

I said " Yo Red Tide your such mutated catalyst One slip on the rope, and you cause an economical avalanche Although you can affect all of earths inhabitants You choose to sit back in your blue blanket and laugh at them Since when did free willie, and shamoo get popped and hit Humans have the ocean looking like some columbine shit Soon enough in the year the 3000, the atlantic and pacific will needs it's own gynecologist But sadly, the solution is simple, we need to stop polluting Mother Earth, and Our own minds And although we might have an endless amount of time Clark Kent, Peter Parker, nor Bruce Wayne can defeat Red Tide."
 * Ode to Red Tide:**

I was raised by bohemian inhabitants. Embracing their qualities twisted like the roots of two trees. A man defiant like a Samurai Piercing the souls of his enemies.
 * I Was Raised by Open mindedness**

By the soothing pacific sounds vibrating in my mind. Scone & Jam eating Chai Tea sipping beings. Electronic Signals transmitting & Transforming my thought. Macy Gray, Tracy Chapman, Joan Armatrading, Listening beings.

I was Raised by open mindedness.

Frank Eats Lots of Meat But Pig is The Best He is a Bad Guy Weird at Times But Writes Wack Rhymes Plus he died and needs some more rest He Lives With Quite a Few Disgusting flies He wears a Tu pee and has some cool skills He lives on a stage and possibly gay the queen loves him but people want him kiled He Wakes Up in the Morning and Eats Clay But hey he could be a woman you know He Writes universal themes and nice dreams As You like it hamlet and othello Good versus evil he likes to write themes And I guess there is no more to say hear I just exposed a fraud who's named shakespeare
 * Untitled Sonnet**

I think that my poetry transcribes my views on the world and life. Not to dwell "too deep" into this but no matter what, I generally always relate something or make some type of allegorical symbol (yes, I was inspired from animal farm). I become inspired to write poetry, by different artist I listen to, Daniel Dumile, Aesop Rock, Steely Dan, James Mccall, but it is seldom that I write any poetry. I think that I usually disregard grammar when writing, and I generally change the pronunciation of words, to make it flow with my following lines. I don't include many line breaks ,but when I do they occur at the most inappropriate times. I think my poetry just generally is what ever is on my mind.
 * My Poetry:**

code My black face fades, hiding inside the black granite. I said I wouldn't, dammit: No tears. I'm stone. I'm flesh. My clouded reflection eyes me like a bird of prey, the profile of night slanted against morning. I turn this way--the stone lets me go. I turn that way--I'm inside the Vietnam Veterans Memorial again, depending on the light to make a difference. I go down the 58,022 names, half-expecting to find my own in letters like smoke. I touch the name Andrew Johnson; I see the booby trap's white flash. Names shimmer on a woman's blouse but when she walks away the names stay on the wall. Brushstrokes flash, a red bird's wings cutting across my stare. The sky. A plane in the sky. A white vet's image floats closer to me, then his pale eyes look through mine. I'm a window. He's lost his right arm inside the stone. In the black mirror a woman's trying to erase names: No, she's brushing a boy's hair.
 * **Facing It** ||||  ||
 * by [|Yusef Komunyakaa] ||

code || //Facing it//, by Yusef Koomunyakaa is a poem of distinction in line after line, and due to it's structure it is clear to say that the poet intended to show remorse. //" My black face fades, hiding inside the black granite. I said I wouldn't dammit: Not Tears. I'm stone. I'm flesh."// With out a doubt, this line contains line breaks within line breaks, and some that don't even actually represent a sentence. The imagery is immense in this poem, and it clearly depicts some event(s) that have occurred in Yusef's life. The use of the word **Name** occurs many times through out the poem, and it could represent several things, from death to life in actuality. The number 58,022 can not be analyzed to mean something special, although that exact latitude and longitude are the location of "Tula Tree" in eastern Europe. //" Names shimmer on a woman's blouse "// is possibly the most important line in the whole poem. It symbolizes the lives of many, and the woman has a close relation to Yusef. The only reason a person could draw this from the poem is because, first person is the only perspective in the poem. This poem is truly a marvel, but expresses doubt and uncertainty, and for that it is subjunctive. Usually at the helipad I see them stumble-dance across the hot asphalt with crokersacks over their heads, moving toward the interrogation huts, thin-framed as box kites of sticks & black silk anticipating a hard wind that'll tug & snatch them out into space. I think some must be laughing under their dust-colored hoods, knowing rockets are aimed at Chu Lai—that the water's evaporating & soon the nail will make contact with metal. How can anyone anywhere love these half-broken figures bent under the sky's brightness? The weight they carry is the soil we tread night & day. Who can cry for them? I've heard the old ones are the hardest to break. An arm twist, a combat boot against the [|skull], a .45 jabbed into the [|mouth], nothing works. When they start talking with ancestors faint as camphor [|smoke] in pagodas, you know you'll have to kill them to get an answer. Sunlight throws scythes against the afternoon. Everything's a heat mirage; a river tugs at their slow feet. I stand alone & amazed, with a pill-happy door gunner signaling for me to board the Cobra. I remember how one day I almost bowed to such figures walking toward me, under a corporal's ironclad stare. I can't say why. From a half-mile away trees huddle together, & the prisoners look like marionettes hooked to strings of light. ||  The poem Prisoners by Yusef Komunyakaa contains many sentences filled with hidden personification. This is the first thing a reader would notice as the poetdesigns every sentence with few line breaks. An example is, “ From a half-mile away, trees huddle together.” This is hidden personification because technically speaking trees can naturally huddle together, but the poet gives a vivid image of trees huddling together like a sports team of some sort. These lines of personification start to become predictable, and occur about every other four lines. The most consistent form of punctuation is the comma, and the lines are written very slowly, so the reader or listener can easily imagine the vivid pictures. The poet depicts a very tedious confrontation between where somethings or someone are enslaving another people. There is an expression of looking back, on a trial or task, and succeeding in escaping from these beings. I think that it is interesting that he writes that he once bowed to " them ". This is a poem of redemption.
 * Close Reading**
 * **Prisoners by Yusef Komunyakaa**
 * Close Reading **

code I sit beside two women, kitty-corner to the stage, as Elvin's sticks blur the club into a blue fantasia. I thought my body had forgotten the Deep South, how I'd cross the street if a woman like these two walked towards me, as if a cat traversed my path beneath the evening star. Which one is wearing jasmine? If my grandmothers saw me now they'd say, Boy, the devil never sleeps. My mind is lost among November cotton flowers, a soft rain on my face as Richard Davis plucks the fat notes of chance on his upright leaning into the future. The blonde, the brunette— which one is scented with jasmine? I can hear Duke in the right hand & Basie in the left as the young piano player nudges us into the past. The trumpet's almost kissed by enough pain. Give him a few more years, a few more ghosts to embrace—Clifford's shadow on the edge of the stage. The sign says, //No Talking//. Elvin's guardian angel lingers at the top of the stairs, counting each drop of sweat paid in tribute. The blonde has her eyes closed, & the brunette is looking at me. Our bodies sway to each riff, the jasmine rising from a valley somewhere in Egypt, a white moon opening countless false mouths of laughter. The midnight gatherers are boys & girls with the headlights of trucks aimed at their backs, because their small hands refuse to wound the knowing scent hidden in each bloom. code || //Jasmine//, by Yusef Komunyakaa is one of the poets concretely descriptive. There are few examples of abstract lines, and it is almost has if the poet wanted to avoid this. It is ironic that the setting of this poem is a jazzy type of spoken word club, as //" Richard Davis plucks the fat notes."// Richard Davis is a famous bassist, so it makes sense to assume that the poet was really not in a club. The blonde, and brunette are symbolized as something that was precious in the poet's life, because he wants to discover what holds the scent of jasmine. Progression is mentioned many times, and something that is mentioned more is Richard Davis plucking his fat notes into the future or to enable another acts. It is unclear how the structure affects the meaning of the poem, but it is a poem that acts as a bank of memory, and narration.
 * **Jasmine** ||||  ||
 * by <span style="color: #336699; font-family: verdana,arial,'lucida sans',helvetica,geneva,sans-serif; font-size: x-small; text-decoration: none;">[|Yusef Komunyakaa] ||
 * Close Reading**

<span style="color: #656565; font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23px;">I <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> traded my title as bent pedestrian for passenger status to coast muted <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> Finding the night train mildly therapeutic <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> Rugged hacker flashing mood full of swings <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> Beneath this puppet master pulling my strings <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> Leaking smoke rings singing [your despite what measured honestly <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> magnificent] <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> Syndicate sold to children building homes for my omnipotent platoons <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> Nah I don't think the blueprints drafted tilted in the tombs <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> Tampering hampered scampered well beyond the dooms <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> We bloomed? the matter down to those most beautifully discrete <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> Applying yesterdays models stand obsolete amongst colossals
 * Aesop Rock (Not on the List, Extra) Night Train**

<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> Comply not to enforce us aborted claiming they came off <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> Sort of stabbed them with the capital 'A' that sets my name off <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> Sick of it all <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> Sick of the stalls <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> Sick of the thick brick in the wall sob stories the falls the tragic hate <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> calls <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> Shaking like magic eight balls pausing to watch the vapors crawl <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> My clique heeds lessons I'll be noted from kids sisters paper dolls <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> We lining up along against these great walls <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> Circling analytical <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> Rhetorical inquiries yet x is not applicable kid <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> (Your flash minor we as orphans repeated)? <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> You talk the concrete examples with glass bottoms cause defeated
 * <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Close Reading **

//Night Train// by Aesop Rock has an interesting design to it being simple but yet contains no forms of punctuation & of brackets for pauses. It is a perception of many common happenings in everyday American life.. The first line //“ I traded my title as bent pedestrian for passenger status coast muted,”// is one of the few that actually contain first person views. This poem is extremely descriptive, and has lots of personification in it. For example //“ Shaking like magic eight balls pausing to watch the vapors crawl, “// in this line the poet is depicting images of victims of society, always complaining about the hard life, and never doing anything to make it easier. When dissecting the lines individually, the poet switches topics quite a lot. “ //Syndicate sold to children building homes for my omnipotent platoons I don’t think the blueprints drafter titled in the tombs. “// In this line he is talking about workforce, and the idea that one day long ago people lived on the grounds we desecrate today the last line mentions he doesn’t think that corrupt builders should be punished for their actions. The majority of the line breaks occur in the second stanza of the poem in this order // " Sick of it all // // Sick of the stalls // // Sick of the thick brick in the wall sob stories the falls the tragic hate // //calls."// You can tell that the poet wrote this poem with distinction, and defies the laws of grammar with the line breaks above.