Blood Dazzler too

I chose to write my poem after Patricia Smith's "What was the first sound" (pages 19-20). I like the style and repetition that she uses throughout to build a tension. Each individual stanza doesn't always have a strong imapct, but each one building on the previous creates a pressure throughout the poem that is released in the end when most of the main points are brought together. I based the context from a book that I read recently called Zeitoun. It is a book by Dave Eggers about a man who moved from Syria to New Orleans and stays behind in Hurrican Katrina to help his neighbors. After being in the town for some time after the hurricane, Zeitoun (the main character) is stopped at a property that he leased and arrested for suspicious activity. The book had an underlying focus on the sketchiness of national crisis relief in the Bush regime. Reading Blood Dazzler reminded me a lot of the book Zeitoun because the both focused on either controversial or unflattering tpics that aren't typically talked about. They both portray New Orleans as a real place, with pretty parts and ugly parts, and in a light that a lot of people probably don't see it in.

Blood Dazzler

TODAY I'LL PRAY

I'll wake up and face the west,
I'll kneel on both of my knees,
I'll thank the Lord.

I'll thank the Lord for getting my family out,
for leaving the dogs for company,
and for giving me work to do.

There's work to be done,
I must feed the dogs,
I must paddle in my little canoe and find people to save.

Now they say that people can't be saved,
not by me, not by a Syrian,
I must be bad.

I must be bad to have dark skin,
to stay behind in this disaster,
to paddle people in my little canoe from their torn homes.

From some torn home they watched me,
day in and day out,
for who knows how long.

Who knows how long they've been here?
Since before the storm?
Since we moved to this city?

Since we moved to this city I've feared this,
but there's nothing I can do,
especially now ,from this jail cell.

From this jail cell I have no family,
I have no past, no identity.
But from this jail cell I'll thank the Lord.

For my family's safety,

Today, tomorrow, and the next
I'll kneel on my knees while facing west

and pray.

Snapshot 3

I'll let the soft waves crash over my feet, then my legs, and finally my whole body. All i see now is blue, everything forever is a soft, and warm blue. Until I come up and turn around to see paradise laid out infront of me.

Snapshot 2

The sky isn't this blue back home, and the water not so clear. I don't have mountains or a village with cute cottages near my home. I don't have picturesque pubs, and wildflowers that blow freely in the wind. This should be my new home.

Snapshot 1

The chair is not the right color orange,
The bench has scratches that distract my thoughts,
While the white walls act as a projector screen.
I can hear the reels behind me,
winding the tape, showing the days,
and the nights,
and the mornings.
It's cold in the hallway but that's how it should be.
The snow and rain falling silently from the grey clouds,
It all makes this make sense.
But it still doesn't.

My Map Analysis

I found a map of Cedar Falls on Google Maps. It's a standard map of the pygmy sized city, if it can even be considered a city at all. Of the approximated 39,000 people who live there, 16,000 are affiliated with the university as a student or faculty member. This generic map lead to all of the major attractions, such as city parks and the university. It showed me my street, but not my house. It showed me my park, but not the bonfires that we had there; the fire ablaze in the grill, so inappropriate for the restrained city limits. It showed me my school, but not me, being lost on the first day. The map recognized the UNI-dome, but not the cigarettes that my best friend and I smoked in its parking lot. Campus street was indicated, but not "the hill", or Mojo's, or Sharky's, or the tattoo parlor that aided my best friend in her first act of rebellion. This map shows main street, but not C.J. and I running down it, madly, trying to avoid the merciless rain and the inescapable lighting and thunder. When I zoom in I can see the library, and Panera. But I can't see the textbooks that I left carelessly on my table, while my hands and my mind were occupied with a fashion magazine. This map shows how to enter the town, and how to leave it. But it doesn't show one how to live it. It doesn't make memories, or reveal them to the inexperienced. But it renders those that were already made, and builds anticipation for those to come.

Journal for English

I chose to write about page 225.

The hills roll in a seamless fashion endlessly into the horizon,

Like thunder from the clouds of a peaceful rainstorm,

They quietly dissipate into the wilderness.

There are no plans here, just happenings.

The stream gliding through the forest,

Spreading music trickling between the trees and rocks.

The trees providing shade for the inhabitants,

Guarding those below from the deluded sun.

The sun that warms everything with its embrace,

But is harsh to the unprotected skin and eye.

The colors are painted in a flawless fashion,

All of which match one another perfectly.

They flow through the seasons, ever changing.

The predictability brings comfort.