POW-ems

Untitled

I couldn't ask for anymore,
my pile of memories on the floor,
reach in and what do I get,
my one and only baby blanket.
The sight of it draws me in again,
her house and the smell of cinnamon,
seemed like when anything was torn she could see,
still the only one that knows the real me.
In a big world growing up too fast,
her stictching so the formfort could last,
the warm feeling of watching her knit,
from the couch where I used to sit.
Its the little things people do,
they never know how much it means to you,
I hope she knows what she did for me,
back when all that love was free.
Now I'm older and you are far away,
but I will never be to old to say,
thank you grandma you always made me smile,
I'll keep that warm blanket in the memory pile.

Brothers

August twelfth, ninety eight,
A day I didn't anticipate,
my life has never been the same,
since I helped decide on your name.
Promise to always be true,
I will look out for you,
my directions unknown,
you matter more than I've ever show.
I've got your back through thick and thin,
we are brothers to the very end,
no matter what happens i'm there unconditionally,
so young but still understand me.
From cuts to bruises I've seen it all,
even the time you got lost at the mall,
seems like we celebrated every halloween,
getting in trouble and coming clean.
From winter supporting your hockey dreams,
to summer coaching your soccer teams,
going to see every kids movie without a doubt,
scaring our parents when the power went out.
Fighting control of the remote,
sitting out on the boat,
when you live your life for another,
you know your finally a big brother.

The Power Of One [Assignment #2]

Last year In english class I was having a hard time figuring out what book I should read for my independant study unit. My mom decided to step in eventually and brought me this book called the Power Of One. Starting the book off I thought that I would be falling asleep through all 500 pages. But as soon as I opened up the book I was hooked.

The book is about is young boy named Peekay that is living in South Africa in the 1930's. He is very poor and loses his mother at an early age. He is sent to a boarding school for most of the book, where he is treated very horribly. The story basically follows Peekay as he grows up in this school, eventually becoming an amateur boxer, and so on.

This book hit me very hard because I was going through a tough time when I read this book. It amazed me that despite all his struggle Peekay never gave up in himself. He showed so much compassion to everyone around him, but still didn't completely rely on anyone else. He strived for what he dreamed of, and eventually made it. In the book Peekay's boxing coach says this to him.

'Always in life an idea starts small, it is only a sapling idea, but the vines
will come and they will try to choke your idea so it cannot grow and it will die
and you will never know you had a big idea, an idea so big it could have grown
thirty meters through the dark canopy of leaves and touched the face of the
sky.' He looked at me and continued. 'The vines are people who are afraid of
originality, of new thinking. Most people you encounter will be vines; when you
are a young plant they are very dangerous.' His piercing blue eyes looked into
mine.' Always listen to yourself, Peekay. It is better to be wrong than simply
to follow convention. If you are wrong, no matter, you have learned something
and you grow stronger. If you are right, you have taken another step toward a
fulfilling life.'

To me, its amazing how Bryce captures the way someone can feel at the very lowest but have nowhere to go but up. Whenever I read the book it reminds me that the only way to lose at the end of it all, is to give up.


------
Prompt:
Do you think that you can do anything if you put your mind to it? If so, is there anything you read or listen to that helps you get into this mindset?

I DREW THIS

Check it out. I'm totally like an artist man.

Otto-Biography

I am Tyler. Yes, it is good being me. This is my autobiography.
My writing style is very...Canadian.
I like to write stories, preferably the ones that don't take up a lot of my free time.
That's about it. I'm really horrible at writing poems, and will probably never be a poet.
Over the next four months I'd like to spend lots of time on figuring out why the U.S. is better than Canada. Writing-wise, I'd like to spend the next four months becoming a better writer then I am now... I guess.

A writer I enjoy is Bryce Courtenay, I like him because his books are very inspiring. They have some action in it too so I don't fall asleep when I am reading. He also tries to keep his books short and too the point. As the laziest reader on earth, I appreciate that.

Here is an example of my writing. It is the metaphor poem I wrote in class the other day. Because I am too unoriginal to think up something new.

Behind every new face there is a story,
memories of times past and amazing glory.
THe first words are sometimes hard to say,
I am cold and uncomfortable like a winter day.

Looking back on all those lost faces,
good old friends erasing the traces.
THe first day is the most nervous of all,
I hear the ring of voices but can't answer the call.

Looking forward to those I have no met,
the footsteps behind me tired with regret.
The first smile is the hardest to show,
I am the invisible place you will never know.

Thats my poem...yep.