Creative Assignment Part II

Chapter II: Lady Ice

“Death may take us, but life will break us…” The Lady Ice announced, her bright blue lips exhaling a subtle mist of air at each word she spoke.

The thousands of soldiers dressed in metallic armor made of ice stood at attention as she spoke. Their eyes only on the mistress before them that would command and ultimately demand their lives. Crackling sounds emanated from the frozen walls all around the inside of the cavern as they spoke.

“Aye ma’am!” They called in unison, snapping their feet together at parade rest. “Long live the Lady Ice! Long live the Icy Wonder of the World! Long live the forever Hel of frozen solitude!”
            The Lady Ice grinned wide. Her majestic form swaying back and forth in a melodic trance. She was covered in a long winter robe made of materials never seen by mortal eyes. In her hand was a large staff with a single blue gem atop it, held fast by a dragon’s claw.
            “Now go. Go my army of Frozen Tundra. Destroy what remains of the humans, for now in their final hours they will succumb to eternal winter!” The Lady Ice demanded, her cackle echoing through every soldier’s ears.
            As if in a robotic trance, the army performed an about face and marched out of the tunnel. The Lady Ice floated into the air, crossing her arms and the staff about her bosom and chanting in a foreign tongue.

“N’yet da’it inguit. N’yet da’it inguit. N’yet dait inguit!” She spoke with ease.
            A large orb of ice began to form around her, covering her body in a three-hundred and sixty-degree vortex of power. The crackling force burned into the frozen walls around her. Her voice and mood changed as quick as she had cast the spell. Dark violet eyes now took over what baby blues she once had.
            “Destroy them all!” She said with malice.

Creative Assignment I

Chapter I: The Wooden Man

 “With that wretched Chromatic Queen gone we can finally achieve our goal of world domination,” the Wooden Man declared. “And once we have taken out the Metallic King… more than just the world will be ours… The entirety of all inhabitants upon this planet shall be under our control.”

A soft breeze wisped past the Wooden Man, his brown hooded tunic flapping in the wind to the rhythm of the air, helping to give his yellow fangs an even more monstrous appearance. To his side stood a woman at shoulder level. Her fiery hair matching the pace in the wind of his own jet black hair, though her face was less cynical than his and more angelic.

“Yes, your Lordship…” She said in obedience, nuzzling her pink cheek against his swollen muscular arms. “All shall be yours.”

The air was damp. The sky above fell into darkness as the golden orb retreated and it seemed as though Father Time Himself was fearful of the days ahead. Echoes of laughter could be heard down the steppes on the surface below them. Mortal men and women cheering away at the celebration both of kindness and guilt as they drank their worries away.

“The fools.” The Wooden Man said.

“My love?” The Fiery Hair woman asked out of curiosity. Her jade eyes meeting his. Though without turning to look into her eyes, the Wooden Man stared down at the mortals.

“They celebrate their achievement of grandiose imagination… Illusions! Trickery! That’s all these mortals dabble in… Barely holding together. Each year more chaotic than the last. Yet they think they are superior. These homo sapiens will find themselves inferior by the eve of ‘morrow’s end…”    

Down the hills the sound of the Wooden Man’s haunting cackle of laughter could be heard. But not a single soul below heard it, for in their partying and celebration of life they knew nothing of the death that was to become them the next night. 

Reaction 7: "A Girl and Her Monsters"

This week I wanted to post my crafted poem that I made for my LITR322 class, another in Spenserian stanza, and inspired by the book series "Witch on the Broom" as well as the overall theme of women combating their demons and monsters within them to be better or at least equal to men.

The poem was written for my daughter and I read it out loud here:
Otherwise, here is the poem! Please enjoy.

I will have one more week of blog posts about poetry and then I plan to move on to my travels when I take my family to Florida next week. Some thing to look forward are: food and business reviews, movie reviews, and another travel translation companion! Stay tuned!




“A Girl and her Monsters”

Once upon a time there lived a small girl, [a]

Near the castle made of beautiful gems. [b]

A quaint little girl whose beauty was pearl, [a]

Her bold mind always sought truth in life’s stems. [b]

Though unlike her King who lived on the Thames, [b]

Her heart was with the moon that lived in truth. [c]

But then one day her pa did say “Your hems [b]

my darling will bless you always with youth” [c]

And with a smile and kiss her pa spoke sooth. [c]

Up on learning of the beautiful girl, [a]

The King sent his Knight of gold to find her. [b]

Moon did see Gold when the Knight came with twirl, [a]

Taking her breath with his beautiful blur. [b]

In her hand he left a beautiful fleur. [b]

Her heart in that moment felt like the sun, [c]

The wind took her breath and words as a slur. [b]

Bright as the day but at night would be done, [c]

She spoke in kind lest she fall for his stun. [c]

“Dear knight sir knight what do you need my knight?” [a]

The knight with a smile did reply “You [b]

are summoned by the King my little sprite.” [a]

“Oh dear” she replied with a crimson flu. [b]

Her pa looked to the Knight of Gold and knew, [b]

“My lovely daughter, do go to your call [c]

This life o’ yours will in deed carry through” [b]


So the Moon left with the Gold to the Hall, [c]

And soon met the King who stood proud and tall. [c]

The King brought up a gem of arcane light, [a]

That flickered and beamed across the hall. [b]

He said with a grin “For you dear to fight, [a]

this weapon you comes from a cross the Gaul, [b]

and with it you shall never stop or fall.” [b]

So the girl nodded and a greed forth with [c]

“What shall I do my lord if I meet thrall? [b]


The girl replied not being a blacksmith. [c]

“Worry not little girl you will find pith” [c]

“Now on with the task, I ask that you go, [a]

Into the woods where there you face monsters [b]

Wicked and haunted they will fight with know, [a]

The monsters have already made their slaughter [b]

Of all knights here but not across water. [b]

No one left to fight well except for ye, [c]

Please forgive my hasty imprimatur. [b]

Cry the girl did not for she was to be[c]

A hero for once in a world lacking Free[c]




Several days passed and more did come, [a]

The little girl found herself in the woods, [b]

Heading towards the forest feeling numb. [a]

The sun was high in the sky as she stood, [b]

Looking at a truly wondrous dog wood. [b]

It rose highest of the trees in the sky, [c]

But from a branch up in the dog tree would [b]


Be the monster hauntingly standing by, [c]

As it bared its fangs howling a cry. [c]

It jumped down before her before she [a]

Could move but out came her weapon ready, [b]

As she stood. She held it tight as can be. [a]

But the monster one slash it took already, [b]

She ducked and dodged so unsteadily, [b]

Before she could fight back, the evil monster [c]

Swung hard but fell unintentionally. [b]


Then from deep inside she finally conjured [c]

The will to fight back and finally conquer. [c]

With a howl and a yowl, the monster fell, [a]

By the hand of the little girl and passed. [b]

She took a deep breath and could heard a yell, [a]

And before her eyes more monsters in mass. [b]

So she drew up her sword once more with class, [b]

Fighting to save her kingdom from the foes [c]

Though the creatures of darkness amass [b]


In groups they still could not win to her blows [c]

For Ever fighting in the woods no one knows[c]

Reaction 6: "War Within"

This week I would like to reflect on moments in war when a soldier is faced not just with the physical issues but the inward, logistical, and personal issues. Inspiration comes this week from the poems I read with the themes of ‘war’ in mind including Robert Lowell’ “For the Union Dead” and Karl Shapiro’s “Troop Train.”

Much of what has and hasn’t been said will always remain hidden with the wells of one’s soul. Nonetheless, one must deal with these issues or forever face an immortal nightmare. While I was not in combat in the military per se, I was in a combat all my own.

October of 2015 I had a lot of issues with my unit between harassment, disregard of my heritage, and religious bias. My life flipped over, just as suddenly as the Troop Train did during World War II. And like Lowell’s message and perspective of a horror story from a soldier, I have one to tell as well… but that is for another day. Today is another poem I would like to simply call “War Within”

“War Within”

The War,
It rages,
It burns,
It destroys.

But nothing can stop its flame,
Until you find a way.
The war within is
Always outside of us,
Even when we
Are looking in.

If War can cause chaos,
So peace can cause war.
This is the mentality,
Of the Prisoners
Of War.

But the war within,
Rages and burns,
Destroys and devours,
All of our soul.

Nothing can stop it,
At least with force.
But give it some life,
And maybe you’ll lose,
Remorse.

War Within,
Never without,
If one takes his soul,
Through the iron Hels of doubt.

Reaction 5: "Little Birdy" and "The True Slave"

This week I would like to talk about how the term “race” does not make sense and at the same time, truly upsets me. It makes me realize how ignorant the world is. From one person’s perspective race could be identified as separation of genes, inherent in the subject’s species. But for a wide majority, it seems, race applies to a species as well.

In the early 1900’s an extremely interesting movement occurred: The Harlem Renaissance. It brought to life ideas of race, and how, as Langston Hughes put it, “blacks” should be proud of their race and not try to be so “white.” The flaw here, in my opinion (and particularly today) is that we are all one race. All Human. All Homo Sapien.

Needless to say, the struggle with these weeks poetry have been emotional and at a deeply painful surge of doubt. I want a stronger, better future of people, of humanity. And thus, I hope you will enjoy my inspiration for today’s poems: “Little Birdy” and “The True Slave”



“Little Birdy”

Within the mind’s eye
Eye’s I, I see,
Sits a little birdy,
I, with an eye, see.
Look a little closer,
Birdy, birdy, birdy.
Caught yourself in the net.
Eye, I, my eye sees.

Left alone little birdy,
And soon the world free.



“The True Slave”



Slavery is made of madness,
Madness found within sadness,
And sadness found within madness.
But slave madness is not sadness,
Nay it is but ill madness.

The True Slave is total madness,
Compelled by only sadness,
But what is the true slave?
Nothing but madness and sadness.

The world speaks with broken lips,
But nothing upon which it can kiss.
Subtle, seductive, slowly serpentine,
Slavery soothes sleepless sours.
True Slavery eats up all hours.

Lost in a puzzle of the mind,
Deciding what is truly kind.
Madness and sadness overrun,
In a world of forgot Sons.
The True Slave awaits.

Reaction 4: Likes, Theories, and Poem #4 "What Kissed the Moon"

This week falls in line with Week Four of my American Poetry class at AMU, and today I will be briefly touching on a few poems I enjoyed this week, a new theory in way of thinking of poems as 'good' or 'bad', and, of course, my own poem inspired by some readings this week!


Carl Sandburg's' "Grass", Edna St. Vincent Millays' "What Lips My Lips Have Kissed, and Where, and Why" and "Love is Not All: It is Not Meat Nor Drink", and Robert Frosts' "Fire and Ice" have all been my top three authors and top poems of required reading for Week Four of my Poetry class.


I greatly enjoyed Sandburg's' "Grass" and Robert Frosts' "Fire and Ice", for one, because of the title. It reminded me of [forgive my age] Pokemon, and more importantly elements of the earth. Now, traditionally I would not copy and paste my forum assignment, but I wanted to share both: The assignment is to show how there is delight in the beginning and wisdom in the end as Frost shares in his "The Figure a Poem Makes."


Carl Sandburg’s “Grass” versus Robert Frost’s “Fire and Ice”

If you were a Pokémon trainer or a Frozen fan, you’re sure to get a kick out of my somewhat translucent metaphors here… but then again, what is more attainable in knowledge and wisdom than soaking in the elements of Nature herself?

Sandburg’s “Grass”, at first glance, may appear to be a nod towards the post-matter of a horrible event. The poem begins with “Pile the bodies high at Austerliz and Wasterloo” (1), two battles in Europe each with a very significant role in the war, the former being Napoleon’s greatest victory over the Russians (Hickman Web), while the latter being a defeat of Napoleon by a united coalition of international armies (History.com Staff). Nonetheless, the importance of this line, and thus wisdom enhancing mentioning, helps allude to the message, theme, and overall significance of the poem.

The poem is telling a story of wars that had stained the fields with blood, and now have regrown with grass. While in of itself, this poem does not seem to have any wisdom behind, but the wisdom is within the message. Where there is the worst possibility of humankind, there will always be nature to reclaim it. (Bulbasaur use leech seed!).

The poem, “Fire and Ice”, by Robert Frost, may seem to have a more less blunt message, relating the world towards seeing the truth within real elemental madness and hate. It begins with an age long question of if “the world will end in fire” (1), with some saying it will end “in ice” (2). Then it seems as if Frost is agreeing that he does “hold with those who favor fire” (4), but find more destruction if he died more than once that ice could be more deadly (5-9). Again, this might seem wisdom-inspiring, but the truth is in the text. Sometimes the icy ones will kill you quicker. Sometimes it’s not the heat that will melt you down but the ice that will do much worse. I mean, after all, Elsa let go and you saw what happened…

My conclusion: Both poems radiate with an abundance of wisdom inspiring ideas and truths, and through these feelings comes a general gratitude and delight for each. “Grass” gives us the experience of understanding that there is always life after the troubling times, and “Fire and Ice” tell us not to mess with crazy Ice Witches… Baba Yaga, anyone?


I enjoyed Edna St. Vincent Millays' "What Lips My Lips Have Kissed, and Where, and Why" and "Love is Not All: It is Not Meat Nor Drink" because it had a real down-to-earth, gritty, yet serious tone to it. Very nice to hear from a lady's mind her philosophy on regret and what is most important in life. Sort of takes that stereotype that woman are all love-begging and attention seeking and shows that even back then women were taking some sort of stand... maybe?


As for my philosophy of how poetry is good or bad... to be honest I am seeing even more enjoyment in poems. I see good in poems that others despise or dislike. Lately, some fellow students have shown a disinterest in some of the reading through their text, so it's a bit odd that I am [again] the odd ball who sees the good in everything.


Onward to the poem!


What inspired me was the Edna's realism and Frost/Sandburg's elemental themes. I chose the moon because it looked gorgeous tonight under the stars. It's finally cool here in Arkansas, at a comfortable 59 degree's Fahrenheit.


In the military 'kissing ass' was a common term. When someone first gets to their base and immediately 'kisses ass' whether intentional or not, there are always repercussions whether through the person's ass being kissed or another party.


"What Kissed the Moon"


Oh scarlet lies of hefty loot,

Save your self from the boot.

For in time there can only tell,

A commanders broken shell.


Stripes and decorations can never swoon,

The gentleman's truth in kissing the moon.


O' What kissed the moon I dare to say,

Splendid library I stay all day.

To read and to write throughout the night,

Until the swarm of letters take Flight.


O' say that you may be a' boon'd

For that which kissed the moon.


Alas! Now you see A' One See,

That a boon and a stripe can't be.

Lest you save your self from a boot,

Think you not that this is cute.


For behind a man can be too soon,

To truly learn what kissed the moon.

Work Cited

Frost, Robert. "Fire and Ice." Bartleby.com. 25 September 2016. http://www.bartleby.com/155/2.html


Hickman, Kennedy. "Napoleonic Wars: Battle of Austerlitz". About.com. 26 September 2016. http://militaryhistory.about.com/od/napoleonicwars/p/austerlitz.htm


Sandburg, Carl. "Grass". Poets.org. 25 September 2016. https://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/grass


Staff, History.com. "Battle of Waterloo." History.com. 26 September 2016. http://www.history.com/topics/british-history/battle-of-waterloo#

Reaction 3: An American Response

Once again I will be delivering a poem in the form of a reply to Walt Whitman's "America", which I found quite wonderful and simple at the same time. Over the last few weeks in my America Poetry class I have been reading tons of samples from various authors, though none so far have come to touch me positively as Walt Whitman has. In "America" he speaks of his desire for how he thinks this beautiful country should be, relating to ideas including equality, fairness, endurance, rich, and strong to a list of desires for the peoples. So, as in good gesture, I would like to reply to him as a 21st century American who has seen and experienced much of the world, by introducing him to the "new" but not necessarily envisioned America he was hoping for. Enjoy!

Land of the Brave, Not of the Free:

Dear vizier of grand dreams and freedom rings,

What pity sight had laid to ease

O' this country of ours we dare call home,
For not land of free tis not but a loan.

O' grand magister of wit and wail,

Forgive me ser for there's naught avail.

The Land of the Brave, Not of the Free

Callings of desire enduring in steed.

Hark through the ages Freedom is swayed,

For politics bleeds us dry without dismay.

O' grand magister of Time beloved,

Free not my soul from this horrid bind'd

Thy supple hands of talent and woe,

Couldst last not one night in this horrible low.

Tho' beseech you I may for all is not lost,
Freedom still rings while Others are tossed.

O' grand magister of Time be

Enlight me your wisdom to set me Free.