Christmas poem

Christmas is here

Christmas is here

Christmas we waited

All this year.

Christmas is joy

Christmas is joy

Under the tree

Is all new toy.

Christmas is here

Christmas is here

Bringing everybody

Near and dear.

Metaphorical poem

Death is a knife

Once it struck

The soul will stuck 

To the virgins, to make much of time (Robert Herrick)

Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,

   Old Time is still a-flying;

And this same flower that smiles today

   Tomorrow will be dying.

The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun,

   The higher he's a-getting,

The sooner will his race be run,

   And nearer he's to setting.

That age is best which is the first,

   When youth and blood are warmer;

But being spent, the worse, and worst

   Times still succeed the former.

Then be not coy, but use your time,

   And while ye may, go marry;

For having lost but once your prime,

                     You may forever tarry.     

Acrostic (MOTHER)

Million things she gave me

Only that she’s growing old

Tears she shed to save me

Her heart of purest gold

Eyes with love-light shining

Right she always be

Free poem on a gloomy day

The pitch black clouds

wandering in the sky

Sad and gloomy          

Soon

to cry                                                        

So I sit there

Waiting for the drops

Fall onto my cheeks

And mix with mine

Only yours and mine..

Diamond

Dead

Old, Still

Lying, Unmoving, Shrinking

No one can run away from it

Pain.

Cinquain

Baseball

Bat cracks against

The pitch, sending it out

Over the back fence, I did it!

Homerun

Haiku (At the field)

An old silent pond

A frog jumps into the pond

Splash! Silent again.

Haiku

It’s cold-and I wait

For someone to shelter me

And take me from here.

Poem of senses

When I think of a pomegranate,

I can see the ruby beads scattered,

I can smell the pearls of sweetly scented,

I can feel the diamonds of smoothly textured,

I can taste the jewels of juicy-flavoured.

I'm

I’m old enough to strongly stand up,

I’m young enough to promptly give up.    

Hello Goodbye

Hello tears,

Goodbye cheers.

I Wish

I wish I was a nymph,

I wish I had the loveliest frame in the realm,

I wish I could enchant him.

My process writing

PEER’S COMMENTS ON THE FIRST DRAFT

My friend commented my story to be short and hanging around somewhere, unfinished. She said that the story is interesting but it is only half way. When the reader starts to get into the mood, suddenly it is cut by the ending of the story which does not portray the resolution of the plot. By the way, she praised my neat writing and the variation of vocabularies used.

When I heard her comment, I just nodded and smiled but my heart was shouting “You should watch more English movies which are unique and unpredictable so that your mind will be more creative,huhhh”. Helloooo…Story is an art. It depends on us how to ‘sculpt’ it. Sorry for being emotional. But seriously, for me, my story is not hanging. The ending of it actually foreshadows the latter part of it. Hey, you should see it in the aspect of Literature. Use your feeling and emotion, not your logic and intellect. But thanks for her to be truthful and outspoken. It is her responsibility to comment mine during the peer checking.

By the way, I need to improve my story until it sounds like a ‘really frightening’ story instead of ‘quite-but-not-frightening’ one. Am I using the correct grammar rules? Never mind. Fluency is important that accuracy sometimes.haha. So, I tried to come out with the second draft of the story and sent it to our tutor. Tadaaaa…later we see what his comment is about. Just wait and see…

THE SECOND DRAFT OF MY FRIGHTENING STORY

The dead tree branches cracked as I hastily walked in the dark woods. My left foot turned into white and the blood oozed from it. I tried to walk swiftly and forget my injured left foot. I am lost, but the woods charmed me in. My legs were daring to go on, and I just kept walking, following them.

A bat suddenly lurched from behind a tree branch and flew onto another tree right in front of me, as if taunting me, hand in hand with him. They were all working together, trying to make fear envelope me.

The mud walkway between the trees created an unmistakable path, on which I must walk and one which I must follow. The mud walkway led me down, further down its slopes. I could hear the silent brushing on the stream against the solid rocks just ahead. I could see the slight ripple of the water, as the current took each ripple downstream. Where is he going? Where is he flowing? I looked into the clear mirror and saw my dusty face. The mirror was never static. Should I follow it or should I jump over it and kept walking?

I decided to follow the stream. I was curious to know where it would lead me. And so the woods, the enchanting, mysterious prince drew me into his arms. The tall, dead trees in front of me were waving and the cold wind was whistling around me as if they were all welcoming me. Deep down in my heart saying that there was someone waiting for me inside the smoky woods. I kept walking through it. Just wait for me.  

TUTOR’S COMMENTS ON THE SECOND DRAFT

Once again, zassss…I was shot! The tutor said my story was not frightening enough. Sob,sob…I accepted the weaknesses of my story, it’s alright. Ehem,ehem..Now, be serious.

The first comment that I received after he read my story is the overall idea of the story which was not yet frightening enough. He said that the element of horror was there but not elaborated properly. Maybe I should use certain terms that make my story become dramatic. It is also possible for me to add on some other scary ideas and elaborate them nicely. The tutor then explained briefly to me how to improve the story to make it more frightening.

The second comment of the tutor is about the length of my story. He said that the story was very short. It is quite hard for an author to pour all the ideas into one short paragraph. That is why the story is hanging and the readers do not understand what is actually happening in the story that the writer wants to convey.

After I heard his comments, I realised that my friend is right. Shame on me! Even though I have edited my first draft based on my friend’s comments, still I could not produce a good writing. Ohh..I demotivate myself. It’s improper for a human being to downgrade himself. I’m sorry, myself. Later I’ll produce a better writing. Good luck oncoming third draft=)  

THE THIRD DRAFT OF MY FRIGHTENING STORY

The dead tree branches cracked as I hastily walked in the dark woods. My left foot turned into white and the blood oozed from it. I tried to walk swiftly and forget my injured left foot. I am lost, but the woods charmed me in. My legs were daring to go on, and I just kept walking, following them.

A bat suddenly lurched from behind a tree branch and flew onto another tree right in front of me, as if taunting me, hand in hand with him. They were all working together, trying to make fear envelope me.

The mud walkway between the trees created an unmistakable path, on which I must walk and one which I must follow. The mud walkway led me down, further down its slopes. I could hear the silent brushing on the stream against the solid rocks just ahead. I could see the slight ripple of the water, as the current took each ripple downstream. Where is he going? Where is he flowing? I looked into the clear mirror and saw my dusty face. The mirror was never static. Should I follow it or should I jump over it and kept walking?

I decided to follow the stream. I was curious to know where it would lead me. The tall, dead trees in front of me were waving and the cold wind was whistling around me as if they were all welcoming me. “Is this a dream?” I was dragging my legs towards a big, ancient house. Where I was, I had no idea, only which the gigantic house in dark woods. I passed through a huge tree where the branches looked like man’s fingers. It was leafless. There was a feeling of deja vu as I reached that house, “is it real, did I dream it, am I dreaming it?”

I walked towards the main door of the house and pushed the door slowly. It was dark. I walked from the room unobserved, unnoticed, into the stone corridors. Distant noises impinged on my consciousness. The sounds of distress, of tears, of fear, of pain, emanated from closed doors as I passed, and yet I felt nothing. At times I glided across the floor, wraith like, at others feeling the stone stepped beneath my feet. I passed statues at doors, which seemed wild and violent. “Can anything here be real? Am I a phantom in my own dreams?”

At last I found the room, drawn like a moth to a flame. There was no sounds, no cries, no torment, no guard on the door. I reached out my hand to touch the heavy wood with my fingertips, it swung open easily, as if I had been expected.

She was hanging upside down by a rope, while a sweating butcher slowly and carefully sliced the skin from her still living body, as it swung slightly at under his experienced hands. The floor was running with blood and discarded flesh and through it all, the girl smiled at me. They were not human being! The girl was a corpse, a living corpse.

I turned and ran as fast as I could, ignoring my injured leg. I must go back. Why must I go back if that was just a dream? I passed the main door and ran through the dark woods. I continued my journey from the dark woods into the reality, still dreaming.

  

Frightening scene from Case 39

In Case 39, family services social worker Emily Jenkins thinks she has seen it all... until she meets 10-year old Lilith Sullivan and the child's cruel and dangerous parents. Her worst fears are confirmed when the parents try to harm Lily, their only daughter. Frightened for her life, Emily enlists the help of Detective Mike Barron and takes Lily in while she continues the search for the perfect foster family. Just as it seems as though Lily is on her way to a more loving home, under the guidance of Emily and psychiatrist, dark forces surrounding this young girl come to light and, little do they know, their attempts to protect her will only bring on greater horror. (Paramount Vantage)

The most frightening part is at the alternate ending when Emily careens through the harbor gate and drives the car off the pier into the Bay just as in the theatrical ending. As the car sinks to the bottom and fills with water, Emily struggles to lock Lillith in the trunk. Emily then attempts to swim to the surface of the water. However, the demon grabs Emily's foot to stop her swim away(Oh nooo!!). Emily struggles and eventually breaks free as a trapped Lillith sinks to the bottom (Fuhh..). Emily climbs atop the pier and attempts to recover from the ordeal.

The music used in that part is suspending and hair-raising. Plus, the scene which takes place beneath the water leads to more dramatic effect. I cannot see clearly the movement of the heroine and the demon in the water because of the shocking music. It can make me screaming hysterically. For me, everything occurs underwater is mysterious and frightening. I am also very afraid to watch the demon grabs the heroine’s legs once she is to the surface. What a shocking moment! Wooofff…My heartbeat runs crazily fast watching that madly frightened moment. I don’t want to see it, I don’t want to see it, pleaseeee..(Closing my eyes).   

My personal reflection

Overall, I think that this semester is a great journey. I have learnt a lot from Prof. Jayakaran on how to teach writing in interesting and meaningful ways. He taught us the differences between writing as process and product and he demonstrated those methods to us by conducting them during learning hours. Besides, he also taught us the process of writing a poem. I really like the way Prof Jaya taught us and he reminds me to Aamir Khan, an inspired teacher who teaches a dyslexic boy in a very wonderful way.

Prof. Jaya is the first teacher who succeeds to make me feel comfortable and confident in writing poems in English. Sincerely I praise him from the bottom of my heart. Before this I was nervous and unconfident in writing poem in English because my teachers tended to demotivate me if there is any grammar mistake or disorganised poem structure. So, I tried to avoid from writing poem in English.     

Writing poem is a wonderful way to jumpstart students’ creativity and improve their writing skills. As a future teacher, I do not want my students to feel afraid to write poetry in English like I did once upon a time. I want them to enjoy writing and play around with their creative imaginations so that they can produce a lot of amazing poems. Prof. Jaya has taught us that simple poems sometimes can give bigger impact compared to complex and complicated ones. It means that someone is not necessarily use bombastic words and terms in inventing a poem. It is just enough for us to use simple words to touch a man’s heart. So, I will make it easy for my students to write poetry in English.  

As I have created my own poems, I realise something about poetry. For me, poetry is speedy. On average, once the words start to flow, it takes me about an hour to come up with a reasonably polished first draft – about the same time I spent on a this journal.

Poetry is a good way of catching ideas on the fly. Most of my poetic inspiration comes from immediate experience. There’s usually an “ah hah!” moment when I think “this would make a good poem.” If I’ve got a journal handy, I jot down a few preliminary phrases and ideas. This isn’t always possible, though. When I was wandering around panorama at Serumpun lake, the wavy water conditions inspired me to think, “This would be a good post in my Facebook. No, on second thought, it would be better as a poem.” It wasn’t until later, when I was on the road in my old car, that I had a chance to capture the ideas on paper.

Poetry is a wonderful way of processing our emotions. I started to write poems when I was depressed and discouraged about my life, my study, my relationship. Exploring my feelings through poetry became a vital way of coping with my depression. For many, poetry has been literally life-saving.

Poetry is highly subjective, and hardly anyone knows what makes a good poem. It’s a lot like the cliché about visual art, “I don’t know much about art, but I know what I like.” That’s how most people react to poetry.

Poetry is great for getting immediate feedback and applause. No matter where you live, there’s likely to be at least one poetry open mic near you. Many of my poems have been precipitated by the knowledge that there’s an open reading that night and I really ought to bring something new. Most poetry audiences are supportive and enthusiastic no matter what I read.

Poetry is highly compatible with computers. I do my best writing in Microsoft word, editing as I go. Some poets prefer longhand, but I love the flexibility of diving in with the first phrase that comes to mind, then playing around with the words on the screen.

Poetry is a good way to hone my literary skills in other genres. In poetry, every word counts. Part of the process lies in finding the best possible way to communicate our ideas in the fewest possible words, rooting out the clichés and discovering the most powerful images possible. The habit of writing this way carries over into other genres.

Writing has always been one of my strengths, but I have never realised it even during my school time. There was no encouragement from my former teachers to produce creative writing until I went to Higher Institution level.  Moving past this form, however, has greatly opened my mind. My thoughts are now able to be more complex because I have learned how to sustain creative thought in an organised manner. My writing has become increasingly more concise and I no longer have room for added "fluff" or "padding." Furthermore, learning how to find peer reviewed poetry and frightening story through the full schedule has significantly widened my ability, which has lead to more productive story and poetry writing. My writing is so much more interesting than it used to be.

It is difficult to identify gaps in my knowledge as an English major, only because I feel like I have learned so much. I feel that I have largely expanded my literary analysis and writing skills, but I need to be prepared to teach high school students their required literature and writing skills. I think it would be useful to identify commonly taught poetry in our local high schools and study them myself. By studying the required literature and thinking about how to teach it, I will have a sturdy foundation to work from once I am in the classroom.

I came to this university already knowing that I wanted to be an English teacher; I had taken numerous English courses and though I knew exactly what I was headed for-was I ever wrong. Going through the English program has taught me so much more than stuff about literature and language, it has taught me how to be me. I have learned here how to write and express myself, how to think for myself, and how to find the answers to the things that I don't know. Most importantly I have learned how important literature and language are.

The English courses also taught me how powerful the written word and language can be. Words tell so much more than a story. Stories tell about life and the human condition, they bring up the past and people and cultures that are long gone. Literature teaches about the self and the world surrounding the self. From Prof. Jaya’s class, I learnt about the world, its people and its history; through literature I learned how we as humans are all related. By writing about what we learn and/or what we believe, we are learning how to express ourselves.

I have improved my writing skills, my ability to critically evaluate my friends of their poems and frightening story, my time management skills (to some extent), and certainly broadened my view of others opinions. I have encountered issues which forced me to listen to people's views even though I disagreed with them, and accepted that there would not always be consensus in all things. I have improved my creative thinking skills to some extent, and hope to continue that trend.

As the last sentence, I would like to thank Prof. Jaya for his guidance and advices as well as his real life jokes during learning periods which make me alive. I mean, he makes my brain alive to think freely. He makes me to be a good thinker, a free thinker who is brave enough to come out with my own ideas. Every human being is precious so as his/her ideas. So, I should appreciate my own ideas.