As a child....

Looking back on my childhood, I remember that certain ages were so far away. Like it would take years and I would be dead before I went to high school, turned eighteen, 21 and so forth. Well, here I am, at the age of twenty-two, and no, I didn't "die" as I once thought when I was younger and knew for certain that "I wasn't going to grow up." So I wanted to give you, just out of pure fun (and a little research) my take on:

THE BOY PETER PAN
The weight of the world on our shoulders we carry,
But thanks to Sir J. M. Barrie.
Let you imagination go and do what you can,
Just like the boy Peter Pan.

Growing-up is an inevitable must,
No more time for faith, trust, and pixie dust.
Every good story needs a crook,
Wait! That's Captain Hook!

Pirates, Indians, and a clock-ticking crocodile,
That scary beast should be in Egypt's Nile.
A story that reaches great satisfaction,
With a little imagination.

Throw in Pan's group of Lost Boys,
Who's games and tricks they thoroughly enjoy.
Peter, George, Michael, Jack and John,
The Davis boys, Barrie's adopted sons.

Barrie's love for the boys made his own marriage cold,
So much that there was nothing left to hold.
After the play, a boy was asked about the man,
He looked to Barrie and said 'There's the boy Peter Pan.'

Rossini's William Tell Overture

Sometimes, when we listen to music, classical especially, we only remember one portion of the piece or as in this case; only one line of the song and we're able to name it off the top of our heads. But do we actually know what was going on during the time that it was written, or what the author/composer or whoever is performing the piece trying to portray? Well, what you are about to read is something that I had to write in regards to the William Tell Overture for one of my college classes. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you:

WILLIAM TELL
Rossini started his career in the house of opera,
During the Romantic Era.
After writing the barber of Seville, he wrote Otello,
Back then never knowing his music wasn't so mellow.

The only way to move with the times,
Rossini did more than cross some lines.
to break away from the old style,
He had to go the extra mile.

Leaving the comforts of home, he traveled north,
Where ticket-goers get their money's worth.
writing a piece he knew would sell,
He wrote the overture to Schiller's William Tell.

In the nineteenth century, Europe did things slowly,
One of the countries doing this was that of Italy.
France was the next one to do this slow melody,
Even add some century old harmony.

The cellos lay the foundation of a cherry day,
with strings of violas and violins to come their way.
Only to disrupt the norm,
Not to warn of an upcoming storm.

Flutes and piccolos portraying a false coloration,
Just to play with the listener's imagination.
A joint of drums and trombones to raise the final blow,
Will the storm end? I only hope so!

After the storm, one's taken far away it may seem,
Plucking of strings, we're taken to the countryside green.
There the trumpets declare in all their glory,
A gallop, a call to arms for the Swiss victory!

As all the instruments play together to end the story,
Cymbals going like the running of horse hooves.
Bassoons and strings gets someone in grooves,
To finish the greatest part in Swiss' history.

So the next time you hear this music,
It hopefully won't take as much logic.
To remember the piece Rossini knew would sell,
His overture to Schiller's William Tell.

Nine Eleven Two Thousand One

We all remember what happened on the dreadful day of 9/11/01. We remember where we were and what we were doing as the terrorists attacked our country. So, here thirteen years later, I get home from school, go on Facebook, and I find a cry to stop the memorial of the attacks since it had been thirteen years since our nation was changed for good. So here is my response:

THIRTEEN YEARS AGO

Our nation changed in one day of terror,

We weren't expecting all that horror.

The battle for the planes we didn't win,

As the crashed into the towers twin.

That still same day of the towers twin,

The Pentagon, a plane went in.

As people died,

The survivors cried.

Thirteen years later,

America killed the lead hater. 

But now we want the remembrance over,

So the next generation would hear never.

Go ahead and roll your eyes and sigh,

All I'm asking is why?

Why remove our past story.

That's now become America's history.

Lets remember the men of the Pennsylvania green,

Who only stopped one plane it may seem.

After their good-byes on the phone they cry "lets roll,"

They changed the course from the White House to a knoll.

America has changed, with wars and battles won,

Since the first attack on nine eleven two thousand one.

While others may shake their head and say "no,"

I want others to know what happened thirteen years ago.

The Last Day

Death is no respecter of persons. It doesn't matter if its a child, parent, friend, or grand-parent. I wrote this in Council Bluffs/Omaha last year as my granddad was dying of mesothelioma. So in memory of USCG Chief Petty Private Officer James E Joyner, I give you:


The Last
Everything I knew, came at an end,
With this pain, my heart won't mend.
Would I be stuck like a  mast,
If I knew it was your last?

The last time I climbed on your lap,
Sometimes even when you took a nap.
I wouldn't have grown up so fast,
If I knew it was your last.

As a child, I'd play on your swings,
It was then I felt I had wings.
I don't want to see you in a cast,
Admitting that it is my last.

My last visit,
Never wanting to think `This is it'
When being quiet was your only wish,
As you tried to catch that "big `ole fish."

Now your gone,
Your chapter is done.
As I say my last good-bye,
I only have the question "why?"