My perfect vacation would be a few months in xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" />Honolulu, Hawaii with my friends Summer, Vianney, and Oliver. We would go during the winter time when it’s freezing cold in Missouri, and enjoy the bright sunshine, the warm breeze, and the sweet waves of Hawaii. My hotel would be located right on the beach and it would have a gigantic pool with slides and a lazy river. The restaurant would serve top-quality food at bargain prices. There would also be a massage parlor with complimentary massages performed by handsome men.

            While I was enjoying my vacation I would learn how to surf. I’d hire a cute surfer boy, learn how to surf, and catch a tremendous wave with great ease. After a day of surfing I would go back to the hotel, have a massage then go out to the night clubs with my friends. My outfit would be better than any other girl at the club, and all the guys would want to dance with me. My friends and I would be the talk of the town.

             After a night of dancing I would go back to my hotel and take a long hot bath. The rest of the night I would spend watching re-runs of Sex and The City until I fell asleep. I’d wake up bright and early the next day and do it all over again.

           Of course this will NEVER happen but hey a girl can dream can’t she? Jxml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" />

Again, I can't get that stupid microsoft stuff off of there!

 

      If I were the president of the xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-comUnited States I would withdraw our troops from Iraq. Apparently President Bush has not studied his history very closely. If he had, he would realize that our present day Iraq situation is beginning to closely resemble that of Vietnam. I would leave the government to the Iraqi people and get out of the country.

      Closer to home, I would change the welfare program to one that is more like a work program. The only people that would receive government aid would be those who were training to go back into the work force. The program would give these people a monthly pension and also provide schooling or on-the-job-training for them to move up the career ladder. Once they received a job, they would continue to get government money for a few months. The country would not lose money, but rather gain money from all these people working and paying their taxes like good, honest, citizens.

     The most important thing I would do if I were president is increase the budget in the educational system. I would set up an organization that goes from school to school, randomly evaluating each school. If the school did not meet exceptional standards, I would place specialized staff members in the school with a budget for improvements. If improvements are not made or the money is not managed, I would shut down the school and make sure that each child is moved to a place where they can receive a top-of-the-line education. Universities would be forced to lower their tuition so that the wealthy no longer receive the best education. That way everyone has a chance to make it to the top. The rich would not get richer and the poor would not get poorer. Children are our future, and I would never forget that!

       Finally, I would pass a law stating that all oil powered machines must run on hydrogen by the year 2020 and all machines made before then would be fitted with hydrogen converters. The oil industry would be shut down. In my mind, I would be an excellent president!

            I sat at the table, sipping my punch and nibbling on my cake. I looked around, watching five people get down with their bad selves on the dance floor while everyone else sat and stared. This prom sucks, I thought to myself. What a way to end my Senior year. I should have just stayed home.

            Don't get me wrong, prom itself was nice. The Juniors did an excellent job on decorating. I loved the old movies posters tacked to the wall, the cut outs of Marilyn Monroe and Humphrey Bogart, and the fake Hollywood Hills in the background. It all fit together perfectly. Perhaps if it hadn't been such a horrible day, this would have been the best prom ever!

            Just thinking about how my day went made my stomach turn. It was rainy and cold and completely miserable outside. I spent all morning trying to send my college English paper to the courier and after the fifth time of printing it, I found yet another mistake but was too stressed to correct it. I went to my hair appointment at xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-comthree and 45 minutes later I had a migraine the size of Texas from my hair being pulled so tightly into a bun. I went to a friend's house and got ready in about ten minutes. Then I had to leave because my friends went to ride in a limo. So I got stuck driving my dad's new P.T. Cruiser around BY MYSELF, thinking about how pathetic it was that I was alone on the day of prom. It didn't even feel like prom day. It felt like hell with lots of rain.

            So there I was, sitting at the table, all by myself while my boyfriend pouted in the corner because I didn't feel like dancing. It was the honest truth though, I had a stomach ache and dancing made it worse. So I sat in the corner and critiqued everyone's outfits.

            Cassie looked awesome. Her dress was black with long fringe around the bottom. A big red rose in her curly hair completely her 20's swing dancer look. Fallon, she looked like a Flamenco dancer with her red frilly dress and sassy curly hair. Dirk's girlfriend looked like she crawled out of a Barbie box with her pink dress with black ribbon and bows and gloves. I can't even describe how picturesque she looked, so you'll just have to trust me on that one.

            While I was fascinated by these girls' outfits, deep down I felt a bubbling hot jealousy. I wish I could look like that. Yes, my dress was pretty and yes, lots of people commented on it, but I wanted a twenties nostalgia dress with pearls, diamonds, flowers the whole shebang! I wanted to look like Marilyn Monroe, I wanted to be different!

            I stood up and tossed my fork and drink aside. This day was horrible beyond all possible horridness. The night was almost over and here I sat moping and mourning the end of my high school career. Well not anymore! If I'm going to even remember this prom, I'm going to find something good to think about! So I got up and danced straight through until my boyfriend drug me off the floor to go to project prom. By the end of the night, it was still the worst prom in history, except for the one in the movie Carrie.

 

          My wrists hurt. I can’t think of anything else but the pain. Nothing matters anymore. My world is only pain, darkness, hunger, and more pain. Have I even slept? I’m not sure. There’s so little light here that I can’t tell if my eyes are opened or closed. Maybe I have slept. Maybe I am asleep. Perhaps this is all a dream, a figment of my imagination. In reality, I am at home, warm and cozy in my bed, dreaming the long night away. In fact, if I try really hard, I can probably wake myself up. It’s probably almost time for my alarm to go off anyway...

          “Silence!” The booming voice of the guard shakes me out of my hypnotic state. I’m confused at first, then it slowly starts to come to me. The rusted iron cuffs around my wrist begin grinding into my oozing, smelling sores. Good thing it is dark in my cell, I’d hate to see the state of my body. All I know is I can’t sleep lying down or I stop breathing. That’s not good, right?

          “Hey! Lu! Are you awake, man?” Burkheart whispers from across the room. He should have known better than to ask me that. Who could ever sleep in prison? Maybe I should back up and explain my situation. My name is Private Joseph Luciano and I am being held as a prisoner of war.

          The details of how I got here are as blurry and confusing as a nightmare. Some weeks ago I was driving in a platoon of supply trucks bound for the village of Kirkuk, Iraq. All I remember was a bright orange ball of fire smashing through the back window of our Hummer, and then everything went black. When I came to, I was lying in a pool of my own blood on the sizzling desert sand. The sun was so brilliant that I could only make out shadows of the people around me. I saw my good friend Correlly lying a few feet to my right. His head was tucked under his chest, his crunched vertebrae poking through his skin. To my left was the severed head of Tex, a new kid who had been shipped to Iraq only two days before. I buried my face in the sand, about to be sick, unable to make sense of everything that had just happened. Suddenly, someone grabbed my arm and jerked me to my feet. My legs buckled from the sharp pain in my knee.

          “Stand up!” The man who held me was over six feet tall with chocolate brown skin and a square jaw line. He glared down at me with menacing, black eyes. His baret told me he was one of Saddam’s.

          He yelled something in another language and then shoved me. I landed a few feet away, next to a man I recognized as Sergeant Burkheart. He was unconscious and barely breathing. But he was alive.A wave of sickness overcame me as I realized the horrifying truth: we were the only two that were left.

          I must have blacked out again because some hours later I found myself on a cold, stony floor. Though I had been burning up earlier, the floor was now much too cold and shivers periodically sent me into convulsions. I had not been aware of the pain before, but now I was nauseated by the sharp throbbing in my head, and the piercing pain under my ribs. Slowly I pushed myself to my feet, feeling the blood drain through my body.

          “Are you okay, man?” Sergeant Burkheart’s husky voice startled me.

          “I think so.” I mumbled, not sure if he could even hear me.

          “I thought you were...” He trailed off. He didn’t have to say it. Dead. He thought I was dead. At this point, I wished I was.

          The room around me was completely dark, save a few rays of pale, yellow light filtering through the cracks in the wall. My heart stopped beating as I realized where I was. I was in an Iraqi prisoner of war camp. A few months earlier I had rescued a couple of G.I.s from a cell just like this one. Now I was the one who needed rescuing.

           The panic hit me head on like a train at full speed. What if no one realized that our platoon was missing? What if we had been taken across the border into Saudi Arabia or Iran where no American troops would dare to venture? Would I make it out of this alive? Would I ever see my wife, or son, or home again?

           Suddenly the iron door of the cell swung open and a man stepped in. I couldn’t make out his features, for the light behind him cast a shadow over his enormous figure. Three other men with rifles stood against the wall in the hallway behind him.

          “So,” he breathed heavily into my face, “do you American pigs need to tell something?” His breath reeked of tobacco and liquor.

          “What do you mean?” I asked, trying not to let fear quiver my voice. I honestly had no idea what he wanted me to say. The only operations I was ever involved in was the rescuing of American soldiers from prisoner of war camps. Perhaps these men had mistaken my platoon for the one that transported Iraqi prisoners from one American camp to the next.

          “You know exactly what I mean.” he hissed, spraying saliva into my face.

          “Why don’t you take that rifle of yours and stick it...” The man shoved me aside and grabbed Burkheart by the throat. He lifted him so that Burkheart’s feet barely scraped the ground.

          “What you say, pig?” Burkheart began to gurgle, clawing desperately at the hand that was choking off his air supply. The man dropped him and kicked him once in the face and twice in the stomach. Burkheart didn’t move, and neither did I. The man stormed out, slamming the iron door behind him.

          “Sergeant?” I whispered, afraid of not getting a reply. Burkheart moaned but said nothing. Crawling on all fours, I groped blindly around the room until my hands found a small, metal cot with a tattered mattress and wool blanket. I pulled myself onto the bed and wrapped myself in the blanket, hating its smell but loving the comfort it provided. I have not moved from the bed since.

          “Hey, Lu, look at this.” Burkheart threw something onto my bed. I picked it up. It was a spoon. “Yeah, so?” I said, rubbing the handle between my thumb and finger.

          “Lu, we can use that thing to dig our way out of here! I got one for me too.” He began tapping his spoon rhythmically on the floor.

          “You do that. Come and get me when you get through that rock.” I turned over, facing the wall.

           “This isn’t rock. It’s sandstone. And it’s soft.” I didn’t pay much mind. For the past few days Burk had been talking crazy. I think he suffered from fever or infection or something. Yesterday he sat in the corner and had a conversation with his wife, who had been killed in friendly fire a few months earlier. He had totally lost it. It was unnerving to watch a man of such stature, strength, and power slowly slip away. I would surely be next...I closed my eyes and tried to ignore the scraping of Burk’s spoon against the wall.

           “She loves you yeah, yeah, yeah, she loves you yeah, yeah, yeah.” I tried singing my favorite Beatle’s songs, hoping to get them stuck in my head to block out the noise. It worked, for I soon drifted off to sleep.

          I don’t know how long I slept but I was suddenly jolted awake by Burk’s screams. I whipped around only to see Burk’s body being thrown across the room into the wall.

          “Where are my people!” The guard screamed at Burk, sticking his rifle to Burk’s temple.

          “I don’t know! I don't know where we keep our imprisoned scum!  For all I care, your soldiers are probably dead and rotting somewhere in...” The guard smashed his foot through Burk’s front teeth.

          “You know where they at! Tell me!” He was becoming more and more agitated by the second. My heart pounded. Don’t do it, Burk. Don’t say anything that’s going to get yourself killed. I will be all alone. I can’t live like that...

          “Screw you. Long live Bush. Long live Capitalism. Long live America. Do you understand me?” Burk’s voice was low and evil, almost as threatening as that of our captors.

          “You not live.” The guard whispered. A crack of fire later, and Burk was dead, his brains splattered all over the wall.

          “No. No!” I whispered, the tears streaming down my face. Someone yelled in the hallway. The guard quickly turned and left.

          “Burk! No...” My heart was heavy with sorrow. A knot swelled in my throat and threatened to choke off my air supply. Until this point I thought I had been strong. I endured the beatings, the starvation, the impenetrable cold. Now I lost it. I couldn’t handle it anymore. I turned back to the wall and for the first time since my captivity, I wept.

          Days must have passed. I lay in a stupor, unable to comprehend anything. I stopped being tired, stopped feeling hunger. Even the rotting sores on my wrists had ceased to hurt. It was only when the smell of Burk’s decaying body began to reach my nose, did I finally drift back into reality, or some sick version of it.

          This was it. It was over. But was I going to go down without a fight? I might as well give it my best shot, right? Isn’t that the American motto? Well, one of them anyway. I still had the spoon Burk had given me. Maybe I could dig my way through this wall.

          Slowly I made my way over to Burk’s bed, being careful to take the long way around his fly-infested body. My hands fell on his broken bed and I shoved it out of the way as quietly as I could. I felt around the wall and discovered 2x2 hole about three inches deep. This was a good start. At first I was slow at scraping the stone, making as little noise as possible. Every few minutes I stopped and swept the sand into a pile, then poured it into a tear in Burk’s matters. This process drew on for hours, my confidence growing with each passing minute. After a few hours I was slashing away into the sandstone, sometimes breaking large chunks away with my bare hands. It was just like building a sand castle when I was a kid on the Jersey shore, so many years ago.

           I remember the summer of ‘78, I was only eight then but I was a heck of a sculptor. Every year my hometown had a sand sculpting contest for people of all ages. The grand prize was a whopping one hundred dollars. That year I spent hours and hours carefully crafting a wizard and his pet dragon out of specially colored sand. I used marbles for the eyes and even inserted a smoke bomb into the dragon’s mouth to make him breathe fire. The judges loved it. They called me “The Magician” for my secretive ways of making my sculpture come alive. They said I could be the next Houdini. If only I could wave a magic wand and make myself disappear out of this mess...

          My hand broke through the stone and into hot, windy desert air. I peered through the hole and for the first time in months I saw the twinkling of a flawless summer night. The sand kicked up and twisted and twirled across the wide open yard that was behind the prison. There was a tall tower to my left, with a guard on watch and a a rotating spotlight. I counted the spotlight’s revolutions. It took 123 seconds for the beam of light to make a complete sweep of the yard. Directly in front lay an obstacle coarse with cut outs of human figures, stacks of barrels, and shrapnel. Further in the distance I could barely make out a chain link fence bordered by more barbed wire. How in the world was I ever supposed to get myself out of this?

          I tore away the rest of the stone until I made a hole that was big enough for me to squeeze through. I didn’t stop to think. I knew that if I thought about it I would never do it. It was now or never. Either die trying or just plain die.

          I waited until the light passed by me and then broke out into a full sprint. I was heading in a straight line, my destination a small group of barrels on the far side of the obstacle course. Once I got there, I would wait until the light passed and then run again.

          It seemed as if I ran forever. I watched the light make its way around, seemingly at hyper speed, heading right for me. My life began to play out before my eyes. I saw my first summer at the beach, my first baseball game, my graduation, the birth of my son. All major, life changing events. Though they paled in comparison now.

           I reached the barrels, almost slamming into them head on. Just barely, as the light was within inches of exposing me. I only had a split second, then I took off again. The wind whistled through my lungs and out my nose. Pain rang in my ears and my brain. But I was numb to it all. It was only a matter of survival now.

          I reached a small wall of cinder blocks and crouched down. The light slid past in slow motion. “Long live Bush.” I jumped the wall of blocks and ran again, my feet slipping and sliding through the sand. I dove behind a pile of shrapnel.

          “Long live Capitalism.” The light skid past and I was off again. This time the wind picked up, blowing a mighty gale, driving bits of sand and rock into my skin, but it created a smoke cloud for me to move undetected through. I was more than two-thirds of the way. One more sprint and I’d be there... I reached the targets.

          “Long live America.” I took off again, this time a second too soon. The light grazed my head.

          “You! Stop!” The guard’s voice seemed far away. Then came the bullets. They rained down upon me, thumping as they disappeared in a poof of sand into the melting earth. One sliced through the meat of my tricep, tearing my muscle into shreds. I could have stopped there, but I didn’t. I could see the light up ahead. I wasn’t sure if it was heaven or the sun, but there was definitely light on the horizon. First there was one, then two, then six, then hundreds. Aliens maybe? Who knew. At this point I was up for abduction. Anything to get me out of here.

          I reached the chain link fence and propelled myself upward, using everything I had to hold on. The chain cut into my fingers and my cuffs prevented me from reaching very far. By now the bullets had stopped, but the yelling continued. Something was going on, though I wasn’t quite sure what. I climbed and climbed, feeling as if I was getting no where fast. Would I ever reach the top?

          A barb sliced my cheek open and I jerked my head back. My left hand felt around and grabbed the support pole. I grabbed the barbed wire with my right hand, the pole with my left, and lifted myself up. My foot found the top of the pole and I pushed off hard, then tucked my legs under and closed my eyes.

          My skin tensed, chills ran through my body. I braced myself for the feeling of razor sharp barbs grabbing hold and ripping through my skin. I fell forever, the seconds ticking by slowly. I wondered how high I had jumped, and how long it was going to take for me to get caught in the barb and die.

          My legs shot into a pile of sand and I laid still for a moment. I opened my eyes and saw that the sky was still there, and everything was as it should be. How did I make it? It must have been magic.

          “Hey!” My heart sank. After all that I was caught. All that effort and I couldn’t even have one small lick of freedom. Surely they would kill me now. I turned my head, expecting to see the dark, shadowy figure that was the face of my captor. Instead I saw streaks of red, white, and blue against a glowing horizon. An American flag billowed from a towering, green tank. The man talking to me was an American soldier.

           “Are you okay?” He said with a glimmer of concern in his eye. “No.” I replied and smiled. He smiled back.

          “Well you are now, man.”

This poetry unit has really been an eye opener for me. I dreaded taking this class at first because I knew it was going to be a lot of work and I would actually have to set some of my valuable free time at home aside for some of these assignments. I was afraid I would suffer from writer's block, and people would laugh at my ridiculous poems. However, after the first few classes I began to slip into a comfortable mode that allowed me to let my creative juices flow. The positive feedback from both teacher and peers encouraged me to expose the most sensitive part of me...my soul.
The poems that I am most pleased with are "The Years Go By" (a contrast poem), "Rumors" (a form poem), and "Our Lady" (an extended metaphor poem). The contrast poem was easy for me to write because I am one of those people who could be mistaken as bi-polar because my mood swings dramatically from one end of the spectrum to the other in a matter of minutes. So contrast poems are basically the language of my life. This poem is especially dear to me because it sums up my high school career...the years of wanting to break free and fly as far away as possible, and then the feeling of loneliness and rejection as a Senior. I also liked the form poem I wrote. I had a hard time thinking of my subject, until I thought of school and how the popular thing to do is to talk about people. Then I realized how big of a part rumors play in my life...and everyone else's. Even famous people rise or fall on rumors. Rumors define us, make us who we are and what we accomplish. This poem is unique in the fact that no one else has written about this poem. Finally, my all time favorite poem is the extended metaphor poem. I love New York City...it enchants me. I wanted to write a poem about New York very badly...but I couldn't give the poem a focus. I began to think about other topics to write about instead, concentrating mainly on historical events. Then it hit me. The Statue of Liberty. Who else to better sum up what this country was founded on? I can't really say anything more about this poem. I just love it, almost as much as I love The Big Apple.
Along with my great achievements came minor disappointments. I try never to look down on the work I do, but I can't help but dislike my other two form poem and the conversation poem. The form poems were very difficult to come up with....especially the alliteration poem. I don't like poetry that has so many rules to follow...I felt trapped by my own creativity. I wanted to make the poems as unique as possible...but it just didn't come naturally to me. I'm glad I did the form poems though, because it taught me to follow directions and to open new doors to my creativity while challenging myself. Although I am not completely satisfied with my form poems, I am proud of the effort I put into them. With a little practice, I know these poems will eventually be much easier for me. The conversation poem goes without saying. It is very difficult to work with material that you don't come up with yourself. It's like being handed someone else's diary and having to make it your own. It was almost impossible to come up with a rhythm and rhyme that made sense. The only good thing about the conversation poem was that I was the only one in the class who did it.

Because of this poetry unit I have reinstated confidence in myself and my ability to write. I was introduced to many new types of poetry that I came to love. I learned that deep down I still have that flair for writing. Maybe I was born with it; maybe I just had excellent English teachers. Either way, I have rekindled my love for writing and I hope that even after this class has ended and I have moved on, I will still remember to pick up a pen and paper and to let myself go into a world where the only person that matters is me.

Do not let that dream slip away

That all men and women are created equal

We will win the war someday

 

The news is full of people wanting their way

Will not stop to hear a poor man’s cry for freedom

Do not let that dream slip away

 

Another father will never see his baby play

Struck down in a battle that has lost its cause

We will win the war someday

 

A mother is left to hope and pray

Not knowing her baby has gone to meet her maker

Do not let that dream slip away

The people have lost their strength to fight today

Rise up my brothers and sisters for we cannot fail

We will win the war someday

 

Fight for the tomorrow that our children must live

Remember your vow to protect them at all costs

Do not let that dream slip away

We will win the war someday

Abraham Lincoln wasn’t exactly all there

Abnormal things went on beneath his hair

Then suddenly, it all came to an end one day

For Abraham Lincoln lost his head completely while watching a play

Singing, sleeping, smoking, swerving

Watch, wait, worry

Careful, cringe, curse, curving

Harmless, home, hurry

Funny, shocking, interesting, lame

Sneaky, deceitful, despaired

Contagious, infatuating, everywhere, shame

Famous, loved, shared

Hiking, grilling, laughing, screaming

Wind, mountains, life

Sleeping, snoring, tossing, dreaming

Stars, moon, sky