Your True Worth - Self-Publication assignment

My poem:

They say to never give up,

to never give in,

to keep fighting that fight,

so the devil doesn't win.

Through all the hurt and all the pain,

through all the sorrow and the shame,

the one thing you need to remind yourself of,

it that tomorrow is never the same

Hold on to your hopes and dreams, 

for your fears are far less than what they seem.

To all of those who feel like they are losing the fight, 

and to those who feel like there is no hope in sight,

take a minute to look at the sky

and remember that there's something out there

bigger than you and I.

The Sun will rise again.

Through the clouds and the rain,

the Sun will still remain,

and all the darkness will

fade away.

So hold your head high,

and feel the warmth.

It may remind you,

what you are truly worth.

My evidence:

Cold like a Fire

Your hug feels like a cup of hot chocolate
on a cold winter night
like someone saved a homeless cat

like the opening of a warm pizza box
like a growing tree, like someone giving a winning lottery ticket
to the old woman dying from cancer, like a flower blooming,
the taste of your favourite cookie
a new car
the Canucks winning the Stanly Cup at home.
Like a snoring puppy
like a skateboarder landing an 

awesome trick
like the crowd at a concert,
a golden trophy, a homeless person
with enough to eat
like a new good book
like a night with your closest friends,
a polar bear cub, like eating a fresh donut, 

like someone finding a phone charger at 1%

the jingling of coins in your pocket 

when you think you are broke,
an obese man on a treadmill,
the sound of a car engine starting,
like finding your keys
like killing a pesky mosquito
like making your crush laugh
and wearing the perfect outfit, like scoring the winning goal
a baby walking, like being able to stand out of a wheelchair
like a beautiful beach sunset
like roasting marshmallows over a crackling fire
like the feeling that I felt when I came home from school
and someone walked into my room and saw me crying.

POEM WRITING IN STYLE OF WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS

POEM WRITING IN STYLE OF WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS

The Graveyard

So much depends
upon

a red flower
bouquet

shimmering in the
sunlight

beside the brown
coffin



Alone

So mush depends
upon

a dead blue
body

decaying on the
grass

beside the large
snake

Pride Project

For my To Kill a Mockingbird Pride Project, I did a comdenced courtroom scene.

Unfortunatly, my video was too large to put onto Blogger.

If you do want to see my video, you can send me a quick email telling me you want to see it, and I will send it to you as soon as possible.

My e-mail: parhar.junior@gmail.com

Thanks

Especially the Bitch of Belsen

Source

I sneak out in the middle of the night,

hoping that I wouldn’t have to fight.

Into the washroom did I go,

making sure no one was to follow.

Around my neck, I tied my belt.

No one knew how I felt.

Especially the Bitch of Belsen.

With Sandra my life was great,

but unknown to me was my fate.

Even though my hunger for love had been fed,

my mother’s face did turn red.

Hurt by this, I started to melt.

No one knew how I felt.

Especially the Bitch of Belsen.

My wife and I began to separate,

she was already out of the gate.

In a fortnight, her body was found,

with another mister on the ground.

I lost my love and on my knees I knelt.

No one knew how I felt.

Especially the Bitch of Belsen.

In the garden, I did hear,

little voices in my ear.

When I saw a running fox,

my eyes fell upon the Hollyhocks.

They were the color of red felt.

No one knew how I felt.

Especially the Bitch of Belsen.

I was sent to the clinic because I was talking to flowers,

I was in there for many hours.

I befriended an alcoholic named Wilf Armstrong,

and he stared to listen to me, not head strong.

I was in control, and the cards were dealt.

No one knew how I felt.

Especially the Bitch of Belsen.

I changed when my parents came,

they talked to me and put me to shame.

Even Wilf could not mend,

the part of my sanity that continued to bend.

There was no more ore for me to smelt.

No one knew how I felt.

Especially the Bitch of Belsen.

Now I stand on the loo,

this decision, I will not rue.

The last thing I see as I jump into the air,

Are my Sandra’s Hollyhocks – Oh so fair.

I feel myself escape the veldt.

No one knew how I felt.

Especially the Bitch of Belsen.

This poem was inspired my the short story The Sound of the Hollyhocks by Hugh Garner

Tick Tock

I put down the reciever,
a wave of dread, thicker than the water around us, washes over me.
All I can hear, is the sound of my own heart
the oxygen slipping away.
Tick, thud
Tock, thud

Twenty-one cups infront of me.
Fifteen and mine poisoned.
Each cup filled with whiskey.
I know my men.
They will not question my orders, not with the promise of drink.
I hear my pocket watch tick.
In sync with the heavy beat of my heart.
Tick, thud
Tock, thud

They gather before me, twenty pairs of eyes gaze at me with trust.
I utter the toast and hear fifteen clear clups clatter to the floor.
I tear my eyes away from the lifeless bodies.
Although my conscience is far from clear.
Five stand before me.
Five will survive.
Tick, thud
Tock, thud

With my cup in hand,
there is only one thing less to do.
My pulse raises violently, as
I raise the cup to my lips
And then stops --
Tick
Tock

Riordan’s The Blood of Olympus is Not Just Greek to Me

     Rick Riordan hits another nail on the head with his fifth and final book of The Heroes of Olympus series.  The Blood of Olympus is a gripping tale that chronicles the lives of nine demigods and their quest to defeat Gaea and unite the Greek and Roman camps.  Piggybacking on the success of the Percy Jackson and the Olympians series, Riordan fuses fiction with mythology to maintain his spot as a New York Times best-selling author.

     Having been captivated with the series, I was eager to dive into this final book.  I found myself mostly enjoying The Blood of Olympus but also being slightly disappointed in it.  Compared to the previous books I was not satisfied with the quantity or quality of action.  Throughout the previous books in Riordan’s series, spectacular fighting scenes are described in detail and unique tactics are consistently explained.  Unfortunately, in The Blood of Olympus this is not included.  Additionally, the connections between the characters are not well established.  As individuals, the characters are challenged with their own problems, but the connection amongst them as members of an overall team is missing.  Further, I found the story disappointing because it has a poor climax.  Throughout the previous books in the series, there was a lot of build up to the climax.  In The Blood of Olympus, this is lacking.

     Despite the flaws in the book, there are many extraordinary aspects about it.  The unpredictability of the plot kept me engaged.  I was fascinated by the ‘fact and fictional’ nature of his story-telling approach; I appreciated how Riordan integrated Greek and Roman mythology in telling the story.  I thought that the idea of having each chapter is told in a different character’s point of view quite entertaining.  This allowed me to gain a better understanding of both the background of the characters and of the characters themselves.  Even though the connections between the characters are poorly described, the development of each individual character is well presented.  In reading the book, I particularly loved the way Riordan uses humour.  Like the other books in the series, the characters make witty remarks that make me laugh.  Even during some of the most serious parts of the story, a character tells a joke or makes a funny comment to ease the tension of the moment. 

     Being a huge fan of Rick Riordan’s series, I expected to be enthralled with The Blood of Olympus.  Although I was not satisfied with certain aspects of the book, I still consider it a novel worth reading.  I recommend this book to readers who enjoy action-fantasy novels, and especially to those who have read The Heroes of Olympus series. 

3.8/5 stars