10.5A, DFP

If Algebra were a nation,

T'would be located somewhere,

With mountains mighty high,

and fields quite charmingly fair.

All on its own,

Somewhere between Belgium and France,

Awaits the land of Algebra,

Where its wheat does wave and dance.

You can wade in the grasses,

Breath in the fresh air,

But if you're to walk in a direction,

You will not get there.

You'll think you understand it.

You'll be positive in the soil.

You'll watch the wheat wave,

And your belly will hunger at your toils.

The mountains will grow farther,

With their crystal springs,

and your throat will cry,

Parched for wet things. 

Eventually you will fall,

You will collapse-

Hungry and thirsty,

Calculator just out of grasp. 

DFP 2

He was hideous. He'd seen what he was. He saw it in his father's eyes, and reflected once more in the liquid surface of his mother's saltine blood. He saw it in his father's horror, in the knife buried in his mother's breast. It was time for the ugliness to come to an end. So he withdrew his blade, withdrew it from the gaping flesh, and withdrew his own mind. He was hideous.  At least he would be no longer. In a few weeks, his features would degrade, his soul long gone and unidentifiable from any other. In a few months, no one would be able to distinguish him from anyone at all. He would look finally look just like his mother - beautiful.

This World, DFP (Destined For Portfolio) Sample 1

Darkness was everywhere and the children were afraid. The unborn squirmed in their mothers' wombs, primal terror birthing silent mews and fluttering heartbeats. Their mothers, being less tuned to the natural tug of order and terror, where wholly unsuspecting of what was to come. They didn't know until they received their telegraphs, until long after their husbands' bodies had stilled and begun to warp. But the children knew, and they quaked in their warm cocoons and dreaded their arrival into a world where blood mixed with blood. This world where blood mixed with blood so thoroughly that no one could tell whose was whose. 

Acrostic Name Poem

Exceptionally
Roman profile coupled with an
Infinitely
Nosy

Manner,

Sackett girls
Almost never resist a
Creditable impulse in order to
Keep cocky lads upon
Expression-laden
Tenaciously unsuspecting
Toes

In Regards to E

Erin? Erin Sackett? Yup, that would be me. Present and reporting for duty. What can I do for you? Would you like help with that sketch? No? Ah, well, I'll leave you be. Unless - Oh! You'd like to ask me some questions? Sure thing, I love questions! Where to start? "Describe myself..." Well, let's see. I suppose I'm...

BOYFRIEND: Ambitious. Creative. Perfect.

FIELD PHOTOGRAPHY MENTOR: She's got the guts to do what it takes to make it in the photography field, and she's charming enough to squirrel her way above all the others to boot.

GRANDMOTHERLY MISSIONARY: I only met her twice. There's no real junk food in Malawi, so I shared a bag of potato chips with her. The next day she got her very own bag, and I got one of the most grateful hugs I've had in years.

LOCAL LIBRARIAN: Her mama's rule is that she can only get as many books as she can carry. A charmingly bashful girl, she was. One time she had too many books and no one else, so she got real red and asked me all cute like if she could have help carrying the books to the car. I helped of course, and looking down on those books, what did I see but about three hard bound taxidermy books in a row, right under her big toothy grin. I never did look at that red bow for quite some time without wondering about that smile.

ELEMENTARY SCHOOL ART TEACHER: Charmingly stupid.

MIDDLE SCHOOL ART TEACHER: Charmingly strange.

HIGH SCHOOL ART TEACHER: Repulsively out of the box. I had to kick her out of the class.

KIM: Very thoughtful! Often throws away other kids' litter.

KATHY: Forgetful. Also eats too much of the chocolate we give out, then comes back and has to sit out 3 periods in order to not throw up.

CHILDHOOD COGNITIVE THERAPIST: She's too constricted. She needs to let go more.

BELOVED DOG: She speaks to me often, for she knows that her voice is my world's sweetest music. This she must know by the wild struggles or my tail and the soft fingers on my waiting ruff. She oh-so-carefully tends me, picking each and every slug, worm, or bit of excretement from my smiling mouth. Because of this, I know she loves me.

MATH INSTRUCTOR: She comes in everyday at lunch to improve. Despite her efforts, she often doesn't do well - but then, she's as stubborn as pitch. She always pulls through eventually, no matter the cost.

MATH TUTOR: Tries fairly hard. But I'm pretty sure it's not out of a burning love for math though. She's always eager to please. If it would make someone else happy that she had a 3.5 GPA, she'd gladly go get it.

PAPA: You could write a book from the questions she has.

MAMA: She's got enough Italian in her to replenish Sicily, and enough Sackett to be determined to stay that way.

BIBLICAL ELDER SISTER: A heathen in every sense.

FAVORITE PEARL ERASER: If you think I’m in bad shape, take a look at her poor parents.

ENGLISH TEACHER OF TYMES GONE BY: An apparently large fan of loopholes in both spelling tests and irony.

CHILDHOOD BEST FRIEND: Firmly believed that she was going to grow up into a border collie until third grade. Prepared herself by wearing a real dog collar and by scuttling around on the floor.

CROSS COUNTRY COACH: She cheers and wishes someone luck whenever someone passes her. By the end she's always beaming - probably because she's always last. She's obviously quite… lucky.

HAIRDRESSER: Well she said she’s goin’ to Rhode Island for sum’ fancy schoolin’ in art during the summer. So I says “It’s gonna be a hot one!” And she laughed and then scrunched up her face really funny like and then she said….

EX-BOYFRIEND'S GRANDFATHER: A tough as nails. When Trenten died, she just kept on living. Named her dog after him 'n me though, she did. Calls me Grandpa.

        …I suppose I'm just rather simple, really. I’ve still got an awful long way to go, but I’m getting there. And not a thing can slow me down.

The Coin Star

The coin star is here,
she poses for the camera.
She drips with oil,
Then she winks for the dogma.

Soon she'll strip of her sheets,
then it's down with her head.
No more is the intellectual,
She's dissapeared on the bed.

There's a stud there too,
But he's a jerk off screen.
And the lady he plays with,
She's long past eighteen.

It's the makeup caked on,
The lip liner perched crusty,
They turn her from a woman,
And into something lusty.

But she's not in it it seems,
Though her cries do suffice.
Still, they're enough for the customers,
Whom have never thought twice.

But who is this "Tawny Lionness,"
This beast on a box?
They'd never recognize her likewise,
Ms. Agnes Pox.

But she knows, she knows,
The woman in bed.
She's got four children at home,
and ideas in her head.

I've heard she's a widow,
With a loved husband dead.
Her mother's from New Orleans,
and her brother's inbred.

She's had her deck of cards delt,
And now its her play.
This desperate poor woman,
She's here to stay.

And this is because she loves her kids,
And her love is true,
For if it wasn't,
She'd never be watched by you.

Education

What lovely Steve McQueen has taught me,
What the Terminator would advise,
They've instructed me dearly,
That Germans aren't always the bad guys.

XOXO

I'm loved by my bills,
My credit plagues me so.
They grow and they breed,
And they don't let go.

I Was No More

I did know English.

I was sort of a teacher.

I is no longer.

Haiku

Feathers For Nathan

You call me an angel although it's not true;
You're brighter, a canary with melodic cries,
Whilst I'm just a wren,
A wren yearning for your blue skies.

Sing I do,
With hopes full of steady faiths,
A rising call,
The canary's praise.

On wings of gold,
Like autumn you came,
A sprig of life,
With the warmth of spring rain.

You nest here with me,
But understand my pain -
Finches, doves, cockatiels, maybe,
But since when will a canary stay with a wren?

This drab brown bird, she's scared,
It's true.
She shifts and she twitters,
But is always longing for you. 

Bills

Safe in bed,
Here I lay,
Texting poor Nathan,
Until the new day. 

Dreamings

Goodnight my love,
For as the skies gather clouds,
I softly sleep to thoughts of you,
And harbor dreams abound. 

2/28

I'm not warm enough.
A girl in an extra-large sweater,
Who's guess what'll help?
For as sure as the wind blows,
the sweater's made of felt.
She wants you, you poor fellow,
So go hurry up.
It sucks to be cold,
And she needs your warm love. 

Lovely Stench

I have a foul cold.
School sickrooms smells of slow death.
At least I can smell.

These Lenses

My glasses and lenses,
They must see the world at a differant pace.
You see, when I put them on,
The world tends to dissapate.

Maybe it's all the smudges?
This I doubt.
With all the cracks and residues,
It's the smudges for which I couldn't see without.

What sort of land is this?
All these people with fractured faces?
And here the radio tells me,
It's the same in sll the places.

So maybe it's the best
That I can't read these headlines.
For if I found that I could,
I'd surely want to be blind.

It Counts, Right?

Wild primal sex!

I guess it's mine for tonight!

Dozens of erotica chapters...

Then it's off with my light.

Lockerisms

Above the clouds, it's always blue.

Summer tastes of asian pears on warm river stones.

To Whom It May Concern

Ruffled Hair,
Rosy cheeks,
Come over here,
You sexy beast!

Acting on Urges

My dear Dick Van Dyke,
To Hugh Jackman galore -
Include my lovely David Tennant,
And my heart shall want more.