Ian+McClendon

=Ian McClendon=

"Poetry is above all a connection of the power of language, which is the power of our ultimate relationship to everything in the universe." -Adrienne Rich
My poetry is not much of masterful creation but the simple knowledge of a daily life. Lets say for my ode to gaming (which is featured below). As you can tell I love video games and attempted to represent that to the reader of my feeling step by step. They point that I wanted to explain is that gaming isn’t just picking up a controller and trying to kill the other person, but is to show how I feel. Now, its not just video games that mean a lot to me but also other things, I might be doing a activity for a while until I actually figure out what it is or maybe sometimes its my first time doing it. Then I get so inspired about it that certain event, action, thing and write about it.

Ode:
As I pick up the controller in the late night. As I turn on the TV and change it to HDMI 2. And as I see the symbol and the sound of XBOX Rise on the screen. I relax. As I rip open a bag of chips. As I crack open a bottle of soda. And as I pull the lever for the retractable chair. I chill. As I press up and A As I press multiplayer And as I put on my headset I game.

-MC†89

Sensory Memory Poem:
The feeling of wind blowing threw my hair, fingers, and around my body The sound of the waves crashing on the smooth sand and retreating back The view of a endless sea with no vanishing point and clouds embracing the suns rays The smell of a salty mist in the air surrounding you joy of a place The taste of a crisp BLT straight from a water cooler. Paradise.

-MC†89

Iamb/ Sonnet Poem:
Stupid people do dumb bullshit in town They talk they eat they sleep they have no sheep Sometimes they thrill off the hit for a crown

Insane they chat insane of how they creep They chase the man with such freedom anger They want the cloth off their back without say

Oh, criminal why kill freedom of Bangor As he runs away the trail stays in day What will he do oh criminal show love

All hate no passion but can he try The man will not ever become a shove What life is to become but to fly

Oh, criminal understand that freedom In your life can be brutal freedom will come.

-MC†89


 * Kay Ryan Poems** [[image:ryan.JPG]]

Home to Roost by Kay Ryan code The chickens are circling and blotting out the day. The sun is bright, but the chickens are in the way. Yes, the sky is dark with chickens, dense with them. They turn and then they turn again. These are the chickens you let loose one at a time and small— various breeds. Now they have come home to roost—all the same kind at the same speed. code Chickens are together in one house and live with each other. Until that is, they end up at your dinner table. But this poem Ryan explains what a daily life of a chicken is. Nothing fancy but a few head turns, pecking at the ground, getting those breasts fat, etc. Also a kind of cont down of a chickens life.

Sharks Teeth by Kay Ryan code Everything contains some silence. Noise gets its zest from the small shark's-tooth- shaped fragments of rest angled in it. An hour of city holds maybe a minute of these remnants of a time when silence reigned, compact and dangerous as a shark. Sometimes a bit of a tail or fin can still be sensed in parks. code A sharks mind from a humans perspective is what is shown here. Sharks attack for the thrill, the taste. But what Ryan says in it is that "Noise gets the zest from the small shark's-tooth-shaped fragments of rest angled in it". She talks about the action of the attack. That the only noise is the screaming of the human being attacked by the shark.

Patience by Kay Ryan code Patience is wider than one once envisioned, with ribbons of rivers and distant ranges and tasks undertaken and finished with modest relish by natives in their native dress. Who would have guessed it possible that waiting is sustainable— a place with its own harvests. Or that in time's fullness the diamonds of patience couldn't be distinguished from the genuine in brilliance or hardness. code