My Portfolio

 

Sign my guest book after you read my writing.

 

Emily Crook-a.k.a.---GRACE--PORTFOLIO COVERPAGE

I chose all of these pieces of work to reoresent some of my best work this quarter, because they were all something that I worked hard on, and became very proud of. I felt that there would be more value to my work if I shared it with others.

The first piece was chosen because I wanted to share what thoughts came to mind when I heard these words. It was a found poem from a science classroom.

The second piece I chose because I tried to show a beleif that I had about the world. The theme of the poem was to bring beauty out of something not so beautiful.

The third piece I chose because I absolutely love the season of fall. When I was coming up with ideas for the poem, I found myself missing it. The fourth piece I chose because I felt that I was showing a good feeling that comes along with love: sadness. The fifth piece I chose because I thought that the story was a little corny, and I figured that I could get some laughs out of it. The sixth piece, I chose beacue it was so fun to write. I loved getting into the mind of a crazy person. I chose the seventh piece, because the story about the watergate intrigues me. Although, I tweeked the story a great deal. It still had some fact though. I chose the eighth piece, because it was fun writing it. It was also the "winner." I chose the ninth piced because I thought that a story about my friend was funny, Maybe not... The last piece, I chose because I love the singer and C.D. that I chose to review. I wanted to see if I convinced others of that.

 

 

 
 
.

Fallen

A soft breeze flows,
Leaves piled upon leaves,
And rakes left on the front yard.
Snow is whispering that it will come,
But not yet.

Soccer teams compete, with muddy shinguards.
There's the feeling I get in my stomach.
Watching blood drip from the noses of football players,
Hearing helmets crash together in a disturbing sound.

Days become shorter and shorter.
Nights become longer and longer.
Turkey dinners and trick-or-treaters.
New beginnings,
And cold, steely, dark trees looming above.

It is almost time for utter coldness,
And frigid temperatures,
Depressing forecasts,
And yelling at televisions.

Fall has fallen,
And winter is on its way. 

 

 

 

 

Earthy Profile

Red solar mirage,
Ancient marshes.
Glassy stones on road,
Vocal rain on opal puddles.
Green trees breathe air.
Bolts fold, flash, repeat.
Navy night crowns sky.
MeTaMoRpHiC weather.



(Words from the walls and thoughts of a science classroom)

 

 

 

 

 
Your Most True and Compassionate Fan

DEAR MONET,

Yesterday I was walking along a sidewalk in the park,
Looking at all the beautiful things in the world.
You know, like nature, peoples' conversations, and such things.
I was letting my eyes explore the landscape,
And I saw something...

I saw a duck with a broken wing.
He was walking in the garbage-infested pavement,
And I wanted to cry.
I wanted to express that moment at that point in time,
So that all of the pompous jerks
who do these things to the poor ducklings could see their faults.
I wanted to paint the baby animal in all of it's glory.

And just then, I thought of you.
Yes, you.
And I thought of how much I admire your work.
You can depict these beautiful landscapes,
With just a brush of paint.
It's the most glorious thing these eyes have seen.
I truely admire you,
Your work,
Your thoughts.

Do you know what I did to fool my friends?
I copied your signature with charcoal,
And then told them it was yours.
I know that in some states it would be called plagiarism,
But I just could not help it.
Maybe if you write back, you could enclose an autograph,
I mean not to trouble you or anything,
But it would be excellent.

Your most true and compasstionate fan,

Emily

 

 


 

HERE 


In my heart you will always be near. 
Even though I left you in the night, 
Staring out the window with cold fear 

Even though I left you so unclear, 
In my mind you've left a warming sight. 
And in my heart you will always be here. 

I always tell you to lend me your ear. 
Even though I know I sound trite. 
And you still listen with the most cheer. 

I remember on that summer pier, 
When you looked at me with those eyes so bright. 
Right then I knew I needed you near. 

In my heart you will always be near, 
But you, my love, come to me tonight. 
Down my cheek it rolls: that frigid tear 

It is you my love that scares my fear. 
And makes me feel like all is and was right. 
It is you, my love, that makes it so clear: 
In my soul, I need you to be right here. 

 

 


 

 

 

CRAZY


My brother says I'm crazy, so he refuses to visit me. Oh well, maybe I am. I
mean, I do bite my toenails and shave my forearms, but what can you do?
So, why am I here? You may be asking this question. Well, it's not that I'm
crazy or nothing like that, I just didn't wanna go to the big house for the
fifth time.


The first time I went to jail was for arson. I burned down my family's barn
when I was fifteen years old. They couldn't really do much because I was a
juvenille, but that affected my record.


The second time was when I stole a damn stereo from a car. I mean, I just
wanted to look inside the car, because it was a beauty. It was a por-sha. 
That's right, a Porsche. As I stood outside of the car window with drool coming
down my face, I spotted a stereo, and, hey, I figured I could use one of those. 
I stole it, no big deal.


Another time, I went to church completely drunk and completely angry. I was
yelling obscenities, I guess. People told me that, but somehow I don't remember
it. I was stumbling over myself, and I guess I disturbed some people. Oh well. 
They called the cops on me, and I was arrested.


The time before last, when I got arrested, it was for possession of drugs. I
was driving around, minding my own business one Friday evening, until I decided
to park and have some fun. It turned out that I parked in some handicapped
parking space. They saw me doing the drugs, too. To the big house one more
time.


So, anyway, as I was saying, My brother won't come visit me. I am here with
all of the compulsive liars, and anorexic people. I watch people talk to pet
flies. It's very depressing.


The last time I got arrested, was about six months ago. It was for robbing a
convienience store. I held 'em up with a gun. That really pissed off the cops. 
I mean, I had a horrible record, since I was arrested five times. They tried to
put me behind bars, but I claimed insanity. I told 'em I have the obsession for
stealing things. "I have a mental problem," I told 'em. Ha, ha! Little do
they know I'm not crazy at all. I'm just a atural born criminal. What can I
say?... Hold on a minute.


"Nurse, get me my medication!" Alright, well, I guess that's that, and perhaps
I'll talk to you all later.


Nighty, night.


I've got to go bite my toenails.

 

 

 

 

 

THE REAL STORY BEHIND WATERGATE

"Those damn Democrats don't know anything!" said one man, trying to be quiet.

"You'd think they'd catch us by now if they kept track of their files," whispered another.

"Shut up Johnny! They're going to catch us if Nixon has anything to do with it..."

The spies crept up the stairs, trying not to make a sound. They took their work seriously, even though what they were doing was illegal.

One guy, named Johnny, always had some kind of problem. One minute he would want to eat and the next he would have to go to the bathroom. He was like a small child, complaining about anything and everything. The other guys could not care less because he would not shut up.

"Damn, guys! I need my insulin shot! I left it at home!" screamed Johnny.

"Would you shut up!? People can hear you! We're trying to get a job done!" snapped the spy.

Everyone was so pissed off at Johnny at that point, that nobody was going to listen to him.

"But guys, my diabetes. I'll die..."

"Alright, we're entering the Democratic National Committee's room," spoke a man with his walkie talkie.

"Fine! That's just great! I'll die of my diabetes! It's okay. I mean who cares if Johnny dies?!" spoke Johnny very sarcastically.

"Okay, Johnny. We're sorry you don't have your insulin, but it's one o'clock in the morning and we're tired. We're trying to get a job done, so I suggest you shut up and help!" said a very flustered colleague.

It was quiet for a moment until Johnny mumbled couple words under his breath. He was mad. He started to fumble through some papers in the room, but he couldn't stay focused. The effects of not having his insulin were starting to get to him. the whole room started to spin, with everyone in it. The flashlights were doing weird dances on the walls. Johnny was starting to sway. He turned around and looked at the other men.

"Hey guys..." Johnny managed to studder.

Nobody heard him.

"Guys!!"

Still no answer.

Johnny was waving his flashlight all over the room, trying to get somebodies attention.

"GUYS!!!"

Johnny fainted on the floor. He could not stay conscious without his insulin shot.

Everyone ran out of the room, as sirens were heard. Johnny lay on the floor, helpless.

Diabetes turned him and all of his fellow spies in.

 

 

 

 

WENDY'S: Expect the Unexpected

As I was driving the streets of Keene this past Friday with a friend of mine, we found ourselves growing increasingly hungry and tired from a long day of meetings and such things. Since our day was so long, we were not particularly looking to spend a great deal of money.

She suggested Wendy's.

I suggested McDonald's.

After some time of disputing, I found myself unconsciously turning into the McDonald's parking lot, forgetting that Wendy's was right next door. Perhaps there would be more to argue about.

To my surprise, there was not, as we walked through the doors of McDonald's. I was not particularly looking to have a grease fest with food, so I looked for something more light. There was a salad shaker, which looked utterly old, and utterly brownish, which really turned me off. What was even worse, was that my only other option was grease-infested french fries. After about 30 seconds of looking at the menu, my friend and I bolted.

To Wendy's we went, extremely embarrassed and almost sorry for McDonald's. WE were hoping they did not see us leap over the curb into the Wendy's parking lot.

After we looked at the menu i Wendy's, we were truly amazed. There were so many options. In stead of just french fries, they had baked potatoes of three different flavors. Instead of just plain old chicken sandwiches, there were spicy chicken sandwiches as well. There was not only coke, but cherry coke, too. It was like a dream come true.

I ended up ordering a chicken sandwich after much time debating and pondering. And when I ate it, strange juices that looked like grease did not drip down my arm and stain my shirt. Wendy''s just had so much to offer, and I liked that. Even the bathrooms were something to brag about, being as clean as they were.

This past weekend, I found a new hot spot for fast food, called Wendy's. It is the best fast food restaurant I have ever, and will ever know.

 

 

 

 

 

D'Angelo -- Voodoo

 

D'Angelo has always been a singer that neverfails to awe his crowd when he hits all of the high notes and carries his voice with power and melody. His new album, Voodoo was an extreme hit. He managed to, once again, to pull off the high and low notes, without any trouble. Songs such as, "How Does it Feel?" and "Devil's Pie" were found on MTV in their most popular form."How Does it Feel?" included a music video of D'Angelo in the nude throughout the whole viewing. This of course distracted most of the femaleaudience, and distracted the male audiences, yet it seems as though the lyrics still touched the hearts of many. This was proven when D'Angelo at the Video Music Awards on MTV performed "Devil's Pie." Although this is not th ebest song on the album, the audience was really getting into the grooves and rhythm. There are other songs that introduce a style of jazz, mixed iwth rap, regae, and soul. The sounds and beats truly go straight to the souls and provoke the minds of its listeners. Some of the songs being seven minutes or longer, its almost like each song reels a person in and makes them feel spiritual , and when it's over, the person is almost forced to press the repeat button. There are songs about all sorts of themes in life: love, angert, sex, and happiness. D'Angelo truly expresses the feelings of many humans in a way that can be freely interpreted without there being any wrong way of doing it. He is a spiritual singer, allowing people to go into a certain state of mind when they listen.

 

 

 

 

 


MY MURRAY ISLE


It is around five o’clock in the afternoon on Murray Isle, one of the Thousand
Islands. I lay on the wooden dock that creaks as the waves go in and out. The
soft sound surrounds my soul and provokes my mind. All I can hear are the waves,
the beautiful waves. All I can see are islands for miles and miles. It is almost
like standing on a street in the land of suburbia. When you stand, you can see
houses as far as the eye can see. Picture that the road is a river and the
houses are islands… It is a sight for sore eyes. It is beautiful.


On Murray Isle, there are at least fourteen houses scattered throughout the
trees and the old path that encircles the island. Most of the homes are like
mini-mansions that were lived in by generations of "Morris’" or other household
names. On of the homes I was in in the past had numbers on each of the bedroom
doors. It must have been a hotel of some sort. An old beat up truck is found on
the path by these houses that was left from someone that must have driven over
the parts of the river that froze during the winter. It is rusty brown and
camouflaged with its surroundings. I tried to climb inside of it once, but found
myself with rusty-orange hands.


The only food comes from the grocery store traveled to by boat, which can
sometimes be hard to get to. Once you actually get to the mainland, you have to
walk to the grocery store. The only water comes from an old-fashioned hand pump
like the ones farmers use. All of the families from the island drive their boats
to get to it, and fill up their empty jugs with water. They always smile and say
"hello" or something of that nature. Everyone is so friendly.


If a person has the mind, they could drink straight from the river. The water
is so crystal clear and sparkling. You can see to the very bottom in most spots
around the island. I can even see the rock that I have sliced my ankle on
numerous times. I can also see the barnacles that make their home on the side of
the dock. Everyone always tells me to watch out for those because they could
hurt my ankles. That always scared me for the longest time. The water is like a
whole other world that I sometimes wish that I could be a part of.


It is usually windy on the Isle. You can tell when the pinwheel spins outside
the door of the island’s library. The library is only one room large and it
overlooks the water. They sell candy there too for the young children. I used to
fill my pockets up with change and get there early, just so I could buy pockets
of candy. People are free to go in the library whenever they want. There is a
great deal of trust at Murray Isle.


Adjacent to the library is an ancient clay tennis court. People may play on it,
but they have to sweep the court when they are finished, in order to keep the
area clean. That can be a real pain, since the court is underneath a huge maple
tree. Leaves are usually the culprit for the dirtiness of the clay surface.
Generations of footprints have left their mark in the clay court. I love to put
my feet in some of the engraved feet. I feel like I am a part of that person,
whomever he or she may be.


I’ve done so many goofy things on the island. Its like a whole new freedom when
you get there. For instance, I don’t take showers. I simply lather up my body
with soap (with my bathing suit on of course), and shampoo my hair. Then I count
to three, and jump off the dock. That’s how people clean themselves at Murray
Isle, if the water is not too cold. I also love to be able to walk into
neighbors’ homes, just to say hello. I know in a normal neighborhood, you would
not be able to do that. For example, there’s this lady that lets anyone who
wants to go in her house and borrow movies to go right ahead. I’ve taken a
couple, but I always return them. She’s really sweet. Just this past summer, she
poured her husband’s ashes into the River. I witnessed it, and became very sad.
There’s a very close bond on Murray Isle.


I love being able to walk into the homes of fellow neighbors without feeling
bad or wrong. I love feeling the wind dance on my face as I sit in an old wooden
chair on the dock. I love the beautiful water with all of its swaying currents
and intricate settings. I love the antique setting inside and outside of the
homes. I love waking to sun shining on my face at seven o’clock in the morning.
I wait every year just to lay on the dock and love these things.
I wait every year to love my Murray Isle.



 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Let me know how my writing affected you. 

Date:
01 May 2001
Time:
11:58:38
Remote User:
 

Comments

I really enjoyed these poems. The reader can feel the emotion you have put into these poems. I think these are great. There is not much that I can recommend you do differently. Keep up the good work.

Remember Always


Date:
14 May 2001
Time:
12:08:24
Remote User:
 

Comments

nice. your writing is very good


Date:
14 May 2001
Time:
12:16:05
Remote User:
 

Comments

I really like your story. Its funny, sorta but it really gets inside the mind of a criminal. You cover every part of the story. Good job!

rememberalways


Date:
31 May 2001
Time:
12:28:13
Remote User:
 

Comments

Hey pinga! I like your poem "Here" it shows a lot of emotion and feeling. Keep up the good work!


Date:
05 Jun 2001
Time:
12:45:08
Remote User:
 

Comments

Fallen, a draft of PE 2, in which you were trying to show the changing of seasons, was very well written. You succeeded in describing the seasons and how they change. I felt a little confused when I read the line, "There's the feeling I get in my stomach". I'm not really sure what the feeling is or where it is coming from. Is it the dirty shinguards or the blood dripping down the nose of the football player? In another draft of this poem, I would suggest that you make the transition throughout the whole poem instead of just showing it throughout the stanzas. In other words, start talking about fall in the first three or so stanzas, then start describing winter in the last few stanzas. I rate this using a scale of one to three, and this earns a 2.

Earthly Profile, a draft of PE 1, in which you used words from a random source, came out very well. You succeeded in formulating a picture inside the readers mind. I was a little confused when I read, "Navy night crowns sky". I'm not really sure what image you are trying to create or even what you are speaking of. The meaning is lost to me. In another draft of this piece I might add one word that will allow for the reader to understand what you are speaking of. I rate this a 2 also.

Your evaluator, Shelly


Date:
05 Jun 2001
Time:
13:56:41
Remote User:
 

Comments

Crazy is a draft of PE6 in wich you tried to get inside thid head of the criminally inclined. You succeeded in getting inside your character's head; the obvious nonchelant with which she commits crimes helps you get a feel for her mental state and lack of properly develpoed morals. I was a little confused by the "Nurse, get my medication!", I suppose it's to imply that she plead insanity to get free drugs, but that's simply conjecture. In another draft I think you should work on improving the details of each of the criminal incidents she relays. They are well thought out, but need more length. My rating scale is Poor, Ok, Good, and Great. This piece earns a Good.

Here is a draft of PE4, in which you tried to write in an italian pentameter form called a vilanelle. You created an exellent villanelle rhyme scheme, and were pretty successfull in getting ten sylables per line; however, it appears that line eleven has eleven sylables. While the meaning of "with the most cheer" is pretty easy to figure out, it's departure from standard grammar flows rather poorly and inserts a jarring break into the flow of the poem. In another draft I think you should try to shorten line eleven and attempt to make line nine flow better. This peice earns a Good also.

Your Evaluator: Levi


Date:
07 Jun 2001
Time:
12:39:45
Remote User:
 

Comments

emily, Your first piece FALLENis a draft of your list poem, in which you tried to write a poem that had lists of words in it. You have succeeded in doing this, your poem describes Fall so beautifully, and truely.(I'll finish more)- your evaluator, aly


Date:
12 Jun 2001
Time:
02:30:25
Remote User:
 

Comments

...In FALLEN, I know exactally what you mean by all of it. I think you have succeeded in showing how wonderful fall is, and you have done it in an excellent listed poem. Ilike the description of dirty shinpads, and bloody football players, to me that is what fall is all about too ( I am a soccer player).

CRAZY is your "In a criminal Mind" paper. You have succeeded in taking the reader into the criminal mind, and have done it extremely creativly. If you were to do a redraft of this I would make it longer, I just love reading what you write. I like the way you ended it with "nighty, night... I've gotta go bite my toenails", it gives your piece a great ending. My rating scale is a F for Fabulous, a A for Amazing, and a G for Good. I give your portfolio a F, you are a wonderful writer, never stop. your evaluator, aly


Date:
14 Jun 2001
Time:
18:17:57
Remote User:
 

Comments

Hi. Mr. McGonegal here. This is your portfolio evaluation. Do you remember what I use for an evaluation scale? An "AW" for AWARD WINNING, a "P" for PUBLISHABLE, or a "p" for PASSING. Your first piece:P . Your second piece:P . Your third piece: P. Your fourth piece:P . Your fifth piece: AW. Your sixth piece: P. Your seventh piece: p. Your eighth piece: AW. Overall, your portfolio represented some of the good work you did this quarter. Furthermore, your work showed an incredible ethic, and I also liked how you laughed at most of my jokes. It was a pleasure writing with you this quarter, and I hope you will keep writing and stop by trueteacher.com to see what your successors are writing for "found poems," "criminal mind" stories, and travelogues. Best, Mr. M.