Friday, April 1, 2011

Opening Day

(This was a poem that was originally going to be a heaven or blessing poem. It didn't really fit into either so I wrote a different poem to replace this. So far this is the only poem I have written that rhymes, although a rhyme near the end I consider to be stretched. It's certainly no Tinker to Evers to Chance or Casey at the Bat, but I hope it is considered decent for a first time rhyme poem.)


Oh, look at the cold and snow melt away
Just in time for Opening Day.
For it marks a game that will last into fall
Where it will give way to another ball.

Will #5 continue to perform at his peak?
Perhaps he will beat the hitting streak.
Will teams be able to hit home runs?
Or will they have to rely on their number ones?

Will #30 continue to bring heat?
Or will he suddenly look very beat?
Perhaps things will go the right way
For a guy named Matt Holliday.

Opening Day gives most teams with hope.
But the Fates will tell all but one “Nope.”
Baseball can reduce men to tears,
Yet it signifies the best time of year.
 

Thursday, March 31, 2011

How to Spot a Douchebag


In a public place
Hear a juvenile joke.
Spot a guy
That has an audience.

At a stoplight
Spot a sports car.
See it speed off
To the next red light.

At a sporting event
See a guy screaming alone
And watch the beer vendors
As they continue to serve him.

When at a store
Hear a radio turned up.
See who did it
And notice the Bluetooth.

Read this poem
Notice the self-righteousness
Evident in it
And see who wrote it.

Boys State- Hell


Ring, ring, 7 A.M.
Hit the shower
Waddle to the lawn
Where boot camp takes place.

Time for calisthenics.
Do a pushup.
“Again!” Satan shouts eternally.
As you think unconscionable thoughts.

Never leave campus.
For if you do
The Egyptian Plagues
Will be unleashed.

Wander as you dare.
For expect to be interrogated
By one of the minions
On a power trip.


Oh, you up at 11 P.M.?
Want to read?
Well you can’t
For the lights must be off!

Meet your nice old advisor.
He surely must be Jesus
After he died on Earth
And descended into Hell.

Thursday, March 24, 2011

Pretzels

Holiday pretzels are abound
Shaped like Christmas trees
The maze starts at the bottom
Or maybe it starts at the top
Alternating paths
With some potholes in between
If you conquer the maze
There is no reward for you


The roads of Arlington
Are shaped as a pretzel
Twists and turns are abound
With some protrusions in between

13 Ways poem locations

Well, I'll admit, I didn't actually read the poems. I read about half of each. Mostly, I treated them as a scavenger hunt and a chance to escape the classroom. Somehow, it always feels more liberating to walk in an empty hallway when everyone else is having class.

Tuesday, March 22, 2011

13 Ways of Looking at an Elevator

13 Ways of Looking at an Elevator
By Dan Crisler

I
Among four possible floors
The only floor I need
Is floor number three.

II
It consisted of five stops
Like a train
For which there are five groups.

III
Doors closed at the push of a button.
It is a large annoyance to those
Left behind.

IV
The stairs and an escalator
Are one.
The stairs and an escalator and an elevator
Are one.

V
I know which to prefer
Efficiency of a motor
Or inefficiency of steps
Elevator churning
Or motoring.

VI
Steel filled the doorframe
With hardly a smidgen
The position graphic above
Increased, stopped, and decreased.
That button
It ever glows
Waiting to go off.

VII
O dear elevator of Beadle Hall
Why are you ever so slow?
Do you not know it is 10 o’ clock,
Which will detract
Two points from Slytherin?



VIII
I know of healthy exercise
And repetitive, burning steps
But I know, too,
The value of conserving energy
For my well-being.

IX
When the graphic read number three,
It prompted a sigh
From many bottom-dwellers.

X
At the sight of fluorescent
Bouncing off beige walls,
Even those most pessimistic
Would cry out in joy.

XI
He rode past the lower floors
In a steel box
Once, a force applied to him
In which he mistook
Being pulled down
When he was actually going up.

XII
That motor is running,
The elevator must be working.

XIII
It is a gloomy feeling
Going up
For it is admitting
That class
Is approaching.




Thursday, March 17, 2011

Limerick

There once was a beast whose name was Pat
He was known as a calico cat
He was chasing a ball
And made master fall
Now he is worn as a three-cornered hat

Tuesday, March 15, 2011

Selected Words poem (Home)


Nouns- coyotes, upgrades, city-slicker, home
Verbs- swamped, blurred, compete
Adverb- meticulously, quickly, brutally
Adjective- underground, eccentric, dramatic
Interjection- ka-bang!
Home
By Dan Crisler
Home
Where the coyotes live
Selfish, greedy, needy
Coyotes

But meticulous
When they spot upgrades
Be it clothes, food, or luxuries
Nothing goes unnoticed
Every man for himself

Quickly
They pounce
Tussle, scratch, brutalize
Each other
Compete
For best position
Brutal dramatics unfold

Ka-bang!
Goes the metal pot against a skull
One lies in a heap
The others
Swamp to where he once was

Another seizes an opportunity
Blurred past the others
And seized the ultimate prize
A ring
Belonging to an eccentric city-slicker

The others gave chase
But alas
It was not to be
For the chosen one fled
To the underground
Where no one can find him

This is
Home

Tuesday, March 1, 2011

Spring/Shoes/bubbles

Stomp, stomp, stomp
Go the feet with protective covering
Covering made by corporations.


Warm, sunshine, baseball
Winter recedes
Happy days abound
Bats go a crackin'
leaves a growin'





Little pieces of water floating in the air
Blowing away without a care.
Up it goes
Then it blows
Moods get low

Cats

Laying there, useless
Receptive to a hand stroking it.
It emits a low "purrrr."
When it's done, it bites
with razor sharp pointers.
Then it introduces talons
that hook.
Evil bastard.

Tuesday, February 22, 2011

Non-fiction criticism

My story was told to leave some detail out in order to let the reader interpret the scenes. I defended my original draft somewhat, perhaps in an ill-advised manner. I need to learn to be more receptive to criticism.

Thursday, February 17, 2011

Paper clips

Paper clips make fine tools. Not only do they clip paper, they can be used in a myriad of ways. On the early iMacs that my family owned, they crashed a lot. The off button never overrode the crash. Instead, there was a little hole on the side of the computer that restarted it. We used to take a paper clip, bend it so that one of the pointed ends would reach this switch, and this restarted the iMac. It was a pain, but this was the main use of paper clips for us.

I rarely used this silver tool for its intended purpose. Other than being a computer fixing tool, I only use it as a distraction when I'm bored. I see if the end of my finger can be squeezed under it. Often it can. Then I see how long it can cut off the blood flow before my finger becomes too numb for it to be a novelty anymore. I guess I am a masochist

Update: About 30-45 seconds

Thursday, February 10, 2011

200 word story


Confrontation
By Dan Crisler
            Tuesday morning, 8:50 A.M. Alarm rings.
            “Too early to get up,” I thought. “Have to anyway. Got class.”
            I trudge out of bed, grabbed shower accessories, and headed for the shower stalls. When I get there, I see my favorite shower in the back is open. There is only one other person among the other shower stalls.
            “Good,” I thought. “A nice, peaceful shower.”
            Not for long. A couple of minutes after I step in, three other guys walk in. One of them starts singing at the top of his lungs. Complete douchebag behavior. Normally, I’m not confrontational; but damn it, it’s 8:55 A.M., and I’m too annoyed to let this idly pass by.
            “Could you be quiet?” I asked in a somewhat forceful manner.
            “What?” responded the singing guy.
            “Could you be quiet?” I repeated. “Or at least sing at a lower volume.”
            “How about you stop yelling at me?” he retorted.
            At this point, I’m mad enough that my adrenaline starts flowing. With an even more annoyed tone, I responded, “Well, God, you’re being loud.”
            After this, he backed off. His friends didn’t really come to his defense. They continued talking somewhat loudly. At least they were not singing.
            “Whatever,” I thought. I had won.

Tuesday, February 8, 2011

Titles on Stuff I Don't Know

What's Inside an Automobile?
Fashion Trends
The Tastiness of Health Food
Engineering: Thought to Be Useful
Crunching Numbers (I don't know high level math)
The Inner Workings of a Clock

Friday, February 4, 2011

Short Fiction Story Rough Draft

For those who may be interested, this is the rough draft of my bank robber story that I posted on D2L a couple of days ago. It's slightly over four pages, meaning that was as much as I wrote then. I have completed the story, but I'll turn it in before I post that version if I do post it. I have fixed some stuff between this draft and the completed story. The premise is this: four white trash guys hate their lives, want to better their situation, and decide to rob a bank. Basically, what I'm aiming for in terms of audience opinion is for the reader to read it and find it enjoyable enough to finish. Once the reader finishes, he/she will hopefully think to themselves, "Huh, that didn't entirely suck," and go about their lives, free to forget about the story.

Without further ado, here is the rough draft:


John Harvin: Bankrobber
By Dan Crisler
            Nowadays, John Harvin spends his days in a federal penitentiary.  He was accused and convicted of murdering an innocent bystander in a bank robbery gone wrong.  Harvin was certainly guilty of this, of course, but he was not the sole perpetrator. It was supposed to be a bank robbery with little fuss.  Go in, scare a few people, take the money, and leave. No one was supposed to get hurt.  And no one was supposed to recognize them.  It didn’t turn out that way.
            Before John Harvin became a fugitive, he was a simple white man living an unremarkable life.  He was uneducated past the eighth grade, and he made relatively small wages working in a factory in Cairo, Illinois, a small, poor town at the junction of the Mississippi and the Ohio rivers.
John Harvin and his friends, Bubba, Chuck, and Bobby, were the definition of blue-collar.  They lived in cheap, one-story houses with junk covering their lawns.  They worked at a box factory and spent what little they had on booze at their favorite bar, Larry’s. Larry’s was a favorite among the lower class because it provided cheap booze and let their customers say anything with no condemnations.
Bubba was just like John, meaning he also completed the eighth grade, thought “I ain’t book smart, so why the hell am I wasting my time here?” and dropped out.  Such a decision doomed him to a future of unfulfilling work.
Chuck managed to complete high school, although he had to cheat to get through it.  He got a degree and went to tech school.  However, without having the connections to cheat to a degree, he dropped out and went back to Cairo. He spent the days holding on to his job at the box factory.
Bobby also was a high school dropout.  However, he did not drop out because of grades.  Rather, he brought a knife to school and pulled it on a guy who was hitting on Bobby’s girlfriend. Bobby was summoned to the principal, who gave him a choice. Either Bobby could drop out or face police action.  Knowing that he could not risk seeing the police again for the third time in four years, Bobby decided to drop out and join his friends at the factory.
Bobby was the violent one of the group.  During and after his school experience, he was always involved in crimes ranging from petty theft and vandalism to assault and battery. His last altercation was six months ago.
Back to the present, the four guys complained about how their lives turned out. They did this every week at the bar once they achieved their drunken haze brought upon by the whisky mixed with Coke.  Usually, they blamed society for failing them. In previous weeks for the past twenty years, it was harmless. Just poor guys blowing off steam, most folks figured.  Except for Bobby, whose friends usually contained.
This week, Bobby was even crazier than usual.  When the rest of the gang started to begin complaining once again, Bobby interjected, “I’m tired of us bitching every week about our problems.  Rather than continuing this, why don’t we do something about it?”
“Like what?” Bubba questioned.  “We ain’t smart enough to get out of this hole, so what choice do we have?”
“Get better jobs?” Chuck proposed.
“Ain’t smart enough to get better jobs,” John retorted.
“Well, what then?” Chuck replied.
“Guys, I have a better idea to make money than finding other jobs, but it involves doing something illegal,” said Bobby.
The rest of the gang felt uneasy about this.  Even though they may have been broke and bitter, they certainly weren’t criminals.  Other than Bobby, the most John, Chuck, and Bubba have done was be involved in a fight, and the police declared they were acting in self-defense. But they were broke and society certainly was not going to help them. In fact, society disdained them. So, after initial protest, they decided to hear Bobby out.
“What do you propose we do, start dealing meth?” John asked.
“Selling moonshine?” Chuck proposed.
“No, we’re going to rob a bank.” Bobby answered casually.
The guys were taken aback by this answer. A mix of “Whoa’s” and shocked gasps exited from their mouths.
John was the first to recover from this bombshell, “Okay Bobby, I know that you don’t always follow the rules <didn’t finish from here on in time before class last Tuesday>

Wednesday, February 2, 2011

New Yorker story responses


The Yellow
In “The Yellow, ” I felt sorry for Roy living with his parents. He doesn’t live with his parents because he wants to. He can’t find a job, despite looking for one. On top of that, his family treats him like crap. His grandmother essentially said what a disgrace he is and his father calls him a “faggot.” Considering what he puts up with, he is quite an honorable character.
I liked Roy when he not only told Susanne he hit the dog, but he offered to pay $250. This made him stand out. Most people would have driven off after hitting the dog. If they decided to stop and tell the family their dog was killed, they probably wouldn’t have offered to pay for it.
Other than zombie dog and the fact that sadness leads to sex between total strangers, I thought the story was believable. Roy painted a picture of the good-hearted man, while Susanne was realistically psychotic.

The Dungeon Master
I wasn’t a big fan of this story. For one thing, I did not like the fact that the antagonist is called The Dungeon Master. By going with this moniker, I want to beat him into calling himself a normal name. Also, as a guy who does not understand a thing about Dungeons and Dragons, the entire metaphor was lost on me.

Escape From Spiderhead
Jeff was lifelike in that he actually had a conscience. While it was stated that he did not love either Rachel or Heather, he did not want to give them any DrakenFloss. Some people would have caved in that situation and chosen a person. Jeff showed that his crime was an aberration and not a pattern of behavior. By choosing to end his life at the end, it was a way to make sure he did not have any more blood on his hands.

All in all, I would claim Escape From Spiderhead because it is a twisted story, yet there are sympathetic characters.

Thursday, January 27, 2011

Snippet of John Harvin

I'll most likely significantly change some stuff from this:


The Story of John Harvin
By Dan Crisler
            Nowadays, John Harvin spends his days in an rural jail. He was falsely accused and convicted of murderin’ a young street rat in a bank robbery gone wrong. What that street rat was doin’ near a bank was only known by the Lord. John Harvin happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. This don’t mean John Harvin was a good man, but he certainly wasn’t as evil as people made him out to be.
            Before John Harvin got all mixed up in this, he ran a barbershop. As a barber, John dealt with all sorts of characters. There were men and women, young and old, rich and poor.

Tuesday, January 25, 2011

Show, Don't Tell

1. She was a big woman.
a. She was comparable to the giraffes at the zoo.
b. She could be the subject of the Charles Brown song "Big Legged Woman."
c. If the Sun was just right, her shadow could fill the entire room.

2. It was a scary neighborhood.
a. The street corners were littered with prostitutes who looked like meth addicts.
b. Every time there was a group of unseemly characters, I would cross the street to avoid possible confrontation.

3. The wreck happened quickly.
a. In a flash, what had been a car was now a mangled wreck with bodies strewn inside.
b. Pieces of a car landed in a ditch, the median, and four lanes of traffic.

Wednesday, January 19, 2011

A&P musings


I thought that while the Sammy, the narrator, may have had his heart set in the right place by defending those girls in his own way, he made too much of a reactionary decision without thinking about the consequences down the road. While the treatment of the girls was too harsh, walking out and simultaneously quitting hurts the chances of employment in the future when it comes time to getting recommendations from past employers.
Also, the narrator seems to be easily influenced by people.  He leaves, and screws himself over in the process, all because of some hot babes in swimsuits. He has never interacted with these girls before, so he has nothing invested in them. But he feels the need to be a white knight and takes a stand by walking out. The narrator realizes it was not the best decision to make when he realizes the girls did not see any of his heroics. Now he’s left without a job and a girlfriend.



John Updike creates tension throughout this story besides the confrontation between the manager and the ladies plus Sammy. One part that illustrates this tension is when he describes the girl’s blush when Lengel confronts her, or “maybe it's just a brush of sunburn I was noticing for the first time, now that she was so close.” The “now she was so close” line demonstrates the tension of maybe being able to talk to this girl and perhaps be flirty.
Another part of finely crafted writing is when Sammy quits. Normally when we read about someone storming out, we don’t think too much about external circumstances such as the weather. We generally take it at face value when a character storms out. Updike points out that summer is ideal for this situation because it allows the character the character to make a dramatic exit rather than experiencing an awkward moment of finding and putting on his coat all the while with people watching.



The description of this story mostly revolves around how the girls look. He comments about the swimsuits. He also comments on their tan lines and his position in the third check out slot and they are over by the bread. Sammy also describes about how it is summer so he does not need to grab a coat when he storms out at the end, which makes everything more dramatic
The dialog is forceful yet barely confrontational between the manager Lengel and Queenie, the head girl. The dialog also deals with lust when Sammy and his coworker, Stokesie, check out the girls they can’t have, in Sammy’s case because he doesn’t talk to them. Stokesie can’t flirt with them because he is married. The narration is told from a first person view. We don’t find out the narrator’s name is Sammy until Lengel addresses Sammy.