Random Story, Part I

The faerie slowly settled into the moss, her wings tender from the day’s activity. There had been an emergency in the far side of the kingdom and, of course, she was the only faerie in the whole realm that could fix it. The woodland nymphs had been useless. Nature spirits, yeah right, they hadn’t even been able to fix a simple mix up. A batch of flowers had bloomed inside-out with red and purple stems and green and brown petals. Of course the first reaction is to call the Queen of Spring. It’s not like she’s busy getting ready for springtime or anything. Oh, well. That was all over for the night. Daphne was just drifting off to the land of dreams when the acorn by the moss crackled. “What?” she growled.

“I’m sorry to bother you, your majesty, but Old Man Moon is requesting your presence,” responded the soft voice of the elf, Brock, the queen’s assistant.

Sighing, the queen got up. Old Man Moon didn’t like visiting in the day time hours and was ancient enough that Daphne couldn’t ask him to come in the morning.“All right, tell him I’ll be down in a minute.”

Daphne put on a fresh flower blossom gown, organized the butterflies resting on her arms and floated down to the reception room. “Good evening, Sir Moon. It’s an honor to see you again.”

“The honor is all mine Daffy,” replied the ancient figure. “I am sorry to have to disturb you at this late hour.”

“Sir, the name is Daphne, as I have told you several times already,” said the queen though gritted teeth. The old man was a bit off his rocker.

“Precisely what I said. Daffy.”

Brock, who was sitting in the corner, was trying to suppress a chuckle. The stoic elf rarely laughed, but he always seemed to find humor at the queen’s expense. She would have to talk to him later, but it was too late for arguing, and Moon was waiting.

“So, I assume this is not just a social visit?” Daphne asked.

“No unfortunately not. My son, Big Dipper is missing.”

Daphne was skeptical. Dipper was a restless soul. He was notorious for disappearing for days, weeks even, without any explanation. “How can you be sure he’s missing, Sir?”

“Well Daffy, I found this.” Moon held forward a scrap of paper. On it was a hastily scrawled note:

“I have gone to visit Jack Frost. If I have not returned by the first day of Snow Melt, something has gone terribly wrong. Go to Queen Daphne immediately, she will know what to do.

Sincerely,

Big Dipper”

“Oh no,” sighed Daphne. “I told him not to.”

“So you know what’s going on?”

“Yes Sir.” Daphne proceeded to explain how Dipper had come to her with a complaint about Jack Frost. Frost had stolen one of Dipper’s stars. Daphne had told him to go to the Queen of Winter, Justine. Justine was the ruler with jurisdiction over Frost. He had refused and went to confront Frost himself. That was two weeks ago.

“I see,” replied Moon after listening. “I must go after him.”

“With all due respect Sir, I think I must be the one to go.” This from Brock in the corner. “Her majesty should not go, but will insist and I should be the one to accompany and protect her.”

Daphne hid a smile. Brock had read her thoughts exactly, as usual. She was feeling guilty for not forcing Dipper to stay away from Frost and felt it her duty to straighten out this mess. “You may come with us if you like Sir Moon,” added Daphne. “The journey may be dangerous. If Dipper is being held against his will, there will be danger for all those looking to rescue him. Whatever you decide, we will leave tomorrow morning. If you want to travel with us, you will have to travel by day and sleep by night.”

Moon seemed relieved. “I trust you to bring my son back. I don’t think I should go. I would only slow you down. Besides, I will be able to track your progress from the sky.”

“As you wish, Sir,” said Daphne. “Now, if you will excuse me, I need to get to bed.” Back in the moss, Daphne folded her wings, exhausted. She abandoned the land of dreams for the seas of deep, uninterrupted sleep.

Tone Piece

It was late and the store was almost empty. The last of the customers were trickling through the check out line. The cashier was tired. She was almost done with her 5 hour shift. 20 more minutes and she could do her homework and finally sleep. The end of the line was approaching. The last person was a boy, about her age. Maybe a couple years older. He had big, warm eyes and a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. When his turn came, the smile won and she saw that the it was a wonderful smile, the kind that makes girls melt. She took his money and began counting the bills. There was a sudden felling of apprehension. Something was wrong. The bills were clever copies of fives. Well worn but the face was all wrong. In place of the president was a picture of the boy. Confused, the girl looked up. The boy had pulled out a gun. The smile remained on his face but all the warmth was gone from the eyes. They were cold obsidian. "Let's make this quick," he said. "It's getting rather late."

Disillusionment at Ten O'Clock -- Poetry Response #13

This poem is confusing and nonsensical at first glance. It might be talking about conformity. It talks about the color of night gowns at the beginning, saying that they are all uniform and none of them are weird. Stevens was of upper class, and married a woman that his parents considered of a lower class. She worked as a saleswoman, milliner and stenographer. This was not normal for an upper class woman in the early 1900's. Even though he was an educated man, Stevens felt that poets should "avoid intelligence" and write something from the imagination. This poem is very much about imagination, or the lack there of, in society. This poem is a comment on the fact that many people are unimaginative and boring. This idea comes off as negative. Stevens says that a drunk that is asleep in his boots has a much better imagination than normal people. Stevens is saying that being imaginative is more important than being accepted in high society.

Thanksgiving Poem

Thanksgiving is about family and friends and giving thanks
and about being a little bit sloppy.
We stuff our faces
with green bean casserole and cranberry sauce,
with delicious rolls and stuffing,
with pumpkin pie an ice cream,
and, of course, with turkey.
But we must remember the thanks,
we must remember family and friends,
and, above all, we must remember the giving.
To give thanks for family,
to give patients with family,
to give time to be with family.
So this Thanksgiving,
visit your parents, your grandparents, your family,
and sit, and eat, and give.

The Possibility -- Poetry Response #12

"The Possibility," by James Fenton sounds depressing. It made me think of someone with a writer's block of sorts; Fenton can't seem to do anything that he should be able to. When Fenton talks about the flower that was beautiful yesterday, he is referring the worth in life. He can't see the beauty and worth that he could see before. Throughout the poem, Fenton talks about what used to be. I get the feeling that Fenton feels stuck; he knows that he should be able to see the good in his work, that he should be able to see the beauty, but he can't. I think the possibility that Fenton refers to is a dream. When a person starts out, there is always the possibility of making a difference in the world or becoming famous, but after a while, a person can become depressed and discouraged. I think the possibility of doing something good seems to be fading for Fenton, which is why nothing seems beautiful or worthwhile anymore.

A Work of Artifice -- Poetry Response #11

"A Work of Artifice" by Margret Piercy is a very interesting piece. It is feminist. It is set in Chinese imagery; the bonsai tree, the bound feet. The bonsai tree is used to represent a woman. The gardener is society. Society dictates that a girl fit a certain mold. The mold is small and refined, delicate and gentle. This is image is almost universal. It seems like men would rather watch women than listen to them. I think that this has been changing though. Women are becoming more equal to men, and in some ways are considered superior. For example, a woman in engineering is automatically seen as smart and strong. It is assumed that this is needed to make it in engineering. Piercy's poem is a little outdated, but nonetheless, a comment on society and women.

Acquainted with the Night -- Poetry Response #10

I loved "Acquainted with the Night" by Robert Frost. It is dark and gloomy. When I picture this poem, I see is as a impressionistic painting of a person with his hands in his pockets and his head bowed, dragging his feet along a barely lit street. I think Frost was describing isolation. I know that when I feel alone, I feel as if  I could leave and no one would even notice my absence. Frost uses the background of London because London can be perceived as a dark and dangerous place. We know that Frost is talking about London because he refers to the "luminary clock" which is Big Ben. London can also be seen as full of life. When I think about London, I usually think about busy streets and crowds in the day time. I think that Frost, by emphasizing the night, is talking about what's under the surface, emotionally. I think the fact that Frost is talking about isolation in London shows that he can be surrounded by people, but underneath it all, he still feels like it's fake, like he's isolated.