You have great skill and some talent
A master, of that you can bet
With words and great feelings you move
In my heart I can feel
The love and the zeal
You have for this wondrous art.
With all of my heart it is sung
From mountains and praries, for fun
The song of the poet,
For those who know it,
Is a thing of great moving power.
I wish I could say
I wish I could do
All the amazing things you do
But sad to say
I have yet to learn
Everything from you.
A springbok, and a stream,
In a melancholy dream
Remind me what you did to me.
My heart, torn at the seams.
Not wanting to stay
Not wanting to speak.
But wanting to be
Link the springbok at the stream
On that sunless day.
Literary & Arts Magazine
10/19/08
· AGENDA:
o Computer Lab:
I’m going to show you how we are currently getting submissions published on the website
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Ed will be demonstrating how to use our new program.
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If you haven’t started one, you are not required to start one. However, if you have started one, please finish it today so we can schedule a date for us to all wear it on the same day.
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Not Just a Game!
Our country is in dire need of a change, a new and exciting way to turn our nation around. There is only one way that we will be victorious in this pursuit. We need game; a fun and exciting adventure that can excite people and help us reach a brighter future. This game must be treated with the highest regard and respect. This competition has the power to turn our struggling economy around, help our nation reach victory in all of our wars and conflicts and create peace around the globe. The name of this splendid sport is “Cornhole”.
Many people may not have heard of Cornhole, I hadn’t until I was an intern for a political campaign this past summer. It turns out that Cornhole originates from the hills of Kentucky; the object of the game is to toss small sacks of corn into a hole on a timber board. “Cornhole is the fastest growing sport in the political campaign world” says Michael D. Whitton the President and founding member of The American Cornhole Association. The ACA is the largest organized Cornhole association in the United States. This action crammed sport combines physical toughness, style, endurance, great physical conditioning and accuracy. “I have had to practice my technique and throwing motion for years to get to the level of play that I am at now” says Ethan “Deadly Toss” Smith a field organizer for the Darcy Reichert campaign for congress.
The American Cornhole Association has seen its membership exceed 25,000 this past year. With all of the money raised from Cornhole tournaments, our government will be able to use to turn our huge deficit into a surplus in a matter of weeks, because this game of fierce action is only going to become more popular and sweep the nation and start generating mass quantities of capital.
Whitton articulated that “Our membership is truly worldwide. Our brothers and sisters in the military are in the forefront of spreading the game wherever they go. Our association has had contact with members of every branch of the armed services. Your support has allowed us to send Hats and Shirts to many of the tournaments they have had”. To follow in the footsteps of this great advocate of the Cornhole, I propose that we as American’s make sure that every soldier in the United States military has their own set of Cornhole bags and planks, so they can experience this great fun, anywhere they might be. Suddenly, soldiers will be asking for Cornhole accessories in their care packages from their families, instead if the usual box of candy, letters, magazines and soap.
It would not surprise me that in the middle of an intense battle with insurgents, American soldiers in Iraq or Afghanistan would be inclined to retreat and play a game of Cornhole. A poll that recently came out in Time Magazine showed that sixty-five percent of the soldiers polled would rather, go and play Cornhole, where the action is fiercer, rather then overtake rebels and capture terrorist.
Jerry “Boomie” Vesper, one of the best players out of Cincinnati since “Big Toss” Bob Benson, declared that “Cornhole is big over here because so many different people can play, and men and women can compete against each other equally”. Cornhole has the possibility to break down sexual discrimination, because males and females have the same opportunity; it is truly the only equal sport played on an equivalent playing field. Everyone has an equal shot, to be the best at this historic game of cornhole. With its rich tradition it will surely be the top sport in the United States soon.
Cornhole has been used to raise money for those in need. In 2001 Rachel Pinson of Cincinnati, Ohio was diagnosed with cancer, not having a way to pay for her medical treatment, family and friends decided to host a Cornhole tournament to raise money. The tournament raised enough money to cover Rachel’s medical expensive.
We need to use this sport to break down the obstacles in our society; it is a social, fun and competitive game that only brings out the best in people. There is even news that with this national and soon to be worldwide passion for Cornhole that the small sacks used in Cornhole will actually replace the stars on the American flag. Our nation will eventually be renamed as The United States of “Cornhole” America.
Works Cited
Russell, Shannon. “World’s best-kept secret, West Side’s game: Cornhole.” Www.cincinnati.com. 14 July 2002. Cincinnati Enquirer. 27 Sept. 2008 <http://www.enquirer.com/editions/2002/07/14/spt_worlds_best-kept.html>.
Smith, Ethan P. “Interview on “Cornhole”" Personal interview. 21 Aug. 2008.
Vance, Karen. “Some good news, Cornhole fund-raiser to aid family.” Www.cincinnati.com. 21 June 2003. Cincinnati Enquirer. 27 Sept. 2008 <http://www.enquirer.com/editions/2003/07/21/loc_wwwcolhoward21.html>.
Whitton, Michael D. “Message from our President and Founder.” Playcornhole.org. 1 June 2003. American Cornhole Association. 27 Sept. 2008 <http://www.playcornhole.org/president.shtml>
A little birdie, in her flight to the north,
slipped beneath my door and left a fair warning:
“The fire is soon to die; he lost his light in the storm.”
She shook the black ash from her wings and took off into the wind.
Powerless now, I can only give you my words…
Listen to me, my singing flame—
did you know that you were my disaster?
For your passion puts to shame anything I can ever paint.
A god? No…
The gods know not the sting of their own arrogance;
Your modesty binds you to this earth…
But an artist… yes, an artist, you are
an almighty roman fortress, a blossom in a cherry tree,
that cloudy shape in the dull summer sky that spoke to me,
and you were my singing flame whose kind verses kindled a blaze.
Do you remember me? I was your shadow as you crawled through the desert…
I could see your black velvet halo—
those ancient vultures circling above your head.
(I heard them, love… I heard them—
and they’ll talk shit,
and they’ll talk with a temper,
they’ll eat you, dead or alive,
if you let them bother.)
But oh, my dying artist,
when their dreadful screeches are all you hear: I’ll be your mockingbird.
(Because a shadow needs her casting flame
and even gods, in time, yearn for an oasis’s cool embrace.)
Beautiful, I love what you do—
so do what you do,
and let no one stop you.
title: “after countless nights alone with a telescope, i found a theory that may explain our falling out.”
the hypothesis:
we were not always like this, all swords and nothing.
map out our life on a timeline, and you would see something like tides.
i would never call it shallow, but certain
barriers
make a difference when discussing depths and distance.
materials and procedures:
“i’ve never had a boyfriend because the boys i loved only played with girls who live on mountain tops.”
“i love her and she loves me, but the key word here is ‘best friend’ and i’m not sure if we should keep weaving.”
step one, and the only:
mix.
the experiment:
pay attention now, you don’t want to miss this;
i dissected our conversations down to the blueprints.
the words we thought sounded like “i love you”
were the echoes of our lonely lives, stretched to compensate unrequited affection.
when we set our relationship out to sea,
we forgot a mathematician.
experimental error:
here is where chemistry lessons would have mattered more than calculations:
a few weeks on the ocean, we sailed without a clue of navigation.
we were no sailors, but the waves felt like a flower bed, but
s e p e r a t e
the molecules; dissolve and extract evidence . . .
. . . . . the conclusion:
salt water and sand
share atomic structures.
fear and love was only in our minds;
we let it shape ambiguity into fantasies.
scientifically speaking,
you and i
never left the shore.
it’s you! the dirty culprit,
the fire licking my bones,
the sunny eyes splashing smiles across
a tired soul.
you tied
a balloon around my heart, fashioned a bow, and exclaimed,
“ta-da! I AM here! and happiness! is YOURS!”
you grinned.
and i tripped over a hill of joy, headfirst into your happy valley,
where i came to find,
you already lived happily
with your wife.
i made haste;
i wound my arms like ribbons (,like shackles,) around your waist
and i tied a lie around my eyes: a blind, stupid knot
(around stolen property).
winding, winding, charmeuse highways around your body.
winding, winding,
i liked my work of art.
winding, winding,
until
i
made
a
leash.
hush hush.
your
sunshine
splashed no more.
hush… hush.
i crawled
back to my winter.
sweet,
come back to my forest, please
, and scorch my trees again.
i want your ember in my bones; again,
and, hear,
my heartbeat resound with
apology;
(hush, hush.)
i promise
to leave my ribbons in the fireplace
if you keep
weaving your sunsets
around my heart.
