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1 Poetry Portfolio Fall 2021 DECEMBER 5, 2021 BRADEN PATRICK SNIDER

2 Contents Introduction Why Poetry? .............................................................................................................. 3 Journals Static .................................................................................................................................................. 4 Static Pt. 2 ......................................................................................................................................... 5 Unpredictable Predictableness .................................................................................................... 6 Lost You in the Snow ...................................................................................................................... 7 Finding Peace .................................................................................................................................. 9 Time of Land .................................................................................................................................... 10

3 Growing up I have always loved writing. However, I have always preferred writing prose over poetry because I felt like it was less limiting on my expression. I did not see the point in rhyming or talking in absurd metaphor. Taking this class has changed my mind. Now, instead of writing a five to ten paged short story, I can write a few stanzas to express my thoughts. This being the third writing class I have taken at Cowley; I have already experienced prose writing and journal writing. When it comes to expression, journal writing is the friendliest to self-expression and overall venting, but poetry writing has been the first time I felt called to write as if I was showing it off. I think in the same way that an art student thinks about their paintings. You have the rough scratches that never see the light of day and rot in a notebook, being the journal entries. While the show pieces are the poetry that I have written. Although I compare myself to an artist, I do not mean a good one. I enjoy writing poetry but since I have only been doing it semi-seriously for a few months, I do not think they are the best, even if I do take pride in a few that I have written. My feelings about my work and the insecurity about my ability will probably get better as time goes on, but for right now this is just fun to me. Unlike in prose, I do not have too many poets that I would call an inspiration. The only few that come to mind would be Walt Whitman, T. S. Eliot, Alexander Pushkin, and Oscar Wilde. I think I take a few parts from all of them in my poetry. If you are reading this, I hope that you enjoy it.

4 Static Pt. I The noise it starts The meaningless screams, The crashing of metal on metal Constant buzzing engulfing me as a soluble in a warm bath, The sound, it wants in It’s been knocking and knocking and knocking and knocking, Pounding and scratching and knocking and slamming, The corruption of man, I let it in “Where have you came?” “I come from the distance, the unreachable place From where you cannot see, from where you cannot hear I come from there, and you believe me.” The sound is back The soft buzzing returning like the winterish hell, I hear it clear and close The ever present knocking and knocking and pounding and knocking, I would run but the sound is faster The buzzing is there before I, as it is within me always

5 Static Pt. II We float along, This endless void, The whiteness, Vapid in its unexpressive state, We are here, I turned and asked "You said you come from here, The place I cannot see, The place I cannot reach, Yet here I am, perceiving the nothingness, from which you were born." Then the buzzing began, That familiar, low rumble in the center of my head, The buzzing grew, Like quaking tremors, The expected knocking and pounding and slamming, I've become used to it, The persistent knocking and knocking and pounding and scratching, The screaming, the jolting, The clamoring of the damned, I am alone in the void, Yet it speaks to me, The being I let into my head, From where it hath come, Is where I hath returned. The milky white void has turned to black, The clothes I left with have turned to ash, My skin reduced to limestone, weathering quickly, Becoming one with the sands of time, The hourglass has cracked.

6 Unpredictable Predictableness Life is unpredictable, This I have come to know, The joy we felt that autumn day will never be felt again, Home after the ceremony, sitting by the fire, Tucking into books and then bed, we knew what was ours, We’d built our days on hard work and trust, Our nights, on milk and honey, We never shared too many hobbies, besides our mutual love for literature, Getting called from work that warm summers night, I felt like living a short story or poem, one we would have read together, Life is unpredictable in the most predictable ways, They say that there are only three things we can count on, I think they are right, So, I sit here, tonight alone, two rings on the book the priest gave to me, This thing that we shared, through death we will remain,

7 Lost You in the Snow Nothing changes but the day we run from Nobody knows that better than you, huh? Pushing away those that love you Embrace what you chose to run to People that don't know you Sources, they won't show who They take care of you when your past out Take you back to their “safe” house Tik Tock Your internal clock is knocking How you cope, how you trick your mind into blocking Standing in the shower, staring at the ceiling Water falling, dripping like rain Like the painkillers drops into your veins Woke up again with no friends Dreamed the dream of when you were, Number One. People loved and cared for you Took smack and now karma is due You had a lot to lose, it broke your shoulders Future put out like a cig in a coke Lugs full of the smoke your dream went up in

8 Tik Tock Your internal clock is knocking How you cope, trick mind into blocking Standing in the fire, staring at the smog Ashes falling, drifting like snow White like the powder on your nose You're killing yourself, no you're killing me. Your self-destruction, I've gotten caught up in. Do you remember when I asked you if you cared? Do you mind if I share? Well, I don't. You told me that night you'd change your ways Instead, you took a step back like "That's life" Nah man that's death You killing yourself is killing me Your time is up, you are making sure that you regress You do your best to speed up the process Tik Tock Your internal clock is knocking. How you cope, trick mind into blocking. Sitting in the dirt, staring at the ground. Sun is shining, but it's not like you'd know.

9 Finding Peace Let us be happy. Enjoy our nights, Savor our days. both the sun and moon provide light, Let us accept their gifts, Let us enjoy one another, Let us enjoy ourselves, Life, love, stress, and setbacks, Learn to embrace all four, As parts of who we are. Let us be wise in our years, Take what we are given. Willing to give grace, Without needing reciprocation. Willing to love, Without fear or hesitation. Are we stronger than our weakest member? Or are we all seeking to escape, To the same place? Let us enjoy the differences. Does summer have meaning if there is never winter?

10 Time of Land I have this reoccurring dream, vivid in desolation, The government is polluted, and so are the denizens, The smog and fire fuse as a fine fragrance, We are on too many drugs to know that’s wrong, The people we once loved are killed in the streets, The trees hang their heads, and the bodies rest against its trunk, We block out their wails with the TV on and the curtains drawn, There is no blood of the righteous left, we washed it away with oil and radiation, The rivers are oceans, the city is an island, Gunshots singing syncopated staccatos to the crumbling of buildings, I take my time walking down stretch of cracked asphalt, stepping over cracks and puddles, Avoiding the leers of the billboards and the broken smiles of the Mazdas who lie in ruin, I saw buildings crushing buildings, men fighting in the street, Mothers holding tight to babies sieved through the rubble, The skyline was beautiful, lit by far away fires to remind that we are not isolated, The metal beams from the broken buildings stand twisted reaching upwards, Like large antennae they seek stimuli, Or like the arms of the fallen reaching for a savior through the thick rust colored haze, The beams are no longer buildings, the towers are sleeping now,

11 I stopped walking, feeling unspeakably tired, Visions in my mind they appeared, serpent’s tongues of fire licked the tree line of unfamiliar waters, The waters are muddied with a thousand faceless people, deep into the abyss they are, The scene changed, I stood still on a path of shadows, and on this sea of blackness I persevered, And as I crossed the last segment I stood face to face with three great serpents, They slithered away into the blackness, revealing a man with no face, “We seek Truth, only that we seek, spending our lives in searching,” Covered in sores and lesions, Grown wearing from the broken promises and falsehoods, The man spoke, we’re lost on a foreign road with no stars to guide, The universe is dark around us as we watched the last constellation die, He then vanished and I continued, Stepping to the end was a message scratched deep into the wall and the message said, “He heard my cry, He also brought me up out of a horrible pit, Out of the miry clay,”