Rebecca Moore

Joseph Cooper

CRWR 212

2/20/14

Dream Cycle

A friendly face flashes by

Smiles all around as greetings are made

It’s a carefree moment in time

Everyone is at peace

Daddy shows up

The brightness fades

Transitioning all too quickly

It’s dark and scary

Heart racing, body sweating

“Leave me alone”

Must keep running

Eyes open, interruption

A sigh of relief

The blanket’s cover is reassuring

Deep breaths as eyes close once more

A friendly face flashes by

Don’t sleep too long this time  

European Folktale Variant

Keisha Strickland

Mr. Cooper

CRWR 212-Y

2/20/2014

European Folktale Variant

Tonight authorities were called to a residence after reports of a fire came in from an anonymous source. Inside police found a young woman who was reported missing three months ago. She was discovered in a disheveled state, clutching a fire extinguisher tightly in her small hands, diligently guarding a library. When later searched they found red-tipped matches in her pockets. Her name has been released as Belle, which she says her father ironically named her. Her father is an eccentric man, a self-described hipster, and he has been posting notices everywhere online since his daughter went missing, but claims authorities did not take him seriously. 

Belle set the regal yet rustic estate she was being kept in on fire after she says her captor began to talk to the teapots. This, she claims, is what snapped her out of what she fears was stockholm syndrome, but she still refuses to leave the library her captor “allowed” her to enter a little over a month ago. 

Meanwhile the man who was holding her prisoner has been arrested and will be facing charges of kidnapping after undergoing a psychiatric evaluation at the local hospital. Residents in town were interviewed about the crime. One man going only by the name of Gaston said, “Well, I’m not surprised. She totally friendzoned me, and did you see how dresses?” 

He was also taken into custody shortly thereafter for conspiracy charges, and also for being a generally creepy person. Belle says she plans to repair the damages to the estate, and open it up to the community to use as a public library. More on this story as it develops. 

Hitched to a Star

Deyanira Bustos

Joseph Cooper

CRWR 212

02/20/14

Hitched to a Star

He was all I could see. He was all I wanted to see. He was amazingly splendid. He took my breath away every time I looked at him. He was magnificent in my eyes. But it was too good to be true. He was just like a star. Too far from my reach. Just there for me to admire his brilliance. I knew I could never have him. He was not meant to be kept. He was just meant to be watched from afar. I was hitched by him. I was Hitched to a Star. 

Between

Denise Bateman

Joseph Cooper

CRWR 212 Y

February 21, 2014

 

Between

With Timberlands laced and Camelbak hugging me from behind, my trek begins. Sheer determination shines through the bug spray and sunscreen suffocating my skin. Freedom from the nightmare rat race if only for a stolen afternoon. Mentally reminding myself to take my time. Patient, carefully planned steps. Keep my balance, center, focus. What’s that saying?  Life is a journey, not a destination, unless it’s for the corner office. Breathe in the mountain air as I follow the path past ancient trees with limbs as twisted and crooked as the hearts of the old men in the boardrooms. The trail is steep. Scramble over this obstacle, scramble over that one, scramble over the next. An endless myriad of obstacles as I try to reach a higher position. Always a struggle. The occasional fall. Bruised and scraped against rock hard rigidness – stings almost as bad as office politics. Get back up, keep going.  Corporate ladders left far behind me as I ascend the wooden ladders bolted to Grandfather’s side. Irony. Even nature is patriarchal. Fear of heights versus fear of pink slip – which is worse? Rhetorical question. What’s that saying? The higher you go, the harder you fall? Almost to the top, just a little farther to go. I’m tired and weary, but success at last. Summit reached. I sit on a rock, smug with my sense of accomplishment, and gaze out over the view. I’m caught somewhere between earth below and sky above. It’s breathtakingly beautiful. No glass ceiling here.

 

Between

Monique Ahmad
Joseph Cooper
Creative Writing
20 February 2014

Between

When he leaves, 

She just waits. 

Waiting for another one

To come and rescue her. 

The between time:

It's empty, alone

And,

Full of tears. 

She's spinning in a 

Whirlpool, but she

Doesn't know it. She 

Only knows of loneliness. 

She's lost in the water, 

All alone. 

Trying to exit the 

Whirlpool, she swims. 

She begs for it to end;

Pleading to nothingness, 

Asking for forgiveness

To sins she's never committed.

The whirlpool transforms

Into a cluttered room,

But all she can see is a bottle. 

The bottle is filled with pills.    

Looking at the bottle,

She knows 

Her problems can end.

Why You and I

Crystal Fulp

Cooper

CRWR 212Y

2/20/14

Why You and I

Why do you and I
Pass each other with barely a word?
Why do you and I
Use our words and swords?
Why do you and I
Pretend to love when all we do is hate?
Why do you and I
Struggle to make it work when it’s obviously too late?
Why do you and I
Hate when it’s so easy to love?
Why do you and I
Shove, shove, shove?
Why do you and I
Fight what should be easy?
Why do you and I
Ignore each other just because we’re busy?

All of these reasons

Is why you and I are uneasy.   

Author's Note: I don't know if this is prose or not, so please help me! I'm also sorry if it's a terrible attempt...

Exploring the Dark Content

Lexie Johnson
Cooper
CRWR212
20 February 2014

Exploring the Dark Content

The bee is exploring the essence of this prepossessing flower. Its tantalizing, glorious, irresistible and tempting. The petals are fleecy, satiny, and smooth. The bright pink stigma is feathery, velvety and warm. Pollination does not apply to this dark ravishing pure flower. It is different. It is lethal and will trap you like a spider in its web of silky delicacy. The bee did not know. The bee did not care that the flower was a deceitful toxin and went to caress the petals. All the way down to the stigma it got until the flower decided to work its mysterious magic but the caressing was pleasurable. Flower enjoyed it and pollination just sort of happened.

Free Radicals

Claire Smithers

Joseph Cooper

CRWR 212

2/20/14

Free Radicals

The skies were hazed over with burnt orange corners, like a fading photograph. It all looked like a photograph, unreal. We chanted, cheered, choked, chased. We chased for freedom. We fought, formed, felt, followed. A woman shoved into me, her elbow knocked into my collar bone, I fell to the ground. She had blood on her feet. When I looked up I saw the source of this blood, it was dripping from her nose. She was making her way to a blanket. Why did she need this blanket? She knelt down and drew the blanket back, a body laid barren in the battlefield. She wept. Did she know this blanket, or was it out of sympathy? The blanket was small, the body was small. She knew this blanket, she knew this body. I could tell by the way she propped the blanket up. We just wanted freedom. Now. This. How did it come to this?

The Gene for Music

Anna Boyer

Cooper

CRWR212

February 20, 2014

The Gene for Music

            The Tennessee sun beats down on the hot, sticky festival crowd. The air is hazy and dust makes swirls in the wake of footsteps. It is a humid June morning and many go without shirts. However, the music is keeping them there. The summer is made for music lovers. Tonight, a former Beatle takes the stage. Sir Paul McCartney, a true living legend. It is ten and a half hours until the show starts but the energy and anticipation felt by thousands who have lived and breathed the music is palpable. We scale the metal fence to join the line for the front pit, the stretch of land right in front of the stage. That is ultimate real estate. Other bands take the stage as the line to get into the front pit steadily grows throughout the day. People lounge in the field beyond the stage, sleeping and working on their sunburns. For now, the crowd is tame.

            As the afternoon progresses, the crowd becomes restless. They are excitable and full of adrenaline. The hot sun is setting in the sky and the air becomes cooler and refreshing. The last band clears the stage and everyone knows what time it is, even those without watches. Those who have waited all afternoon to get into the enviable front pit stand and stretch their limbs, preparing themselves for the marathon that is to come. As the gates are opened, the crowd surges forward. People run and push and shove, vying for the best possible position. From the fifth row back, the view is perfect: it is not so close as to hurt the neck but close enough to allow for the absorption of details and of memories.

The hour draws near and all of humanity seems to be vibrating. The crowd starts chanting and screaming at the tops of their lungs. As if summoned by the noise, their idol McCartney appears and the voices soar to a deafening roar. All of the eyes are starry and wide as if in disbelief that this man is not an imposter. The crowd never becomes tired; the final song and singing along to the immortal words has put them into a frenzy as stars fill the rural sky. The moment is over far too quickly. Still, though, the gene for music runs through their veins, tying strangers together and making them one, if only for a moment.

Bleeding Hearts

Kaitlin Dixon

Joseph Cooper

CRWR 212

2/20/2014

Bleeding Hearts

Neither now why, how or when. So suddenly something began. The first sparks led to a flicker flashing against the shadows. Slowly the flame grew along with romance and hope, leading to better days. Eventually, unfortunately, the shadows returned. With them came defeat. Two souls once bound to defeat darkness now face the fate of execution. Their love and friendship had grown and broken, becoming too much to be spoken. Leaves fall in their place as time ticks towards the end. Two together, two forever. None of the hurt meant anything. They had each other then and still even now. Two hands, two ends, two bleeding hearts.

That was it

Lexie Johnson
Cooper
crwr212
13 February 2014

"This is it Lexie, the last time you'll wear these shiny green cleats that hold so many soccer games, the last time you'll  step on the soccer field and it be your second home but most of all this is your last chance to give 110 percent and beat your rivals. Take a second and breath it in." Then the whistle blows and everything after that is all a blur. I remember running to every ball, kicking everything to the goal and scoring the first shot that set off my whole teams adrenaline. I shut down every ball I could on defense. Nothing was getting pass me today! This was our first time in my four years of playing soccer that we were winning against our rival team and it felt great. The time was ticking down and the whistle blew to signal the game was over. "That's it Lexie, this was your last game but the best game you've ever played and damn did it feel good!"

GOOD MORNING EVERYONE,

BE SURE YOUR CREATIVE POST APPEARS ON THE THURSDAY IT'S DUE OTHERWISE YOU RECEIVE 0/10.  

ALSO, STARTING NEXT WEEK, ALL COMMENTS MUST APPEAR BY TUESDAY MORNINGS AT 6 A.M. TO RECEIVE CREDIT.  I WILL NO LONGER GRADE COMMENTS AFTER THAT TIME.

MANY THANKS,

PROF. COOPER

Catfish

Claire Smithers

Joseph Cooper

CRWR 212

2/17/14

Catfish

     She never told us why until we were much, much, older. But I know why. I knew he cheated again. We stayed in a cabin in the woods. Well, it was more of a lodge. Everything was wooden. The buildings, the furniture, the art, the surroundings, the air, and the wooden deck on the side. There was a round pond with catfish in it, swimming ignorantly under the carefully placed lily pads. I was only 5 but I knew how to fish, of course I knew how to fish. I'm a Floridian, raised on a lake in a sleepy beach town. I rolled up the little ball of bread with my own spit and stuck it on the hook and dangled the makeshift fishing pole into the pond. The fish were used to eating soggy bread so of course it didn't take long to get a bite. When I showed my mom the catfish I caught that was wriggling on the end of the filament line making the wooden pole bounce, she gave me the smile she gives me when she's proud.

     She was always so proud of me for being so mature for my age. I had to be, I was the youngest of four. I don't remember why the oldest, my brother Steven, was never there. I was always trying to be one of them. She took my pole and handed it to an employee of the lodge, who apparently brought it to the cook and I ate it. My mom never explained this to me. She thought it would ruin my innocence, but I knew. I was smart. 

     While it was being cooked, my sister and I found a creek next to the lodge. It was so clear and cold, I had never seen outdoor water so crisp. Being from the swamps, outdoor water was brown, slimy, and smelled like rotting goose eggs. I waded into the water, squatted with my knees to my ears, leaned forward and drank the creek water. I remember I could feel the coldness hit the pit of my stomach. 

Rebecca Moore

Joseph Cooper

CRWR 212

2/13/14

Marigold

            It was after church on Easter Sunday in 2005. I was 11. One of the women in the congregation was telling me that her dog, a Brittany Spaniel, just had puppies. Oh how I wanted a puppy. Mom had been considering my request for a about a year on that day. I asked her again and though she didn’t say yes, she didn’t say no.

We followed the woman and her husband to their house out in the county. There they were, playing in the pen out back while their momma watched, exhausted. She was beautiful and her babies rambunctious as ever. They didn’t quite look exactly like her though. Turns out the Irish Setter next door wandered into the yard a few months back and that was that.

I ran up to the pen and knelt down, petting them through the fencing. The woman asked if I wanted to go inside and play with them. I looked up at Mom and when she smiled, I knew I was going home with a new best friend. When I went in the pen with Mom, suddenly the puppies were surrounding us! I was so scared that I’d step on one so I hardly moved. I picked up each and every puppy I could reach, loved it, and put it back down. It was so hard to choose! Looking around, I noticed that there was one puppy I hadn’t loved. She was so tiny, the runt, with curly red fur on top and white and red spots underneath. I picked her up, loved her, and put her back down, just as I had done with all the others.  Unlike all the others, she didn’t run back to play with her siblings. Instead, she started to climb up my leg, her little claws grabbing my tights. I picked her up again, holding her tiny body in my hands. I knew she was the one, not because I chose her, but because she chose me.

Mom, of course, had to have the final approval. When Mom held her, the little puppy crawled on her shoulder and nuzzled her neck wanting to be loved. Mom looked at me, smiled, and handed the puppy back to me. The woman whose dog had the puppies was thrilled. I thanked her and Mom and I left to go home. The whole car ride home the little puppy cuddled on my shoulder, blanketed by my hair. We spent that car ride trying to figure out a name for my new puppy. I looked at my puppy again, mesmerized by that curly red fur. It was the same red as a marigold, and since we had a habit of naming out pets after plants, that became her name. Marigold.