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Write a 10 line (or more) poem about a natural disaster.

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Those who follow the crowd are often referred to as sheep and are given a negative rep. Is it always a negative thing to conform?

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No one ever fondly looks back on a blackout, but way less commonly, does one wake up, wrists blue and swollen, grotesquely bruised. Welted black and blue blistered wrists, the least of your problems surprisingly, you stretch but your feet hit some hollow, sounds wooden. You’re not very tall, quite average, and yet you can feel your legs already cramping, pulsating knots. Pitch black, or it is at least as far as you can tell, you can feel some kind of rough and stiff cloth tied around your face, covering your eyes.Pain in your wrists, your legs cramping, and splinters too, it feels like hundreds, your entire crate shakes, feels like a speed bump.

Even in all the pain you're in you recognize the hum of the engine on whatever vehicle you're in, it’s obvious it’s some kind of van, you can hear other people wails of pain and confusion, some are screaming, so there’d have to be a fair amount of space. Heading to a location unbeknownst to you, you assume the worst, your very own demise. Your mouth uncovered, you scream, you can tell your crate has been kicked by what feels like a heavy boot, the crate flips on the side and you shriek, the splinters ripping open your flesh, some of them much larger than the others, you let out a wail of pain. Reaching to your side pinching yourself hoping to awaken to your own reflection in the mirror over your bed, in your shitty apartment, like it was all a tequila based terror. Waking up in a pool of your own piss and sweat a walk in the park in comparison. This terror however, you weren't waken from. All real, everything happening around you, especially the jagged splinters currently breaking through your skin, your shirt red as a rose, your situation not at all flowery.

You can scream, you can contort your body, you can struggle all you want, but you don’t, too afraid of what the punishment may be and instead everything goes black once again. Clean, sterile, your clothes no longer stained with blood, you wake up in a white room, all bandaged up. Red and blue jumpers, unsure of which suit means what, but you're in blue, and by the time you notice, the loudspeaker above your head comes on. The red suits are tased by the silver collars around their neck, you and the rest of the blue suits are spared.

“Is it better to conform?--”

says the loudspeaker. Pencils and paper are dropped from a tile in the 20ft high ceiling, what do you answer? What answer would spare you a potential shock?

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If I was given the power to make changes at this school, the first thing I would do is..

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St. Agnes of Rome reformatory prep school & and orphanage for disadvantaged children, AKA home of hard beds, hard, lumpy, bunk beds, which were especially sucky when the weather was feeling temperate. These beds are a staple for St. Ag, in rows, en masse, lined along the walls, seeming to reach no end in a similar fashion to prison (because why not). St. Ag having a reputation for this kind of thing, hard beds, 🤬 food, and the clouds.

The clouds at the Ag hang low and dreary, gray with melancholy. Barely hanging in the sky, and ominously surveying the grounds, stretched darker and thinner than in comparison to the rest of town somehow. The running joke around town being about how angry the sky was for the construction of St Ag, or also known as the center of suffering. More specifically the sky sitting upon high was angry in response to the erection of both infamous and massive, black in color, barbed fence, reaching up high and stabbing into the sky’s chest.

St Ag, a (forced) home to the dysfunctional children of Minnesota, more popularly known for its lakes and forests, and less so for what goes on inside the walls of the school. Dysfunctional referring to the state’s orphans, those fresh out of juvie (as a form of a ‘group home’) and kids with mental illness. The whole school ran like a psych ward for this reason, the phrase ‘reformatory’ in its title the understatement of the year. This being the reason why its residents prefer calling it the ‘brain-washery, there was a reason the nuns had security within 3ft almost everywhere they went..

A group of misfits indeed, which is why at St Ag it wasn’t too hard to find fun, chaos, and more popularly, drugs. Usually in an array of colors, and stolen from the pharmacy, occasionally sold from the kids with prescriptions. A handful of random pills was known as the St Ag specialty, if you were lucky you wouldn’t accidentally swallow a suppository, My usual supplier going by Smithy, a skinny kid with wiry glasses, and jet black hair standing no more than 5’8, my usual partner in crime– our goal was simple, surviving the Ag.

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Describe this scene without using the word snow.

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Falling from the sky! Outside, I want to go outside! Where is my owner, has she seen? It’s like rain, but not rain..what it could be, I have not the slightest clue. All four legs down the stairs, from the window where I had first caught a glimpse, fast as I could muster, almost knocking owner over, she swings back the door and it thuds, BOOM—!

Cold! So cold! Submerged and surrounded, shivering, and shaking everything all white. From small flurries to a mound, compact and firm, too difficult to even partake in my usual strut. Penetrating my shiny coat and getting me soaked, I’ve got to get out of this stuff. No longer sunny, warm and green, more like tundra of frozen. Foreign to my own territory, I snarl.

Who decided this should be the stuff that comes out of the sky, they chose poorly BARK—my owner will fix this.Familiar arms around my stomach scooping me out of the snow, something like a scene out of a movie about a forklift, I’d be embarrassed, had I not been assaulted. Trapped underneath my paws, making water seep out, little particles of the stuff still stuck on me. Getting all over the floor, falling off of me in clumps, and even smaller bits of it tracking on the hardwood.

Where is a dog to pee under these conditions, powdery and unforgiving, making no space for even me, it reminds me something of the cat’s litter. Owner girl, seeming to not be much of a fan either, the stuff all enveloping her big metal box that she keeps outside. Back to the window, I survey what used to be, the greenery gone, no park, no walk, the TV only repeating ‘blizzard, blizzard, blizzard’ all morning. I watch as my owner girl sulks, not entirely sure why, the reason for her sorrow, but sorrowful indeed, I sulk beside her. Eventually, the TV goes off, and so does everything else, not to mention all at once, a ‘SIIGHHH’ escaping from owner, blankets and candles come out, and she lies down, I lie with her, maybe the stuff out there ain’t so bad after all.

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Often we associate feelings with colors. Red for angry, blue for sad, yellow for happy. Choose 5 colors that you think invoke the most feeling. For each color, write a 10 line free verse poem about time when you feel like that color.

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Olive green

Green usually associated with envy

However this specific shade rich in color

One could argue this color having sort of decadence to it

Silken and creamy, like a delicacy,

A gourmet pudding, topped with berries and fruit, those in likes quality wise gourmand

A hearty green of this sort represents wealth, almost a siren song to a potential sea of cash which one may

be swallowed

Green the color of money, no matter how rumpled or torn, all representing the same

Green the color of many things in nature

I think that speaks some kind of psychological response into humans

Pink

My favorite color, tender and sweet

Preferably a pale shade

Feminine and infinite, beautiful to look  like a gift to look at

No superior aesthetic in comparison

Shimmering and glinting, shine, shine, shine

Conformity

There was once a time in society has wanted women (particularly girls) to feel this way about the color–

I however finding a certain charm and feminine energy to it

The color I’d imagine self care to be

The color of a joyful innocence, not to be mistaken for immaturity however

White

A hybrid

Classy, without question

Elegance

Wealth

Sophistication

A fine selection, similar to the color pink with a less effeminate quality

Sterile and clean, polished even, like a surgical room

Undeniably timeless, a blank slate, and a nuanced intricacy

Colors adjacent to sounds but I’d imagine white as the click, click, click, of a quality pair of heels on marble

The sound leaving the echo, through the halls of my mind

Purple

Another beautiful color, quite the contender of most popular in this category

A feeling related to it hard to pin down

The feeling likely positive

If I had to guess a time when I was feeling purple it would depend on the shade

A lighter shade of purple something like a disgustingly adorable puppy love

An artful color, interestingly darker shade of purple in Europe associated with death and mourning

I personally not quite understand the connection,of how purple could be associated with such a thing

The SLAM of a casket and the groaning of the earth being associated with purple lost on me

Lavender, lilac, lilly, all having to do with the shade, the smell of purple, likely to be inebriating

Neon (Any color)

Perhaps an unpopular opinion

But I don’t think anyone can appreciate neon colors

You could spend all day racking your brain to think of one great painting using these colors and you’d come

up short

Obnoxious and bright

Making for tacky decoration hanging a taxidermied animal probably better than considering painting a wall in

your home with it

Childish

Does anyone leave elementary school thinking that this would be their favorite anything?

The hue, to blame, in my opinion

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For this writing prompt, list 10 things that are highly underrated/overrated and explain why you think so.

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1) Oreos– They are nasty, flat out. I’m not a fanatic for anything too sweet, more sugar doesn’t necessarily/equate to a better taste. Not to mention the general public's strange desire to put them with literally everything, milkshakes, cakes, or anything baked really, any worst of all served with just nutella. Not to even mention the company themselves finding any possible thing to flavor them after, swedish fish oreos, who’s buying that? Eating a swedish fish oreo is just beating around the diabetes bush, you may as well just inject caramel directly into your bloodstream. (Golden and thin oreos excused but walking a thin line)

2) The state fair– This is most definitely controversial, the official verdict OVERRATED. I won’t deny it’s fun, it is without question a good time. However, it is the little things that make me regress, lines, no fast pass. The lines are so long and it’s cause the place is so packed, and since the place is packed the parking is a nightmare. Not to mention that when the state fair is around they choose to set up shop when it’s so cold that you can’t even feel your face on the rides. Hope you don’t like too many rides, otherwise you wake up somehow the next morning and discover that somehow in the blur of the night you spent well over 150 dollars. Perhaps only worth it to take the kiddo’s or photos.

3) Travel– While yes it is fun to get out there and see the world, I personally think it's a lot more preferable to doing it perhaps only 2-3 times a year. Have you ever gotten back from a trip with suitcase full of dirty clothes, mixed with clean ones, somehow you got sand in there, but you were no one near the beach, somewhere within the bag a bottle of lotion, ‘sploded open smearing making a greasy mess in your clothes and frankly just about everything else. I call it suitcase hell, to be living out of that, licking a prostitute armpit more favorable than dealing with a bag that I’ve had for a trip longer than a week.

4) Graduation– A necessary evil. Am I ready more than anyone to be done with highschool, abso-tively. My gripe with graduation, the time wasted. If perhaps ceremonies took less time I could dig it. However, sitting in a stadium and hearing every classmate's name you’ve ever had been called? No, and it’s gonna be a no, always. However, you mention that to a parent, and it’s like something detonates in their brain and they short circuit, you see smoke and wires coming out of their skulls, like something out of a 90’s movie.

5) Baby hairs– Again, mighty controversial of me, but I have no desire to slick ‘em now, nor will I later, and you cannot convince me I’m missing out on anything. We’re literally all going to die, at the hands of the click, click, click, marching hands on the clock, and if I’m going to fully embrace the concept of YOLO that includes getting some quality sleep in. I’m not waking, and washing, and slicking, the front perimeter of my scalp, because they surely do not last more than a day. I will however say ‘sticky bangs’ are a crime by white people. I say we ought to ‘Salem witch trial’ the lot of those who say otherwise, string em up and burn em in front of the town, the only drawback I could imagine is damage to the ozone cause of burning all that got2be.

6) Non gel polish– This might just be an obscure thing to put on the list. I just don’t understand why it exists. It feels like a waste of production. Gel polishes last, non gel doesn’t so instead of up charging me at the nail salon, why not just do away with it entirely?

7) Individual ketchup packets– I’m a ketchup enthusiast, I put it on everything almost. I love ketchup, so explain to me why sad and single packets are also not done away with. We clearly have the means of production for the big ones at Chickfila to be universal among restaurants. Why must we still live in the dark ages like our ancestors? First it’s ketchup, then it’s making me hunt for my nuggets with a spear and a rock. Perhaps I ought to just trade in my car and get me a flintstones car and bring it through the line at chickfila, since everyone wants to be ridiculous.

8) Sweet and spicy sriracha– This is the last one about sauce but someone has to say it. This sauce at chickfila, whole nother level, underrated, she does not get the credit she deserves. Roses, roses, roses, whichever person in charge of what sauce CFA has, I’m sending you some roses in the mail. My one grievance is that I cannot buy an 8 ounce bottle, why didn’t you put the best flavor in an 8 ounce bottle! I would eat fresh newborns if I could bathe ‘em in this stuff first.

9) Rain– Not the rain itself specifically, but when it starts raining and thundering right before bed, or while you're sleeping. I’m not 100% sure why it leads to sleep of the dead but it certainly puts me in a cinderella-esque hundred year sleep stint.

10) 2000s R&B– I won’t say underrated because they most certainly get their much deserved credit. I don’t think much is needed here to say, summarizable in one word, iconic. The men especially were killing it, t-pain, lil wayne, omarion, kelly, chris brown, usher, the list goes on. I don’t want to call it the era of music, but essentially yes, within my lifetime at least. Imagine being around my age in the early 2000s and going to your first ever concert and seeing T-pain performing live in person, baby phat velour, low rise jeans, and y2k fashion, far as the eye can see. I’d sell my soul to go see a lil wayne concert back when he was in his prime.

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Waves lapping the shore back and forth quickly, seemingly in a rush, having a place to be

The waves kissing at the sand, leaving sandollar hickeys behind

Tourist town traveling to turquoise and tantalizing shores

Serene and insane

Gentle waves crash for now, but something sinister stirs, silence on the shore, something suspicious

Something churning in the air

Unknown to all, undetected on the charts

Tsunami.

Arrivinging to leave only wreckage in its tracks, like a runaway train the town in its totality in complete

desolation

Lives lost by the thousands, an impending tragedy

Poseidon having no mercy

No longer so sunny, the underwater beach town, now one with the sea, the scene graphic, an ecosystem

turned overturned and overwhelmed

Reclaiming the land for the sea, the water unlicensed in real estate but still partaking in new real estate

interest.

The crystal blue waters hoping to cash in passive income like everyone else

A gross and negligent miscalculation by scientists

Death by disaster of epic proportions, the once booming town now fallen still and silent, with the occasional

alleged scream released heard only by mad sailors and seagulls

The only peep to come from it in its aftermath is the sound of the waves serenely overlapping on

themselves, unphased by the destruction it’s caused

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For this writing prompt you are going to create a series of journal entries (minimum of 5) that are from the point of view of one of the characters from your short story you turned in for the Writing Project Round 1.

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1) It’s as though the odor is seeping through the walls. ‘Buy the home, let’s buy the home, it’s on a darling little piece of land isn’t it?’. Late at night I turn over in bed and awaken from my sleep. When I awaken from my sleep I turn to look at the malevolent woman, I no longer look at her and see love, unless of course love is supposed to appear shriveled and haggard. I look at her and I can only feel resentment, I can’t help but hold the wretched woman accountable.

2) The temperature is dropping, we’ve resorted to eating on the porch, all I can think of is how degrading. I’m starting to think my colleagues notice the smell lingering onto my clothes. I’ve mentioned it to Marabel and it only seems to have incited arguments. I guess I can’t say I’m surprised, the spoiled woman never holding down any kind of profession in her life, having everything handed to her. She has no idea what it’s like earning respect and having to uphold a certain reputation, especially amidst elites.

3) Tonight’s fight, worse than any other we’ve had yet. I’ve struck her, never have I struck a woman before, the feeling one I hope to never feel again, I regret my actions. Marabel no longer looks at me, not even a passing glance. I’ve also noticed the children and how they’ve begun to leave the room upon my arrival, seems like her doing. Speaking abysmally of me in front of our children, low, low for even her. Marabel knowing I give those children the world and without me she couldn’t scrape together enough coins to even feed them for three days. Marabel, biting at the hand feeding her, a clueless woman.

4) The stench has cleared, the tension in the air however has not, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. The children no longer calling me ‘dad’ but instead ‘father’ or Ashton. That was the tipping point, and the ship had really taken on a nosedive these days I spend more time in the office now than ever. I’ve overheard Marabel up late at night, on the patio while she lies, lazily draping herself in the moonlight. I know of her plans of serving me divorce papers. Far from the ungrateful womens most perceptive play, logic and reason never of course being in her wheelhouse.

5) I’ve moved out onto my houseboat, the rocky waters more stable than the conditions of the house. The children, ungrateful like their mother has chosen to stay with their mother. Spoiled brats, sure, stay with your mother in the house my money pays for, in the clothes I bought. Stay with her and continue going to that overpriced private school that dear old ‘Ashton’ also funds. I don’t get so much as a visit, the pair of twins just like their mother. With them gone at least I no longer have to hide the affair I’m in with my assistant, she now lives on the boat. She now receives the spoils I once gave Marabel, and unlike her, she appreciates all I do for her, quite the doll. Marabel and her children will have nothing if I see the aforementioned divorce papers grace my desk. Perhaps she takes the children and springs off to her parents home, she fails to realize that piece of estate also written into the pre-nup she failed to read, she will be ruined. Marabel left without even a pot to 🤬 in; if she chooses to make that mistake, the children likely to have more to their name in comparison.

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Write a free verse poem that is inspired by the picture above.

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The beach

Sunny, sandy, surfing tourist destination

Boardwalk, ice cream parlors aligned a mile, and shopping.

The BOOM BOOM BOOM of the boardwalk speakers, making the storefronts come alive.

Family vacations, and tourist money buying textbooks for local schools

Beach babes, and waves, a break from dull routine

A break that not all returns from, ballard baby beach boy among one of the first to go, gone

One wandering toddler swallowed by the waves

The waves tugging and pulling him around, yanking him to and fro as he struggles to resurface.

Waves of sheerly oil

Bp oil spill

Sharks drawn from the depths to the shore

Bloody beach nightmare

Some injured, some killed, the sun now a shiny menace watching the massacre

Babbling beach babes sitting in the water turned beach brunch,

Boardwalk business slow, no one eager to visit ballard beach anymore

There goes the tourist money, a moment for the record books, and a spotlight in the news

Devastation about to rain over the town, paranoia likely never to cease after countless injury, the beach soon to be abandoned, as local would likely rather step foot on a minefield

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Write the scene that occurred just before this picture was taken.
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What's her story? Is she lonely? Searching? At Peace?

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1590, the mushy sand squishing under John White’s thick leather artisan boots. Finally unboarding his ship after a hellish ride across the choppy and dangerous waters of the North Atlantic. The sand caking along his boots, and the salty scent of seawater in his beard. Hope and glee rising and falling in his chest as he trudged to where he had established his very own colony in what was present day North Carolina toward the outer banks. What was different? He had trekked, trekked some more, and eventually his trekk turned into a full sprint. No signs of life whatsoever, everything seemingly deserted, it was as if he had never made it there in the first place, his heart beating out of his chest and his face red as one thousand suns. The landscape not even appearing the same anymore, it was as if he was hundreds of miles inland from his initial territory

1588, tensions on high, food running low and paranoia through the roof not to mention the crops all facing an inexplicable blight. The town getting an early start on their own ‘Salem witch trials’. Croatoan, an apple shaped woman, becoming their first victim. Croatoan, a woman born with bipolar disorder long before ever discovered. Exiled away simply because of her irrational emotions that she couldn’t control and her shape as well, it was believed that her emotions caused her to eat more. Ahead of their time, getting a jump start on body shaming misogyny.. Upon her arrival to what was essentially a private beach, covered in vines, crawling with wildlife, leading to a body of water– God had spoken to her, his divine voice ringing violently in her ears, almost bursting her canals, as if the message more so struck into her.

Her purpose suddenly became very clear, to forewarn the very same townspeople trying to exile her. The clouds had rolled in and what were once clouds fluffy and sweet like cotton candy in the sky they no longer appeared so pleasant. The sky was now dark, thick clouds rolling in, appearing both gray and angry. The water no longer at peace, waves the size of mountains forming at a distance but quickly coming closer and closer to shore.

Alas, her feet gone from beneath her, as a means of making it difficult for her to return, they had stripped her of them. No squishy wet white sand beneath her toes, tickling her feet, no footprints, barely ankles. The sand blood red as the muddy clay her town was built on, again, the very same town she was supposed to save ironically, after they had just left her for dead. That very same town that carved her name into trees as soon as they got back so that even if she had made her way back, Croatoan would once again be exiled and perhaps missing a pair of hands this time. The woman, too weak to make the journey, and too spiteful to even try, she had made up her mind and Croatoan was stubborn like an ox. In two days time the whole town hundreds of feet below sea level, the residents of Roanoke more like fish chow.