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A photo that I took on a beautiful autumn morning, overlooking the city of Vancouver. 

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Swirls of fog and clouds delicately dance along the mountains, water, and buildings below. The city can be seen from a distance; the sun reflecting off of their panels. The hues of blue and tinges of yellow extend across the horizon, creating a dream-like effect. Trees of rich greens stand tall among rows of houses. Everything is quiet except for the occasional tweet of a bird or the sound of a car driving down my street. The smell of fresh air, the cold wind hitting against my face. The feeling of wanting to reach out my hand and touch the fluffy fog, but then being disappointed that it slips through my fingers. This particular photo feels poetic to me because when I view this image, I feel as if time stands still. That I am the only one above the clouds. It feels as if I'm living in a fantasy. Similarly when reading poetry, I feel like I'm transported to another world and when reading them, the real world's time stands still while I'm whisked into a dream.

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- i notice that I incorporate a lot of words relating to food and flowers
- lots of things related to my personal life
- observations on the world around me
- almost all words start with a consonant

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an art piece that I created for a 3D art class in high school

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Autumn, turns to winter, which turns to spring, and then to summer. The slow, gradual, and beautiful transformation throughout the seasons displayed between four abstract tree. Playful ornaments, foliage, artificial flowers, and frosted decor form into their own distinct spheres. Burlap and artificial leaves, and sand and rocks, are dispersed at the bases of the trees. The smell of plastic, artificial moss, and foam are present. Each tree has their own unique texture- smooth, sharp, soft. I find this specific art piece of mine to be poetic because it feels like it is telling a serene story. Each tree expresses a season in their own way, and I believe that when something is poetic, it does just that; it expresses itself in its own unique and particular way.

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A photo that I took on a beautiful autumn morning, overlooking the city of Vancouver. 

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Compressed Version

Swirls of fog dance,

while blues and yellows create a dream.

The cold wind hitting my face,

As time stands still.

Fog dance,
Blues and yellows dream.
Cold wind
stands still.

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A Poem That Moves Me: Remember by Joy Harjo

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A Poem That Moves Me: Remember by Joy Harjo

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Remember the sky that you were born under,
know each of the star's stories.
Remember the moon, know who she is.
Remember the sun's birth at dawn, that is the
strongest point of time. Remember sundown
and the giving away to night.
Remember your birth, how your mother struggled
to give you form and breath. You are evidence of
her life, and her mother's, and hers.
Remember your father. He is your life, also.
Remember the earth whose skin you are:
red earth, black earth, yellow earth, white earth
brown earth, we are earth.
Remember the plants, trees, animal life who all have their
tribes, their families, their histories, too. Talk to them,
listen to them. They are alive poems.
Remember the wind. Remember her voice. She knows the
origin of this universe.
Remember you are all people and all people
are you.
Remember you are this universe and this
universe is you.
Remember all is in motion, is growing, is you.
Remember language comes from this.
Remember the dance language is, that life is.
Remember.

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myself at an elementary school Christmas concert

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- I remember searching for my parents in the midst of a large crowd of parents
- rows of pews
- three major sections
- see my music teacher standing in the center
- stained glass pieces on the walls
- a balcony
- can hear the sound of parents singing a Christmas carol
- a piano
- smell of an old church
- my hands are at my side, feeling the texture of my dress
- annual memory that reoccurred from K-Gr.7
- so vivid in my mind
- core memory from my childhood
- lyric moment: that split second when I recognized my parents, and a sense of relief washed over me

Objects associated with my childhood:
- a sparkly peach headband that i used to wear all the time in elementary school
- a bunny plushie that wore a dress with my name embroidered onto it
- matching cupcake-patterned pajamas with my younger sister
- the fragrance of my mother's "Daisy" perfume
-  the smell of Freshslice cheese pizza
- a pink traditional Chinese New Year dress
- a brown and white rocking horse that sang
- a yellow plastic bunny container where my mother put her wedding rings
- a pink and green cupcake decorated collar for my puppy
- white plastic butterfly decor that was nailed to the walls of my room

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- smiling back at my grandpa's camera
- squinting because of the summer sun
- rows of blueberry bushes that extend as far as my eyes could see
- an abundance of green and little specks of blue
- brilliant blue sky with dispersed clouds
- can see my mother and other sister picking blueberries in the row beside me
- can smell the fresh pungent manure
- hear quiet conversations
- fake scarecrow that made very high pitched noises
- taste the juicy berries exploding from my mouth
- the dirt and twigs underneath my shoes
- can feel my sister's arm brushing along mine
- memory of tossing a blueberry in the air hoping that it would go into my friend's mouth
- lyrical moment: smiling back at the camera, holding my smile and position, as time stood still for a few seconds

Objects from recent years:
- my UBC stuffed bear that my mother bought for me at the bookstore during a highschool volleyball tournament
- my rose gold ring that I recieved as a gift on my 16th birthday from my mother
- yearbooks from high school
- a black Fitbit
- my invisalign retainers
- thick black rimmed glasses
- "A" and "Z" bookends
- a silver Dell laptop
- a dark green camo thick scarf from American Eagle
- a pastel blue softplay volleyball

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- found myself to be very attentive to the individual photos
- for the childhood image and objects, I really had to think hard as my memory was clouded
- was very meaningful as this process brought me back to a childhood and recent memory- both very warm and significant
- for the recent objects, I ended up looking around my desk and saw my two bookends and included them into my list
- my desk is not necessarily a very warm/thought provoking environment
- wish that there was a window to look outside- usually when I'm in nature or see the outside world my thoughts are clearer and I feel more "poetic"

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Poetic Things: Lanterns and lights at Brentwood

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Poetic Things: Lanterns and lights at Brentwood

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Poetic Things: My sisters and I playing Chinese checkers

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Poetic Things: My sisters and I playing Chinese checkers

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Poetic Things: Desserts at a Chinese New Year dinner

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Poetic Things: Desserts at a Chinese New Year dinner

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Poetic Things: My little sister enjoying her book

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Poetic Things: My little sister enjoying her book

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Poetic Things: Drinking matcha at a cafe in Mount Pleasant

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Poetic Things: Drinking matcha at a cafe in Mount Pleasant

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Sitting near a window in the Buchanan Building

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- loud and soft chatter around me
- myself eating my lunch
- shuffling of feet
- people getting up and sitting down near me
- opening and closing of doors

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- my breathing
- birds chirping
- faint ringing in my ears
- leaves rustling
- mostly all quiet
- stomach grumbling
- cars driving in a distance
- random creaks in the house
- can almost hear the wind
- my sister moving around downstairs

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- cold chill
- grey clouds hover in the sky
- buildings can be seen from a distance
- quiet shuffling of stranger's feet behind me
- ripples of the calm water
- ducks quaking and wading
- dog barking
- sky's reflection of the water
- fallen, crinkled leaves

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- new sounds kept emerging the longer I sat
- i felt more attentive and focused on being in the moment
- felt almost insignificant observing and realizing that my life is only one among so many others around me
- the most peaceful among the three for me was sitting in my room- this sort of comfort, familiarity, drowsiness
- the public space was still peaceful but not as comfortable, among strangers, inside a building
- pleasures: not having to focus on anything, just spending time with myself, having a short pause during a busy day
- difficulties: avoiding distractions

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Lily pads dot the clouded water.
The sun hides behind the clouded sky.
Baby pink flower buds start to bloom.
A pink and purple painting sits on my eisel.
The reflection of greenery ripples in the water.
A pounding pain hits the back of my head.
Hues of blues and violets dance together.
My mother sings in the kitchen.
A blurred scene; a beautiful scene
The snake plant extends its arms to me.
The water is so still and calm.
My sister stomps and sighs behind me.
The painting feels like a serene summer day.
I turn on the fireplace as I shiver in my cold house.

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1) What do you smell? What does the smell remind you of?
- sweet wildflowers and pollen
- spring

2) What do you hear? What does the sound remind you of? What colour would the sound be?
- a bird chirping in the distance
- carefree bliss
- yellow

3) Describe what you see around you. What is the smallest thing you see? What is the biggest? What textures, when close up, are revealed?
-  wildflowers, leaves
- smallest: leaf
- biggest: fountain
- water texture, rough leaves, smooth metal

4) What just happened? Did someone say something to another person or thing? Did someone just enter or leave the space? How?
- a little girl on a pink bicycle rode by and glanced at me as her mother chased after her

5) What did you dream about last night?
- that I was able to walk, to leap, to fly and explore the world beyond this small corner

6) What is beyond the frame? What is there that we can't see?
- perhaps a playground, more flowers, a trail, a mountain

7) What will happen next?
- a girl will pluck the prettiest flower beside me

8) Write a sentence about the weather. What does it feel like?
- a cool, spring day
- slightly chilly but the sun is peeking out
- faint mist in the background

9) Secretly, I have always wanted to be human

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The Mind of A Milkweed (a poem inspired by "Fountain and Milkweed")

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The Mind of A Milkweed (a poem inspired by "Fountain and Milkweed")

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I can smell my fragrant self, of sweet nectar and pollen. It reminds me of life. A bird chirps in the distance. The sound of carefree bliss. Yellow. I wonder if it will approach me. My friends stand beside me, their leaves stretching out to touch me. Lily, has the smallest leaves of all of us. Dew sits on us as the fountain explodes with murky blue. I feel mist touch my face. My rough leaves collect the dew. It also clings to the cool, smooth metal of the fence. Oh how I adore the cool, spring days. The feeling of a slight chill but the warm of the sun's rays also blanket me as the faint mist sprays me. Suddenly a little girl riding on a pink bicycle rides past us as her mother chases after her. Later, another girl comes near us and picks a friend beside me. I glance at them and say goodbye. I dreamt last night that I was a little girl. A little girl who could walk, could leap, could fly! Oh how nice it would be to have legs. Secretly, I have always wanted to be human. How nice would it be to explore the world beyond the playground, the grass, the trail up the mountain!

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- allowed me to come up with creative sentences by visually looking at something rather than conjuring up thoughts in my mind
- provided me with many thoughts without having to think too much
- provided me with a poem through my observations
- never did an experiment like this- quite enjoyable and made me attentive

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1)
- I think that the slow looking, and deep listening poetic attention made the most significant impact on my writing practice and skill development
- I really enjoy trying to be present in the moment, and these exercises allowed me to really focus on this aspect
- practicing these tools of slow-looking, and deep listening allowed me to appreciate my surroundings and notice things that I may not have noticed before
-definitely inspired me to write using these techniques and help me capture moments
- particularly in my slow-looking poem inspired by a photo of the view from my house, I was able to capture this quiet but serene moment into descriptive words, and tried to flow these words beautifully together using personification, metaphors, and senses
- example from my Week #1
"Swirls of fog dance,
while blues and yellows create a dream".

2)
- Before I took up the practices of slow looking and deep listening, I went about my day like any other day, not being aware of my surroundings and what was gifted in front of me
- now I am able to remember to slow down and take time to see the world in a new perspective; that everyday is a gift and things shouldn't be taken for granted
- that beautiful things are seen everywhere around me
- I start to appreciate my walks on campus to my classes, listening to the words of my music, looking up into the sky, observing the faces and clothing styles of other students bustling around me
- When spending time with friends or family, I enjoy every precious moment, and appreciate living in that moment
- when going on walks in nature, I make myself more attentive, taking slow breaths, slowing down my steps, glancing around at the trees, birds, and strangers around me

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1)
- In the world outside of myself, I am noticing that there is so much life out there than I realize
- I realize that I'm only a small piece of dust in comparison to the world around me
- so many millions of strangers have their own lives, friends, jobs, stresses, etc. and I don't even exist to them and vice versa
- I also notice how much beauty and happiness there is in the world as well, you just have to make the effort to discover them and that can drastically change someone's perspective of their lives
- to train my attention to continue to observe the world around me, I will encourage myself to not try to rush through my days, but try to appreciate each day as a blessing
- I saw this saying on the internet somewhere that really changed my whole perspective on life. It was basically about how we are always dying to move on with our life. Dying to make it to the weekend, dying to finish highschool. Dying to finish university. Dying to finish working. But then in the end, all we are left with is dying ourself and we wasted our whole lives dying to get through it when we could have lived through each moment, even in the mundane
- I will definitely remember this saying to help me heighten and orchestrate my attention more intentionally
- by also training my attention, this will allow me to remember key details in memories which I can remember to include for future poems

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Speed:
Traveling through the dark /I found a deer dead on the edge of the Wilson River road./It is usually best to roll them into the canyon: /that road is narrow; to swerve might make more dead./ By glow of the tail-light/ I stumbled back of the car and /stood by the heap,/ a doe,/ a recent killing; /she had stiffened already,/ almost cold. I dragged her off;/ she was large in the belly. My fingers touching her side/ brought me the reason—her side was warm; /her fawn /lay there waiting, /alive, /still,/ never to be born. Beside that mountain road/ I hesitated. /The car aimed ahead/ its lowered parking lights; /under the hood purred the steady engine./ I stood in the glare/ of the warm exhaust turning red; /around our group/ I could hear the wilderness listen. /I thought hard for us all—my only swerving—,/ then pushed her over the edge into the river.

Syntax
Traveling through the dark/ I found a deer/ dead on the edge of the Wilson River road./ It is usually best/ to roll them into the canyon:/ that road is narrow;/ to swerve /might make more dead./ By glow of the tail-light/ I stumbled back of the car/ and stood by the heap,/ a doe,/ a recent killing;/ she had stiffened already,/ almost cold./ I dragged her off; /she was large/ in the belly./ My fingers/ touching her side /brought me the reason/—her side was warm;/ her fawn lay there waiting,/ alive, /still, /never to be born./ Beside that mountain road/ I hesitated./ The car /aimed ahead/ its lowered parking lights;/ under the hood/ purred the steady engine./ I stood /in the glare of the warm exhaust /turning red;/ around our group/ I could hear the wilderness listen./ I thought hard /for us all/—my only swerving—,/ then pushed her over the edge/ into the river.

Surprise:
Traveling/ through the dark/ I found a deer dead/ on the edge of the Wilson River road. It is usually best to roll/ them into the canyon: /that road is narrow;/ to swerve /might make more dead./ By glow of the tail-light/ I stumbled/ back of the car /and stood /by the heap,/ a doe,/ a recent killing; /she had stiffened already,/ almost cold./ I dragged/ her off; /she was large in the belly./ My fingers /touching her side brought me the reason/—her side/ was warm;/ her fawn lay there waiting, /alive, /still, /never to be/ born. /Beside that mountain road/ I hesitated./ The car/ aimed ahead its lowered parking lights; /under the hood/ purred /the steady engine./ I stood /in the glare of the warm exhaust/ turning red; /around our group/ I could hear /the wilderness listen. /I thought hard for us all/—my only swerving—, ///then pushed her over the edge/// into the river./

Sound:
Traveling through the dark, I found/ a deer /dead on the edge/ of the Wilson River road./ It is usually best/ to roll them into the canyon:/ that road is narrow;/ to swerve might make more dead./ By glow /of the tail-light /I stumbled back of the car/ and stood by the heap,/ a doe, /a recent killing; /she had stiffened already,/ almost cold./ I dragged her off;/ she was large/ in the belly./ My fingers/ touching her side /brought me the reason/—her side was warm;/ her fawn/ lay there waiting,/ alive, /still,/ never to be born. /Beside that mountain road/ I hesitated./ The car/ aimed ahead/ its lowered parking lights;/ under the hood/ purred the steady engine./ I stood/ in the glare of the warm exhaust /turning red; /around our group/ I could hear the wilderness/ listen. /I thought hard for us all/—my only swerving—,/ then pushed her /over the edge/ into the river.

Space:
Traveling through the dark/// I found a deer/ dead on the edge of the Wilson River road./// It is usually best/ to roll them into the canyon:/ that road is narrow;/ to swerve might make more dead./// By glow of the tail-light /I stumbled back of the car and stood by the heap,/ a doe,/ a recent killing; /she had stiffened already,/ almost cold./ I dragged her off; /she was large in the belly. ///My fingers touching her side/ brought me the reason/—her side was warm;/ her fawn lay there waiting, /alive,/ still, /never to be born./// Beside that mountain road I hesitated. /////The car aimed ahead its lowered parking lights;/ under the hood purred the steady engine./ I stood in the glare of the warm exhaust turning red; /around our group /I could hear the wilderness listen.///// I thought hard for us all///—my only swerving—,/ then pushed her over the edge into the river.

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changed lineation:
Dark days/ when I awaken/ so I slump back to the swamp/ of his armpit,/ a whit from the arachnid/ he inked to the stump /that’s left. /So close to the vestige of it,/ the danger /he’s a reliquary of: /tattooed noose to venerate the fist/ of a slug/ buried still in his butt/ above a white cross for the men/ he didn’t miss./ If only I could strip off/ the black map/ I sleep against /and be his liniment,/ gloss over the explosion,/ the mishap phantom /he feels in a forearm itch./He won’t leave/ the long tale his tattoos /read for me,/ so I amend the story.

- causes the reader to slow down a lot more
- focus on each word more
- raises more questions as there is more enjambment

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Dear future me (at whatever point in time that may be),

I'm seated at our kitchen table,

while our youngest sister scrambles to get ready

for her Saturday lessons,

our father hums a made-up tune, and our other sister

is sprawled across the chubby grey couch enjoying some show.

I've come to a point in time where I realized that

the days are long, but the years are short.

I tend to forget that my life now will pass me

by, as quickly as the sun rises or sets.

In no time at all I'll be your age,

reminiscing my university years,

wishing that I took each day as a blessing

and not for granted.

Best wishes,

Amber

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personal universe deck

2) Beach Background Noise

I marvel at the paint strokes in the sky,

While sand grains cling to the soles of my feet.

A faint seagull's cry and the dance of waves

and the white jeep decorated with leis.

My steps leave art on the wet clay behind,

like some graceful fingers on piano keys,

As I exhale a deep contended sigh,

and indulge in this delicate moment.

If this moment were described as a scent,

It would be vanilla and fresh laundry.

Maybe titled Jazz Music on the Beach

Or maybe something like Beach Background Noise.

All moments are brief like burning candles,

But one should learn to breathe and live in them.