Final Portfolio for Creative Writing Class- Young Scholars Program
By Ezra Dayanim July 13th-August 1st 2015
Introduction • Before I started taking this class, I was interested in writing and had written stories and attempted to write books at home. Indeed I still am interested in creative writing, and thoroughly enjoy it, as I had before. I learned throughout this course that when I am writing I should be more careful and make more revisions, and how many revisions should be made on a paper. Indeed, because of this, my writing for sure has changed. Maybe not improved, nor worse, yet changed. In my portfolio are included my poem about my map, my character poem, my 15-minute free-write session poem, my moon poem, my circular story, my 11-point short story, my re-telling of a myth, and my POV monologue. Probably my least favorite piece in here is my moon poem. I think what I can most improve in my writing is my writing of poetry. I can really struggle with having a more poetic voice. I also can afford to improve in shorter, more concise writing. I have lots of trouble confining my pieces to less than at least 600 words. My writings are generally longer, and elongated.
Table of Contents • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
Final Drafts (Final Names) Poems Home, A Thing of Beauty Babajun Creation of the Moon A Day of Infamy Prose The Man at the Street Corner A Disastrous Day A Day in the Life of Donald Trump Haft Khan-e Rostam Rough Drafts (Original Names) Poems Home, A Place of Beauty Paternal Grandfather Creation of the Moon A Day of Infamy Prose The Man on the Street Corner Disaster Day A Day in the Life of Donald Trump Rostam
FINAL DRAFTS
POETRY
Home, A Thing of Beauty • • • • •
• • • • • • • • • •
There is a city in Iran Shiraz is its name It is a City of Poets, of Flowers, of Fame There is an area in the city or, at least, there was the mahaleh was its name
•
• • • • • • •
It was inhabited, as one might expect, by a large number of Persian Jews, and some Muslims • as well • Their lives were like any others they shopped and they ate and they prayed They all lived in the same variety of houses small ones with big gardens These gardens were full of the most wonderful fruit and fragrances, from the rose to the quince, these gardens had widespread fame
• • • • • •
These people gardened, yes, and they shopped it was interesting to watch them shop, indeed they would take hours, and were known for their tricks of picking the best fruit they could find They either would tap watermelons, or look at a fruit, judging by it color, they would pick it or not, there were many other ways, too many to say There were many parts of the market; some were clean and pretty; others, not There were areas dominated by greedy men and asses where people would gather in masses to bid on the many spices and linens and animals There were nicer areas too, meant for playing and praying,
• • • •
• • • • • • • •
• •
There were parks and fountains, where children would go to play • There were Mosques and Synagogues • where Muslims and Jews would go to pray • These different sites were exquisite, • known for their beauty • The Mosques and Synagogues had stained glass windows, • and were decorated with tiles • they looked, as if, they could have been Michelangelo’s • These parks were the same, known for their beauty with their lush green grass and • large, stone fountains where the water flowed eternal, as if they were the Fountains of • Youth • Though all the sites were pretty, exquisite as they come • there is none so beautiful as a
Persian home
steaming vats of chai tea
• Though the houses in these areas might have been small, they were extremely beautiful • and all who came were • enthralled • There were rugs everywhere, on the walls, on the floors •
There were assorted games played, inside these homes, games of tochtenard and pasur and being passed along from grandfather to grandson, were different tales from Persian folklore
The aroma was too much to compare the jasmine and assorted spices • that decorated the walls, combined with the fusion of • saffron and turmeric, made an aromatic smell that pleased even the hardest and • coldest of men • If you know a Persian, then you will know there is food E V E R Y W H E R E • The tables bended, weighed down with food, from the brightly colored khoreshes and polos to the
• •
The lives of those who lived in the mahaleh, and in the areas around, were surrounded by beauty, both big and small
Their lives may had been difficult at times, but when they would think of their homes, the markets, the synagogues and mosques, the parks and fountains and gardens, they would feel joy again, and persevere with the thoughts, of returning home again.
Nasir al-Mulk Mosque in Shiraz
Eram Garden in Shiraz
Babajun- پدر عزیز • • • • • • • • •
• • • •
A sugar cube in his mouth. Ever present cup of tea at his side.
• •
Either a book or remote in hand, feet propped up on a pillow.
• •
I have a problem.
• • • •
He helps no matter how comfortable he is, and gets up. I tower over him. I say something. He smiled and laughs, the tips of his thick, dark grey mustache perk up. His eyes sparkle with adoration. We leave the house.
• •
• • • •
He switches shoes, from one pair of sparklingly clean slippers, to nice tailored shoes for outdoors. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him barefoot. We head to the market. He picks out items, flowers, fruits, vegetables, always knowing if fresh or not.
Never forgetting to smile at the clerks, and wishing them a good day. We head back. He drives carefully, always has both eyes on the road. Plays classical music on a tape.
• For the next night and day, • he cooks for Shabot. • The house is full of the aromatic smell, • of kufteh, khoresh, and polo, • that makes my mouth water. • And the food is good, • even better than it smells. • The next day, Shabot. • Babajun is wearing a tailored suit, • same as every Shabot and Chag. • The afternoon comes. • Third cup of tea today, • by his side.
• A good book by the backyard pool, • as I swim with my cousins and siblings. • Shabot ends, yet another cup of tea. • We stay a few more days. • More fun, enjoyment. • Time to leave. • We hug and say goodbye, • and I am full of sadness as we leave, • yet I am happy when I think of the next time I will see my Babajun, • standing there, waiting for our arrival. •
Chelo and Khoresht Ghormeh Sabzi
Sadaf Tea
Kufteh Shirazi
Tadig
The Creation of the Moon -There are a variety of theories about how the Moon was formed, yet only one has been proven.This theory is that the Moon was formed by George Howard Darwin in 1898 and was later supported in the 1960s by scientists. He said that when Thea crashed into Earth, the core of the two planets melded. The atmosphere was blasted into Space, and the outer crust and mantle sprayed outward. It slowly solidified, forming the Moon. This theory has been challenged throughout the years, yet it is still considered the correct theory.
• • • • • • • • • •
• • • • •
Once, in the deep darkness of Outer Space, where one would think love is not possible, the impossible happened. Out of the darkness, a planet neared, and willed herself to collide with a fellow planet, as beautiful as the stars in the sky. They collided, and both were happy that they had found a lover, yet this was not to last, and she slowly withered away, leaving him alone again. Out of them something formed, something that would keep him company, something neither man nor woman. The Moon, it was called, a combination of both he and she, and forever, lit up the night sky.
A Day of Infamy • • • •
A sunny Tuesday morning Not a cloud in the sky Four planes ready to fly Unbeknownst to all, destined to end in mourning
• • •
• • • • •
•
• •
The terrorists hijacked, and had a plan To fly the plane into the Pentagon
•
The passengers bawled as they collided and one hundred eighty-four died
•
In New York City there was heard The rumbling of planes, overrun with terrorists • The passengers screamed and cried, both businessmen and tourists • Before this plane collided with the North Tower • The other plane came in soon after • The pilots dead, the terrorists in control The passengers cried, and prayed for their • souls While the terrorists laughed, and flew into the • South Tower • The third flight was Flight 77
•
Flight 93 departed, at 8:42 in the morning The terrorists hijacked it, and did not expect the unexpected The brave passengers fought back, and overtook the plane Before it collided into the ground, in Shanksville, Pennsylvania On September 11th, disaster struck As 2890 lives ended that day Their lives shall forever be commemorated So that their family and friends can live in peace
PROSE
• • • • • • • • •
• •
•
•
The Man at the Street Corner
He was always there, that man at the street corner. Everyday I passed, there he was. Short, skinny, black. Tousled grey hair and a thin beard and mustache, also gray. He wore baggy clothes. A ripped gray shirt with khakis torn at the knees, only going down to his ankles. A pair of old, faded grey sneakers. One day I pass by, my hands in my pockets, and I spot him. I feel an urge to bring him home and feed him. Maybe some ham and cheese. Maybe some fruits and veggies. Maybe- “Come on,” urges Jacob, pulling my hand forward with his left, his right holding a small glass bottle of Coke. “Let’s go!” I resist. “I want to bring him to my apartment,” I explain. “I want to feed him and get him some new clothes. Everyday I see him there, just sitting there. I feel I should do something for him.” “Sophia, it’s not your problem,” he argues, pulling me again. “Let’s just go. We’re gonna be late. I told Carly and Jerry we’d meet them at that panini place on Polk Street.” I stare at him in disbelief. “First of all, I hate Veronica’s. It sucks. Their paninis are the worst you’ll ever taste. Second of all, are you kidding me? This man is homeless. He doesn’t have anywhere to go. If I could just do one kind thing for him, that would make him feel much better, don’t you think?” He rolls his eyes and lets go of my hand. “Sophia, for the last time, let’s just go. There’s nothing you could do here. It’s useless. Besides, what if it turns out he’s crazy, a psycho? Then it could be dangerous to have him in your apartment. You could die or something.” I resist again. “What harm could it do? If he’s a psycho, then I’ll know long before I get back to the apartment, and if he’s not, I’ll be helping him out!” Jacob shouts. “Arrgh! You’re impossible, you know that? Fine, I’ll just go on my own.” He turns around and starts walking. I turn around and walk towards the man. I am about to say something to him, when I notice he is sleeping. I want to wake him up, and do as I planned, but someone taps me on the shoulder. I turn around. There’s Jacob. It seems his whole demeanor has changed. He is no longer mad, but understanding. He knows why I feel I must do this, but he will not let me. “Sophia, let’s just go,” he says gently, rubbing my arm. “He’s sleeping, and if you wake him up, he probably won’t be very happy. So let’s just go.” For some reason, now of all times I cannot protest. Unusual. Jacob gently tugs at my arm. I give in, and follow him away. As we leave and head towards Veronica’s, I feel tears in my eyes. I think about something my mother would say to me every time she would see a poor person and give them change. Remember, always help those in need, for they will always be grateful for it, and it will help them, and then the Lord will see you in a favorable light. I feel ashamed as we walk through the winding streets of San Francisco. The different voices blend together, and suddenly it is as if they are not there. That same feeling of shame, of letting down my mother, stays with me as we head into Veronica’s, as we eat and chat with our friends, and even that night. And every night now, I think of that man, and of my mother, and what could have happened if I had just tapped him and woken him up.
A Disastrous Day •
• •
• •
• • • • •
It was a hot and humid day in 1930s Virginia, and Benjamin had been told to go to the market. He was told to buy some fruits, vegetables, and some nuts and meats for the upcoming banquet at their large, sixstory house. Not only was it large, but it was beautiful, with brick walls and gold ornaments everywhere. There were fountains of marble in the yard, and inside were countless pieces of art from the Renaissance. It was in the large, smoky kitchen that the cook had said sternly, “Go to the market and get whatever is on this list, you hear?” He raced out of the house and climbed into the black duggy. The chauffeur in front, clad in black uniform, drove the car out of the driveway and to the market. Benjamin sped past countless farms on the long drive to the market in town. Something went wrong. The car’s engine sputtered. The car suddenly stopped and a large plume of smoke billowed out of the hood. The two men struggled out and took a look. The engine had blown. They were stuck. “Now what are we gonna do?” complained Benjamin. The chauffeur looked around. “Ain’t no one around for a few miles. We gonna be here awhile, boy.” Benjamin groaned. “So what are we gonna do, Suh? Just go back empty handed? I don’t want know whippin’ from Ms. Fields. She’s mighty good with a bread roller. I have bruises to back it up, too.” The chauffeur grimaced. “I guess we gotta go back and face the consequences. We can look for help on the way though. Maybe get some food and water. I fancy myself a nice glass of water at the moment, matter of fact.” “I could go for some water too, you know, and some grub wouldn’t be so bad, either.” “Then I guess we gotta go back. Let’s get a move on. We can leave the car here. It’s worthless now anyway, plus how are we gonna get a full size car back to the house? It just ain’t logical.” “So we leave it here.”
•
• • • • • • • • •
• • •
The duo started their way back to the house. Some four miles later they ran into some kids playing a game of baseball on the side of the road. They were using sticks for bats and flimsy baseballs. Each had a faded, brown, old glove, falling apart. Benjamin approached them. “Hey, boys. Can you help us? We lookin’ for grub. Y’all know where we can get some?” The tallest of the boys, who happened to be pitcher and leader of the gang, perked his head up. “I can help you folks. Come with me. Y’all got any money?” Benjamin looked at the chauffeur. “Hey, Rich, we got any moola?” “I reckon we got some. Let me look.” He searched his pockets, and drew out some bills and coins. “I found some! Looks like we got about $3.50. That good enough?” The boy smiled. “That’ll do just fine. This way!” He led them to a series of huts. There were people milling around, going on with their everyday life. The kid led them to one of the huts, which appeared to be a market of sorts. The vendor looked at them. “We ain’t got no rich people food, but we do got some grits and meat and chicken and dried fruit and stuff. Whatcha want?” Benjamin looked at Rich, the chauffeur. “I’m awfully hungry.” “Same here. Let’s just get what they have.” Soon the two were loaded with all matters of crackers, bread, juices, and dried fruit. None of it top-quality, but all good enough for the two. They made it back to the mansion late evening. The two went to the kitchen to explain to Ms. Fields. However, before they could explain, she cut them off. “I don’t care what excuse you two rascals have! You just go back to the market and get what I want you to get!” She whacked each of them with her bread roller and chased them out of the kitchen. Rich looked at Benjamin and said in disbelief, “We’ve gotta go back?” “Here we go again!” he replied and threw his hands up in exasperation.
A Day in the Life of Donald J. Trump •
I wake up and think about who to insult today. War Veterans, Muslims, Mexicans. The choices are endless! I have a daily "Hate Speech" today, yet I can't decide who to insult! I'm thinking maybe Obama, or maybe Clinton. Possibly Sanders! I think about it over my lavish breakfast of Deviled Eggs, mass amounts of pancakes with my face on them, a bottle of red wine, and my daily special of anything purely American. I get dressed, wearing one of my many hundreds of tailored suits. My maid comes in, and does her daily ritual of taking my sheets to be cremated, after which she will dump the ashes in the river. Cause who cares about the environment, am I right, George Bush? She then replaces them with a fresh pair of sheets. I have them custom made in Italy, 365 different bed sheets a year. They have my face on them. I head out to company headquarters, and say hello to all my workers, and take a deep breath. Ahh! The beautiful smell of pure Americanism! Throughout the morning I sort through different papers and fan mail. One from New York! I open it eagerly, only to be disappointed. I order my secretary to burn it. "Why, Sir?" she asks. "Because it was written by a Democrat," I reply, with a roll of my eyes. I open another letter. In it is a picture of my face with the words: I LOVE YOU DONALD TRUMP!! I order my other secretary to frame it. Five minutes later it is hanging over my chair, along with a painting of me in Greek fashion. I am clothed in a magnificent toga with a laurel wreath around my head and a bunch of grapes in my hand. There are women draped over my magnificent self and tigers walking around, me the the master of them all. I open the paper, which has been delivered to my office. The American Post. I open it and read the headlines. One of them reads: Cabal of Wealthy lose 5 Million each; Only 10 billion left per person. I am dumbstruck. I feel tears welling in my eyes. I start crying. I scream and cry and hit the table with my fists. I tell my secretary to bring in my punching bag. I punch the fake Hillary and kick it as well. I rip it apart and shoot it a couple of times with the shotgun in my desk. After the mess is cleared, and I am calm, I realize it's time for lunch. I go to the Donald J. Trump Cafeteria. I walk in, and everyone shouts, "Surprise!" I am overjoyed. There is a cake brought to me, reading: Happy Tuesday, Donald! There is a picture of me on the cake, stepping on a group of Democrats with forked tails and sharp teeth, and they're all red and fiery. I love it. I take four slices and leave the rest to the office. They dive for it like animals. I laugh maniacally, then leave to go hunting. There is a private wildlife preserve, or so we tell other people, called the Donald J. Trump Animal Preserve. People at the office, however, call it the Donald J. Trump Animal Hunting Arena. I go there to hunt cheetahs, tigers, lions, and rhinos. Today I am successful. I kill six cheetahs, five tigers, seven lions, and fifteen rhinos. We are running low on them, so I order my poachers to go catch some more in Africa.
•
•
Afterwards I have my afternoon snack. Fried rhino leg, elephant ears, and tiger meat. I also have a cask of wine poured into a hollowed out elephant tusk for drinking. It is all delicious. I have Rand Paul, Ted Cruz, and Scott Walker over for the snack. We joke around, and have fun. We play "Pin the Tail on the Donkey." Rand wins. I get upset, and threaten to accuse Rand of cheating and deportation. He starts crying, and gives me the trophy instead. It is big and made of solid gold with rubies and sapphires decorating it. My face in engraved on top. This makes my day. I place it on my desk along with the thirty-two others. When my friends leave, it is time for my secret toupee change. They take off my current one, and replace it with one that looks the same. After that, I decide to speak about John McCain at my “Hate Speech.” I pull up Microsoft Word, and type at the top- “Why I Hate John McCain.” Then I start typing. Before I know it, I am done with my masterpiece. I then go to my private shrine. I bow down before the large statue of Donaldus, the King of the Gods. His brothers, Johnus, and Trumpus, have statues there too. I whisper, “God Bless Donaldus, King of the Gods on high Mount Richus, who reigns above all, and with his brothers Johnus and Trumpus. May you three bless me with riches, beauty, and all things good and purely American. Thank you, Amen.” I leave my shrine, kissing a mini statue of Trumpus I wear around my neck. It is time for my “Hate Speech,” and then time for dinner. I head for the grand theater where it will be today. There are engravings on the walls of me, and of my beautiful house and company headquarters. I step up to the podium, and clear my throat. All of a sudden, all cameras train on me. ABC, NBC, FOX- especially FOX. I start my speech. “I hate John McCain. He is not a war veteran.” Everyone gasps, and I step away. When it seems like I really am done, I sneak back and say into the microphone, “Oh yeah. I’m also running for President. It’s TRUMPTIME!!” I scream and shout and cheer. I tap my heels together, and blow a whistle. Everyone in the audience goes crazy. I press a button on the podium, and a large balloon of my face drops from the ceiling and falls on the crowd. I laugh and cheer. Finally, after three hours of partying, I am done and it is time for dinner. I head to the grand dining room. Waiting there are my Advisors. Arnold Schwarzenegger, Jim Gilmore, and Rush Limbaugh. We eat a lot and have a good time. After I finish munching on some Amur Leopard and Mountain Gorilla and drinking my vast collection of rich red wine, it is time for bed. I get into my Armani silk nightgown, I climb into my silk sheets and close my eyes. After a fun day full of joy, it is time for Johnus to drop his Sleep Powder over me and let me travel to DreamLand.
• • • •
•
•
• • • •
Haft Khan-e Rostam
Rostam was a famed warrior, known far and wide for his brave and awesome deeds. He was the strongest in the world, and also one of the wisest. He had a wife, Tamine, and three children, Sohrab, Faramarz, and Banu Goshasp. His horse, Rakhsh, was the strongest and fastest horse in the world and the only one who could support him. One day during Rostam’s long, heroic life, the Shah, Kaykavous, was captured and blinded by the Divs (demons) of Mazandaran. To save the Shah, Rostam was forced to embark on his most famous and dangerous journey, the Haft Khan-e Rostam, the Seven Labours of Rostam. The first labour came about while Rostam was sleeping among the reeds. A lion came about and attacked. Rakhsh, Rostam’s mighty horse, killed the lion, but was mortally wounded. When Rostam awoke, he saw Rakhsh lying wounded upon the ground. He approached his horse and magically healed him. He then went back to sleep and in the morning went on his way. Sometime later, the duo found their way into a desert. There happened to be no water, and they both were slowly dying of thirst. Rostam prayed to Allah, and soon enough, a sheep came by. Rostam, sword in hand, followed the sheep. It led the man and horse to a fountain of water. Both praised Allah and drank, quenching their thirst and saving their lives. Yet this was not the last time his life would be in peril. One night Rostam was sleeping in a clearing with Rakhsh standing guard. At midnight a dragon came out from the woods. Rakhsh stomped and neighed, waking Rostam, yet when Rostam awoke, the dragon was nowhere to be found. Slightly annoyed, Rostam went back to sleep. The dragon came back, and Rakhsh again stomped and neighed, even louder than the last. Rostam woke up again, and yet again the dragon had disappeared. Disgruntled, Rostam layed back down and went to sleep. The dragon appeared a third time. Rakhsh made a terrible noise with the stomping of hooves and the neighing of a war horse. Rostam awoke angry this time, and drew his mighty sword, as if to strike Rakhsh. Yet as he turned, he glimpsed the dragon, as there was sufficient light to be able to see it this time. He quickly, and with ease, killed it, and went back to sleep, but not before making peace to his horse. Now, part of Rostam’s journey would take place in enchanted territory. This was when he had to be the most careful. As he was walking one day through such a land, he came across a spread of roasted deer and bread with salt. He was hungry and thirsty, so he sat down as if to eat the food, when it disappeared and in its place appeared a tambourine and some wine. Rostam picked up the instrument and played music. When the beautiful music reached the ears of a demon, he turned himself into a beautiful sorceress and approached Rostam. The hero praised the demon for the food, wine, and tambourine. He placed in her hands a cup of wine in the name of Allah, and when the demon heard the name of God, he revealed his true self and Rostam sliced him in half. He then continued on his way, still hungry and thirsty. Rostam eventually found his way to Mazanderan, and captured its champion, Olad. The champion described the caves of the demons to Rostam, who went there and slayed Arzang Div, chief of the Mazanderani demons. The hero then went to Kaykavous and freed him, though he was still blind. The final labour and stage in Rostam’s adventure came when he was pitted against Div-e-Sepid, the White Demon, and won the fight. He used the demon’s blood to cure Kaykavous’s eyesight. He then returned Kaykavous back to Persia. Kaykavous as grateful at first, but jealousy started to boil within him. He started to plot against Rostam. This would end only in the peril of Rostam, the famed hero and protagonist of the Haft Khan-e Rostam, the Seven Labours of Rostam.
Rostam kills the Dragon
Rostam feeing Kaykavous and slaying the White Demon
ROUGH DRAFTS
POETRY
Home, A Place of Beauty • • • • •
• • • • • • • • • •
There is a city in Iran Shiraz is its name It is a City of Poets of Flowers, of Fame There is an area in the city or, at least, there was the mahaleh was its name
•
• • • • • • •
It was inhabited, as one might expect, by a large number of Persian Jews, and some Muslims • as well • Their lives were like any others they shop and they eat and they pray They all lived in the same variety of houses small ones with big gardens These gardens were full of the most wonderful fruit and fragrances, from the rose to the quince, these gardens had widespread fame
• • • • •
•
These people gardened, yes, and they shopped it was interesting to watch them shop, indeed they take hours, and were known for their tricks of picking the best fruit they could find They either would tap watermelons, or look at a fruit, judging by it color, they would pick it or not, there were many other ways, too many to say There were many parts of the market; some were clean and pretty; others not There were areas dominated by greedy men and asses (donkeys) where people would gather in masses to bid on the many spices and linens and animals There were nicer areas too, meant for playing and praying, and do not forget eating
• •
• •
There were parks and fountains, where children would go to eat and play
• •
These different sites were exquisite, known for their beauty
•
•
These parks were the same, known for their beauty with their lush green grass and large, stone fountains where the water flowed eternal, as if the were the Fountains of
Though all the sites were pretty, exquisite as they come there is none so beautiful as a Persian home
• •
Though the houses in these areas • might have been small, they were extremely beautiful and all who came were enthralled •
•
The Mosques and Synagogues had • stained glass windows, • and were decorated with tiles they looked, as if, they could have been a Michelangelo •
• •
•
There were Mosques and • Synagogues where Muslims and Jews would go • to eat and pay
• • •
Youth [Alas! It was not to be]
• • •
There were rugs everywhere, on the walls, on the floors The aroma is too much to compare the jasmine and assorted spices that decorate the walls, combined with the fusion of saffron and turmeric, make an aromatic smell that pleases even the hardest and coldest of men
• • •
•
If you know a Persian, then you will know there is food E V E R Y W H E R E The tables bended, weighed down with food, [though Persians generally eat on the floor] from the brightly colored khoreshes and polos to the rich red cherry iced tea There were assorted games happening, inside these homes, games of tochtenard and pasur and being passed along from grandfather to grandson, were different tales from Persian folklore
• The lives of those who lived in the mahaleh and in the areas around • were surrounded by beauty, both big and small • Their lives may had been difficult at times, • but when they would think of their homes, • the markets, the synagogues and mosques, the parks and fountains and gardens, • they would feel joy again, and persevere with the thoughts, • of returning home again.
Paternal Grandfather • • •
In the mahaleh of Shiraz there was born
• •
A baby boy, by the name of Ezra
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
Born to the Great Mullahs, the eleventh of fourteen
He grew up well educated attending school and learning from his elders He excelled in all subjects very much like his brothers and sisters He had a nice childhood yet when he was twelve, his father had passed
• • • • • • • • •
My grandfather went to Medical School and College the first in his family to do so He came to the States soon after and found a wife He had three children I am of the eldest He has lived in Portsmouth ever since not seeing any family save one sister for at least thirteen years He has seen much, and is wise indeed
Perhaps that is why, he became a surgeon •
A great leader had fallen, a man who had earned much respect from all and now times would decline Animosity between Muslims and Jews grew it was not as safe as it once was
• • • • •
He saved many lives, and was famed in the South for his surgery. He retired night fifteen years ago a wise old man (if you can call sixty-six old!) He now lives in peace down in old Portsmouth
Creation of the Moon -There are a variety of theories about how the Moon was formed, yet only one has been proven.This theory is that the Moon was formed by George Howard Darwin in 1898 and was later supported in the 1960s by scientists. He said that when Thea crashed into Earth, the core of the two planets melded. The atmosphere was blasted into Space, and the outer crust and mantle sprayed outward. It slowly solidified, forming the Moon. This theory has been challenged throughout the years, yet it is still considered the correct theory. • •
There was a planet, named Thea
She was floating once. and she glimpsed a planet. Its name was Earth.
• • •
“I would like to hit that” she thought She floated towards him and laughed maniacally as she collided into him. He screamed and he cried as a big chunk of him flew into space and as his core, his precious core! melded with Thea.
• • •
• •
Thea soon died, melding with Earth, who was again all alone and licking his wounds, when he looked up and saw a face in the sky! “Lo! And behold!” he declared. “I do see another face above me!” The Moon looked down and smiled with glee. “I am the Moon! We will be good friends forever, you and me!” And they were for the rest of their days.
A Day of Infamy • • • •
A sunny Tuesday morning Not a cloud in the sky Four planes ready to fly Unbeknownst to all, destined to end in mourning
• • • •
• • •
• • • • •
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In New York City there was heard The rumbling of planes, overrun with terrorists • The passengers screamed and cried, both • businessmen and tourists Before this plane collided with the North Tower • The other plane came in soon after • The pilots dead, the terrorists in control The passengers cried, and prayed for their • souls While the terrorists laughed, and flew into the • • South Tower The third flight flew out from Dulles
The terrorists hijacked, and had a plan To fly the plane into the Pentagon The passengers bawled as they collided and one hundred eighty-four died The fourth plane departed, at 8:42 in the morning The terrorists hijacked it, and did not expect the unexpected The passengers fought back, and overtook the plane Before it collided into the ground, in Shanksville, Pennsylvania On September 11th, disaster struck As 2890 lives ended that day Their lives shall forever be commemorated So that their family and friends can forever in peace, play
PROSE
The Man on the Street Corner •
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He was always there, that man at the street corner. Everyday I passed, there he was. Short, skinny, black. Tousled grey hair and a thin beard and mustache, also gray. He wore baggy clothes. A ripped gray shirt with khakis torn at the knees, only going down to his ankles. A pair of old, faded grey sneakers. One day I pass by, my hands in my pockets, and I spot him. I feel an urge to bring him home and feed him. Maybe some ham and cheese. Maybe fruits and veggies. Maybe- “Come on,” urges Jacob, pulling my hand forward with his left, his right holding a small glass bottle of Coke. “Let’s go!” I resist. “I want to bring him to my apartment,” I explain. “I want to feed him and get him some new clothes. Everyday I see him there, just sitting there. I feel I should do something for him.” “Sophia, it’s not your problem,” he argues, pulling me again. “Let’s just go. We’re gonna be late. I told Carly and Jerry we’d meet them at that panini place on Polk Street.” I stare at him in disbelief. “First of all, I hate Veronica’s. It sucks. Their paninis are the worst you’ll ever taste. Second of all, are you kidding me? This man is homeless. He doesn’t have anywhere to go. If I could just do one kind thing for him, that would make him feel much better, don’t you think?” He rolls his eyes and lets go of my hand. “Sophia, for the last time, let’s just go. There’s nothing you could do here. It’s useless. Besides, what if it turns out he’s crazy, a psycho? Then it could be dangerous to have him in your apartment. You could die or something.” I resist again. “What harm could it do? If he’s a psycho, then I’ll know long before I get back to the apartment, and if he’s not, I’ll be helping him out!” Jacob shouts. “Arrgh! You’re impossible, you know that? Fine, I’ll just go on my own.”
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Benjamin had been told to go to the market. He was told to buy some fruits, vegetables, and some nuts and meats for the upcoming banquet at their large, six-story house. “Go to the market and get whatever is on this list, you hear?” said the Cook sternly. Benjamin raced out of the house and climbed into the black duggy. The chauffeur in front, clad in black uniform, drove the car out of the driveway and to the market. Benjamin sped past countless farms on the long drive to the market in town. Something went wrong. The car’s engine sputtered. The car suddenly stopped and smoke billowed out of the hood. Benjamin and the chauffeur struggled out and took a look. The engine had blown. They were stuck. “Now what are we gonna do?” complained Benjamin. The chauffeur looked around. “Ain’t no one around for a few miles. We gonna be here awhile, boy.” Benjamin groaned. “So what are we gonna do, Suh? Just go back empty handed? I don’t want know whippin’ from Ms. Fields. She’s mighty good with a bread roller. I have bruises to back it up, too.” The chauffeur grimaced. “I guess we gotta go back and face the consequences. We can look for help on the way though. Maybe get some food and water. I fancy myself a nice glass of water at the moment, matter of fact.” “I could go for some water too, you know, and some grub wouldn’t be so bad, either.” “Then I guess we gotta go back. Let’s get a move on. We can leave the car here. It’s worthless now anyway, plus how are we gonna get a full size car back to the house? It just ain’t logical.” “So we leave it here.” Benjamin and the chauffeur started their way back to the house. Some four miles later they ran into some folks playing a game of baseball on the side of the road. They were using sticks for bats and flimsy baseballs. Each had an old glove, falling apart. Benjamin approached them. “Hey, boys. Can you help us? We lookin’ for grub. Y’all know where we can get some?”
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The tallest of the boys, who happened to be pitcher and leader of the gang, perked his head up. “I can help you folks. Come with me. Y’all got any money?” Benjamin looked at the chauffeur. “Hey, Rich, we got any moola?” “I reckon we got some. Let me look.” He searched his pockets, and drew out some bills and coins. “I found some! Looks like we got about $3.50. That good enough?” The boy smiled. “That’ll do just fine. This way!” He led them to a series of huts. There were people milling around, going on with their everyday life. The kid led them to one of the huts, which appeared to be a market of sorts. The vendor looked at them. “We ain’t got no rich people food, but we do got some grits and meat and chicken and dried fruit and stuff. Whatcha want?” Benjamin looked at Rich, the chauffeur. “I’m awfully hungry.” “Same here. Let’s just get what they have.” Soon the two were loaded with all matters of crackers, bread, juices, and dried fruit. None of it top-quality, but all good enough for the two. They made it back to the mansion late evening. The two went to the kitchen to explain to Ms. Fields. However, before they could explain, she cut them off. “I don’t care what excuse you two rascals have! You just go and get what I want you to get!” She whacked each of them with her bread roller and chased them out of the kitchen. Benjamin looked at Rich and threw his hands up in exasperation. “Well, here we go again!”
A Day in the Life of Donald J. Trump •
I wake up and think about who to insult today. Jews, Muslims, Mexicans. The choices are endless! I have a daily "Hate Speech" today, yet I can't decide who to insult! I'm thinking maybe Obama, or maybe Clinton. Possibly Sanders! I think about it over my lavish breakfast of Deviled Eggs, mass amounts of pancakes with my face on them, a bottle of red wine, and my daily special of anything purely American. I get dressed, wearing one of my many hundreds of tailored suits. My maid comes in, and does her daily ritual of taking my sheets to be cremated, after which she will dump the ashes in the river. Cause who cares about the environment, am I right, George Bush? She then replaces them with a fresh pair of sheets. I have them custom made in Italy, 365 different bed sheets a year. They have my face on them. I head out to company headquarters, and say hello to all my workers, and take a deep breath. Ahh! The beautiful smell of pure Americanism! Throughout the morning I sort through different papers and fan mail. One from New York! I open it eagerly, only to be disappointed. I order my secretary to burn it. "Why, Sir?" she asks. "Because it was written by a Democrat," I reply, with a roll of my eyes. I open another letter. In it is a picture of my face with the words: I LOVE YOU DONALD TRUMP!! I order my other secretary to frame it. Five minutes later it is hanging over my chair, along with a painting of me in Greek fashion. I am clothed in a magnificent toga with a laurel wreath around my head and a bunch of grapes in my hand. There are women draped over my magnificent self and tigers walking around, me the the master of them all. I open the paper, which has been delivered to my office. The American Post. I open it and read the headlines. One of them reads: Cabal of Wealthy lose 5 Million each; Only 10 billion left per person. I am dumbstruck. I feel tears welling in my eyes. I start crying. I scream and cry and hit the table with my fists. I tell my secretary to bring in my punching bag. I punch the fake Hillary and kick it as well. I rip it apart and shoot it a couple of times with the shotgun in my desk. After the mess is cleared, and I am calm, I realize it's time for lunch. I go to the Donald J. Trump Cafeteria. I walk in, and everyone shouts, "Surprise!" I am overjoyed. There is a cake brought to me, reading: Happy Tuesday, Donald! There is a picture of me on the cake, stepping on a group of Democrats with forked tails and sharp teeth, and they're all red and fiery. I love it. I take four slices and leave the rest to the office. They dive for it like animals. I laugh maniacally, then leave to go hunting. There is a private wildlife preserve, or so we tell other people, called the Donald J. Trump Animal Preserve. People at the office, however, call it the Donald J. Trump Animal Hunting Arena. I go there to hunt cheetahs, tigers, lions, and rhinos. Today I am successful. I kill six cheetahs, five tigers, seven lions, and fifteen rhinos. We are running low on them, so I order my poachers to go catch some more in Africa.
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Afterwards I have my afternoon snack. Fried rhino leg, elephant ears, and tiger meat. I also have a cask of wine poured into a hollowed out elephant tusk for drinking. It is all delicious. I have Rand Paul, Ted Cruz, and Scott Walker over for the snack. We joke around, and have fun. We play "Pin the Tail on the Donkey." Rand wins. I get upset, and threaten to accuse Rand of cheating and deportation. He starts crying, and gives me the trophy instead. It is big and made of solid gold with rubies and sapphires decorating it. My face in engraved on top. This makes my day. I place it on my desk along with the thirty-two others. When my friends leave, it is time for my secret toupee change. They take off my current one, and replace it with one that looks the same. After that, I decide to speak about John McCain at my “Hate Speech.” I pull up Microsoft Word, and type at the top- “Why I Hate John McCain.” Then I start typing. Before I know it, I am done with my masterpiece. I then go to my private shrine. I bow down before the large statue of Donaldus, the King of the Gods. His brothers, Johnus, and Trumpus, have statues there too. I whisper, “God Bless Donaldus, King of the Gods on high Mount Richus, who reigns above all, and with his brothers Johnus and Trumpus. May you three bless me with riches, beauty, and all things good and purely American. Thank you, Amen.” I leave my shrine, kissing a mini statue of Trumpus I wear around my neck. It is time for my “Hate Speech,” and then time for dinner. I head for the grand theater where it will be today. There are engravings on the walls of me, and of my beautiful house and company headquarters. I step up to the podium, and clear my throat. All of a sudden, all cameras train on me. ABC, NBC, FOX- especially FOX. I start my speech. “I hate John McCain. He is not a war veteran.” Everyone gasps, and I step away. When it seems like I really am done, I sneak back and say into the microphone, “Oh yeah. I’m also running for President. It’s TRUMPTIME!!” I scream and shout and cheer. I tap my heels together, and blow a whistle. Everyone in the audience goes crazy. I press a button on the podium, and a large balloon of my face drops from the ceiling and falls on the crowd. I laugh and cheer. Finally, after three hours of partying, I am done and it is time for dinner. I head to the grand dining room. Waiting there are my Advisors. Arnold Schwarzenegger, which took some convincing, Jim Gilmore, and Rush Limbaugh. We eat a lot and have a good time. After I finish munching on some Amur Leopard and Mountain Gorilla and drinking my vast collection of rich red wine, it is time for bed. I get into my Armani silk nightgown, I climb into my silk sheets and close my eyes. After a fun day full of joy, it is time for Johnus to drop his Sleep Powder over me and let me travel to DreamLand.
Rostam • •
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He was born in ancient Persia, in the region of Khorasan, to Zal, the great King and warrior, and to Rudaba, Princess of Kabul. They named him Rostam. Rostam was born with grey hair, and it was already prophesied that he would become a great warrior. While in the womb he had given great pains to his mother. Rostam was unusually large, a giant among babies. The labor was prolonged as an effect of his size, and Zal feared Rudaba would die in labor. He summoned the winged beast Simurgh, who instructed the great King how to perform a “Rostamzad” (Persian equivalent for Caesarean section) on Rudaba. Her life was saved, and their child was born. The child, Rostam, grew up strong and wise. He was trained by his father, Zal, in the arts of war. He became a great fighter, and by the age of ten he was feared by many who knew of him. When he was ten years old, disaster struck. An elephant was struck mad and went on a rampage. The child, Rostam, hefted a mighty club and with a single blow struck the elephant dead. Zal saw now that Rostam was ready, and sent him on his first military assignment. He was sent to conquer a fortress on the summit of Mt. Sipand, where his great-grandfather, Nimand, had died years before. He breached the fortress easily, conquered it, and ransacked it. Soon after this battle, Rostam spotted a mighty horse, the biggest to ever have lived. He attempted to catch it, but it was strong, and wild, and not so easily brought down. After a few unsuccessful attempts, he finally caught it, and learned its name, Rakhsh. One night, while Rostam was sleeping, Rakhsh was stolen. When he awoke, and could not find the horse, he grew furious, and followed the tracks of the robber and horse. The tracks led to a palace, in which a princess, Tamine, lived. She admitted that she had stolen the horse so that he could find her and marry her, which he did. He got her pregnant, and sometime after he left, his son, Sohrab, was born. Rostam would have yet another son, and another daughter, the son’s name Faramarz, and the daughter’s Banu Goshasp, though it is not known who their mother was.
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Some time later, during the reign of Shah Kaykavous, there was a tragedy in the royal family. The Shah had been kidnapped and blinded by the Divs of Mazandaran, a group of demons. Rostam then embarked on his Seven Labours, the Haft Khan-e Rostam. The first stage occurred in this order: Rostam was sleeping among the reeds. Suddenly, a lion attacked. Rakhsh defended himself and Rostam, and successfully killed the lion, but was mortally wounded. Rostam woke up, and saw Rakhsh lying injured upon the ground. He approached the horse, and magically healed him. He then went on his way. The second stage was next. Rostam and Rakhsh found themselves in a desert with no water. They became oppressed with thirst, and Rostam prayed to God. A sheep came by, which Rostam thought of as a good omen, and followed it. The sheep led the pair to a fountain of water, and Rostam thanked God and drank. Afterwards came the third stage. At midnight Rostam was sleeping in a clearing. A dragon emerged from the woods, and Rakhsh woke up his master. Rostam woke up, but the dragon had disappeared. He goes to sleep again, and the dragon comes back. Rakhsh again wakes up his master, but when Rostam awakes, the dragon is not there. Rostam became angry, and went to sleep again. The dragon came back yet again, and Rakhsh woke up his master yet again. Fortunately, there was sufficient light at this moment and Rostam saw the dragon and killed it. The fourth stage followed. Rostam was riding through an enchanted territory, and found in the evening a beautifully green area with a roasted deer and some salt and bread. When he sat down, the food disappeared, and his eyes fell upon a tambourine and a flask of wine. Rostam picked up the instrument and played music with it, which reached the ears of a sorceress, who had put charms of beauty on herself. He praised her for providing him with food, drink, and music. He placed in her hands a cup of wine in the name of God, not knowing she was a demon in disguise. At the mention of God, she turned to her true form, and Rostam slayed her. He then continued on his way through the enchanted territory. The fifth stage occurred when Rostam conquered the Mazandarani champion Olad, who described the cave of the demons, and killed Arzang Div, the demon chief in Mazandaran. Soon after came the sixth stage, in which Rostam entered the city of Mazandaran and released Kaykavous, still blind. The Seven Labours ended with the seventh stage. Rostam slayed Div-e-Sepid, the White Demon, and uses its blood to cure Kaykavous’s sight. After Rostam returns the Shah to his palace, the Shah grows jealous. While this all occurs, a war arises between Persia and Turan. Turan’s greatest warrior, who happens to be Sohrab, Rostam’s son, fights his father. Rostam kills him, and does not discover his true identity until he finds the jewel of his wife and Sohrab’s mother on the corpse. After the war, Kaykavous, along with the King of Kabulestan, and the half-brother of Rostam, Shaghad, killed Rostam by dropping him into a pit of poisoned spears. So ended the life of Rostam, the mighty and tragic warrior of ancient Persia, slaughterer of evil, and slayer of his son.