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Lately, I have been finding a lot of my older pieces, many from 1-2 years ago. I find them entirely amusing, especially On the Island of Kalamazoo, a poem, and Jacob's Lost Voice, a rather confusing fiction piece where I use words like "mum" and "knickers." Oh, by the way, if you can tell me what Jacob's Lost Voice means, I would be much obliged. On Gossip Everyone’s heard one; yet "no one" started one. I’m talking about rumors. Nowadays, it’s common to talk about what *Amy wore to school on Monday, and what Brian said to Mr. Smith in Science. We all are just playing whisper down the lane. What I mean by this is: one person tells another what actually happened, then they go and change the story a bit, and by the time it’s reached the tenth or so person, it’s a totally different story. For example, John tells Joe that Alex punched Dave, then Joe tells Fred that Alex gave Dave a black eye, then Fred tells Anne that Alex put Dave in intensive care, and then Anne tells Emily that Dave is lying on his deathbed. When Dave walks into school the next morning with nothing but a sore stomach, the school has already planted a tree in memory of Dave Masters. And no one here is innocent, not me, not you, not even teachers. Everyone loves to gossip. But the simple fact is: Gossiping hurts people. Not just the person who the rumor is about, but the people that spread the rumor. This causes verbal fights between best friends and many physical ones also. We never think it could happen to us, but it will. You have probably had a rumor spread about you, whether you know it, or sadly, do not. So I would like to end this article by saying: Although gossiping is fun and has been a favorite American pastime for decades, we will all eventually be slapped by the hand of gossip unless we can try to hold ourselves back from the dangers of rumors. My view on this piece: This was for my friend Jess' newspaper that she was planning on doing. I can't remember if it actually happened or not, though. This piece shows some of my earlier humor, which is basically classified as "none." It also shows my earlier writing, classified as "boring." Jacob's Lost Voice This is a story about a boy. Not just any boy, mind you, but one that was just a bit different. Jacob is deaf. This means he can't hear anything. Jacob got scarlet fever one day and suddenly became deaf. Imagine having to go throughout most of your life not hearing the glorious sounds all around you. Since he was four, he had never heard a word. Not a drip-drop sound of a sweet summer rain, nor the soft voice of the cool wind, making even the most unbearable day bearable. He had never heard a kind voice, the kind that keeps you happy even though you had been made fun of at Sunday school because of the knickers your Mum made you wear. The only words Jacob remembered were bits and pieces from a conversation between his grandmother and his mother. His mother started out "every time that boy," should we send a letter to his Mum?" His grandmother shook her head vigorously with every word out of his mother's mouth. The year Jacob turned 6, only a few days after his birthday his mum got in a car accident and died. Now, normally this would devastate a boy his age, but Jacob, on the other hand was doubly devastated. He had no idea of the whereabouts of his father, thus leaving him, (more or less), an orphan. For a long time, Jacob shook off the idea of hope. He turned away from his life and the hopes of miracles all at once. He had never thought about that conversation in the middle of June between his Mum and his grandmother. But he still recognized that there was some problem. He knew deep down what it was, but never could bring it to reality. He had tried to paint the sky as blue as possible, but it always ended up slightly off-color. Jacob had almost created a dome around him, keeping the outsiders out and the insiders in. Only a few people could be considered "insiders" For instance, Miss Lark, the head of the orphanage, was considered an insider. And the boy two beds down, who was named Timothy, was an insider too. Timothy like Jacob lost both parents. His Mum and Dad died in a fire at a local inn. Luckily, Timothy was one of the few rescued by the firefighters. My views on this piece: I have no clue what the plot of this story is. I never finished it. It's called Jacob's Lost Voice, but it's about a boy who turned deaf at age 4, so he has a voice. I don't understand the part where the grandmother and his mother are talking. Why would they say something about "should we send a letter to his mum?" if his "mum" was right there? If you have any insight on this piece, please let me know, because if an author is confused about what she wrote, you know there's something wrong. Poems 12-19-99 Sometimes I wonder Sometimes I wonder Why it’s the way it is I wonder why the birds have wings, And why the fish have fins. Sometimes I wonder Why people can be so mean I wonder why it matters if you’re Black, or white, or green. Sometimes I wonder What do I really think I know that I am worth it Not just the "missing link." Sometimes I wonder Should I run away or hide But then again, it only matters Who you are inside. -Lesley Barth Little Things (written before the Good Charlotte song became big) Why waste your time on the little things, Why do you brag and boast? Why waste your time on the little things, When it’s the big things that matter the most? Why waste your time on the little things, Why do you even care? Why waste your time on the little things, As if the big things aren’t even there? Why waste your time on the little things, Why do you cover-up and lie? Why waste your time on the little things, Without asking yourself why? Why waste your time on the little things, Why do you brag and boast? Why waste your time on the little things, When it’s the big things that matter the most? -Lesley Barth Changed Wherever I go a wandering, Wherever I may go; I sit right there, pondering What answers do I know? I know the sky above is blue, I know that eagles soar; I knew more when I met you Than I ever knew before Without you I am nothing, Without your love and care; Without you I’m a worthless cause A tiny speck in air. While wandering may help me, I’ll never be the same; Without you I will now be A person without a name. -Lesley Barth In 20 years In twenty years, no one will care, About our looks or the clothes we wear. All that will matter twenty years from now, Is how hard we looked and what we found. -Lesley Barth Everyone has something (this is in Poems on Life) Everyone has something That can make them proud Everyone has something Cheerful, tall or loud. Everyone is someone No matter how big or small Everyone is someone Nobody is all. -Lesley Barth Memories As I sit here thinking About the days gone by The toy box toys The winter joys And warm crisp apple pie. The world is so oblivious When I recall the past The happy days The many ways That love could always last. In times of desperation The lonely heart omits The strictly smart The passive hearts That long to call it quits. -Lesley Barth The world is closing in The world is closing in, My friend. The world is closing in. The childhood days That once were there Will never be there again. Our lives are moving fast, My friend. Our lives are moving fast. The world That used to be so calm, Has become a test we must pass. Our lives are like a book, My friend. Our lives are like a book. We used to just Walk by them, But now we have to look. The world is closing in, My friend. The world is closing in. The childhood days That once were there Will never be there again. -Lesley Barth On the island of Kalamazoo I’m all alone in this rickety shoe On the island of Kalamazoo. I used to have a friend, And he lived here too, Alone with me on Kalamazoo. He was an old man who was very blue On the island of Kalamazoo. He used to have a goat, And he lived here too, Alone with him on Kalamazoo. He was a young goat that was very blue. On the island of Kalamazoo. We used to have friends, Were you one of them too? Alone with us on Kalamazoo. Lesley Barth Untitled (because the two stanzas have nothing to do with each other) We walk along forgotten paths Yet still they stay forgotten We walk along the red, red rose That’s hidden in the garden. We hear the sound of chiming bells While walking to the store. But do we ever stop to listen to The sounds that were heard before? Lesley Barth My views on these pieces: Well, I really really like Changed, Memories, and The world is closing in. I like them more than many of my newer pieces. I think that Sometimes I wonder and Little things are pretty good. In 20 years and Everyone is someone are nice, short refreshing pieces, but do very little poetically. On the Island of Kalamazoo. Whenever I read that poem, I just crack up. I don't think it's all that bad, but it's just so funny for some reason. I like both stanzas of Untitled, but together they make no sense. |
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