Words With Purpose

bright lights, strobes, bass banging through the floorboards and into your bones hands in the air, smoke clinging to everyone and everything throats red and raw from screaming all the words in unison hips thrusting, legs shaking until –  fists flying, bodies pushing and shoving blood everywhere then back to –  heads banging, bass throbbing screaming together, vibing together bands jumping all of a sudden –  circles forming, yelling escalating, elbows in chests shoulders faces legs then back to –  rocking, swaying, dancing, screaming it isn’t until the next day that the aftermath hits hard

Grassy Illinois plains and fields of wildflowers call to me. I miss the jagged rows of corn and the sweet lullaby the combines sing in the summertime. The whistle of the wind through the trees and land for miles and miles does something for my soul. Deer frolicking through the timber put a smile on my face like no other. Beanstalks in the fields and cattails in the ditches with the toads lurking and croaking make me miss home. The hot summer sun shining down on the gravel roads and glinting off the grass makes me miss who I used to be.

For Ethan: I hear a sharp breath as he begins. With the first ring of the keys, Beautiful noise comes from his black and white goddess. The keys hum softly as his fingers glide across them. With the first ring of the keys, He takes me deeper into his music. The keys hum softly as his fingers glide across them, Each note better than the last. He takes me deeper into his music. Sounds of the keys fill my head. Each note better than the last, Only his music is soothing my soul. Sounds of the keys fill my head. Beautiful noise comes from his black and white goddess. Only his music is soothing my soul. I hear a sharp breath as he begins.

You were born this way. But none of this sounds like me. The stars named you before you had a chance. You must have always been this beautifully cruel. But none of this sounds like me. It is time for you to die now, Lion. You must have always been this beautifully cruel. Your grave will be as delicate as you are supposed to be. It is time for you to die now, Lion. I see my demise as a new beginning for myself. Your grave will be as delicate as you are supposed to be. The stars should have named me a lion. You’re not a lion. I see my demise as a new beginning. The stars named you before you had a chance. The stars should have named me a lion. You’re not a lion. You were born this way. 

N. Scott Momaday’s work, The Way to Rainy Mountain , focuses on the Kiowa peoples’ journey to Rainy Mountain in Oklahoma. This particular piece of work deals mostly with the physical journey, but does so in a biocentric manner. The Kiowa people were deeply connected to nature, which is made overtly clear with each of the three points of view used in Momaday’s work. However, The Way to Rainy Mountain shows the intense relationship between the Kiowa people and animals. It is a beautiful example of how a group can extend democracy to nonhumans, which differs greatly from today’s society because of its consistent dominion over all of nature. Momaday’s work offers an ecocritical outlook which, when applied to our own society, creates a stark contrast in both understanding and treatment of nonhumans.  The Way to Rainy Mountain is a piece of work written by N. Scott Momaday. The work’s central focus is the Kiowa’s journey. The work follows the Kiowa people from their beginnings in Mo...

Snow leaves the clouded blue sky. Once mountain rain, Now obtuse puddles amidst the gravel. Water so dark, Once mountain rain. It could be mistaken for Water. So dark; Some kind of ink. It could be mistaken for Something once sinister. Some kind of ink, Vibrant like the sun. Something once sinister, Now obtuse puddles amidst the gravel. Vibrant like the sun, Snow leaves the clouded blue sky.

There are soft clucks from the hens, Occasional murmurs from the goats, Even faint hymns hummed by the harvester. Peering over the unending clouds, The lap of the waves on the shore soothe those near, Even the breeze coming off the humble sea seems serene. The smell of a freshly cut pasture, Guided by the salty sea air, could relax Even the livestock milling about.