Poem in Your Pocket!

Today is National "Poem in Your Pocket" Day!
In honor of this glorious day, I give to you....

What To Do About Sharks
by Vivian Shipley

1.
If a hammerhead or a great white makes
waves during your workshop or poetry reading,
don't flap your elbows or slap at it with rolled
manuscripts. Sharks thrive on visual stimulation.
2.
Blow out candles. Ease away from the podium,
and wait at least ten minutes before going
for a light switch. Join hands to keep karma
with the other poets. It's okay to recite
poems you memorized in fifth grade,
Joyce Kilmer, in desperation, even Longfellow.
3.
Rule of thumb: it's a shark not a dolphin
if it is slamming about the room, hugging,
blowing air kisses. Performers, sharks
are almost all instinct and no brain. Without
a sense of occasion, they'll crash any gig,
underwater or not, from Madagascar to Malibu.
4.
Being eyed by a shark can be exasperating,
but don't rush or shift from foot to foot
to induce motion sickness. Sharks are immune.
They are, however, dyslexic. Flash cover quotes,
prize-winning poems directly in front of both eyes.
Better yet—stop reading. Pull your new hardback
from a knapsack, and if the shark noses you
with repeated sharp jabs, hit it on the snout.
5.
If all else fails, sharks have a keen sense
of hearing. Sing The Battle Hymn of the Republic
at the top of your lungs. Sharks have short
attention spans, get bored, leave if there is
no open mike. So, swing into another verse:
Glory! Glory! Hallelujah! His truth is marching on.

Absolutely the most phenomenal poem ever written! And why do you ask?
Well, it's simple really.
It's got sharks in it.

The Big Day(s)

To cite clichés and quotes, life can be many things:
A box of chocolates.
A roller coaster.
A journey.
An adventure.
I could keep on going, but I’ll spare you.
I’m 18 now, and I’ve already experienced many events that have lingered in my mind to this day. Some of these have had a great impact on me, while others are just vivid memories.

Sink or Swim
My grandmother used to run this retirement home in Venice.
…Venice, Florida. I wish it had been Venice, Italy. In any case, there was a pool in the back, and this event occurred when my family went down to visit. This was in the 90s so I was just a tyke back then. For some reason, while everyone was splashing and swimming, I decide it would be great idea to jump in—the deep end. What I remember most is that I looked back in forth, wondering—what? I suppose whether this was a good idea or not. The other image that I remember clearly is the view from underwater. I couldn’t swim, but I don’t remember panic—just that view of the water and all the bubbles rising to the surface. As this blog is being written by someone alive and well, you can assume that I was saved. In fact I was rescued by my oldest brother Brock. Who knows why? I’m the one who always wrecked his LEGO creations.
Thanks, Brock!

Virtual Affection
This next event may make my mother cringe.
During one visit to Georgia to visit family, my brothers and I experienced a “real” video game for the first time. Keep in mind that I’m ten(ish) and I’ve never owned a video game since our SEGA Genesis broke years ago. My cousin owned this game called Total Annihilation: Kingdoms. It was an RTS (for the illiterate out there that is a “Real-Time Strategy” game which is generally one of those video games where the player controls a bunch of guys and they all kill a bunch of the other team’s troops). This planted the seed for my video game love—ahem, my video game passion. What started it all was when my mother in search of this fantastic game for her own sons discovered another RTS: Stronghold. Ever since then, I was hooked. Stronghold remains as one of the best games I’ve ever played even though it’s ancient, the graphics are dreadful, and the sequels all were embarrassing. After that, it was Halo which captivated me; then it was all downhill from there.

Rescued by the Dark Knight
In all the comic books there’s always that helpless citizen saved by the caped hero. As this noble warrior dashes away the saved watches with wide eyes, a thunderstruck stupor, and a stuttered thanks. Well, I have my own story about that.
Away back in 2000-something or other between my seventh and eighth grade years the summer blockbusters were about to get obliterated by a remake: Batman Begins.
Now, now, I have always been a dedicated fan of the Dark Knight. So when I heard that this movie was coming out I was just giddy. After seeing the film (which I add is quite a great movie), myself with my siblings, who are all loyalists of the Caped Crusader, discussed it. All of us agreed it was quite good. Admittedly, I believe the sequel was better, but hey Batman Begins takes the spotlight in my lifetime. Why? Because after seeing that movie I had the first inspiration for a story. I don’t know what actually compelled me to start writing, but write I did. Ever since then it’s kind of been my passion. One day, maybe it’ll be my career.
Fat chance, Wilkie.

Oh, we’ll see about that.

Caleb Wilkie's Day Off

I’ve always thought skipping school is a great idea. School policy is that the student who misses more than two days of class has to make up those days. Personally, I think that this policy is foolish. The student is only injuring themselves (if there is injury at all—most likely there isn’t) when they skip school. What ever happened to personal accountability?
That’s my view on that.
Knowing now that I am all for skipping school, what would I do with my free day?
Well I’d probably wake up pretty early because I always tend to do that. Two cups of coffee most likely in front of the computer or outside on the porch would get me going. After a morning of writing, I would get together with some of my friends and go rock climbing because I rarely get to do this during the school year. After a day of bouldering, we would come back home and watch a movie and eat a fantastic meal.
An observer might think us humble I suppose. Rock climbing doesn’t require fashionable attire—unless of course the observer is from the climbing world. Climbers as a stereotype are nice and hospitable. When two groups meet at a rock, members from both discuss their skill level, they borrow crash pads, and encourage whoever is up on the boulder. For the extended excursion, climbers share meals with strangers or set up tents in the same vicinity. It’s a neighborhood of amiability that exists out there in the woods. I would cite nature itself for such behavior; people united to experience the wilderness find solace in human company. Most climbers are mindful of the environment. They all wear the normal brands: Patagonia, The North Face, Black Diamond, etcetera…
If I was out with my climbing companions we would blend into the small groups at the boulders. Someone is lugging a crash pad. We all have water bottles, chalk bags, and climbing shoes and we pet our neighbor’s dog when it intrudes on our excursion.
Few things make me feel more free than climbing. It’s a challenging activity, but I boulder which is the most leisurely of rock climbing styles. Still, bouldering presents me with plenty of problems to master. By the end of the day I wouldn’t regret a minute outside in the mountain hollers.
Perhaps the only regrettable party would be my Calculus class. With me gone, there would be few indeed who would ever answer questions. Poor souls.