Jordan Brown, 11, Faced With Life in Prison

This extremely violent crime was obviously a shock to everyone, especially considering Brown's age and percieved mental state. Being that Brown murdered his step mother and her unborn baby, he should definitely be tried, but as the juvenile he is, not as an adult just because it's such a vicious crime.

Reflective on 2/14

My Observation...

‘My’ observation poem

worn out,
ground down,
shredded.
Each mark signifying a different day of cruising
Breaking apart this collage of damage with my eyes
Unsuccessfully trying to match paint streaks to rails or ledges.
Studying which grind was initiated most…least
How large of gaps were done by how lengthy the pressure cracks.
This is my skateboard
This is my freedom, expression, creativity and lifestyle.

'I Am' Poem

i am a method man
i am a hands-on man
i am a manipulative man
i am a cheerful man
i am a sleek man
i am a skateboard man
i am a blunt man
i am a tenacious man
i am a healthy man
i am an artistic man
i am an enthusiastic man
i am a kind man
i am a sexual man
i am an anxious man
i am a curious man i am a method man
i am an abstract man
i am an animal man
i am a vegitable man
i am a psychedelic man
i am a folksy man
i am a tattoo man
i am a hummus man
i am a comfy man
i am an agnostic man
i am a poor man
i am a satisfied man
i am a content man
i am a camera man
i am a music man
i am a funky dunky man

First Memory
'Double DejaVu'

through these dusty, aphotic hallways
the only form of light being faint radiant strips of moonlight
shining down from windows overhead
cautiously tiptoeing
in persuit of a mysterious being
its shape far too abstract to distinguish
as anticipated as gifts under a christmas tree on the eve.
this ananymous being for an unnamed reason
is my only concern
disregarding a building sense of doom, i continue to follow..
only to be stricken awake by static consumed fm radio and goobers in my eyes.

The morning comes, the morning fades
the afternoon opens its eyes accompanied by brilliant sunrays,
the sun sets.
Once again creeping through the same eerie hallways,
following the same black form of mystery,
old feelings of doom start to build again
just as before
yet this time it's different
i've been here
in this same corner
shaking with anxiety and curiosity.
deja vu then sinks in
just as deep as your stomach drops when your lips meet your significant other.
unfortunately the story ends again with static fm radio and goobers in my eyes.

Slow Motion Poem

Canvas
While steadily pondering the subject of a soon to be painting,
You reach for the cupboard handle and pull as it slowly reveals any desired color and/or shade of liquid expression.
You’re as careful as a soldier tiptoeing through a minefield As you gather your tubes of syrupy tones,
followed by snagging exactly three paper towels, a round paintbrush for mixing, a thin bristled brush for outlining and a thick bristled brush for thickening.
While placing supplies on your desk,
you continue to think on specific details your composition will contain.
Details like thick; clean lines in the right places,
solid opaque colors, and the overall balance of your piece.
While you dip your outlining brush into this thick; opaque goop, this color clouded water,
you feel enlightenment as ideas continue to stream while your composition builds up and is finished with satisfaction being the only outcome felt by oneself.