LITR 3731: Creative Writing
Student Poetry Submission 2005
Lindsay Niemann
final version
Hillcroft
(Sunday
at the Office)
Stationed on high,
where rooftops steal my view
a familiar city sprawls
shrouded in populace,
concrete trees and asphalt gardens.
Scattered colored lights
reflect off a glass-sided skyscraper.
Sirens send pigeons into a frenzy.
They too seek shelter.
A Sunday afternoon,
But to the man outside
standing under a bridge
holding his cardboard resume in hand,
this means nothing.
Along with congested cell phone traffic,
I pretend I don’t notice.
Vacant spaces fill surrounding parking lots,
and upon Monday's arrival,
all will be put to good use.
Upon Monday’s arrival,
I will be put to good use.
The
Development of Hillcroft
I first wrote this poem about six years ago, but it sounded entirely different than it does now. I was up at the office on a Sunday afternoon playing on the Internet. I did have some research to do, but after that, I started surfing the Web for information and pictures of my favorite musicians. I took a break from the computer to have a smoke and went into the other room where smoking was permitted. Starring out the big glass window of the office, I let the scenery of the city inspire me as I often do. Looking down on parking lots, traffic, pigeons, and skyscrapers, it really didn’t take long for me to formulate something in my head. When I returned to my computer, I grabbed a pen and paper and wrote down what I had.
When I write poetry, or anything else for that matter, I have the tendency to get stuck on certain words, and instead of going on and finishing the rest of the poem, I keep thinking about the “perfect word” and then I lose the inspiration altogether. That didn’t happen with Hillcroft. The words flowed and the poem was finished within thirty minutes. At the time, I was satisfied with what I had written, but a couple of years later when I was looking for a poem to submit for possible publication, Hillcroft was not my first choice.
I pulled out the poem, read over it, and decided it needed serious help before I try to get it published. I put it aside and chose something else. It wasn’t until I took this creative writing class that I decided to do something with Hillcroft.
The original version of the poem was choppy with very little alliteration and no real form. The end was kind of offensive as I mention something about too many handicapped spaces not being put to good use. I didn’t want to offend the physically challenged community. So, I knew the end had to be changed but that wasn’t the only part that had problems. Parts of it were unclear and too vague, other parts were poetically challenged, but I knew the poem had potential—I still liked it. I liked the topic and the ideas I presented in the poem. The transformation process was not as difficult as I imagined it would be. It had been several years since I first wrote the poem, and I had long ago quit that office job. But the feelings still remained as did Houston and all its components.
Hillcroft
(Original version)
From only six stories high
I can see the top of every roof in the city.
Too many colored lights reflect off the glass side of a skyscraper.
The sound of sirens
sends pigeons into a frenzy.
They too seek shelter.
It is a Sunday afternoon
but to the man standing under a bridge
holding his resume in hand
this means nothing.
I pretend not to notice
although where I sit
I am able to see all.
Handicapped spaces
occupy most of the parking lot
but none have been put to use.
I look at my watch,
it is time to join them.
I stayed up late one night revising the poem with my favorite CD’s playing on my stereo and a mixed drink at my side. I was relaxed and happy to be writing, although I was still disappointed in myself for not trying to write a new poem. By the end of the night, I felt confident and comfortable about reading the poem out loud to the class and considered the poem done.
Hillcroft
(Bird’s
eye view)
Stationed on high,
(where rooftops steal my view)
a familiar city sprawls
shrouded in populous,
concrete trees and asphalt gardens.
Colored lights
reflect off a glass-sided skyscraper.
Sirens send pigeons into a frenzy.
They too seek shelter.
A Sunday afternoon,
But to the man outside
standing under a bridge
holding his cardboard resume in hand,
this means nothing.
Along with passing cell phone traffic,
I pretend not to notice.
Vacant spaces occupy swarming parking lots,
and upon Monday's arrival,
they will all be put to good use.
Upon Monday’s arrival
My familiar alarm assures me,
“It’s time to join them.”
I enjoyed the comments from my classmates and was pleased with what they had to say. They complimented my poem with commentary regarding the poem’s ability to capture a mood, the imagery and fresh language. The parts of the poem that I thought still needed help were the same parts they said I might want to change. I took their suggestions into consideration. Some of the suggestions I used and some I didn’t. I am happy with how the poem turned out, but I am still not completely satisfied with the end.
Hillcroft
(Sunday
at the Office)
Stationed on high,
where rooftops steal my view
a familiar city sprawls
shrouded in populace,
concrete trees and asphalt gardens.
Scattered colored lights
reflect off a glass-sided skyscraper.
Sirens send pigeons into a frenzy.
They too seek shelter.
A Sunday afternoon,
But to the man outside
standing under a bridge
holding his cardboard resume in hand,
this means nothing.
Along with congested cell phone traffic,
I pretend I don’t notice.
Vacant spaces fill surrounding parking lots,
and upon Monday's arrival,
all will be put to good use.
Upon Monday’s arrival,
I will be put to good use.
The Development of Where Yellow Rocks Rest
Where Yellow Rocks Rest was a spur of the moment poem. After reading the first poetry reading assignment and reading some of the poems in chapter two, I was inspired to write. I picked a familiar topic that I was used to writing about. Yellowstone National Park. I worked there for six months and have two journals dedicated to the experience. The poem was not difficult to write (as poems go) and I am happy with the outcome, but it can always be better. It’s a new poem and will probably be revised many times, but I hope to have it published someday soon.
Where
Yellow Rocks Rest
I know she waits for me,
Majestic and lonely
She waits.
Adorned with new growth
Mini-pines replace charred poles
Boiling pools scorch my toes,
A symbol of freedom seen fishing
perfectly perched in a hiding tree.
Chained rocks welcome a first snow,
like a young bride in her wedding dress
Both glow radiance when bejeweled.
On a day long mile,
where valleys become forests,
Bones of prey pollute my step,
a reminder of my vulnerability.
In sleeping nights,
She re-occurs to me,
chasing away time
with enhanced visions of beauty.
A keeper of promises
I remind myself,
But as ties grow tighter
and roots dig deeper,
I wonder how much longer she will have to wait.
Original Version of Hillcroft
Hillcroft
(Original version)
From only six stories high
I can see the top of every roof in the city.
Too many colored lights reflect off the glass side of a skyscraper.
The sound of sirens
sends pigeons into a frenzy.
They too seek shelter.
It is a Sunday afternoon
but to the man standing under a bridge
holding his resume in hand
this means nothing.
I pretend not to notice
although where I sit
I am able to see all.
Handicapped spaces
occupy most of the parking lot
but none have been put to use.
I look at my watch,
it is time to join them.
Revised Version of Hillcroft
Hillcroft
(Bird’s
eye view)
Stationed on high,
(where rooftops steal my view)
a familiar city sprawls
shrouded in populous,
concrete trees and asphalt gardens.
Colored lights
reflect off a glass-sided skyscraper.
Sirens send pigeons into a frenzy.
They too seek shelter.
A Sunday afternoon,
But to the man outside
standing under a bridge
holding his cardboard resume in hand,
this means nothing.
Along with passing cell phone traffic,
I pretend not to notice.
Vacant spaces occupy swarming parking lots,
and upon Monday's arrival,
they will all be put to good use.
Upon Monday’s arrival
My familiar alarm assures me,
“It’s time to join them.”
Final Version of Hillcroft
Hillcroft
(Sunday
at the Office)
Stationed on high,
where rooftops steal my view
a familiar city sprawls
shrouded in populace,
concrete trees and asphalt gardens.
Scattered colored lights
reflect off a glass-sided skyscraper.
Sirens send pigeons into a frenzy.
They too seek shelter.
A Sunday afternoon,
But to the man outside
standing under a bridge
holding his cardboard resume in hand,
this means nothing.
Along with congested cell phone traffic,
I pretend I don’t notice.
Vacant spaces fill surrounding parking lots,
and upon Monday's arrival,
all will be put to good use.
Upon Monday’s arrival,
I will be put to good use.
Where Yellow Rocks Rest
Where Yellow Rocks Rest
I know she waits for me,
Majestic and lonely
She waits.
Adorned with new growth
Mini-pines replace charred poles
Boiling pools scorch my toes,
A symbol of freedom seen fishing
perfectly perched in a hiding tree.
Chained rocks welcome a first snow,
like a young bride in her wedding dress
Both glow radiance when bejeweled.
On a day long mile,
where valleys become forests,
Bones of prey pollute my step,
a reminder of my vulnerability.
In sleeping nights,
She re-occurs to me,
chasing away time
with enhanced visions of beauty.
A keeper of promises
I remind myself,
But as ties grow tighter
and roots dig deeper,
I wonder how
much longer she will have to wait.