Jems Journal

In, Maycomb, everyone’s talking about Tom. That’s I ever heart anyway, and Atticus had his trial, and Scout said she really wanted to go. Corse, I said yes, but Cal would skin ya alive, but she said she could handle her. So, I said allright. No one in Maycomb barley recognized us when we came to the trial, with Dill of course, and we all sat in the colored folks section, we were next to Reverend Skyes, awful nice man.
Later Scout tell me that when they went outside, they met Mr. Dolphus Raymond and said he don’t drink nothing but co-cola in that bottle of his. I was surprized.
Well I guess Aunt Alexandra was right, it’s just baby steps and it’s really not right of the jury to convict poor old Tom Robinson. They’re crazy—the judges are. Don’t ever let a black free.

To Kill A Mockingbird Cover

I chose to do my cover this way because I wanted to show the tree in front of the Radley house. It Contains two soap figures--Scout and Jem, some gum, and a pocket watch: a few of the things they found in that tree from Boo. Even though the heart of the novel is based around mockingbirds, I thought that the tree was just as important to the book.

Not as Great as the Book

There are three subjects that make Harry Hooks movie version of the Lord of the Flies, 1990, differ from William Golding’s novel. The first reason is the arrival of the boys on the island, Simons encounter with the Lord of the Flies and how the different chiefs ruled.

When the boys came to the island in the book they arrived on plane. In the movie, however, they arrived on the island in a life boat. They all knew each other, and they’re all from the same school, so whoever was the colonel then, is now. But in the book, they don’t know one another; the boys have to get to know each other as they build their campo and rules, which might make something’s tougher in the book than in the movie. It takes away the building up the friends and enemies from the movie. And for some cases, building their skills as leaders.

The second point that made William Golding’s book differ from Harry Hook’s movie was Simons Encounter with the Beast. Simon is A Figure much like Jesus and the Lord of the Flies is something compared to a beezabulb (devil like creature). So when Simon met the Lord, you saw that scene was compared to Jesus’ confrontation with Satan during the 40 days of Wilderness. Simon is both natural and good in this world where such a combination seems impossible, so he realizes this is not real. He he’s the most complex reaction because he is the most complex character. Though, in the movie, Harry Hook completely cut out this meeting with the beats and made it seem he wasn’t so Jesus like, and it didn’t make it seem like what it was compared to in the book—an encounter with the devil. You don’t see Simon fainting in the film, which indicates the horrific persuasive for the instinct for chaos and savagery that the Lord of the Flies represents. It takes away the religious views of Golding’s book.

Another way the book differed from the movie was how chiefs ruled their tribes. At the beginning, the leader was chosen in both, but in the book, Ralph and Jack act like their two leaders. In the movie however, Jack doesn’t interrupt as much, you don’t really see his jealousy. In William Golding’s version you see strait away that Jack despises Ralph, from the very beginning and wants to be chief. Although, in the movie, you don’t see much emotion from him until he says, “I’ve had enough, “and goes to make his own tribe. When he’s gone Ralph doesn’t really do much to keep everyone else in his tribe, like he almost doesn’t care about leading. Though, in the book, he tries everything he can do to keep the boys in his tribe. This changes the relationship between Ralph and Jack.

In all, Harry Hook’s movie, 1990, was only based on Golding’s novel. It was an adaption and cut out most of the symbolism, which left it not as great the book, Lord of the Flies by William Golding.

Chapter 10: The Shell and the Glasses

The power, the rock
the tribe is lead by the beast
by the fear and the masks
by selfishness and evil
by a harsh hunter named Jack

You Cant Have it all Exept The Sunkist Pink Grapefruit, Strawberry Daiquiri, and Lemon Lime

But you can have the fleur delis points of the green garden gate,
And the pink buds and creeper vines and the butterfly flowers,
Like the really flutter at your own touch.
You can have the anonymous love letters and lunch notes at dinnertime,
Though, you always know they’re from grandma because smeared vanilla cake batter
Still sits around the edges.
You can have the one black moor goldfish in the pond of orange ones,
With his budging dragon eyes staring right at you,
And when the time comes,
You’ll leave a ball in the water to stop it from icing over in cold winters.
You can have the bright, juicy, fresh watermelons that grow to the left of the orange brick wall down the garden,
That is eaten on sunny Saturday afternoons by young children.
You can have the happiness that bursts like popcorn,
Pop, pop, pop,
Until the tomato red and electric blue bag overflows.
You can pick one up, but you only have to put it down again because you’re on a diet.
You can apply mummy’s cherry red lipstick shakily onto yourself after she did for a big night out.
But you can’t wash those permanent lines off,
Only wait for them to disappear, so grin and bear those fat red lips.
You can have the toyshops full of screaming kids—“I want this”,”please, please, please.” That always ends in a harsh “no,”
And everyone wonders why we still take them to the heaven of toys and says no, teasing like a crook.
You can have the bitter sweetness of an unripe green apple like the harsh notes of Beethoven playing in the grandpa’s old fashioned living room,
Him asleep to it in his armchair—paper still on lap.
You can have the gentle beat of a hummingbird’s wing as it lands on a beautiful hibiscus flower.
You can have the jelly bean—handpicked by a child’s sticky sweet fingers on a Sunday—
Sunkist Pink Grapefruit, Strawberry Daiquiri, Lemon Lime, everyone as tangy and fresh—
Unique candy, from the very best.
You can have the radio songs—on a loop like they want you to notice,
And the car mirrors with the dim light that you keep on the whole car ride—even though it’s daytime.
You can have the short cherries on the trees that sit by the mocha brown shed,
You notice that they disappear right under your nose—sneaky birds.
You can have February,
And March
And April, maybe May.
And all the other months you can think of because that doesn’t matter to me when you still can’t have it all--but only no more than that.

Poetry Notebook: Beginnings and Endings

Description: There are always beginnings and endings for everyone. Weather the beginning of a life or the ending of a day. These poets have made the moments perfectly poetic for us to read and admire; beginnings and endings.

Synopsis: A few poems about beginnings as well as endings.

Beginnings:
Wild Dreams of a New Beginning
New Beginnings by James M.Rainey
New Love, New Life by Johann Wolfgang Goethe
Wake Up, Day Calls You by Pedero Salinas

Endings:
Where the Sidewalk Ends by Shel Silverstien
Night by William Blake
Song of The End of the World
Shot? So Quick, So Clean an Ending? by A. E, Housman

Chocolate Candy Brown-Benjamin Moore-2107-10

A park
In between the dark
And the light
Side of town,
Full of sings
From 1874.

Sand,
Covered the chocolate candy brown
Girl’s feet.
The sand
Of an hour glass,
Three fourths full.
Laughing,
Playing,
Enjoying,
The time she had
In the park that day.
With a fragile,
Paper white girl.
Not knowing
Why her mother said it wasn’t safe.
Best friends,
Half full.

They weren’t noticed
Until later.
One-fourth full.
Screaming,
Kicking,
Crying,
Last goodbyes
For ever,
As a fragile
Small,
paper white girl
Was being dragged away
“I want to do everything she does!”
By her mother.

Left,
A small
Chocolate candy brown
Child—ashamed.
Sitting
Quietly—wondering
What she’d done wrong,
On the driftwood swing-sets.
Hour glass:
Empty.
Sand:
Wet with tears.

Small Steps: The year I Got Polio By Peg Kehret

Publisher: Alber Whitman & Company Genre: memoir Where I Got It: A friend mentioned it and I got it from the library. One Sentence Summary: One day, twelve-year-old Peg Kehret gets diagnosed with three types of Polio and spends several months in a hospital fighting for her life. First Sentence: My ordeal began on a Friday early in December. First Chapter Review: It all starts out as a normal day when Peg is really excited to go to the Homecoming Parade with friends. Until it all turns upsidown when she feels a twitching in her legs. Her parents just think it’s the flu, but when the doctor comes around, he tells her to go to the hospital…immediately. Verdict: Very interesting and tells you everything about polio and how she handled it. An easy but informing read. Cover Comments: Yellow Background with a black and white picture of the main character. Has big bold blue title as well. I would sum it up as an average backround, not too knowticable on the bookshelf though.

Ghosts or Beasts?

We need an assembly
Not for laughing
And falling.
This meeting must not be fun,
But business.
Those legendary storms
Of the pacific
Have shifted here.
And the shadows were where they ought to be.

If you’re chief,
You had to think,
You had to be wise.
Do all of you see?
You voted me as chief,
Now you do what I say.

The beastie,
The snake,
The fire,
The talk of fear.
Where from?
What does that mean?
Were frightened
We put up with being frightened.
But the beast,
The one that’s as dark as the islands night,
That’s nightmares.

What about ghosts?

The storm broke.
No!
I don’t believe in ghosts?
—ever!

I got the conch
Shut up!

The rules,
You’re breaking the rules.

Sucks to the rules!
Because
The rules are the only thing we got.

Who cares!

Ghosts or Beasts?

The assembly shredded away
As quickly as a storm of angry wasps.

I ought to give up
Being chief.

Oh lord!
Oh no!
I’m scared of him
What’s the use?
Well,
Fat lot of good we are,
Three blind mice,
They stood in darkness,
Lost,
Again,
In deep waters.

Go on being chief.
Try.

I Am From Muddy Play Clothes

I am from pencils and paper,
Faber Castell and Daler Rowney.
I am from the big stone house
by the white cotton field.
I am from the tall evergreen trees,
the sticky yellow sap that sits on your fingertips.
I am from birthdays and homemade cakes,
with Elizabeth and Frances,
covered in silky soft icing.
I am from knives and forks,
sitting up strait and acting proper.
From occasionally going to church
in muddy play clothes on sunny Sunday mornings.
From looking for the purple monsters under the bed
and believing that sprinkles were made out of waxy crayons.
I’m from the sun in Malaysia and the bitter wind in Britain.
From hot Sunday dinners
and tasting food before it was ready.
From the big custom made bed—
the one that everyone sleeps in together.
The one that we jump on, the one that we hide under.
I am from the dusty pictures
I’m from blue eyes and strait hair,
white skin and lovely voices.
From the tree that grows in my family’s heart.

Japan Erthquake Hits Northeast

On March 11 at 2:46 in the afternoon a devastating audible earthquake hit Japan measuring an 8.9 magnitude that was later brought up to be 9.0—people are still feeling aftershocks. The most powerful Japanese earthquake since records began, triggered a massive tsunami just 250 miles from the capital—Tokyo. This proceeded not long after the large tremor. Taking everything in its path with it, a copious mess of debris covers the ground making it hard to find survivors. Adept Japanese soldiers have been deployed all over japan as well as contingents of rescue teams from around the world to find survivors. But it is feared that up to 100,000 people could have died. Everyone is trying to help with things like rescue dogs that can detect people hidden under in capacious spaces.
A Japanese nuclear power plants pressure has exceeded normal levels. People have been told to seal and stay in their houses along with power cuts to save energy. Risking health of anyone near it—scientists are trying to find ways to cool it and are worried that fitful explosions might take place.
Although the sky is an azure blue, the ground is covered with everything and anything the tsunami caught. It is crucial for everyone to hope for the best.

Chinese Cinderella

Chinese Cinderella by Adeline Yen Mah is the memoir of an unwanted daughter. Born as the fith child into and affluent family. Her mother died shortly after her birth--leaving her with the title of 'bad luck' or 'cursed' (p.3). Adelines father quickly remarried a young womman who favors her own two childern significantly more than fathers other children. Denied love from her father and stepmother, she turnes to her grandfather--YeYe--for afection. He and her Aunt Baba are the only ones she looks up to, who inspire her.
‘
"And if I should be so lucky as to succeed one day, it’ll be because you believed in me."’ (p.208)Says Adeline to her YeYe.

Chinese Cinderella was writtlen shortly after Yen Mahs first book, Falling Leaves. Wich details Adelines life from 14 years old to adulthood as Chinese Cinderella focuses on her life before that. This inspiring memoir is organized in a collection if vignettes --in a cronological order--that each make you go 'wow'. Because of this, the author, jumps some parts on time--often the parts of her childhood that were less important than the others.

The memoirist—Adeline—came to realize about herself was even thought she loves education; it doesn’t give her any love back. She wants something more like a family who loves and supports her. She has a heart full of love, now she just needs someone to love her.

I think this book was hard to put down because the author wrote with so many fresh details and feelings, it felt like you were there with a real Chinese Cinderella the whole time. It feels like she doesnt mark the events in her life by dates but by feelings.


‘"Now they knew the pathetic truth! Unloved and unwanted by my own parents! How long did it take for a person to die of shame."’ (p.129)

‘"My whole being vibrated with all the joy in the world. I only had to stretch out my hand to reach the stars."’ (p.220)

I Believe There Are Monsters under the Bed

I believe there are monsters under the bed,
To sleep with a teddy bear is a good thing,
They scare the monsters away each night.

I believe blankets are a necessity.

I believe dreams are great,
That when you don’t want to wake up in the morning,
Your excuse should be, “I was dreaming.”

I believe a little scare, every now and then, is good for you.

But I don’t believe in nightmares,
I believe that their just a dream with a little edge.

I believe you toes shouldn’t be left out from the covers at night.

I believe when you know where everything is in your room,
Others call that messy.

I believe reading puts you into another world,
But you have to let the book take you there.

Interview with Mrs Murrow

Yes, I was on the train quite late, on my way to New York I was. Going to visit my sister she’s not very well at the moment, and this was the only ticket I was able to lay my hands on. The train was quite empty except for this one dear young man. You mentioned it was, well, Holden Caulfield? Sorry, I don’t recall anyone by that name. But on the train, the only person I did meet was Rudolf Schmidt—a bit strange to my liking, though he went to Pencey Prep, I thought that was nice anyway. Well dear, that sounds like that could have been him, did he really have a brain tumour removed, poor thing. Yes, well, he was a bit touched in the head, anyway. I mean… he offered me a cigarette; he must smoke a lot because the case was almost empty. Yes yes, he was a strange boy, he also asked me if I wanted to get a cocktail with him in the club car—I don’t even think he was old enough and it was about 3 in the morning, it would be closed for goodness sake. He was saying that he would be able to get in on account of his “grey hair”, really. (Disappointed face). Tut tut . (shakeshead).
One funny thing about him was he started to talk about my boy, Ernest, but Rudolf...um I mean ,what was it …Holden, started to talk about this nonsense that he was running for class president, but surely my boy Ernest, would have told me about it, he writes me every Sunday, yes that’s him. Mmm.(nodding head)
Bit cheeky though…ermm Holden he was, mind you, my son can be as well sometimes probably picked it up from some of those kids at Pencey, though the boy couldn’t have made up all those stories he told to me about Ernest…could he?
He told me he lots of pretend things (shakes head) I’m mean there was so many of them. About my Ernie being shy n’ modest and all, he’s not that shy, is he? Well then, poor dear (looks into space)
If you ask me the boy Holden, could have been a total nutcase, if you ask me, he kept looking at me as if I was 16 again, boy, he was strange. Now I come to think of it, I don’t think he had a brain tumour after all, on account he was most surely lying about everything else. Thank goodness. Then what was he doing out of school before they let you out for the Christmas holidays. Oh! He didn’t get thrown out did he, poor thing. I feel terrible for him, his parents too. I wonder what they’ll have t’ do. I wonder what I’d do if my Ernie got the ax.
D’y’know what I remember that his nose was bleeding, I don’t know why but it makes me feel a bit funny so I told him in the end. I guess that anyone would have anyway. Bit peculiar if you ask me though.

An Old Student of Mine Again

I decided to embark my daily walk around two. It was a serene stroll down all that hustle and bustle by the train station. It was pretty gloomy outside and I always had an inkling that it would rain, but I went out anyway. Soon enough it did, then it started to rain profusely, throwing down buckets at a time. I rushed over to the nearest place I could see—the train station café. I waited just inside the door for a few long minutes by then decided to sit down because the rain wasn’t going to stop any time soon. So, I lackadaisically stalked over to an empty table near the back and ordered some water, I felt quite dehydrated for some reason. I sat back and a look around and saw not many people: a dark woman in a beige coat, two nuns clad in their uniforms, and… oh, it was Holden Caulfield—wearing a funny read hat of some sort with a grimace on his face. I hadn’t seen him since he was in my class a few years ago; I could remember him from anywhere, always doing the most unusual things. I gingerly walked over to him and said in a very nervous yet affable voice,”Hey, Holden, is that you boy?” he spun around and said, “Oh…uhh yea it’s me, nice to see you again miss…” I quickly interrupted him—though I’m sure he still didn’t remember my name anyway—and said, “Yes, it’s nice to see you again, how have you been?” He replied as I endeavoured to shake his hand, “quite well actually, been moving around a lot to lots of places, one where there was quite a few ducks. Oh well, I best be of then, I wouldn’t want to be late.“ He smiled and nodded and quietly walked away. Now that evoked memories from when he was always making excuses in my class, they pervaded my mind for a few seconds. I thought that was quite a cursory encounter but it didn’t really matter, he wasn’t my best student anyway. Then I shook those thoughts away and went to sit down.

The story of That Girl

If I ever met…
Such a serene little girl.
With blond curls and blue eyes,
Her soft hands lingered in her mothers.
Her smooth pink cheeks
Holding that perfect smile.
If she ever had an inkling
That this Sunday,
Was the Sunday that her most beloved family member
Would be lost.
Her mother-- looks pretty,
With her long blond curls and blue eyes, always smelt sweet.
The white dress draped her back as she crossed the road,
She was audacious.
Her mother was the only ne that the little girl was close to.

The little girl cried over
Her mothers now pale skin.
Dripping a profuse amount
Of perfect tears of love
Over her mothers cracked lips and stretched cheek bones.
Crying the waves of the pacific,
Now she had no one to share laughter with, to share her love with.
This lasted days.
Until her abhorrent father
Confiscated her traces of her mother.
Beloved photos soaked in tears,
White linen that she slept in scented with sugar.

She was ruled by her mean father,
Shouting out orders like daggers.
Punishing her for half of what she never did.
She was always "that girl" to him.

For years until she was set free
Into the big world,
At first she was clueless.
Not little any more she figured it out.
The only place she had was a little apartment
With two rooms and a leaky sink.
The only money she made was
From working for a string factory.
But she soon realized that it was better living there,
Far from her father.

She soon made a friend,
A dark skinned girl,
As quiet as a mouse.
She taught her how to laugh.
She made another friend,
He had olive skin,
Taught her how to love.
She mad more friends.
How to live again.
She was happy, with the leaky sink, and the low pay.
She had friends,
All types.
And shared the rest of the life with them.
She was happy.
She figured life out.
To live it with happiness,
And share it with the ones you love most.


(made it up.)

The Catcher in the Rye

"All this madman stuff,
happened to me
around Christmas.
Just before I got pretty run down.
Had to come here to take it easy".
Pency.
My room--
The heat was on for a change,
Made it feel kind of cosy.
There is two armchairs in my room,
There is two goddam armchairs in every room.
All the arms were in sad shape--
Everyone always sits on them.
'cus they looked soft I guess.
Oh yea,
I got kicked out too.
I don't think I was supposed to come back,
After Christmas i mean.
On account,
I was flunking everything,
except English.
Now I think I'm gonna hang around
For some kind of goodbye sign.
I don't care if its a sad goodbye,
A bad goodbye.
But,
When I leave a place
I like to know I'm leaving it,
If you don't,
You feel worse.
Then,
All of a sudden,
I thought of something.
"Made me know I was getting the heel out".