Scrapbook

My life was an empty scrapbook, no photos nor letters to furnish the pages.

Nothing inside but an endless bundle of blank paper

Like an avalanche of snow tumbling from the mountain side.

It sat in solemn silence in the back of a cluttered closet filled to the brim with worthless treasures.

Knick knacks and what nots packed like sardines in a tin.

All those which are high in cost and low in value.

There, the book would lie behind all the madness

Collecting dust rather than memories.

One morning, a boy came to my door.

He had gentle features and the brightest eyes

As if he had movie projectors playing behind them.

He said he was a photographer and asked to take my picture.

A picture? Of me? What for?

I did not want a photo of myself.

For I would have no use for it.

But the boy snapped the photo anyways.

The camera flash was a warm ray of sun and it lingered in my eyes as it faded.

He handed me the photo in silence.

I gazed at the moment in my hand

 Deconstructing the face that smiled back at me.

I saw a girl who was utterly alone.

A girl who was living like she was already dead.

Her eyes appeared as if they were made of glass and her smile lacked radiance.

Her skin was like aged porcelain that would crumble from a single touch.

Then I peered back at the boy who stood in front of me.

The blush of his cheeks was like a Santa Monica sunrise.

His lips were sculpted with such sophistication,

that even the finest artists could not create a work of art as angelic as his smile.

The beating of my heart seemed to become louder and louder as I fixed my eyes upon the boy.

I felt something I had never quite felt before.

In that moment,

I felt alive.

I peeled my hand from the inside of my pocket

Hoping, just hoping that he would take it.

Hoping he would pull me out of this dark cave that I was imprisoned and would present me to the light.

And he did.

He took my hand and we ran as far as the naked eye could see.

He showed me what it felt like to stand completely still

And to let the rain dance across my face.

He taught me how to roll down a valley hill,

Letting the daisies and the blades of grass intertwine with my hair.

It was all so new.

I had never felt so happy without spending a single cent.

The next day, I cleaned out my closet.

I didn’t want all that junk anymore.

For I would have no use for it.

Then, I came across my scrapbook.

So, I blew away the blanket of dust.

“This is the perfect place to keep all of our photos, don’t you think?”

Poem Composition: Scrapbook

The poem Scrapbook written by Ruby Maher clearly illustrates the importance of human experiences and connections and the idea materialism is not the answer to happiness. The poet received her inspiration for the overall theme of her poem from the novel Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury. She portrays this theme through her strong use of descriptive language and literary devices throughout the poem. For example, in the first line, the poet writes “My life was an empty scrapbook, no photos nor letters to furnish the pages.” This impactful metaphor is used to explain that the character feels that her life is empty and has nothing to give it true value. The use of photos is metaphorical for memories and experiences in this poem. The character explains how the scrapbook sat in a closet full of her possessions. The “cluttered closet” is metaphorical for the false belief that the more you own, the more successful your life will be. This connects back to Fahrenheit 451 as the societal view in this novel is very materialistic. They find comfort within their products and do not value human interactions. In the poem, a boy appears at her door one day and asks to take her photo. The character is taken back by the boy as she observes his liveliness and compares his energy to her own. She becomes intrigued by the boy and lets him show her how to truly live. The boy in this poem represents the ignition to the girl’s enlightenment. He is the spark that lights the girls desire to fill her life with meaning. This again can be connected to Fahrenheit 451 as Clarisse was the spark that ignited Montag’s journey. At the end of the poem, the girl character finds the scrapbook in cleaned-out closet and decides that it would be the perfect place to keep her new photos. This is metaphorical for filling your life with memories. This poem incorporates alliteration many times. This sound device is seen multiple times throughout the poem. “solemn silence, cluttered closet, such sophistication, art as angelic” are all examples of alliteration use in this poem. Not only does it give the poem another layer of depth, but it is also pleasing to the ear. The use of oxymorons are applied in this poem as well. The poet describes the heap of products in the closet as “worthless treasures”. This explains that the number of objects that she has collected to not bring her happiness. With just these three poetic devices, the author is able to create a powerful poem that explains that true happiness and the feeling of belonging comes from real human interactions and the value of memories.

Poem Composition: Ozymandias

I chose to analyze the poem Ozymandias by Percy Bysshe Shelley. I was intrigued by this poem because I loved the use of descriptive words and the irony in this sonnet. This poem talks about a traveler who describes a statue of an ancient ruler in a dessert. He explains how the statue is in very poor condition. This poem contains a lot of useful imagery to visually enhance the description for the ruins of the statue. Examples of this imagery would be when he describes the statue as two vast and trunk-less legs, shattered face, wrinkled lip and desert. I really enjoyed the irony in this poem. Ozymandias presents himself as all mighty and cannot be defeated, but in reality, all that is left of him is the ruins of his statue. Not only has his statue crumbled but so has his power. I found that I could connect this poem the Macbeth. It compares to how Macbeth portrayed himself as invincible, but in the end his power was taken away. I feel that the theme of this poem is that all power is temporary and that there is no such thing as immortality. That death is inevitable and that no matter how powerful you perceive yourself to be, you will fall from your pedestal. Too much control can be deceiving and if we let ourselves become blind to the truth, the last thoughts going through our brains on our death beds will be our regrets.