Trent's art gallery
for when I become a famous writer of course.
But first.. Here is a list of youtube videos that heavily insired my writing style:
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Poems:
What I Carry
I carry the thoughts of yesterday, in this small leather book.
Without it I'd carry fears for tomorrow, of memories I mistook.
On my finger lives a ring, with a phrase of deep embed.
Do not linger on a thing, lose your days, or be misled.
“Carpe Diem” it says, so small to hardly be read,
But it’s cadence, its weight still fills me with dread,
As I carry not the power or voice to it’s message spread.
Still those words and their wisdom do lift me from my bed,
Just as Loew’s Golem1, when he would gift “truth” upon his head.
I too live to solve our libels, but these are lies of time bled, not of bloodshed.
Not of leaven for bread or children of red,
but of men who saw and planned too far ahead.
Our libels are of guilt that weighs heavy as lead.
Of all the trails that were lost or left untread.
Of hours wasted dusting a shed or re-coiling thread.
Of eyes captured in modernity’s pleasurable stead.
Of lovers who waited far too long to wed,
And of all their words, left unsaid.
Of all the old relatives and urban heroes left unvivaed2
Of potential genius, being slept and smoked away instead.
Of failed artists and their art, cut to shred,
And of the parents who once kept their mouths and minds fed.
Finally, a libel that should to all be a lamed3:
The poisonous simplicity of “next time” just before we fled.
I carry these words to show that we are more than just alive and bred,
And should strive to find a true life, right now, before we find ourselves dead.
1. Loew’s Golem- Judah Loew ben Bezalel was a Jewish Rabbi or religious leader from 1553 until his death in 1609. During this time there was a strong re-emergence of the Blood Libels in Prague, in which the Jewish people of the area were accused of sacrificing christian children to use their blood in the creation of matzos, an unleavened Jewish staple eaten during passover. As the story goes, Loew used his knowledge of God’s creation of Adam to erect a massive clay Golem to help fight off these accusations. To bring it to life, he carved into its forehead “emet” meaning truth.
2. Vivaed- (Vih-Ved) Past tense of “viva”. A British English term meaning “to orally conduct an examination.”
3. Lamed- ( Lah-med) The twelfth letter of the Hebrew alphabet, possessing several translational interpretations. It most commonly translates to the process of obtaining or the possession of a thing, primarily knowledge.
Rhymes with embed used:
Embed, Misled, Read, Dread, Spread, Bed, Head, Bled, Bloodshed, Bread, Red, Ahead, Lead, Untread, Shed, Thread, Stead, Wed, Unsaid, Unvivaed, Instead, Shred, Fed, Lamed, Fled, Bred, Dead
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The essay that got me into USF:
It's my freshman year of highschool, and I’m spinning a pen at my desk, watching an extremely interesting movie. A movie produced around the same time as my parents; Dead Poets Society. Within the next year, through the toils of AP Seminar, relationship problems, and mental anguish, I will have watched this movie front to back 12 times. Looking up from my pen, I hear Mr Keating recite what would become my catchphrase for the next three years: “Just don’t let your poems be ordinary.” I would go on to write many poems about just how extraordinary I felt, typically in a negative way. I went deeply through the sophomore slump, and emerged forth with a naive and immature belief that I didn’t fit into the world. I used my ADHD to excuse my extremities. Laughing at lines of cars for their sheepishness, until I found myself driving to school every day. I drowned myself no longer in the pursuit of poetry as an art, but now, in the middle of my junior year, as a means of beautifying man’s distaste for himself and others. Sure you could write love poetry, but if you want to change the world, you have to present it as a problem that your ideas solve. The problem I found, and would continue to find thousands of times a day; much to the dismay of my friends who had to hear my extraordinary poetry on the topic; Environmentalism. In the theme of poetry as an expression of angst, allow me to reach through your screen and hand you this original piece.
God began with the heavens and the land.
The universe grand, would shape to his hand.
The almighty became bored, so he crafted a man,
To worship his father, however he can.
Adam ate of the tree that his father had banned.
So Adam was sent out, and given reprimand:
"You will take the earth, and have its sand,
And you will have pains that you cannot stand,
But not an inch of space, will you not demand."
Centuries forth, Adam's kingdoms expand.
Man found the buffalo, the buffalo found its end.
His beautiful beast was dead, God could not withstand.
So he escaped to the sea, to the deep-end,
on which the darkness and distance, he could depend.
In a thousand years time, man's wrath would extend.
God's beautiful oceans would be bagged, bottled, and canned.
To the ocean floor they fall, as food, playing pretend.
God sits with a box on his head- "fragile, do not bend."
And so goes humanity, making wounds, unwilling to mend.
I run the Inaugural year of the Environmental club at my very rural, and very Republican high school. When I was the Junior Class Historian, I played the people’s advocate as often as I could. As the writer for our school news, I write preposterously ambitious scenes that have to be regularly simplified for the sake of time. As my high school's sole Boys State attendee, It is my responsibility to suggest it to every junior with a heartbeat. I try to put as much creativity and confidence into everything I do, because that’s what my world needs most. I feel as if the progressive energy that our country used to possess has faded away. Kids today don’t think about our moon landing, our war efforts, or our unitedness after 9/11. They think today about the horrors of a mortgage, a pandemic, and a heating planet. I wish to reignite the flame of revelation in our state and country.
Though loving it, I don’t spend my hours reading poetry, for I love this planet more. I see the watering of plants and collecting of trash as poetry enough.
Leaving out part of Keating’s quote, I hope to have written more extraordinarily: “You see, poetry can come from anything with the stuff of revelation in it.”
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The essay that got me rejected from UF:
I’ve spent my entire life in conservative, suburban towns and cities. I’ve been surrounded almost entirely by stubborn complacency. Not only the acceptance of mediocrity, but frustration towards the possibility of improvement. Of course I have had outstanding role models, but a strive for scholastic progress should not be outstanding. Across my lifetime, I have strived to be a writer, a teacher, an artist, and even a legislator. I’ve passed every AP exam I’ve taken to become a scholar with honor, I’ve graduated from Boys State, and I’ve been running my school's Environmental club for two years. Now that you’ve gotten my introduction, why am I interested in this program?
I need a new lifestyle. I need not only to experience it, but to create a way for everyone else to as well. I would like to return to my conservative town and open a refill station, then put down tables and computers, making it one of only 2 “3rd spaces”. In my free time I'll involve myself in local politics, and hopefully write an environmental column in the local paper. Through your program, I will learn all that is necessary to collaborate between differences in order to be successful. Below is an excerpt of a poem I wrote on humanity's destructive nature on Earth.
Man found the buffalo, the buffalo found its end.
His beautiful beast was dead, God could not withstand.
So he escaped to the sea, to the deep-end,
on which the darkness and distance, he could depend.
In a thousand years time, man's wrath would extend.
God's beautiful oceans would be bagged, bottled, and canned.
To the ocean floor they fall, as food, playing pretend.
God sits with a box on his head- "fragile, do not bend."
And so goes humanity, making wounds, unwilling to mend.
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Eulogy for Alexander GrayStill
Since middle school, Alex had wanted to be a pilot in the air force. He said that he wanted to be in the military, and that he loved the idea of piloting a plane. I wish I had known at the time how badly he truly wanted to fly.
On September 23rd, Alex held a birthday party with his family and I. We played games for prizes and by the end of the night, we had enough points for one frisbee. We played with it in the parking lot as we left, and as we said goodbye I threw it to him and turned around to walk to the car. As I do this he calls my name and says
“Here you keep it. You’re gonna get more use out of it than me.”
So light, calm, confident. And most of all, joyfull. The happiest moment of the night for him was when he got to give me something that he thought I would love. I thanked him, thinking about when and where I could see him next, and said goodbye. That was the last interaction I had and will ever have with my best friend.
But he was more than MY best friend. He was THE best friend anyone could have asked for. The most loyal, selfless, joyful person you could talk to. He tried his hardest not to display how he really felt, and made the most out of his time with his friends, while he could.
I do not believe that it was a bully, or mean parents, and certainly not a substance. I think the reason he left is because the world down here had not yet learned how to be as unconditionally loving as him. He needed more than to help himself, to teach us a lesson. That kindness goes a lot farther than you might think, and some people may be farther away than others.
On October 5th in the middle of the night, Alexander Graystill left the runway. His dream had finally come true, he could fly.