english final work cited by Chad Devens

Works Cited

Cooke, Rachel. "Did Golda Meir deserve this?" Rev. of Running with Scissors, by Augusten Burroughs.
http://books.guardian.co.uk. 23 Feb. 2003 biography/0,6121,900880,00.html>. This is a creditable source because the author has been
reviewed a lot. She has also done many criticism on books and movies.
Cuda, Amanda. "Running with Scissors." Rev. of Running with Scissors, by Augusten Burroughs.
http://www.curledup.com. 25 Mar. 2002 . This
web site is a creditable source because it has been reviewed a lot and also a lot of people go
to it for this kind of thing.
Daily, Chronicle, and David Wiegand. "Crazy Doesn't Begin to Describe This Family." Rev. of
Running With Scissors, by Augusten Burroughs. http://www.sfgate.com. 14 July 2002
.
This sit is a popular site and it gives you the information right and straight.
Donahue, Deidre. "'Running With Scissors' a cut above." Rev. of Running With Scissors, by Augusten
Burroughs. http://www.usatoday.com. 16 Aug. 2002 2002-08-07-scissors_x.htm>. This is a popular site and it is known for its information.
Geller, Jeffrey L. "The Cock and Bull of Augusten Burroughs." Rev. of Running With Scissors, by
Augusten Burroughs. http://psychservices.psychiatryonline.org. 5 Mar. 2005
. This page was
written by a professor and by a doctor and thats how i know it is a creditable source.

About Macbeth

I DO NOT LIKE TO READ!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Heredity

I am the family face;
Flesh perishes, I live on,
Projecting trait and trace
Through time to times anon,
And leaping from place to place
Over oblivion.

The years-heired feature that can
In curve and voice and eye
Despise the human span
Of durance -- that is I;
The eternal thing in man,
That heeds no call to die

Thomas Hardy

Big Band, Slow Dance

Were you close? Im asked, as if grief
Would sting less deeply were we friends
As well as son and father. Further apart
Two men could never meet, though blood bends

Through arteries, veins and capillaries
Summoned into Presence by his pleasure.
On that I could have grown more slowly -
Remember being held, and cradled like treasure.


Bill Mohr

AS CRAZY AS I EVER WAS

drunk and writing poems
at 3 a.m.

what counts now
is one more
tight pussy

before the light
tilts out

drunk and writing poems
at 3:15 a.m.

some people tell me that I'm
famous.

what am I doing alone
drunk and writing poems at
3:18 a.m.?

I'm as crazy as I ever was
they don't understand
that I haven't stopped hanging out of 4th floor
windows by my heels-
I still do
right now
sitting here

writing this down
I am hanging by my heels
floors up:
68, 72, 101,
the feeling is the
same:
relentless
unheroic and
necessary

sitting here
drunk and writing poems
at 3:24 a.m.

8 Count

from my bed
I watch
3 birds
on a telephone
wire.
one flies
off.
then
another.
one is left,
then
it too
is gone.
my typewriter is
tombstone
still.
and I am
reduced to bird
watching.
just thought I'd
let you
know,
f@#$%&.

Charles Bukowski

And The Moon And The Stars And The World

Long walks at night--
that's what good for the soul:
peeking into windows
watching tired housewives
trying to fight off
their beer-maddened husbands.

Charles Bukowski

The Great Way

The Great Way has no gate;
there are a thousand paths to it.
If you pass through the barrier,
you walk the universe alone.


- Wu Men

The Eclips

I stood out in the open cold
To see the essence of the eclipse
Which was its perfect darkness.

I stood in the cold on the porch
And could not think of anything so perfect
As mans hope of light in the face of darkness.


Richard Eberhart

December 26

A BB gun.
A model plane.
A basketball.
A ’lectric train.
A bicycle.
A cowboy hat.
A comic book.
A baseball bat.
A deck of cards.
A science kit.
A racing car.
A catcher’s mitt.
So that’s my list
of everything
that Santa Claus
forgot to bring.

Blizzard

Snow:
years of anger following
hours that float idly down —
the blizzard
drifts its weight
deeper and deeper for three days
or sixty years, eh? Then
the sun! a clutter of
yellow and blue flakes —
Hairy looking trees stand out
in long alleys
over a wild solitude.
The man turns and there —
his solitary track stretched out
upon the world

Ice Cream Poem

Ice Cream Ice Cream

Oh how i love Ice cream.

I take my spoon

and smile like a bafoon.

I dip my spoon in,

letting the fun begin.

I swallow the sweet ice

making me feel so nice.

I dip the spoon another time,

eating like i commited a crime.

I eat silently, going faster and faster,

leaving the area around me an ice cream disaester!

Ice cream on my lips and all over my face...

eating ice cream like it was a race.

The cold solid touching my toungue,

I worry about my arteries; Thank god i'm young!

I should stop eating for god's sake!

Thats when i started getting a headache.

My head felt as it was about to explode,

oh boy was that ice cream cold.

I rushed to the cabinet to get some tylenol

i felt like i was about to fall.

I took the medicine and felts better,

although my face was a lot redder.

My headache was really bad,

it was getting me mad.

My sister snook in to take a peek,

she let out a small yell: "Eeek!"

I kicked the carton of ice cream,

and it hit her in the face; she screamed.

Ice Cream Ice Cream

Oh how I hate Ice Cream.