For my creative writing class, we had to take inspiration from Elizabeth Bishop’s price 12 O’Clock News! It was so difficult for me but I think I got the hang of it. Try it out for yourself! Read the poem–Bishop creatively describes the objects on her desk. How you describe each object is like a self-portatit to type of person you are.
laptop
As I step forward, I pause and consider my next steps. I hesitate and ponder, yet in this realm that I call home–I am queen and king–my future at my command. I search and toil through the untouched lands–learning each foreign gadget and device. A conduit to my dreams, soon I will become confident in my approach, movements sure as my eyes skip past the horizon. A blur before a rush of exhilaration, my vision flickers as my intentions become idle. From the clear, white edges, I can see a gate with a crystalline glare; begging for commands by my royal hand. I toil the untouched fields of my imagination, digging at the truth until the surface becomes warm from my endeavors as I search for truths.
pencils
Stack them as high as you go! These rigid soldiers are at my royal command. Fine in body and strength, the stoic soldiers stay true even as their efforts make them weary and fatigue. Rain or shine, a dependable blade willing to die for my name, I point and prod until I get my way. Lined one by one, according to dexterity and endurance, my soldiers long for battle! Many eagerly raise their swords for my cause. Stab! Stab! Stab! Each step forward–dare they march in union? Corrections come with a price as I continue on, my steps in perfect unison as they follow my path in straight or dotted lines.
scattered mess of notes
I look towards a tormented glade with trees with limbs like atrophic, dismembered limbs swaying in the breeze of a frustrated sigh. The earth below is flighty and slippery. Rushing waters with jagged rocks, erect idly from the surface. My path diverts with the pained age of time, scribbled thoughts like frayed edges lick up my flesh as I journey across the river. A pastel painted monster breaches the surface, its wide grin friendly in the eclipse of the two moons.
piled books
From the distance, a spiraling mountain arises before my eyes. A skyline with layers of shades; crimson, sapphire, and indigo. Stacked high with slothful regard, some waver from their grand height, wobbling like a determined toddler avoiding pointed edges. A smooth finish distracts my path, inked in colors like red and yellow, may I never forget.
desk lamp
A dream without the regal could never come to light, even if day is night and night is midsummer’s eve. The Good Folk mock and defy me, leading me astray with lights as bright and beguiling like a will-o-wisp’s flame. Gentle titters buzz in my ear as the lights guide me further to the edge. A rush of vertigo! My gasps of fear turn into signs of wonder before the handsome man’s silver eyes. We kiss and sigh, out dance in audience to the ton–painted monsters with eyes large and metallic like predators.
potted plant
In the untamed gardens of my beloved, we kiss and explore as the sun fractures in half and the two moons swallow it whole. A vengeful tease, she dances in the waning light, her limbs slender and petal-soft. Engulfed in the mouth of a monster, I breathe the essence of its splendor, a heady aroma that blinds as it soothes. Curling lashes flicker up and down in cursory defiance, distracting lips like the bow of Cupid graces my cheek as I close my eyes in peace.
bottled water–half full
It is tragic how vengeful a dream can be. A prison that locks your body in a stasis, cold and weak, my body is wrapped in layers of man-made atrocities. Mouth shut, I scream against the transparent film. Water trickles from the crooked top, my gasps for air transport to the origin of my befuddlements. I sigh and I choke, water trapped in my lungs even from the dreams before.
Mecca-Amirah Jackson 