Bianca's+Stuff

Yessss...This is Bianca's page for stories, poems, and other stuff. Bianca's Special Words


 * My Portfolio**

media type="file" key="Mom.wmv"
 * A Memoir of My Mother**

media type="file" key="Poems of Bianca Ison.wmv"**
 * Poems of Bianca Ison


 * Remnants of An Army**

It would be the mid neon colored 1980's, and would take place in a small victorian town near Augsburg in Southern Germany, the land of chocolates and beer. There my Aunt Cornelia would live, in her mid-thirties. She would would have a tall and slender figure, with short golden hair like the sun no longer than her mid-neck. Her eyes were a dark, stormy blue. The home she along with her loving husband and sons would live in would be a large, white, three story building with an attic and basement. The basement would be soundproof and empty except for a red drum set, while the rest of the house would be filled with old, but well kept, wooden furniture from before the era of swing dance, music, and war...the 1940's. My grandparents, Helene and Raoul Schwarze, would have even lived there before during World War II. They would pass down the story of how the U.S. army had used their house as a military base during WWII. In the 80's, the traffic in that area of Germany would become even more hectic, and soon the city would want to build a tunnel and take a portion of my Aunt’s backyard, which was filled with different herbs such as rosmary and chives and different flowers such as roses and tulips. In the far side of the yard would be an old, musty shed filled with old gardening tools such as rakes and shovels, which by then would be rusted. My Aunt Cornelia would have to remove the old and musty shed in the backyard that would have been there for over 50 years. She would look at it and remember it fondly, how she and her sisters, my mother Daniela and Aunt Michaela, played around it as young children. It would change little with time, and would still maintain its’ brown and weathered appearance as it would have in her childhood. Following day, she would sit out on the porch with her husband, Bernhrd, and her black lab, Senya, while some construction workers tore down the shed. It would be a beautiful day, warm with not a cloud in the sky. Everything would be going smoothly, the workers would carefully take the shed down so it would not collapse on them. As they would begin to remove floor boards, the would stop working. A commotion would occur among them as they would run to their radios. My Aunt and uncle would try to approach, but the workers would keep them away from the shed. They would tell my Aunt and Uncle that live U.S. explosives including bombs and grenades had been found beneath the old shed. Some time would pass, and the German military and bomb squad would come in as well as American forces to extract the explosives. All my Aunt could do would be to be thankful that those bombs had never exploded during her time living at the house or during her moments of retreaving things from the old shed.

comments: I like the voice you are sing here, Bianca. I would like for you to take a look at this piece now in terms of mechanics and grammar. You have some very good images here and a very compelling scene overall. We need to clean up the grammar, then go back in one more time for some specific fine tuning. DP


 * //__Atempted Slideshow__//**




 * Apathy**

It was a normal day. Neither completely cloudly, nor sunny. Beneth this sky was a desert. The desert was baren of plants. No grass, no cacti, just sand. All there was in this desert apart from the sand was a small town. The buildings withing this town were of a beige color, like the sand. They were old buildings, but still looked nice. The people there walked about in black and white clothing, and looking straight ahead. They paid no mind to any other person, and walked around seemingly absent minded. Nothing really happened int the town, the people mostly avoided each other.

comment: Again, I like your images, and I especially like your use of simple sentences and sparce specifiicty in describing the desert town. Now, though, is he time I need for you to go in and fix the grammar. Don't let mechanics be a stumbling block for a reader. After the clean up is performed, we can move on to developing the subject and images you have going here. They are wonderful. DP


 * The Wedding**

It was the happiest day of both their young lives. The two were finally going to get married. He anxiously waited in his hut for the time of the ceremony to come, while fidgeting with the tails of his cerimonial white robes which turn a slight gery beneth his arms from sweat. He looked out and saw the flowery arch under which he would be married to the girl of his dreams. The princess of the village. He had pined for her father's approval for months, and he had finally recieved it. The princess was in another side of the village, getting ready and felt just as anxious. She stood, fidgeting with her thumbs while the women adorned her with valuble pearls, amethysts, rubies, and gold. She was clothed in the finest cloth, covered with vibrant shades of blue, red, and gold. Her slender face was coverd by a thick red veil embrodered with a golden design as she was walked out of the hut and across the village to the flowered arch where her future husband waited for her, surrounded by all the villagers. She stood before him beneth the arch, and he flipped her veil over her head and looked into her deep narrow eyes, while his went wide with awe for she looked more beautiful than he had ever seen her before. They both excitedly turned to face the shaman in his traditional robes and smiled. The ceremony began.

comment: Like it lots!! Revise for the obvious. Then my OCD English teacher can really enjoy what she is reading. You have a talent for the small details that you need to keep using and take pride in. DP


 * Pro-Life**

When I was a little girl, my mother became pregnant with my would-be little sibling. I was so happy; I can hardly remember how long I was hyper and jumpy. I just could not wait until I would become a big sister, when suddenly one of the worst things that could ever possibly happen happened; my mother miscarried. I felt horrible and my eyes became waterfalls. Then, my mother became pregnant again about a year later. I thought that it was going to be a success the second time, but the child died in my mommy’s belly again. I felt worse than the first time. As I grew older I began to think about how much of a waste of a life that miscarriage is, and from there I began to think of the people who would willingly abort their own unborn children. The general public will agree that raping, abusing, and harming children is a horrible crime and that those responsible should be locked away. Yet, many of the general public support the action of killing the child before the child is born. How is ripping a premature child from the mother’s belly, any better than putting a ten year old child to death? How does it differ at all? Some people claim that they are not ready to have children of their own. If that is the case, then why did they put themselves in the position of having children to begin with? Some make the claim that it is their body to with as they please. That child is not the mother’s body, that child is the child’s body. If the mother wanted to go and commit suicide, that would be sad but then that would be her own body. But the mother aborting the child would be killing the child’s body, not the mother’s and that, therefore, is murder. Why shouldn't those who get abortions go to jail like those who go and kill born children. Is it because a lot of people get abortions? Well, if a lot of people went around killing little boys and girls would that make the murder of children legal?


 * An Octameter Poem of Me**

I am loyal in my own way I show I care in my own way I show in that I love to play When I play it seems offensive I bite and nip sometimes too hard I mean no harm though I hurt some My waging tail is like a mace I am protective of my friends And play bite them a lot, as well. My fangs will cut a bit of skin But I never cause much bleeding I can stand attacks for some time But push too hard you'll see scarlet As my upper snout starts to growl I’ll tilt my head and ears will flop I tend to listen more than talk My reasons are hard to find out Why it is I do what I do When I roll over, when I bite In time you learn to understand The lovable dog that I am


 * The Wave**

Techno music blasting Colored strobe lights flashing The nearby clock rings 2 We’ve been here 6 hours From evening to evening.

Dancing to every song, Girls in short leather skirts, And guys strip on the stage, Soon I will join my bro, Doing the chicken dance, On stage as some crappy, Un-danceable songs play.

No one is judging us, No one is being judged, As we all dance tonight, And make new friends by day, with Goths from all VA

They don't care what you wear, They don't care who you are, They will accept you, no matter what you believe.

Of all the cliches that are, This place reminds me why, I prefer Goth so much.


 * A First Kiss**

Leaning in for my very first sweet kiss. My heart is racing faster and faster, In the rain, the dark, or at someone’s house.

The nervous feeling is overwhelming, Yet at the same time so enjoyable, Leaning in for my very first sweet kiss.

To make the first moves towards each other, As we share a loving, romantic hug In the rain, the dark, or at someone’s house.

And then, we slowly whisper each other’s Name, as the time comes for us to leave after Leaning in for my very first sweet kiss.

The thought stay with me, throughout the whole night, About his tender lips caressing mine. In the rain, the dark, or at someone’s house.

And in my dreams, the memory replays Making them all the more cherish-able, Leaning in for my very first sweet kiss, In the rain, the dark, or at someone’s house.

**Death** Hear the pounding thuds of dark rain, Falling from the blackened, cloudy sky, As I sit in the place of those who die. Some see death as a relief from pain, While others look on with only disdain. The chances of death grow daily, ever nigh, No matter how hard a soul dares to try, No one can escape the funeral plane. The only certainty in life is death. Life’s a short, complex, unvalued trail. The fear of death, many try to leaven, As they feel his frozen fearsome breath. Some fear they will be forsaken to hell, While the pure of heart shall go to heaven.


 * Drama**

Scene 1: It’s opens at a manor house about five miles west of the town of Nere. An elderly man by the name of Edmund Deon stands in an ivory green tunic of wool as he impatiently awaits his kinsmen, his cousin Lance Deon who is traveling to Nere on political business. Lance arrives in velvet cloths of crimson and gold upon a sturdy, dark horse. He is a younger man with fine, raven hair and emerald eyes. He gives off a sort of arrogant aura. The two converse of Lance’s travels and soon enter the manor house.

Scene 2: It is evening, and the whole family is at supper together. Lance is introduced to the sons of Edmund, and a fair maiden who is to wed Archie, the eldest son. Lance takes an obvious interest in the red haired girl and tries to impress her throughout the meal with stories of his travels.

Scene 3: The youngest son, Abraham, hears a noise from the halls and leaves his bed to investigate. From the second floor, Abraham watched his brother’s bride and Lance speak of leaving together and eloping. Abraham accidentally causes the floor to creak with movement, and the two lovers scurry off their rooms

Scene 4: The family awakes at dawn and the daughter of Edmund, Susan, sets out to the river to fetch water and sees Lance floating dead in the water. She hurries back to the front of the house where Edmund has Lance’s horse prepared for departure. And tells him of what she has found. Edmund sends Susan to Nere to fetch the guards.

Scene 5: Susan returns with the guards and they question the family and workers. Initially, one servant accuses Abraham of the murder after seeing him spy on Lance and the girl. For some time Abraham is placed under arrest, until Susan proves that it was actually the servant who killed him for politics.

SCENE 3:

Characters:
 * Abraham**
 * Lance**
 * Mariana**

(A creaking noise appears outside the door) (Abraham gets up and opens the door, from there he sees a dimly lit candle shared by too people kissing. Abraham slowly walks over to the railing and watches them) (The two pull each other close for a long, passionate, kiss) (Abraham begins to move forward as though to approach them, but draws back and decides against it. As he backs away, the wooded planks creak under him) (The two share one last kiss before departing to their rooms on the lower floor. Abraham stands motionless, imagining all the things he wants to do to them)
 * Abraham**: (startled) What was that?
 * Lance**: (pulling back from Mariana) My love, come with me tomorrow to Nere.
 * Mariana**: (stroking Lance’s hair) But how? I cannot just climb upon you horse with you.
 * Lance:** We can find a way. Find a reason to leave the house an hour after I leave, and wait for me a mile north of here.
 * Mariana:** But what if no reason can be found? For tomorrow is a day of rest in this house, what if I can not get away? And if I should disappear for even a short time, Edmund Deon would come looking for me.
 * Lance:** Then we shall be married through elopement.
 * Abraham:** (threateningly) That pig.
 * Mariana:** And forsake my dignity?
 * Lance:** But if a man has already had you, Archie cannot, nay, shall not have you as his wife.
 * Mariana:** Indeed this is true. Very well then. A day after tomorrow we shall meet a mile north of here.
 * Abraham:** A pig and a whore.
 * Mariana:** (quietly) What was that?
 * Lance:** Never mind it. Until tomorrow, my love.

Bianca Who is imaginative, open minded, lazy, shy Who is a sister of a goofy brother Who is a fan of manga, classical novels, and Jesus Who feels hyper, and nervous Who needs a sedative Who fears heights, public speaking Who likes sleeping, being silly, and writing Who wants to see Rome, Germany, and graduation Who lives in Virginia Ison
 * Who I am **