Tuesday 7 June 2016

Poetry Anthology

I Once Met a Man (Limerick)

There once was an old daring hunchbacked man

Though when he really should have walked he ran

He tumbled off a cliff

He looked at me like a glyph

Turns out he was a genuine caveman


Bering Sea (Haiku)

The harsh cool breeze pulls

The crystal blue ocean sea facade

Shadow below, no longer still


The Boy (Sonnet)


Amongst the dreary moonlight and eerie night

On the outskirts of a tranquil pasture

The crunch of dry grass echoed left and right

A pale slender shadow short in stature



A waxen candle was lit, then two, then three

The rustling of pitchforks invoked glum grunts

Shrieks reverberated through the valley

Tonight would be another gruesome wild hunt



The mob traversed between the trees and cattle

Distraught by the foolish hoax they found

A teared giggling boy not worth their hassle

The mob left outraged with his state of mind



Trudging back this time the shriek was all too clear

Not one person flinched, their village was near


Ode to Slippers


O’ most versatile footwear

Not known for their ergonomics

Sometimes seems as if there are many to spare

Not worshiped like electronics



When in need they disappear

Do not bring on an eye’s tear

You can’t go fast

But they do last



Their applications are vast

Once put on, you are relaxed

They sometimes squeal and squeak

Though it doesn’t make one a freak



Slippers are a lifestyle

Barbecue fired up

Beach chairs by the pool

Sand and pail filled with salty sea water



Though not respected

Packed, dropped, slapped, thrown

As quick as a jet

Cut through the air like a blade on grass

A dangerous projectile

The Hill (Cinquain)

The Hill

Ominous, Alone

Growing, Looming, Churning 

All Souls Who Enter Do Not Leave

Graveyard

NYC (Acrostic)





Those Who Don’t Join (Free verse)

Join

Or be conformed

The ideas that fuel our thoughts are like a cinema flick

Carefully crafted by those who hold influence

Strategic

Confining



Education is a production line

Miss a step and one’s left behind

First comes primary, then secondary school

Or rather inspection



Then they are hastily shipped out to sea

Where the menacing waves batter them to their knees

They begin to buckle, blend and amend

Whereas they now need to stand out and be different



After years of being used to conform

They feel like they are being reborn

Those who don’t join end satisfied

Always kept true to who they are

Knowing exactly where to set their bar

And continuously towards that, they stride

Time Ticks On (Concrete Poem)
At first, there always seems to be plenty of time

More than two weeks, its a breeze

The last weekend is now in sight

Too many poems to write

Do I have the might?

Maybe

No

Yes

Of course

If I start right now

Lose 3 hours’ sleep tonight

Though luckily the end is in sight

Only two more creative verses to write

Procrastination once again tests my might


Poetry Contests Submissions

Ode to Slippers, The Hills and Acrostic

http://culturedvultures.com/poem-week-free-poetry-competition/



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Those Who Don't Join

http://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/those_who_dont_join_798162


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The Boy

https://www.poeticpower.com/index.php?page=enter-poetry-contest


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I Once Met A Man

http://youngwritersofcanada.ca/contests/

Tuesday 8 March 2016

Across the Border

                My ceramic bowl of cereal dropped with a familiar “clunk”, I watched the milk sway from side to side, trying to grasp onto the edges like a desperate rock climber. Though today was different from the hustle and bustle of my mornings. Both my mother and father were not at the table to ask how well I slept or if I needed a ride to school. Instead I was greeted by a plain, pale yellow sticky note. I could barely make out my father’s sloppy cursive, the smudges hinted that he was obviously written in a rush. The note read, I’ve dropped your mother off at Del Sol Hospital. Eat breakfast, get dressed and go to school. She might not be back till after dinner. P.S. I’ll try to pick up some new milk on the way home. “Typical”, I thought. I shouldn’t be surprised if I get even less attention than this from now on, after all, my baby brother is due soon.

                The dry sweltering air of El Paso, Texas made walking to school seem like “Man vs. Wild” from T.V. On top of that, my cheap, itchy and over-sized uniform turned me into a hot mess even before I arrived at school. Though I wore a uniform, my school isn’t a private one, fancy or even safe for that matter, it’s just a hoax run by El Paso School District to get more kids to come. I trudged along, dragging my feet and playing soccer with the pebbles that lay astray. “Why did mom and dad have to have another child”, I said under my breath. Was I not good enough for them? What were they thinking having children 12 years apart? One would think that your parents would have already made up their mind about how many children to have a long time ago. I’ve been an only child all my life. I asked my friend, Tyler, what it was like having a sibling. He said, you get half as much of everything compared to before, half the clothes, attention and love. Whenever he would go to visit relatives, his younger sister would be who everyone asked about, he was invisible. That’s not something I’m going to tolerate.

Parkland Middleschool, read the faded white sign above the confining and corroded metal gate. The rocks in the old cement sidewalk were as jagged as a mountain range. The crusty pale yellow grass needed patches. Smog loomed over the industrialesque building reducing me to shallow breaths. Not to mention the smokers who hid just outside the perimeter of the compound by the meaningless graffiti on the walls. The rush of the Rio Grande River could be heard. The first warning bell rang with a distant and electronic cold hum. I ran for the doors. Touching the handle I could feel the doors vibrating, hinting at what was inside. The cold air from the A/C was the first to greet me. I could see and hear the hustle and bustle of the students. There’s always that one kid who is panicking because his binder fell and his homework is astray across the floor. The jocks were by their lockers still chatting and laughing, not concerned about the fact that class was about to start.

I got to history class moments before the second and final bell rang. My history teacher doesn’t take too kindly to students strolling in late. I sat at my desk, it had doodles in pen on top though all the sides had been scraped off and were rough, presumably done by some cunning kid with scissors. “Alright kids,please settle down, we must begin promptly as I would like to get through the entire class’s oral presentations on the different aspects the colonization of North America”, said my teacher in his old raspy voice. “Damn”, I thought aloud. These past few weeks I have been so anxious about my younger brother I completely forgot about the presentation. I hastily noted down some points, I couldn’t remember if I had to cover Christopher Columbus or not, but that’s the only thing I could remember. My notes read, Columbus first came to the America’s on 12th October, 1492. He sighted and landed in San Salvador. He is widely known for-. “And our first presenter is Andrei, everyone please welcome him to the front of the class with an applause”. I dragged myself out of my seat, walked up the aisle thinking, “great, just my luck”, gripping tightly onto my notes which would hopefully get me through this presentation. Just to be clear, presentations are not my thing, they make me completely nervous even though I know most kids barely pay attention to the presenter. The ceremonial clapping only made me more worried, “hopefully the class wasn’t expecting a detailed presentation”. Just as I turned around ready to face the class, I felt the first drop of blood drip out of my nose and plop on the floor below. It was followed by a flurry of drops eventually becoming a consistent stream of blood. Immediately I used the paper I took notes on to catch the falling blood. I’ve always had nosebleeds as a child, they strike at the worst times. I was thinking, “It must have been the dry air, damn it, should have used my nasal spray this morning”.  I must have looked funny or was a mess, I don’t remember, though to top it all off my classmates were all laughing.

My history teacher noticed the trouble I was in and escorted me to the nurse’s office. At least the click of his shoes and the quiet of the hall was more comforting than the distant but noticeable laughter behind me. The nurse grabbed a cup for my uncontrollable nosebleed, it was one of the worst I’ve ever had. Losing a lot of blood, I was left light-headed. My stomach was now gurgling too, must have been something I ate this morning. I noticed the nurse picked up the phone, probably to call the office. I presumed that the office would then call my dad at work. My family has been supported solely off my father’s menial income these past few months. My mother had to resign from her job because she was unable to work while pregnant. I remember my parents were angry at the pharmacy she worked for one car ride, they said something about the business didn’t have a standard maternity leave in the 21st century. If my father had to leave his job to come take care of me, he could end up losing his job too, then we’d be on the streets. The nurse left the room, this was my chance. My family would be better off without me, my dad wouldn’t have to leave work, and being gone, there would be one less mouth to feed.

The sun was scorching by the time it was midday. I was able to see the banks of the Rio Grande. I knew it was difficult to cross the border from Mexico to the states, though perhaps the other way around would be easier. I sat on the side and watched the U.S. patrol boats pass the same spot every ten minutes. They never questioned why I was there because I was on the American bank. “Ten minutes, easy”, I thought to myself. I dumped all the books and notes out of my school bag and closed all the zippers, it would become my makeshift floatation device. As the next patrol boat disappeared across the bend of the river, out of my view, I made a dash for the water. Even in sizzling El Paso, the water was piercing cold. I was momentarily shocked and paralyzed, though I soon gathered up my courage and began swimming across. My basic swimming skills and my floatation device easily countered the river’s current. I soon ended up letting go of my bag, it was too damp to be of any use. Instead I used my feet to kick myself the remaining twenty yards.

I had made it to the Mexican side, though what now? I climbed up the banks of the river to get a better vantage point. All I could see was a road heading south, engrossed by a dessert with short shrubs on either side. I figured I should follow the road by walking in the dessert, similar to what slaves had to do while traversing the Underground Railroad. The journey was uninterrupted for the first hour, save a slow moving truck. I was alone. Though I was now getting dehydrated, I didn’t even bother to duck out of the way when I car was coming. Many vehicles passed without a care. Though one SUV screeched to a stop soon after passing me. “Well, now who would be interested in me”, I said sarcastically aloud. The blue and red flasher on top of the roof illuminated, and the white tail lights indicated that it was about to reverse. The center of mass of the SUV clearly shifted forward, it lurched, and its front end was very low to the ground while it hastily reversed. Next with a solid thud, the driver side door opened, I could hear footsteps and the jingling of something metal. Though by this point I was running in the opposite direction, as fast I could muster myself to. I knew that these measly bushes wouldn’t provide any cover. Even though the person chasing me was wearing heavy boots and many layers of clothing, his footsteps were getting ever closer. Suddenly, the footsteps vanished. I was left confused as I had ever been, “where did he go?” I thought. Moments after, I felt something forcefully latch onto my torso, I was thrown off balance. We both tumbled and rolled a few yards before we came to a rest. I realized, that I was tackled from the air.

I was dragged back to the SUV, where handcuffs were put on me. While I was pushed into the hood of his vehicle, through the window I could see his leather jacket perched up on the driver’s chair. His nametag read, “Officer Big Bear”. I couldn’t tell if any parent could name their son that, or if he came up with it himself. Either way I chuckled and said aloud, “I was taken out by a bear”. The officer nodded and began to ask questions. “Where are you from”, he said. I stated that I was from El Paso, he mentioned how he had heard of plenty of stories of people escaping to the States, though none of people trying to illegally get into Mexico. He said he would drive me back to the border where border services would verify my identity and get me back to the States. Though I wasn’t convinced. He then opted to go for a detour through a small village. On the doorsteps of one hut, I could see a morbidly skinny dog, the dog must have come down with some sort of disease I thought. I could see a line up for the village well, though people had to put the bucket down several times to get enough drinking water for the day. The line was slow moving, suggesting that the well must have been close to dry, and the buckets were just barely scrapping some water off the bottom. I told the officer that we’re getting late, and that he should drop me off at border services as quickly as possible. Though in reality I had seen enough suffering for a young boy to appreciate the basic amenities I had at home. As we rolled into the parking, I saw my father’s old rust bucket of a sedan, my parents were here. Though I wasn’t worried anymore, I knew whatever struggle I came across, whether that be my baby brother taking all the attention or financial issues, I was prepared to deal with them because they are menial, compared to what even my neighbors in Mexico, have to face.

Tuesday 2 February 2016

Iridescent

Lord of the Flies by William Golding (Pgs 1-225)


The shore was fledged with palm trees
Reclined against the light
With openess came the sun
Flashes of light through the foliage

A bush of yellow flame
Sliding quickly towards the edge of the world
Making cascades and waterfalls
Rise with a roar.

Sitting on the very edge of the cliff
There was thunder lightning and rain
The sun was setting and only embers glowed in the fire
Shadows dancing and mingling beneath them

Palms by the wrecked shelter
The darkness under the leaves
Green glow had gone from the horizon and night
Luminous flowering around the rock

With unwinking eyes
Untold terrors in the dark
We ran as fast as we could
The beast followed


Tuesday 1 December 2015

The Market

I returned to the market, it didn’t matter if the flow of the crowd had brought me there or if I was compelled to return because I felt apologetic. Attempts at boarding up the windows had now been made because the shattered windows lay on the grimy sidewalk, twinkling like a thousand diamonds. There was a thick layer of grit in the atmosphere as the placed had clearly been torched the night before. It was still smoldering now, though the firefighters had left, as it was going to remain in this state for at least a couple more hours. It also tainted the crisp winter morning air. The coverage by the media and police officers faded. Though remnants of yellow caution tape still remained on the scene.
                Had this been the same supermarket I walked into earlier this week? It didn’t resemble what I remember. Last time I was here anxiety had taken over, I felt nervous, I couldn’t possibly stand still. I heard the faint ticking of the old grandfather clock, it was the only thing I could home in on to keep myself together. My suit wasn’t the fanciest, though the quickly forming sweat stains wouldn’t help my appearance either. I am of medium build, brown eyes and have a tan skin tone.
 A series of unfortunate events had led me to the place I am now. As a recent high school graduate, I had to start looking for a job. One would think it would be typical for a student to look for a job and that it won’t be a big deal, but for me it was difficult. I fell out with my parents not a month before. We disagreed over whether I was going to get to go to college. The afternoon I had brought up going to college, my father was sitting out on the patio of our suburban townhouse. We didn’t live in the fancy part of town, rather closer to the sewage treatment plant. He was out there drinking some Johnny Walker, shorting his life in my opinion. My father never really had a proper job, he was a freelance contractor, and not a great one either. He would spend his time scamming people into believing he would build them houses or renovate their kitchens and what not, though he always took the money and vanished, like a puddle on a scorching summer afternoon. Not unlike how he disappeared from his responsibilities.  My mother was a nostalgic, always daydreaming, never here for my brother nor I. I don’t know what she saw in my father, though whatever it was, it was now long gone. The only glimmer of light left in my life is Lucas, my younger brother. My parents don’t truly care for him, I felt as if they were keeping him more for the tax benefits rather than out of love.
So there I was at the age of 18, packing what few belongings I had, moving out onto the street. My first instinct was to try to get a job, though I lacked experience and qualifications. Without a fixed address, it was difficult to try to land a job. I spent a month on the street, scourging through trash bins to find unfinished meals or items of value. I was even forced to pan handle in attempts to get a meal. It would get cold at night, thus I would try to stay indoors as long as possible. Most businesses didn’t take too kindly to a homeless person loitering. The local library was my only sanctuary, though the librarian would occasionally give me stern glances, she never asked me to leave unless I was being disruptive. I would take in the heat, perhaps even get in an hour or two of shut eye, wishing that there would be more hours before the library would eventually close for the night. I would be jarred the moment I stepped outside, as the frigid and merciless winds took their turn at demolishing my already crumbling life. The most dangerous times of my life was the time in between the library closing and dawn. While the city slept, there were fewer cops outside, and more precarious characters roamed or even hunted in the dark.
I knew this lifestyle would lead nowhere, I certainly didn’t have the stamina to continue living like this, and for the sake of my brother I had to persevere. While I was panhandling outside a market, an employee came outside and put up a “Help Wanted” sign. This would probably be the best shot I had at getting my life together, I figured if with a job, I could provide for myself as well as my younger brother. I knew that I would have to be presentable in order to get a job. I saved up what I could, skipping out on the already few and poor quality meals I had each day. Within a week I was able to save up $25, though that would not even be enough to get the cheapest formal attire from the thrift store. Luckily the cashier that day was kind enough to lend me a blazer, as I had gone to the same high school as her. That was probably the most thoughtful act that someone had done for me in a long time. I bought a pair of dark pants and a plain full sleeved shirt. With the little change that remained I went to the nearby internet café bought some coffee and sat down at one of their public computers, there I was able to hastily type up a resume from a template that I had found on the web. That evening, when I returned to the library, the librarian had to do a double take in order to take in what I was wearing. I could see my resemblance against the shiny plaque which displayed their logo. I looked like James bond whose suit’s colour changed from blue to red and finally to yellow as it moved from left to right. I remember telling myself, “I am now prepared to tackle the real world, this is my time to finally prove myself”. I went to the washroom to freshen up, I rubbed soap into skin until my face was flaming, I knew I had to look my best for tomorrow. I dewed up my hair with water, as if it was a makeshift gel, it wasn’t going to last till the morning, but with my new found confidence, it couldn’t hurt.
As the hours ticked by, a familiar feeling came across me, the same feeling of when you have an important test to take the next day, you’re anxious to take it, wondering if you’ve prepared enough though at the same time you want to get it over with, then forget about it. Tomorrow would be judgment day, or so I thought, I would either get the job or…, I quickly surpassed any other thoughts. As the clock chimed 10, I was already on my way out the frost stricken sliding doors. The howling of the relentless winter gusts didn’t detour me that night. I kept pacing, wondering what I would say to the interviewer.
A dreadful downpour began later in later that night, the only place that remained dry were the stairs leading up the grand cathedral. Against the gray bulging cathedral stones in the dimly lit and hazy streets it was strenuous to make out any other figure, though another man was waiting out the rain. He was dressed in a two part track suit, with three white stripes running down throughout, his spotless white sneakers suggested that he was doing better than me. As I approached he held out his cigarette, a gesture of good faith I suppose, though I politely declined. I’d seen my fair share of poor decision making. I must have come across as a victim of unrequited love, I was dressed formally but had a long expression across my face, what else could lead a young man onto the streets at night? Though I did share one characteristic with a broken hearted lover, desperation. He introduced himself as Gally, he was curious what I was doing on the street, I told him that my ungrateful parents had left me in this situation. He began to discuss his own past, I was able to relate to most of his issues, irresponsible parents, not having an easy start in life, and at that point it didn’t matter to me if it was the truth or if it was fabricated, I absorbed all he said. It wasn’t till the end when he became bitter and furious I woke up to the truth. He wanted revenge, he wanted to make his family suffer for what they did to him as well as society for not helping him afterwards. He claimed that dark days for the city were coming and that many others shared similar views. He waited expectantly for me to accept his invitation into committing burglary or vandalism. Though I believed I was better than that, so I just took off, without looking back.  For my younger brother’s sake I couldn’t stoop so low, I needed to be a positive figure in his life, though I would first need to get him back.
The bright reflection of the rising sun on the puddles signaled the start of a new day, one that could be filled with hope. I was waiting at the door of the market, as if I had anything better to do. I entered promptly as the doors were unlocked. The aroma of the freshly baked pastries was lingering in the air. How I could imagine working here, perhaps even sneaking a pastry or two for my brother. I couldn’t be this naïve, I had to focus on the task at hand. I then immediately sought out an employee and began to discuss how I would apply for a job. He referred me to the store manager. I waited patiently outside his office, it was taking him longer than I thought, over 30 minutes had passed. I began to doubt why I had come here in the first place, though I suppressed those feelings, as they would not be what a hiring manager would be looking for. Finally the door creaked open, he quietly invited me in. He was dressed as one would expect. His shirt had the green company logo and it was accompanied by a matching tie along with a blazer overtop. His expression was stern though his body language suggested that he was uneasy with my presence. Was my suit not up to par? Had last night’s downpour left my appearance jagged? He began by asking some typical questions, what are my aspirations? How would those relate to working as a cashier at this supermarket? Those were possible to answer, though when he gave me an application form to fill out, I hesitated. I filled out as much as I could, leaving the spaces where it asked for my parent’s names and my home address blank. I thanked him for his time and let myself out of the room, avoiding the menacing stare he must have been giving me at that time. Though it was worse than I thought, walking down the aisle, I could imagine him thinking “Get out you worthless hobo, this establishment has no place for you!” I was not going to get the job.
I barged out of the shop. No one deserves to be judged like this, I was victim of circumstance, it was not my choice to fend for myself on the streets. There was nothing different I could have done. I quickly walked down the sidewalk. I dumped my blazer into the side alley, it was no longer useful, nor did I have a care in the world. There was no place in particular I was trying to get to, but all that I could think of was that I needed to get out of here. I continued walking until I arrived upon the same cathedral, Gally was conveniently waiting there underneath. As if he knew that I would return. There we discussed his plans. He wanted to attack society where it hurt most, at the centre of our city, where most of the shops, offices and services were located in our city. He  had already gathered up a crowd of people who supported his idea. We were all of a similar age. “Recruits form the street”, I thought to myself. They seemed like a rag tag bunch of volunteers though I didn’t doubt their loyalty as they gobbled up all Gally had to say.
Gally was keen on getting me on board, thus our first target was the supermarket. Or had that always been the plan. We regrouped outside the parking lot across from the market close to 3 a.m., I choose the time, it was designed to minimize any possible causalities. The chilly night time air cut deep through my cheap make-shift jacket. Small clouds of condensed water formed in front of me each time I took a breath. Our goal was to vandalize the market, we knew their insurance was going to cover it, though personally, I couldn’t imagine what the manager’s expression would be once he saw the carnage. We were not a special “black ops” team, so when the time came, we just barged at the windows with jagged which had fallen off from the cathedral’s deteriorating walls. I expected the glass to crack and shatter with ease due to the icy cold air making it brittle, though I was not prepared for the sound of all the windows shattering.
It reminded me of the time when my family and I were trying to teach Lucas to drink out of a glass. He had been used to plastic bottles which were “baby-proof”, though he was a toddler now, so we gave him a glass one anyway. By mistake we forgot to heat up his milk, we were too fixated in trying to teach him how to hold the cup. That would come back to haunt us. Once he took his first sip, his tiny little face cringed up, mine too, as I knew what would be coming next! Out of surprise he spit out the cold milk and pushed the glass off the table, it shattered on our tiled dining room moments later.
I felt the firm grasp of Gally’s hand on my shoulder. “Come on, it’s time we head on inside”, he said. I was about to walk in when I noticed a figure outlined by the yellowish glow of the street lamp, she was holding out something that appeared to resemble a phone. The sound of the glass shattering could have been heard around a 5 block radius. In her other arm she was holding up a bag, it had the colours of our library’s logo on it, blue, red and yellow. Who goes to the library this early in the morning I thought to myself? Then it struck me, she wasn’t going to the library to borrow books, she was the librarian. Could it be the same librarian who provided me warmth during these bitter dark nights? ”Now what have I done” I thought to myself, I am no different than my father, and certainly have no right to take care of my younger brother. So I did the only thing I knew how to do, what I had done countless times before that week, I ran.
Though not for long, my malnourished body didn’t leave me with the fit body. Had I outrun Gally? Did he even run? Or had he carried on with vandalizing and looting the market? I am a failure, I failed myself as well as Lucas. I even threw away borrowed gifts from friends, that night I had rejected any possible hope I had of forming a better life. I couldn’t return to the library now neither go to the cathedral. There was no place in this city left for me. Here I stand, in front of the carnage of the market, it is similar to how my life has turned out. I reach into my pocket and reassuringly grasp the bus ticket I had bought this morning. I do not deserve any more than this.

               

Thursday 22 October 2015

The Tenant of Wildfell Hall

       My creative writing class was fortunate enough to be able to view The Tenant of Wildfell Hall which was based on Anne Brontë's novel, directed by Sarah Rodgers and the venue was the Fredric Wood Theatre in UBC. The play discuses the difficulties and gossip Helen Graham faces as she tries to escape her past by moving to Wildfell Hall.

       I found the play to be appropriate in length, it entertained us for a bit over 2 hours with the curtain being lifted around 7:30 pm. Also a short break mid play was given to the audience to freshen up or visit the concession stand. The play was brilliantly performed by UBC Bachelor of Fine Arts students. There was plenty of seating available for the audience, though it was a bit constricting in terms of space. They play employed a simplistic set which consisted of a mash up of windows in the background and a ramp in the centre to allow the audience to see all the characters at once. While changing the locations, the actors would add or reuse a minimal amount of props such as a  few canvases to represent Wildfell Hall or put together chairs to create a makeshift bed in which Arthur Huntingdon, Mrs. Graham's laid. This minimalist concept allowed for seamless transitions in between scenes, without there ever being a need to pull down the curtain. An audience orientated vibe was given off because the production clearly did not disrupt the audience's concentration. The play relied on the actors being able to hold the focus of the audience and enveloping them in their dialogue versus letting their set be the centre of attraction. Which to the actor's credit, they did an astonishing job at keeping me interested steadfast throughout the play. The costumer designer, Jacqueline Firkins was able to well encompass the time period of the play, 19th century England, as all the actors wore authentic and stunning clothing. I didn't notice any problems with how the play was lit, the sequences and transitions in between scenes where the lights would be dimmed were clearly well rehearsed. Overall, the production quality was clearly professional and had been thought out.

       The actors remained in character throughout, without ever breaking the 4th wall, as one would expect from the majority of actors being 4th and final year acting students. I didn't notice the actors using mics, or if they did they did, they must have hid them well, in either case they articulated clearly and loudly enough for me to clearly hear and understand their lines. They also used British accents, which for the most part were well integrated into the production and reflected the vocabulary and speaking style of their characters. The accents were not overdone, therefore they added another layer to the intricacy of the characters. The actors never appeared to be nervous nor did I ever feel as if they had forgotten their lines or were deviating from their script. They all had great stamina and were lively, and the fed off of the audience's enthusiasm. While an actor was engaged in an conversation with another, I noticed that the background characters remained dynamic, they reacted to topics brought up in the conversation as well as they were preoccupied with their own gossip. This resulted in the play feeling more realistic because in day to day life, events and discussions are always occurring in the background. They also had exceptional blocking, as their staggered stances in conversations made them more open and inviting to the audience. The attitudes and energy of the actors contributed to the finished production.
   
       The dialogue of the play was well adapted from the novel which created a fulfilling plot because it was inclusive of how the characters felt and acted. The plot engaged the audience with quarreling occurring in between characters, comedy and heart felt and everlasting love. It depicted the struggles of how women without their husbands were quickly judged as being extremely weak or even witches. Mrs. Graham became the town's gossip extremely quickly because she never told anyone about her past ties, which opened up space for people to create fictitious tales. The play's soliloquy was well executed by Gilbert Markham in which he finally learned about Mrs. Graham's past. Themes of alcoholism and how women were viewed during that time period, or even today are explored. Arthur Huntingdon is depicted as an abusive alcoholic husband who is not at all responsible for his wife nor his money and later dies because of his bad habits. Also the play clearly shows that women were required to stay with their husband, no matter how cruel or how many affairs their husband was having. This forced Mrs. Graham to conceal her past and hid in the countryside. Stereotypical or "stock" characters are also used in the play, for example Mrs. Wilson is clearly the gossip queen of the town, as she always is curious about everyone's private matters and continually gets asks and/or gets involved in other peoples personal problems. This along with the wit of the dialogue brings comedy to the play. The play had a dramatic storyline and explored interesting and relevant themes to truly engage the audience.

       In conclusion, The Tenant of Wildfell Hall is a simplistic yet professional production. It is must see in my opinion due to how the actors bring the story line alive through the use of authentic clothing, British accents and their own energy and charisma. It's dialogue and drama continually has the audience wondering what will happen next. It is a perfect and light-hearted way to spend an evening, I rate this play 5 out of 5 stars.