"To Hell With This!" And those lesson plans!

                                                                         Magpie Tales


"To hell with this!" I scream and shout! As I throw the ink glass at the wall. The blacken blue ink smeared in a giant spot as glass shards share the floor in glistening sparkles of pure dark. As the over head light dimly gives them a shine. As for my typewriter not a single word is typed. Just white paper, white as a lone cloud in the Mojave desert, not filled with rain, not filled with electric spark. So too is this white paper. I reopen the crinkled piece of paper which contained the words,

'Oh another night of torment!
Here I am again struggling.
Furthering myself spent
Of fear of never being content.


Trying my best on smuggling
Words which I can' t find.'


I crush the paper in my hands again! "Worthless!" I whisper under my own breath. Again another night of not writing, not being able to express some sort of emotion or lingering feeling of this world and all its good and evil. I step and walk over to shut the lights. "Writers block" I mumble "The devil's cruel way of saying you won't be successful! To hell with this!" As a quick motion with my hand I shut the light.

That is my writing prompt for the Magpie tales. I figured I combine a poem and a little story. I hope you have enjoyed it as much as I did writing it!

Its Halloween! So once again I am at the Brown Egg, its so nice in here though I wish we had more people with costumes. My fiancee is next to me writing away lesson plans for school. I haven't done my fair share yet but when I do...I think a few teachers may hate me. I'm a laid-back lets have fun, but if you abuse that atmosphere I can very strict. I know hes a fictional but John Keating from Dead Poets Society, but I aspire to be a teacher just like that. Students, including myself are more inspired to learn when the teacher himself, or herself are enjoying themselves when they teach. It makes the students interact more, which then prompts the class to learn more. What bores me is when a teacher lectures on and on in a almost monotonous way. But when a teacher who enjoys what they do is lively whether or not its just him or her lecturing or interacting with the class, the students are more willing and even active in learning. You are reading, (I'm sure you already knew) a future English Education Teacher, or for short EET. Which, if you cut the middle E. You're left with E.T. (Yeah I'm back with alien bro's and I want revenge!) Hahaha, no but English is my passion and I want my future students to appreciate it the art form of literature.  I hope you enjoyed the writing prompt from Magpie Tales!

Those Superstitious Scots

Sitting here in a coffee cafe that opened last month. My laptop about to shut off if I don't plug it in but sadly there isn't a single outlet near me to do so. Tis'all be well though I'll just start where I left if my old trusty friend decides to shut off. Yesterday I drove from my house in Springfield to my grandparents little pad in another Missourian town. Which none of my family including me are native Missourians, we're all East Coasters landlocked. We have met great and wonderful people but our hearts cling back to the East, so much history, so much closer to the Atlantic. How I miss the bay, that old Chesapeake bay. I grew up near her, grew to love her and protect her, and join in and swim with her by doing so I embraced her. Though I shall see she her once more. I keep telling myself I'll end up being wealthy and buy a sailboat and sail that bay for myself, sail right down here into the great Atlantic ocean. Though in my current situation I might just end up building that sailboat from scratch, haha!

Halloween is tomorrow, I bet most of you have a great and groovy costume. Me? A costume...not yet but I figured I might take my friends violin and pose as Andrew Bird . Wouldn't be a bad thing, hes a great musician and hell of a songwriter! Though I've been drafting some Halloween works. Since I am a full-blooded ScotIrish American I figured I go more of the traditionally route of writing this piece. All the way to to old gaelic traditions.  Here you go lovely gentlemen and ladies,


Don't Make Light Of Hallows Evening

The last beads of sunlight
Drift off as the moon shines
With a bright haunting glare of night.
Thunder bellows to give children fright.

Air thins, oxygen seems so fine.
I smile, hushing the little weans.
Mischievous I tell of the evil kinds
Of bogies that hide in those old pines.

Hearing there screams
Of fright and terror I smile.
Watching their horror like movie scenes.
I laugh as tears run down like streams.

A crack of thunder so hostile
I jump in sheer fright!
A peek outside I stand beguile
As a dark figure of vile

Slowly points a bony finger in night
Of hallows evening and recites
'Upon that night, when fairies light'
I shut the door in utter fright.


 I quoted the first line of Robert Burns' Halloween in that Last stanza. I took a very light and humorous tone until the last stanza because Celtics are very superstitious people and making light on Halloween where in old times it was believed that during this time the barrier between the living and the underworld were at it's weakest point. Demons and spirits could walk the Earth if they wanted too and take souls or terrify the townsfolk. I hope you enjoyed this entry this good night. I sure did! Anyway take a good night and be safe this Halloween! Hope the demons don't get ya! Bidh mi 'gad fhaicinn!! (I'll be seeing you!)

Introduction and a poem

To begin with I should start by saying that my is Jesse Lytle. Near 21, in college, struggling with money like everyone else, unemployed ( lost my job) and with a supportive wife-to-be and this is my first ever blog. This blog though is about poetry and the written word of literature. I have read a great deal and I am always hungry to read more. I love reading works to old and new. From known Authors to us unknowns. The name of this blog, Vivacity of the Conscience. For me that represents the classic and romantic aspects of the soul, and the body. We see both as separate entities but it is the mind that connects the two. When one writes, one puts his or her soul in the writing, bringing their physical and spiritual bonds into words. The pen is the tool, our hands the guide, but its the mind that leads. I hope you enjoy my blog or poems and short stories and other interesting aspects of my life.  This poem is about those Beatnics and how I am inspired by them.




50's Jazz

2am in early morning Wednesday.
Sitting in a diner staring out a window
Looking out at all the young couples,
Dancing with such crazy aspirations!
Off in the distance you can hear the jazz,
Rat, bat, zag, ooh, can you dig the inspirations?

Allen singing away his manifestos.
While I gaze into the eyes of an angel.
Hot-rodders scream at their rockets!
Ripping the morning with noise.
Windows rattle while I kiss my lover.
While Allen, Jack, and the boys play with toys.

Cigarette smoke rises above our heads.
The sun cracking over us claiming dibs
Over the moon like a fast addict!
High off the crankness of adrenaline
Pouring straight into the veins of our
Sleep deprived like the mindless american.

6am in the early morning Wednesday.
Sleeping in my bed with my angel lover.
I drift off to dreams of hipsters and cool cats.
Wondering if I'll ever succeed beyond
The beats of long past and all their jazz.
Hopefully those angel-haired hipsters will respond.