My Father’s Sword
Those hooves, those hammering, ruthless hooves pounding down, down, down. I cursed the dust, clogging the air, hiding everything but those hooves and the occasional flash of color from a glimpse of my father’s costume. A pulsing heat was invading the left side of my face, casting a blurred shine to everything I saw. I was running, calls of warning missing my ears completely. I was surrounded by a silence punctured only by the frenzied tattoo of my own heartbeat. I reached my father just as the handlers got the bull penned, his body surprisingly straight, lying still on the ground. His cape was lying twenty feet away in a crumpled heap. I knelt and gripped his hand, staring, my eyes desperately trying to suck a sign of movement from his chest. His mouth moved, and a whisper penetrated the deafening drumbeat emanating from my chest.
“Manny.” My name, gurgled past his lips. I leaned in closer. “I love you.”
“Papa, don’t go! Please-" Another thundering whisper cut me off.
“Please, son. Just listen. Take care of your mother. Treat her like the goddess she is.” A rivulet of blood crawled out of the corner of his mouth. “Remember to live with passion, as I taught you. We are Spain.” He coughed, sending another crimson snake slithering out of the other side of his mouth. “I will always be with you.” The medics were there, trying to take my father from me, trying to pull his hand from mine. I couldn’t let go. It took three men to pull me away from my father. I didn’t scream. Not with my mouth. I just stood there, listening to the agonized, tortured symphony bursting from my heart, the blood of my shattered soul leaking from the corners of my eyes. The hilt of my father’s sword was burning in my other hand, welding itself to my fist. That was when I woke up. I didn’t wake up suddenly, or all at once. Tears were still slipping down my face as I pulled out of my slumber. Every night I had gone back. Every night, I was back to that moment. Stuck, reliving those infinitely long seconds when my father had been ripped from my life. The cut on my face was burning as though it had reopened, and I brushed my fingertips over the scar, a raised pink line sitting on my cheekbone. I didn’t need to look at the clock. I knew I had awakened at the same time as every night before, and that there were still a good 4 hours before daylight would even consider coming. I turned over in my bed, not wanting to let sleep take me back. I started school tomorrow, and I knew that I needed to sleep. But I couldn’t. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t close my eyes. I sat up and turned on my lamp. Reaching into the gap between my bed and the wall, I pulled it out. It had become part of me in those moments when I watched the EMT’s covering my father on the stretcher and hoisting him into the Ambulance, the hearse that drove my father away. I pulled it out of the scabbard, staring at the light that danced along its edge. I pulled off my covers, and got up. An idea had struck me, and I started rummaging through one of the many unpacked boxes sitting of the floor of my room. I found what I was looking for, and sat on the edge of my bed.
As I opened the cleaning kit, I thought back to when Papa and I used to clean his sword, both before and after his fights. We talked about everything, school, sports, especially bullfighting, and simply about life in general. It was a time when just the 2 of us were together, and we weren’t just father and son. During those times, we were friends and equals. I would tell him about girls at school, or things that bothered me, and he would tell me about work, stories about when he was my age, and about things he and Mom did when they were younger. I started running the oiled cloth over the blade, and a few leftover tears began to leak out again. One hit the handle, but I ignored it.
“You know, saltwater isn’t good for the blade.” The voice wasn’t mine, and I looked up, startled. “Over here, son.” It came again. I looked at the end of my bed, and saw my father, sitting there in his matador costume, clean and whole, but still surrounded by that shiny blur he had had when I held him in the ring.
“Papa?” I decided that I was in another dream, and hoped that this one wouldn’t turn into another nightmare. “You’re gone Papa. What are you doing here?”
“Obviously you need me more now than heaven does.” His reply was soft, and warm, but tinged slightly with a wistfulness that I understood more deeply than anything I had before.
“You’re not real, are you?” It wasn’t completely a question, but not a statement either.
“It doesn’t matter whether I am or not. You need me, and I told you I’d always be with you.” He came over closer to me. “I’m not a ghost, or an angel really. Now what’s going on?”
“I can’t sleep, Dad.” I kept cleaning the sword as I spoke, and it was just like it used to be. “I keep seeing you die, over and over. I miss you.” The tears threatened to return, but I held them in.
“Did I ever tell you about the day my father died?” He hadn’t, and I realized then that he had only been a few years older than I was now. “I wasn’t there, because I was resting from a fight I had just finished. I rushed out, and rode with the ambulance that took him to the hospital. I kept wondering, asking myself, why couldn’t I have stopped it.”
“Dad, you weren’t even near him or the bull. There was nothing you could have done.” And it was my fault in the first place that you fell. If I hadn’t gotten hit by that rock…
“Manny, I know that. But grief does things. For weeks, I blamed myself, dumb though it was. I kept seeing him under the bull, or gored by the bull, or lying broken on the field. I told myself, if only I’d been there, if I’d been one of his lancers. It was his only match that I’d missed, and all because I was too damn tired to go watch it.”
“Dad? Do you still think it was your fault?” Because it wasn’t his fault. He hadn’t been there. He hadn’t gotten hurt and made his father turn away from the bull, hadn’t made him trip and get trampled and trampled, and trampled…I had finished cleaning the sword, and was sliding it back into its sheath as sobs vibrated my body. I couldn’t look at my father. Suddenly I felt his hand on my head.
“Manny, you have school soon. You need to sleep.” I felt him gently pull back my covers, and laid down. The blankets slid over me, and I heard his voice, softly singing an old Spanish lullaby that he had sung me to sleep with until I was seven years old. The last thing I felt before I dissolved into sleep was his kiss on my head. I wasn’t crying anymore. The next morning I awoke, refreshed, and the memory of my dream was clear in my head. I got up, and my foot brushed the cleaning kit, neatly packed up and laying beside the sword. I knew at the moment, that whether it had been reality or not, my father had been with me last night.
………..
I pulled my sandwich out of the vinyl bag that had housed my lunch for the past week. As I was about to take a bite, a girl came and sat next to me.
“Hey, you’re Manny, right?” I had seen her in a couple of my classes. Her name was Jenny, and she was very outgoing. “You’re in my American Government class, right?”
“And your biology class.” I hadn’t really gone out of my way to make friends yet. Though I hadn’t worked very hard to establish myself as the creepy loner kid either. I wasn’t about to blow any people who actually wanted to get to know me. “You’re Jenny, right?”
“In the flesh. Do you mind if we eat with you today? All the other tables are full.” I looked around, seeing several empty tables, but decided not to mention it. I wasn’t about to turn away a chance to maybe get to know some people. Shy as I was, I needed any boost that came my way in that department.
“Sorry, but you said ‘we?’” As if on cue, 2 other people dropped their trays across from us and sat down.
“Manny, this is Fern, and Ben.” Fern was in a few more of my classes. She was very pretty, and flashed a brilliant smile. She was pretty quiet in class. I wondered how she was with her friends. Ben wasn’t in any of my classes, and I was pretty sure he was a grade below us. He stuck out his hand.
“Nice to meet you. Aren’t you that new guy who moved here from Spain?” I shook his hand, slightly surprised that anything about me had gotten around the school this quickly. I hadn’t exactly been verbose with people about where I came from. But it seemed to be a pretty significant point of interest to everyone.
“Yes. It’s nice to meet you.” He smiled, and started tearing into his food. I glanced quickly at Fern, and took a bite of my sandwich.
“So tell us about Spain.” Jenny seemed determined to make me talk about myself. I quickly swallowed my bite of food.
“There’s not a lot to talk about. It’s a beautiful place, especially in Toledo, where I lived. There’s a lot less rain than there is here.” I took another bite. Fern finally spoke up.
“I hear there’s a lot of bullfighting around Toledo.” A sudden terror started building in my chest. PLEASE don’t go there. Fern must have seen something in my eyes, because she looked away, and fell silent. Too bad Ben wasn’t as observant.
“Sweet! Bullfighting! I didn’t know it was still practiced.” He looked pretty excited. “Did you ever see any toreadors get gored or trampled?” He went there. Why does humanity hold such a sick passion for violence? I tried to think of something to say that might turn the conversation around. Before I could pull anything out, I felt that shameful seizing up in the back of my throat, and a burning started crawling up my sinuses to the corners of my eyes. I didn’t want to be seen doing that. I got up suddenly, grabbing my lunch sack and book bag.
“Sorry!” That was all I managed to squeeze from my mouth before I was gone. I went to the nurse, still battling myself, refusing to let the tears come. I must have looked pretty bad, because she gave me a pass to sign out and go home. As soon as I had slumped behind the wheel of the Honda Civic my grandparents let me drive, all the thoughts and emotions that had begun welling up in the cafeteria escaped. Sobs silently wheezed from my lungs, and tears coldly trickled down my face. I managed to regain some control, and drove home. I stumbled to my room, ignoring my grandmother’s surprised hello. I collapsed on my bed. Surprisingly, now that I was alone, I didn’t cry. A deep, throbbing ache had settled like pneumonia into my lower chest. I felt bad for a moment, leaving Jenny and Ben, and especially Fern so suddenly. A powerful wave of homesickness pounded into me. More than home, than the sun of Toledo, the clear skies and my old friends, I wanted Papa. I had completely forgotten about the visit of my father nearly a week before. I stood, and noticed the cleaning kit I had been to lazy to pick up since that night. I picked it up, and pulled my father’s sword out from under the bed where I had hidden it, afraid my grandmother might come in to clean and take it away. Gently, I pulled off the scabbard. I began to polish it, and as the biting tang of metal cleaner filled my nostrils, the memory of that night flooded back to my mind.
“You aren’t going to make any friends if you keep running like that.” Almost as if the memory had brought him, my father was sitting by my side, nonchalantly watching the cloth in my hand slide up the blade.
“Papa?” I briefly wondered if I was going crazy, and then decided not to care. He was here with me, and it didn’t matter to me if schizophrenia was what had brought him to me. The ache in my chest was suddenly gone. “I know I shouldn’t have left like that. But that Ben kid caught my by surprise. He shouldn’t have asked that.”
“You can’t blame a boy for being curious. He was just curious, just trying to have a conversation.” He hand gripped my shoulder softly. “You are Spanish. Remember what your friends used to sing with you when you were small?” It was a childish, silly chant, but I chanted along with him in Spanish.
“We are Spain. Spain is Bulls, Spain is Beauty. Spain is matadors, and Spain is Passion. Spain is us, we are Passion!” I smiled. My father looked me in the eyes.
“You are Spain, Manny. You cannot hide that, and the world knows the chant as well as you or me.” I chuckled a bit at the thought of a huge crowd chanting the childish verses. Papa caught the thought. He had always been able to catch that sort of thing. “Oh, they might not know the words, but they know what Spain is. They can see who you are.”
“Papa, I need that part of me to go away for a while. Bullfighting stole you from me.” The ache started to settle back in.
“Manny.” I heard the love in his voice. His hand found mine. “I will always be with you. But you need more than me. You need your mother. You need your grandparents. And you desperately need friends. Let them help you.”
“What if they bring it up again and this happens all over again?”
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Monday, February 18, 2008
My Father's sword
This is a short story I'm working on for my Writer's Workshop Class. I don't know how far I want to tkae it, but I think I want Manny's father to visit him a few more times. Feedback would be appreciated. And remember, this is till a pretty rough first copy. Thanks!
Those hooves, those hammering, ruthless hooves pounding down, down, down. I cursed the dust, clogging the air, hiding everything but those hooves and the occasional flash of color from a glimpse of my father’s costume. A pulsing heat was invading the left side of my face, casting a blurred shine to everything I saw. I was running, all calls of warning missing my ears completely. I was surrounded by a silence ounctured only by my own racing heartbeats. I reached my father just as the handlers got the bull penned, his body surprisingly straight, lying still on the ground. I knelt and gripped his hand, staring, my eyes desperately trying to suck a sign of movement from his chest. His mouth moved, and a whisper penetrated the deafening drumbeat emanating from my chest.
“Manny.” My name gurgled past his lips. I leaned in closer. “I love you.”
“Papa, don’t go! Please-" Another thundering whisper cut me off.
“Please, son. Just listen. Take care of your mother. Treat her like the goddess she is.” A rivulet of blood crawled out of the corner of his mouth. “Remember to live with passion, as I taught you. We are Spain.” He coughed, sending another crimson snake slithering out of the other side of his mouth. “I will always be with you.” The medics were there, trying to take my father from me, trying to pull his hand from mine. I couldn’t let go. It took three men to separate me from my father. I didn’t scream. Not with my mouth. I just stood there, listening to the agonized, tortured symphony bursting from my heart, the blood of my shattered soul leaking from the corners of my eyes. The hilt of my father’s sword was burning in my other hand, welded to my fist.
That was when I woke up. I didn’t wake up suddenly, or all at once. Tears were still slipping down my face as I pulled out of my slumber. Every night I had gone back. Every night, I was back to that moment. Stuck, reliving those moments when my father had been ripped from my life. The cut on my face was burning as though it had reopened, and I brushed my fingertips over the scar, a raised pink line sitting on my cheekbone. I didn’t need to look at the clock. I knew I had awakened at the same time as every night before, and that there were still a good 4 hours before daylight would even consider coming. I turned over in my bed, not wanting to let sleep take me back. I started school tomorrow, and I knew that I needed to sleep. But I couldn’t. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t close my eyes. I sat up and turned on my lamp. Reaching into the gap between my bed and the wall, I pulled it out. It had become part of me in those moments when I watched the EMT’s covering my father on the stretcher and hoisting him into the Ambulance, the hearse that drove my father away. I pulled it out of the scabbard, staring at the light that danced along its edge. I pulled off my covers, and got up. An idea had struck me, and I started rummaging through one of the many unpacked boxes sitting of the floor of my room. I found what I was looking for, and sat on the edge of my bed.
As I opened the cleaning kit, I thought back to when Papa and I used to clean his sword, both before and after his fights. We talked about everything, school, sports, especially bullfighting, and simply about life in general. It was a time when just the 2 of us were together, and we weren’t just father and son. During those times, we were friends and equals. I would tell him about girls at school, or things that bothered me, and he would tell me about work, stories about when he was my age, and about things he and Mom did when they were younger. I started running the oiled cloth over the blade, and a few leftover tears began to leak out again. One hit the handle, but I ignored it.
“You know, saltwater isn’t good for the blade.” The voice wasn’t mine, and I looked up, startled. “Over here, son.” It came again. I looked at the end of my bed, and saw my father, sitting there in his matador costume, clean and whole, but still surrounded by that shiny blur he had had when I held him in the ring.
“Papa?” I decided that I was in another dream, and hoped that this one wouldn’t turn into another nightmare. “You’re gone Papa. What are you doing here?”
“Obviously you need me more now than heaven does.” His reply was soft, and warm, but tinged slightly with a wistfulness that I understood more deeply than anything I had before.
“You’re not real, are you?” It wasn’t completely a question, but not a statement either.
“It doesn’t matter whether I am or not. You need me, and I told you I’d always be with you.” He came over closer to me. “I’m not a ghost, or an angel really. Now what’s going on?”
“I can’t sleep, Dad.” I kept cleaning the sword as I spoke, and it was just like it used to be. “I keep seeing you die, over and over. I miss you.” The tears threatened to return, but I held them in.
“Did I ever tell you about the day my father died?” He hadn’t, and I realized then that he had only been a few years older than I was now. “I wasn’t there, because I was resting from a fight I had just finished. I rushed out, and rode with the ambulance that took him to the hospital. I kept wondering, asking myself, why couldn’t I have stopped it.”
“Dad, you weren’t even near him or the bull. There was nothing you could have done.” And it was my fault in the first place that you fell. If I hadn’t gotten hit by that rock…
“Manny, I know that. But grief does things. For weeks, I blamed myself, dumb though it was. I kept seeing him under the bull, or gored by the bull, or lying broken on the field. I told myself, if only I’d been there, if I’d been one of his lancers. It was his only match that I’d missed, and all because I was too damn tired to go watch it.”
“Dad? Do you still think it was your fault?” Because it wasn’t his fault. He hadn’t been there. He hadn’t gotten hurt and made his father trun away from the bull, hand’t made him trip and get trampled and trampled, and trampled…I had finished clening the sword, and was sliding it back into its sheath as sobs ibrated my body. I couldn’t lok at my father. Suddenly I felt his hand on my head.
“Manny, you have school soon. You need to sleep.” I felt him gently pull back my covers, and laid down. The blankets slid over me, and I heard his voice, softly singing an old Spanish lullaby that he had sung me to sleep with until I was seven years old. The last thing I felt before I dissolved into sleep was his kiss on my head. I wasn’t crying anymore. The next morning I awoke, refreshed, and the memory of my dream was clear in my head. I got up, and my foot brushed the cleaning kit, neatly packed up and laying beside the sword. I knew at the moment, that whether it had been reality or not, my father had been with me last night.
School in Seattle, Washington isn’t that much different from school in Toledo, Spain. You get a shorter time for lunch, and the classes have different names, but it’s the same stuff. It was hard, being in a place so far from what I had known and grown up with, all my old friends far away, and not knowing anyone here. But I got through my morning classes without anything going hugely wrong.
Those hooves, those hammering, ruthless hooves pounding down, down, down. I cursed the dust, clogging the air, hiding everything but those hooves and the occasional flash of color from a glimpse of my father’s costume. A pulsing heat was invading the left side of my face, casting a blurred shine to everything I saw. I was running, all calls of warning missing my ears completely. I was surrounded by a silence ounctured only by my own racing heartbeats. I reached my father just as the handlers got the bull penned, his body surprisingly straight, lying still on the ground. I knelt and gripped his hand, staring, my eyes desperately trying to suck a sign of movement from his chest. His mouth moved, and a whisper penetrated the deafening drumbeat emanating from my chest.
“Manny.” My name gurgled past his lips. I leaned in closer. “I love you.”
“Papa, don’t go! Please-" Another thundering whisper cut me off.
“Please, son. Just listen. Take care of your mother. Treat her like the goddess she is.” A rivulet of blood crawled out of the corner of his mouth. “Remember to live with passion, as I taught you. We are Spain.” He coughed, sending another crimson snake slithering out of the other side of his mouth. “I will always be with you.” The medics were there, trying to take my father from me, trying to pull his hand from mine. I couldn’t let go. It took three men to separate me from my father. I didn’t scream. Not with my mouth. I just stood there, listening to the agonized, tortured symphony bursting from my heart, the blood of my shattered soul leaking from the corners of my eyes. The hilt of my father’s sword was burning in my other hand, welded to my fist.
That was when I woke up. I didn’t wake up suddenly, or all at once. Tears were still slipping down my face as I pulled out of my slumber. Every night I had gone back. Every night, I was back to that moment. Stuck, reliving those moments when my father had been ripped from my life. The cut on my face was burning as though it had reopened, and I brushed my fingertips over the scar, a raised pink line sitting on my cheekbone. I didn’t need to look at the clock. I knew I had awakened at the same time as every night before, and that there were still a good 4 hours before daylight would even consider coming. I turned over in my bed, not wanting to let sleep take me back. I started school tomorrow, and I knew that I needed to sleep. But I couldn’t. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t close my eyes. I sat up and turned on my lamp. Reaching into the gap between my bed and the wall, I pulled it out. It had become part of me in those moments when I watched the EMT’s covering my father on the stretcher and hoisting him into the Ambulance, the hearse that drove my father away. I pulled it out of the scabbard, staring at the light that danced along its edge. I pulled off my covers, and got up. An idea had struck me, and I started rummaging through one of the many unpacked boxes sitting of the floor of my room. I found what I was looking for, and sat on the edge of my bed.
As I opened the cleaning kit, I thought back to when Papa and I used to clean his sword, both before and after his fights. We talked about everything, school, sports, especially bullfighting, and simply about life in general. It was a time when just the 2 of us were together, and we weren’t just father and son. During those times, we were friends and equals. I would tell him about girls at school, or things that bothered me, and he would tell me about work, stories about when he was my age, and about things he and Mom did when they were younger. I started running the oiled cloth over the blade, and a few leftover tears began to leak out again. One hit the handle, but I ignored it.
“You know, saltwater isn’t good for the blade.” The voice wasn’t mine, and I looked up, startled. “Over here, son.” It came again. I looked at the end of my bed, and saw my father, sitting there in his matador costume, clean and whole, but still surrounded by that shiny blur he had had when I held him in the ring.
“Papa?” I decided that I was in another dream, and hoped that this one wouldn’t turn into another nightmare. “You’re gone Papa. What are you doing here?”
“Obviously you need me more now than heaven does.” His reply was soft, and warm, but tinged slightly with a wistfulness that I understood more deeply than anything I had before.
“You’re not real, are you?” It wasn’t completely a question, but not a statement either.
“It doesn’t matter whether I am or not. You need me, and I told you I’d always be with you.” He came over closer to me. “I’m not a ghost, or an angel really. Now what’s going on?”
“I can’t sleep, Dad.” I kept cleaning the sword as I spoke, and it was just like it used to be. “I keep seeing you die, over and over. I miss you.” The tears threatened to return, but I held them in.
“Did I ever tell you about the day my father died?” He hadn’t, and I realized then that he had only been a few years older than I was now. “I wasn’t there, because I was resting from a fight I had just finished. I rushed out, and rode with the ambulance that took him to the hospital. I kept wondering, asking myself, why couldn’t I have stopped it.”
“Dad, you weren’t even near him or the bull. There was nothing you could have done.” And it was my fault in the first place that you fell. If I hadn’t gotten hit by that rock…
“Manny, I know that. But grief does things. For weeks, I blamed myself, dumb though it was. I kept seeing him under the bull, or gored by the bull, or lying broken on the field. I told myself, if only I’d been there, if I’d been one of his lancers. It was his only match that I’d missed, and all because I was too damn tired to go watch it.”
“Dad? Do you still think it was your fault?” Because it wasn’t his fault. He hadn’t been there. He hadn’t gotten hurt and made his father trun away from the bull, hand’t made him trip and get trampled and trampled, and trampled…I had finished clening the sword, and was sliding it back into its sheath as sobs ibrated my body. I couldn’t lok at my father. Suddenly I felt his hand on my head.
“Manny, you have school soon. You need to sleep.” I felt him gently pull back my covers, and laid down. The blankets slid over me, and I heard his voice, softly singing an old Spanish lullaby that he had sung me to sleep with until I was seven years old. The last thing I felt before I dissolved into sleep was his kiss on my head. I wasn’t crying anymore. The next morning I awoke, refreshed, and the memory of my dream was clear in my head. I got up, and my foot brushed the cleaning kit, neatly packed up and laying beside the sword. I knew at the moment, that whether it had been reality or not, my father had been with me last night.
School in Seattle, Washington isn’t that much different from school in Toledo, Spain. You get a shorter time for lunch, and the classes have different names, but it’s the same stuff. It was hard, being in a place so far from what I had known and grown up with, all my old friends far away, and not knowing anyone here. But I got through my morning classes without anything going hugely wrong.
Sunday, February 17, 2008
In progress
the music plays behind us
your smile shines so bright
and I will ask you always:
Will you dance with me tonight?
your smile shines so bright
and I will ask you always:
Will you dance with me tonight?
Sunday, February 10, 2008
The Sculpter
I know an artist
he's older than dirt
and he's a lot harder to see
but he's an artist
maybe the first
whose harsh as can be
yet his gentle touch
slowly exquisitely slowly
coaxes out the most
perfect shapes and lines
ever eyed in creation.
True, he has destroyed many
but he creates, and helps too.
His materials?
anything really. But he seems
to prefer natural things.
Sand he has carved into
waves, and waves he carves
into rippling gems for a mere second
and then they're lost.
perhaps his favorite medium
is the clouds. The Clouds! He
will stroke here, and brush here
add just a twist to here.
He calls them into dragons, or ships
or perhaps an amusing face.
He'll kiss them into mountains
or maybe carve his own likeness into the sky.
Sometimes, you can see his cuneiform language,
the squiggles and lines and dots
all jumbled into a symphony that only
he can read and play.
He's carved us canyons
and rivers and the snow, oh the snow,
he loves as much as the clouds. The
albino, frigid sand that he can
dance with on it's descent to earth
then arrange to twinkle our own minds
he has always been
and will be forever
improving his art, the master.
he's older than dirt
and he's a lot harder to see
but he's an artist
maybe the first
whose harsh as can be
yet his gentle touch
slowly exquisitely slowly
coaxes out the most
perfect shapes and lines
ever eyed in creation.
True, he has destroyed many
but he creates, and helps too.
His materials?
anything really. But he seems
to prefer natural things.
Sand he has carved into
waves, and waves he carves
into rippling gems for a mere second
and then they're lost.
perhaps his favorite medium
is the clouds. The Clouds! He
will stroke here, and brush here
add just a twist to here.
He calls them into dragons, or ships
or perhaps an amusing face.
He'll kiss them into mountains
or maybe carve his own likeness into the sky.
Sometimes, you can see his cuneiform language,
the squiggles and lines and dots
all jumbled into a symphony that only
he can read and play.
He's carved us canyons
and rivers and the snow, oh the snow,
he loves as much as the clouds. The
albino, frigid sand that he can
dance with on it's descent to earth
then arrange to twinkle our own minds
he has always been
and will be forever
improving his art, the master.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Found this on Facebook
Things I cannot do at hogwarts
1. No matter how good a fake Australian accent I can do, I will not imitate Steve Irwin during Care of Magical Creatures class.
2. Growing marijuana or hallucinogenic mushrooms is not "an extra credit project for Herbology.”
3. I am not allowed to attempt to breed a liger.
4. I will not use Umbridge's quill to write "I told you I was hardcore.”
5. I will stop referring to showering as "giving Moaning Myrtle an eyeful.”
6. Polishing my wand in the common room is acceptable. "Polishing my wand" in the common room is not.
7. I am not allowed to cackle whenever practicing magic. Real wizards don't get it.
8. Starting a betting pool on the fate of this year's Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher is tasteless and tacky, not a clever money-making concept.
9. I will not start every Potions class by asking Professor Snape if today's project is suitable for use as a sexual lubricant.
10. Seamus Finnegan is not "after me Lucky Charms.”
11. I will not bring a Magic Eight Ball to Divination class.
12. My Headmaster's name is Albus Dumbledore, Not Gandalf.
13. I will stop asking the Arithmancy teacher what the square root of -1 is.
14. Calling Lucius Malfoy "Luscious Mouthful" is just plain gross.
15. There is no such thing as an Invisibility Thong.
16. Asking, "How do you keep a Gryffindor in suspense?" and walking away is only funny the first time.
17. It is a bad idea to tell Professor Snape he takes himself too seriously.
18. I will not ask Dumbledore to show me the pointy hat trick.
19. I will not greet Professor McGonagall with "What's new, pussycat?"
20. I will not take out a life insurance policy on Harry Potter.
21. A drawn on thunder cloud scar over my left eyebrow does not mean I am Harry Potter's evil twin.
22. "Potter 6, Voldemort 0” is not a valid T-shirt slogan.
23. Even though they are easier to use and probably more effective, I will not use guns against the Death Eaters.
24. I will not charm Firenze pink and call him "my little pony."
25. Dobby, even though he apparently went to grammar school with him, is NOT Yoda in disguise.
26. I will not pay Peeves to rewrite the school anthem.
27. Recording a remix of "It's a Hard Knock Life" using the house-elves as vocal backing is not funny.
28. I will not follow Potions instructions in reverse just to see what happens.
29. I will not teach the first-years to sing "A Wizard's Staff Has a Knob on the End."
30. It is not necessary to yell “BURN!” every time Snape takes points from Gryffindor.
31. I am not allowed to sing "Holding Out For A Hero" whenever Harry Potter enters the room.
32. If Lupin requests something of me, it is considered very rude to refuse by replying, "Not by the hair of my chinny-chin-chin!"
33. I will refrain from calling the Weasley twins “Merry and Pippin.”
34. I will also refrain from calling Harry and Ron “Frodo and Sam.”
35. It probably isn’t smart to call Draco “Legolas” either.
36. I will not lock the Slytherins and Gryffindors in a room together and take bets on which house will come out alive.
37. Telling Draco Malfoy to “make like a ferret and bounce” is not a good idea.
38. Yelling "Oh my God! It's the clan!" when death eaters are coming to get you is NOT a lifesaving line.
39. I will not change the Gryffindor password to "Draco Malfoy is a sexy beast."
40. Telling Umbridge that cardigans are so 2005 will get you in trouble.
41. "Accidentally" dropping Polyjuice potion with Luna Lovegood’s hair in Snape's drink is a very unhealthy hobby.
42. Eating doxies will not make you high.
43. I will not make any jokes about Lupin and his "time of the month."
44. I am not allowed to point out that turning on a flashlight is quieter than saying "lumos.”
45. Misspelling the word “serious” as “Sirius” on your potions assignments is not a
way to make friends with your potions teacher.
46. I will not ask Professor McGonagall if she is related to Mrs. Norris.
47. I must not charm little heart-shaped bubbles to pop up anytime Hermione and Ron look at each other.
48. I will not point out to Trelawney that astrology needs to be rewritten as Pluto is no longer a planet.
49. I will not borrow Trelawney´s tarot cards for a game of poker.
50. I am not allowed to hiss at Harry instead of talking.
51. I will not switch the labels on the ingredient boxes in Snape´s storeroom.
52. I will not rearrange the letters in my name to something evil sounding.
On this note, I am also not to get a group of followers and call them something evil.
Along with the above, I am not to get everyone similar tattoos.
53. I will not ask Professor Sprout were she hides the good stuff.
57. I will not dress up as Voldemort for Halloween.
55. I will not bring a semi automatic weapon to Hogwart's for protection.
56. I will not confess my undying love for Professor Snape in the middle of breakfast in the Great Hall. Professor Snape is probably not a morning person. I will wait until dinner or at least lunch.
57. I will not drink Polyjuice Potion with Draco's hair in it and ask Luna Lovegood to marry me.
58. I will not write to Voldemort with requests to be second in command.
59. I will not drink Polyjuice Potion with Harry's hair in it, put foundation on the scar, wear brown contact lenses, and tell Harry that I am his father.
60. I will not set up a blind date for Harry and Voldemort.
61. I will not tell everyone that Draco Malfoy touches little boys.
62. When asked a question by a teacher I will not point out that the answer is protected by a Fidelius charm and I am not the secret keeper.
63. The Forbidden Forest is forbidden because it contains werewolves and massive spiders, not because there is a secret cave with the answer to every test, and I should refrain from telling the first years that there is.
64. I must not point to the Dark Mark in the sky and shout, "To the Batmobile, Robin!"
65. I will not ask Harry if his Voldy senses are tingling.
66. I will not ask Professor Snape questions about Batman´s cape. Nor will I suggest that he be Robin.
67. I will not ask Professor Flitwick how Santa Claus is doing.
68. I will not sit in Dumbledore's lap and tell him what I want for Christmas this year.
69. I will not when looking for Professor McGonagall say, "Hear kitty, kitty."
70. I am not allowed to tell Voldemort that he should consider eye liner to bring out the color in his eyes.
71. I will not order seven Hogwarts house elves to go to a costume party with me to perfect my Snow White costume.
72. I will not make the Hogwarts house elves sneak the answers for the exams from the teachers.
73. I will not tell Professor Trelawney that my teacup says she's lying.
74. I will not sing "We're off to see the Wizard" when sent to the Headmaster's office.
75. I will not tell Snape he needs to go to his "Happy place.”
76. I am not allowed to make light saber sounds with my wand.
77. I will not refer to the accio charm as "The Force.”
78. I will not put muggle fairy tales in the history section of the library.
79. I will not set Ravenclaw house on the task of calculating the exact value of pi.
80. Bringing fortune cookies to Divination class does not count for extra credit.
81. However tempting it may be, I will not send Voldemort a Christmas card telling him how much we all love him, even through these difficult times.
82. I am not allowed to taunt Professor McGonagall with Catnip.
83. I will not give Voldemort a toupee.
84. Yelling "To infinity, and BEYOND!" is only funny the first time you ride a broom.
85. I will not bring "Becoming a Dark Lord for Dummies" to read at the breakfast table.
86. It is not necessary for me to yell "BAM!" every time I apparate.
87. If the thought of a spell makes me giggle for longer than 15 seconds, I am to assume that I am not allowed to do it.
88. "Swish and flick" is only a wand movement.
89. I will not get the sorting hat drunk, no matter how funny his song was the first time.
90. First years are not “the Little People.”
91. Hobbits are not magical beings in the wizarding world.
92. I will not sing the entire Multiplication Rock series during Arithmancy exams.
93. Just because I can subject someone to horrific magical torture does not mean I should.
94. “42” is not the answer to every question on the O.W.L.s.
95. Crashing a Ford Anglia into the Whomping Willow is not the best entrance to make. Crashing it into Snape's office is.
96. I will not ask Hagrid exactly how he was conceived.
97. “To conquer the earth with an army of flying monkeys” is not an appropriate career choice.
98. I will not tell Harry that he is fictional and that everything he has worked for is nothing more than a best selling novel.
99. I am not allowed to sing the Mission: Impossible theme every time Professor Snape stalks down the hallways.
100. I will not hold my wand in the air before casting spells and shout “I got the power!”
--ADDITIONS TO 100 THINGS--
101. I will not put books of muggle fairy tales in the history section of the library.
102. I will not send pictures of magical creatures to the Weekly World News.
103. I will not cover myself in ectoplasm and walk out of a fireplace, saying I took the "Flu Network".
104. I will not refer to "The Grim" as a nice doggy.
105. I will not refer to Professor Lupin as a nice doggy.
106. I will not ask Professor Sprout where the Jolly Green Giant is.
107. I will not subvert the lock on the fourth-floor girls' bathroom and sell its location to first-years as "The Chamber of Secrets".
108. When applying for a post at the Ministry of Magic after graduation, I should not cite "Fred and George Weasley" as my greatest influence at Hogwarts.
109. Putting down "Lord Voldemort" is probably not best either.
110. I am not allowed to ink my owl's feet, have it walk across a parchment, and sell the result as cheat sheets for Ancient Runes, even though Crabbe and Goyle keep falling for it.
111. I will not say "Dude, get a life," to Voldemort. (Thanks Brittney!)
112. A ferret is not a proper Christmas gift for Draco Malfoy.
113. Asking Mad-Eye Moody to turn Malfoy back into a ferret so I could keep him as a pet was not appropriate, either.
114. Hagrid's skin is not green and I should stop calling him 'The Jolly Green Giant.'
115. Sending love notes to Professor Snape and signing them 'With Love, Draco Malfoy' is not appropriate.
116. Neither is signing them with: 'I had a great time last night, Argus Filch.'
117. Breaking into song during Potions class is not acceptable.
118. Especially if the song is 'I feel pretty, oh so pretty'.
119. Or 'I'm too sexy'.
120. I am not a 'ninja sent here by Lord Voldemort to destroy Harry Potter' and should stop shouting this at meal times.
121. Lucius Malfoy's cane is not a 'pimp cane'.
122. Singing "Ding Dong, the Witch is Dead!" is not appropriate, even after Bellatrix has been Avada Kedavra'd.
123. Crabbe and Goyle should not be referred to as "Bulk and Skull". "Dumb and Dumber" is equally inappropriate.
124. I should not refer to Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle collectively as "Team Rocket" either.
125. I am not to tell Muggleborn first-years that Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans taste better when one eats a whole handful simultaneously.
126. I will not take out a life insurance policy on any Hogwarts Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.
127. I will not attempt to repel Dementors by covering myself in chocolate body paint.
128. The Giant Squid is not an appropriate date to the Yule Ball.
129. If a classmate falls asleep, I will not take advantage of that fact and draw a Dark Mark on their arm. (Thanks Anita!)
130. I will not ask the Weasley twins if "ginger" biscuits will turn me into a member of their family. (Thanks Cassie!)
1. No matter how good a fake Australian accent I can do, I will not imitate Steve Irwin during Care of Magical Creatures class.
2. Growing marijuana or hallucinogenic mushrooms is not "an extra credit project for Herbology.”
3. I am not allowed to attempt to breed a liger.
4. I will not use Umbridge's quill to write "I told you I was hardcore.”
5. I will stop referring to showering as "giving Moaning Myrtle an eyeful.”
6. Polishing my wand in the common room is acceptable. "Polishing my wand" in the common room is not.
7. I am not allowed to cackle whenever practicing magic. Real wizards don't get it.
8. Starting a betting pool on the fate of this year's Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher is tasteless and tacky, not a clever money-making concept.
9. I will not start every Potions class by asking Professor Snape if today's project is suitable for use as a sexual lubricant.
10. Seamus Finnegan is not "after me Lucky Charms.”
11. I will not bring a Magic Eight Ball to Divination class.
12. My Headmaster's name is Albus Dumbledore, Not Gandalf.
13. I will stop asking the Arithmancy teacher what the square root of -1 is.
14. Calling Lucius Malfoy "Luscious Mouthful" is just plain gross.
15. There is no such thing as an Invisibility Thong.
16. Asking, "How do you keep a Gryffindor in suspense?" and walking away is only funny the first time.
17. It is a bad idea to tell Professor Snape he takes himself too seriously.
18. I will not ask Dumbledore to show me the pointy hat trick.
19. I will not greet Professor McGonagall with "What's new, pussycat?"
20. I will not take out a life insurance policy on Harry Potter.
21. A drawn on thunder cloud scar over my left eyebrow does not mean I am Harry Potter's evil twin.
22. "Potter 6, Voldemort 0” is not a valid T-shirt slogan.
23. Even though they are easier to use and probably more effective, I will not use guns against the Death Eaters.
24. I will not charm Firenze pink and call him "my little pony."
25. Dobby, even though he apparently went to grammar school with him, is NOT Yoda in disguise.
26. I will not pay Peeves to rewrite the school anthem.
27. Recording a remix of "It's a Hard Knock Life" using the house-elves as vocal backing is not funny.
28. I will not follow Potions instructions in reverse just to see what happens.
29. I will not teach the first-years to sing "A Wizard's Staff Has a Knob on the End."
30. It is not necessary to yell “BURN!” every time Snape takes points from Gryffindor.
31. I am not allowed to sing "Holding Out For A Hero" whenever Harry Potter enters the room.
32. If Lupin requests something of me, it is considered very rude to refuse by replying, "Not by the hair of my chinny-chin-chin!"
33. I will refrain from calling the Weasley twins “Merry and Pippin.”
34. I will also refrain from calling Harry and Ron “Frodo and Sam.”
35. It probably isn’t smart to call Draco “Legolas” either.
36. I will not lock the Slytherins and Gryffindors in a room together and take bets on which house will come out alive.
37. Telling Draco Malfoy to “make like a ferret and bounce” is not a good idea.
38. Yelling "Oh my God! It's the clan!" when death eaters are coming to get you is NOT a lifesaving line.
39. I will not change the Gryffindor password to "Draco Malfoy is a sexy beast."
40. Telling Umbridge that cardigans are so 2005 will get you in trouble.
41. "Accidentally" dropping Polyjuice potion with Luna Lovegood’s hair in Snape's drink is a very unhealthy hobby.
42. Eating doxies will not make you high.
43. I will not make any jokes about Lupin and his "time of the month."
44. I am not allowed to point out that turning on a flashlight is quieter than saying "lumos.”
45. Misspelling the word “serious” as “Sirius” on your potions assignments is not a
way to make friends with your potions teacher.
46. I will not ask Professor McGonagall if she is related to Mrs. Norris.
47. I must not charm little heart-shaped bubbles to pop up anytime Hermione and Ron look at each other.
48. I will not point out to Trelawney that astrology needs to be rewritten as Pluto is no longer a planet.
49. I will not borrow Trelawney´s tarot cards for a game of poker.
50. I am not allowed to hiss at Harry instead of talking.
51. I will not switch the labels on the ingredient boxes in Snape´s storeroom.
52. I will not rearrange the letters in my name to something evil sounding.
On this note, I am also not to get a group of followers and call them something evil.
Along with the above, I am not to get everyone similar tattoos.
53. I will not ask Professor Sprout were she hides the good stuff.
57. I will not dress up as Voldemort for Halloween.
55. I will not bring a semi automatic weapon to Hogwart's for protection.
56. I will not confess my undying love for Professor Snape in the middle of breakfast in the Great Hall. Professor Snape is probably not a morning person. I will wait until dinner or at least lunch.
57. I will not drink Polyjuice Potion with Draco's hair in it and ask Luna Lovegood to marry me.
58. I will not write to Voldemort with requests to be second in command.
59. I will not drink Polyjuice Potion with Harry's hair in it, put foundation on the scar, wear brown contact lenses, and tell Harry that I am his father.
60. I will not set up a blind date for Harry and Voldemort.
61. I will not tell everyone that Draco Malfoy touches little boys.
62. When asked a question by a teacher I will not point out that the answer is protected by a Fidelius charm and I am not the secret keeper.
63. The Forbidden Forest is forbidden because it contains werewolves and massive spiders, not because there is a secret cave with the answer to every test, and I should refrain from telling the first years that there is.
64. I must not point to the Dark Mark in the sky and shout, "To the Batmobile, Robin!"
65. I will not ask Harry if his Voldy senses are tingling.
66. I will not ask Professor Snape questions about Batman´s cape. Nor will I suggest that he be Robin.
67. I will not ask Professor Flitwick how Santa Claus is doing.
68. I will not sit in Dumbledore's lap and tell him what I want for Christmas this year.
69. I will not when looking for Professor McGonagall say, "Hear kitty, kitty."
70. I am not allowed to tell Voldemort that he should consider eye liner to bring out the color in his eyes.
71. I will not order seven Hogwarts house elves to go to a costume party with me to perfect my Snow White costume.
72. I will not make the Hogwarts house elves sneak the answers for the exams from the teachers.
73. I will not tell Professor Trelawney that my teacup says she's lying.
74. I will not sing "We're off to see the Wizard" when sent to the Headmaster's office.
75. I will not tell Snape he needs to go to his "Happy place.”
76. I am not allowed to make light saber sounds with my wand.
77. I will not refer to the accio charm as "The Force.”
78. I will not put muggle fairy tales in the history section of the library.
79. I will not set Ravenclaw house on the task of calculating the exact value of pi.
80. Bringing fortune cookies to Divination class does not count for extra credit.
81. However tempting it may be, I will not send Voldemort a Christmas card telling him how much we all love him, even through these difficult times.
82. I am not allowed to taunt Professor McGonagall with Catnip.
83. I will not give Voldemort a toupee.
84. Yelling "To infinity, and BEYOND!" is only funny the first time you ride a broom.
85. I will not bring "Becoming a Dark Lord for Dummies" to read at the breakfast table.
86. It is not necessary for me to yell "BAM!" every time I apparate.
87. If the thought of a spell makes me giggle for longer than 15 seconds, I am to assume that I am not allowed to do it.
88. "Swish and flick" is only a wand movement.
89. I will not get the sorting hat drunk, no matter how funny his song was the first time.
90. First years are not “the Little People.”
91. Hobbits are not magical beings in the wizarding world.
92. I will not sing the entire Multiplication Rock series during Arithmancy exams.
93. Just because I can subject someone to horrific magical torture does not mean I should.
94. “42” is not the answer to every question on the O.W.L.s.
95. Crashing a Ford Anglia into the Whomping Willow is not the best entrance to make. Crashing it into Snape's office is.
96. I will not ask Hagrid exactly how he was conceived.
97. “To conquer the earth with an army of flying monkeys” is not an appropriate career choice.
98. I will not tell Harry that he is fictional and that everything he has worked for is nothing more than a best selling novel.
99. I am not allowed to sing the Mission: Impossible theme every time Professor Snape stalks down the hallways.
100. I will not hold my wand in the air before casting spells and shout “I got the power!”
--ADDITIONS TO 100 THINGS--
101. I will not put books of muggle fairy tales in the history section of the library.
102. I will not send pictures of magical creatures to the Weekly World News.
103. I will not cover myself in ectoplasm and walk out of a fireplace, saying I took the "Flu Network".
104. I will not refer to "The Grim" as a nice doggy.
105. I will not refer to Professor Lupin as a nice doggy.
106. I will not ask Professor Sprout where the Jolly Green Giant is.
107. I will not subvert the lock on the fourth-floor girls' bathroom and sell its location to first-years as "The Chamber of Secrets".
108. When applying for a post at the Ministry of Magic after graduation, I should not cite "Fred and George Weasley" as my greatest influence at Hogwarts.
109. Putting down "Lord Voldemort" is probably not best either.
110. I am not allowed to ink my owl's feet, have it walk across a parchment, and sell the result as cheat sheets for Ancient Runes, even though Crabbe and Goyle keep falling for it.
111. I will not say "Dude, get a life," to Voldemort. (Thanks Brittney!)
112. A ferret is not a proper Christmas gift for Draco Malfoy.
113. Asking Mad-Eye Moody to turn Malfoy back into a ferret so I could keep him as a pet was not appropriate, either.
114. Hagrid's skin is not green and I should stop calling him 'The Jolly Green Giant.'
115. Sending love notes to Professor Snape and signing them 'With Love, Draco Malfoy' is not appropriate.
116. Neither is signing them with: 'I had a great time last night, Argus Filch.'
117. Breaking into song during Potions class is not acceptable.
118. Especially if the song is 'I feel pretty, oh so pretty'.
119. Or 'I'm too sexy'.
120. I am not a 'ninja sent here by Lord Voldemort to destroy Harry Potter' and should stop shouting this at meal times.
121. Lucius Malfoy's cane is not a 'pimp cane'.
122. Singing "Ding Dong, the Witch is Dead!" is not appropriate, even after Bellatrix has been Avada Kedavra'd.
123. Crabbe and Goyle should not be referred to as "Bulk and Skull". "Dumb and Dumber" is equally inappropriate.
124. I should not refer to Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle collectively as "Team Rocket" either.
125. I am not to tell Muggleborn first-years that Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans taste better when one eats a whole handful simultaneously.
126. I will not take out a life insurance policy on any Hogwarts Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.
127. I will not attempt to repel Dementors by covering myself in chocolate body paint.
128. The Giant Squid is not an appropriate date to the Yule Ball.
129. If a classmate falls asleep, I will not take advantage of that fact and draw a Dark Mark on their arm. (Thanks Anita!)
130. I will not ask the Weasley twins if "ginger" biscuits will turn me into a member of their family. (Thanks Cassie!)
Sunday, January 27, 2008
His Eulogy
His Eulogy
I was lonely
So I met Jerry. And then
I had a best friend.
He was room mates with my
brother's goldfish.
His favorite foods were
echoes, and wandering ideas.
He would ride that stupid plastic elephant
up and down the walls and
all over the ceiling.
His hair was the color of Fairy socks
and his eyes were the color
of frozen laughter.
He would weave all of my swallowed
wishes into presents for me
that could fly all around my
memories. He'd laugh
at people, at the ways
they ignored their
people-ness.
But closed doors and blocked off
road would make him weep
and frenzy-dance.
Jerry, No-foot tall,
just as high as our thoughts.
We'd sit together on mind's edge, toasting
each other with the ambrosious dew of
disappointment that he would gather
from the lawns of lost souls,
then we'd smoke bowls of potential until
the smoke was so thick that I
could climb through the branches.
Sometimes we'd just hang in them,
picking and eating pictures of heaven
or hell, and spitting the pith at
the passers-by below. Some days
we'd pawn a bit of luck or dream
to pay for a ride on parachuting
coat hangers over the dry harbor bed.
Jerry could make my emptiness
run away... God I miss him
But that bastard therapist
killed him with a prescription pad.
I was only 26.
I was lonely
So I met Jerry. And then
I had a best friend.
He was room mates with my
brother's goldfish.
His favorite foods were
echoes, and wandering ideas.
He would ride that stupid plastic elephant
up and down the walls and
all over the ceiling.
His hair was the color of Fairy socks
and his eyes were the color
of frozen laughter.
He would weave all of my swallowed
wishes into presents for me
that could fly all around my
memories. He'd laugh
at people, at the ways
they ignored their
people-ness.
But closed doors and blocked off
road would make him weep
and frenzy-dance.
Jerry, No-foot tall,
just as high as our thoughts.
We'd sit together on mind's edge, toasting
each other with the ambrosious dew of
disappointment that he would gather
from the lawns of lost souls,
then we'd smoke bowls of potential until
the smoke was so thick that I
could climb through the branches.
Sometimes we'd just hang in them,
picking and eating pictures of heaven
or hell, and spitting the pith at
the passers-by below. Some days
we'd pawn a bit of luck or dream
to pay for a ride on parachuting
coat hangers over the dry harbor bed.
Jerry could make my emptiness
run away... God I miss him
But that bastard therapist
killed him with a prescription pad.
I was only 26.
Sunday, January 13, 2008
Awakening
Where did it go?
That old, muted life
stuck in a washed out,
apathetic world
that until now
was best I knew?
Like a once-caterpillar
you've given me wings.
True music, your laugh
lovingly crashed over my ears,
knocking out unknown plugs,
casting out the old-normal muffles
and mumbles, letting velvet life
be heard
My deafness healed,
you've given me song
New colour, your smile
pierced the veil over
mind's windows, blazing,
dazzling, the shutters are opened
and new , vibrant,
I see real Life
I see your eyes, lit
like purest crystal
water, streaming through brightest
light, cast by a brilliant sky
shot with flame and frost
My blindness healed
you've shown me beauty
New touch, the barest
brush of your arm on mine
awakened sleeping limbs,
pins, needles, shocks, tingles
concealed deadness banished.
Silk, your hair flows through
discovering hand, satin
your fingers, clasped in mine
New feeling skin,
you've given me new grasp
New scent, auras envelope,
the wild wind whipped about,
stealing smell off your skin,
surrounding me, banishing
the long-ignored funk of
swift departing first-life,
replacing with reviving
aromas, cleansing, refreshes,
a thousand flowers
could never smell as
beautiful, true perfume
radiates from you.
New, sincere fragrance,
you sent me inhalence of truth.
New life, new emotion,
passion's flame ignited
within my chest, just to the
left. It flares, evaporates
cobwebs and shadows
of watered down feeling
old cheap knock offs
fo the new found
truth. It burns away hidden chains
Freeing me from my impris'ning
cocoon. I spread my wings,
given me by you, though
you don't know it.
Be this a dream? Nay,
far more real is this than
any past experience. This
is no vision. I see from this
view that before was just a
diluted dream, and that you,
You unknowingly have raised
me from slumber. I soar, hope you will
see my flight, see me awake
and perhaps, just perhaps now
I might begin to awaken you too...
That old, muted life
stuck in a washed out,
apathetic world
that until now
was best I knew?
Like a once-caterpillar
you've given me wings.
True music, your laugh
lovingly crashed over my ears,
knocking out unknown plugs,
casting out the old-normal muffles
and mumbles, letting velvet life
be heard
My deafness healed,
you've given me song
New colour, your smile
pierced the veil over
mind's windows, blazing,
dazzling, the shutters are opened
and new , vibrant,
I see real Life
I see your eyes, lit
like purest crystal
water, streaming through brightest
light, cast by a brilliant sky
shot with flame and frost
My blindness healed
you've shown me beauty
New touch, the barest
brush of your arm on mine
awakened sleeping limbs,
pins, needles, shocks, tingles
concealed deadness banished.
Silk, your hair flows through
discovering hand, satin
your fingers, clasped in mine
New feeling skin,
you've given me new grasp
New scent, auras envelope,
the wild wind whipped about,
stealing smell off your skin,
surrounding me, banishing
the long-ignored funk of
swift departing first-life,
replacing with reviving
aromas, cleansing, refreshes,
a thousand flowers
could never smell as
beautiful, true perfume
radiates from you.
New, sincere fragrance,
you sent me inhalence of truth.
New life, new emotion,
passion's flame ignited
within my chest, just to the
left. It flares, evaporates
cobwebs and shadows
of watered down feeling
old cheap knock offs
fo the new found
truth. It burns away hidden chains
Freeing me from my impris'ning
cocoon. I spread my wings,
given me by you, though
you don't know it.
Be this a dream? Nay,
far more real is this than
any past experience. This
is no vision. I see from this
view that before was just a
diluted dream, and that you,
You unknowingly have raised
me from slumber. I soar, hope you will
see my flight, see me awake
and perhaps, just perhaps now
I might begin to awaken you too...
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Scene 2
Scene 2
The Bull Fight
This is a scene with almost no dialogue. It opens with three people scattered, in the roles of Bull fighter, and the other 3 forming a "bull" but more like a caterpillar instead. The "bull" runs around, trying to run down the bullfighters. Gradually two of the fighters are run down, and as they are defeated, they add themselves onto the bull. It comes down to the final fighter
Bullfighter
Wait! (they both freeze) If I can't win the fight, who'll be left to stand againt the beast?
end scene
The Bull Fight
This is a scene with almost no dialogue. It opens with three people scattered, in the roles of Bull fighter, and the other 3 forming a "bull" but more like a caterpillar instead. The "bull" runs around, trying to run down the bullfighters. Gradually two of the fighters are run down, and as they are defeated, they add themselves onto the bull. It comes down to the final fighter
Bullfighter
Wait! (they both freeze) If I can't win the fight, who'll be left to stand againt the beast?
end scene
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
new series
So, for those who don't know (meaning pretty much everyone), I wrote a Group performance art play to submit for State Drama. And it's ok, but not up to its full potential yet. But I digress. I figure, since I barely post on this blog, I should take advantage of this and make it into a series. So I'm going to post my play, scene by scene, including any revisions that I make. Group Performance Art plays are insanely different from typical plays, so it might not make much sense at first to people who've never seen it performed. But I'm doing it anyway, and if you don't like it, too bad.
Against the Grain
by Me
Act One
Scene one
Scene One - Patty Cake
Open scene with the cast divided into groups of 2, sitting cross-legged on the ground across from each other (profile to the audience).
Couple 1
(unison) Patty cake, patty cake, baker's man
Couple 2
(unison) Bake us a cake as fast as you can
Couple 3
(unison) Peas porridge in the pot, nine days old
Couple 1
(hesitates, giving couple three an odd look with couple 2, then continues) And pat it
Couple 2
and mark it with a "B"
Couple 3
Some like it in the pot, nine days old!
The first two couples groan.
Boy 1
(whiny) Why won't you guys do it right?
Girl 1
Seriously, you guys ruin it for everyone!
Girl 2
Everyone would like playing with you more if you'd just do the same rhyme as everyone else.
Boy 2
Yeah, besides, who'd want to sing about peas when you could sing about cake?
Girl 3
Everyone always does patty cake. It's so boring now.
Boy 3
Yeah, don't you guys ever want to mix it up?
Couples 1 & 2
(gasp, then in unison) And stop being normal?
end scene
Against the Grain
by Me
Act One
Scene one
Scene One - Patty Cake
Open scene with the cast divided into groups of 2, sitting cross-legged on the ground across from each other (profile to the audience).
Couple 1
(unison) Patty cake, patty cake, baker's man
Couple 2
(unison) Bake us a cake as fast as you can
Couple 3
(unison) Peas porridge in the pot, nine days old
Couple 1
(hesitates, giving couple three an odd look with couple 2, then continues) And pat it
Couple 2
and mark it with a "B"
Couple 3
Some like it in the pot, nine days old!
The first two couples groan.
Boy 1
(whiny) Why won't you guys do it right?
Girl 1
Seriously, you guys ruin it for everyone!
Girl 2
Everyone would like playing with you more if you'd just do the same rhyme as everyone else.
Boy 2
Yeah, besides, who'd want to sing about peas when you could sing about cake?
Girl 3
Everyone always does patty cake. It's so boring now.
Boy 3
Yeah, don't you guys ever want to mix it up?
Couples 1 & 2
(gasp, then in unison) And stop being normal?
end scene
Sunday, November 11, 2007
Possible senior quotes: And the winner is...
Even though only ONE person ever left any feedback on my list, I finally managed to choose a quote. I may or may not change it, seeing as the "official" deadline for them isn't until December. But, seeing how poetry is one of my few passions in life, I chose one pertaining to that. The quote who was finally selected is: "Perhaps no person can be a poet, or even enjoy poetry, without a certain unsoundness of mind." BUT this does have a certain aura of lameness around it, so I am hotly debating mentally whether I should replace it with the colored pencil one, which seems to be a favorite. Or, as Jason so rightly pointed out, possibly the great deeds quote by Albert Camus. that's all. any opinions would still be greatly appreciated.
Wednesday, November 07, 2007
Lullaby
Back...forth...back...forth...
First this, then that,
Back...forth...back...forth...
polarized dancing, repelled, attracted
Back...forth...back...forth...
one end up, then it's down
Back...forth...back...forth...
First love, then it's hatred
Back...forth...back...forth...
I'm on the ground, into high as a kite
Back...forth...back...forth...
Your indifference buries, your smile grants flight
Back...forth...back...forth...
First cold then hot,
it's You are, then you're not
Back...forth...back...forth...
I'm frozen, I'm burned
once looked up, down I turned
Back...forth...back...forth...
Turned left, faced off right
bright as day, dark as night
Back...forth...back...forth...
Brim with passion like fire
empty, grave cold, ashen pyre
Back...forth...back...forth...
maybe chilled? maybe warm...
might be clear, it might storm
back...........forth...........
kind of fast, kind of still
then it all starts to build
back...
once was liquid, now as stone
forth...
and the rocking starts to slow..
back...
drowsy question
forth...
muffled answer
back...
fading music
forth...
statued dancer
back...
forth...
balanced...
peace
First this, then that,
Back...forth...back...forth...
polarized dancing, repelled, attracted
Back...forth...back...forth...
one end up, then it's down
Back...forth...back...forth...
First love, then it's hatred
Back...forth...back...forth...
I'm on the ground, into high as a kite
Back...forth...back...forth...
Your indifference buries, your smile grants flight
Back...forth...back...forth...
First cold then hot,
it's You are, then you're not
Back...forth...back...forth...
I'm frozen, I'm burned
once looked up, down I turned
Back...forth...back...forth...
Turned left, faced off right
bright as day, dark as night
Back...forth...back...forth...
Brim with passion like fire
empty, grave cold, ashen pyre
Back...forth...back...forth...
maybe chilled? maybe warm...
might be clear, it might storm
back...........forth...........
kind of fast, kind of still
then it all starts to build
back...
once was liquid, now as stone
forth...
and the rocking starts to slow..
back...
drowsy question
forth...
muffled answer
back...
fading music
forth...
statued dancer
back...
forth...
balanced...
peace
Saturday, October 27, 2007
Sunday, October 07, 2007
Products of a dissolving society
Wow, that title could be a poem title. But it's not. The television is on quite frequently in the evenings at my house, and as a result I have ingested a generous portion of commercials. And there are some new items and toys meant for the market of children that quite frankly leave me severely worried. Here a couple examples:
The Barbie Fashion Fever Shopping Boutique Play Set
Has anyone else seen the commercial for this? In our world today gross credit card debt is already a huge problem, but now we're getting kids addicted too! Here's an excerpt from the description at Amazon.com: "The Shopping Boutique Playset comes with three outfits, including shoes and sunglasses, and the rotating pole can hold up to 20 clothing and accessory pieces. Also included is a display stand that doubles as the cashier counter where you "buy" your clothes. Swipe the Fashion Fever credit card to "pay" and find out the remaining balance on your account. But don’t fret. Once the balance hits zero, it will reset so you can continue to shop. Barbie dolls not included." Here it is again in case you didn't catch it: "Swipe the Fashion Fever credit card to "pay" and find out the remaining balance on your account. But don’t fret. Once the balance hits zero, it will reset so you can continue to shop." And the girl on the commercial joyously cries: "You never run out of Money!" I could rant and rant about this, but I'll just leave it here. anyone else worried?
And here's the other one that just disturbs me: the Barbie Stable Styles Playset. Here's a toy horse that you can brush, and groom, and get ready for a "horse show." It's all so innocent sounding. BUT here's an excerpt, again from the amazon product description: "Girls love to glam up this beautiful horse! For a totally new look, remove the blonde horse head and replace with a gorgeous brunette head." Anyone else getting a Frankenstein vibe? What kind of sick corporation lets you DECAPITATE your horse and give it a shiny new head cause you don't like it's hair? Kind of creepy, don't you think?
I realize these are both Barbie toys, and I fully believe that Mattel is an evil organization headed by a cliche evil villain bent on destroying our world as we know it. and he's succeeding. but it makes me wonder what they'll come out with next. I guess all we can do is embrace the approaching apocalypse. Anyways, that's my rant against the increasingly dominant rule of global corporations.
Hope you enjoyed it!
The Barbie Fashion Fever Shopping Boutique Play Set
Has anyone else seen the commercial for this? In our world today gross credit card debt is already a huge problem, but now we're getting kids addicted too! Here's an excerpt from the description at Amazon.com: "The Shopping Boutique Playset comes with three outfits, including shoes and sunglasses, and the rotating pole can hold up to 20 clothing and accessory pieces. Also included is a display stand that doubles as the cashier counter where you "buy" your clothes. Swipe the Fashion Fever credit card to "pay" and find out the remaining balance on your account. But don’t fret. Once the balance hits zero, it will reset so you can continue to shop. Barbie dolls not included." Here it is again in case you didn't catch it: "Swipe the Fashion Fever credit card to "pay" and find out the remaining balance on your account. But don’t fret. Once the balance hits zero, it will reset so you can continue to shop." And the girl on the commercial joyously cries: "You never run out of Money!" I could rant and rant about this, but I'll just leave it here. anyone else worried?
And here's the other one that just disturbs me: the Barbie Stable Styles Playset. Here's a toy horse that you can brush, and groom, and get ready for a "horse show." It's all so innocent sounding. BUT here's an excerpt, again from the amazon product description: "Girls love to glam up this beautiful horse! For a totally new look, remove the blonde horse head and replace with a gorgeous brunette head." Anyone else getting a Frankenstein vibe? What kind of sick corporation lets you DECAPITATE your horse and give it a shiny new head cause you don't like it's hair? Kind of creepy, don't you think?
I realize these are both Barbie toys, and I fully believe that Mattel is an evil organization headed by a cliche evil villain bent on destroying our world as we know it. and he's succeeding. but it makes me wonder what they'll come out with next. I guess all we can do is embrace the approaching apocalypse. Anyways, that's my rant against the increasingly dominant rule of global corporations.
Hope you enjoyed it!
Sunday, September 30, 2007
Possible Senior Quotes
"All of us failed to match our dreams of perfection. So I rate us on the basis of our splendid failure to do the impossible." William Faulkner
"It's only when you look at an ant through a magnifying glass on a sunny day that you realise how often they burst into flames" - Harry Hill
"Music washes away from the soul the dust of everyday life." Berthold Auerbach
"Music is the art which is most nigh to tears and memory." Oscar Wilde
"All great deeds and all great thoughts have a ridiculous beginning. Great works are often born on a street corner or in a restaurant's revolving door." Albert Camus
"Lying in bed would be an altogether perfect and supreme experience if only one had a colored pencil long enough to draw on the ceiling." Gilbert K. Chesterton
"There are some days when I think I'm going to die from an overdose of satisfaction." Salvador Dali
"Nowadays most people die of a sort of creeping common sense, and discover when it is too late that the only things one never regrets are one's mistakes." Oscar Wilde
"You don't have to suffer to be a poet; adolescence is enough suffering for anyone." John Ciardi
"Nearly all men can stand adversity, but if you want to test a man's character, give him power." --Abraham Lincoln
Whenever a man does a thoroughly stupid thing, it is always from the noblest motives.
Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray, 1891
"Flying is easy, just throw yourself at the ground and miss." Hitchhiker's guide to the galaxy
"If you cannot teach me to fly, teach me to sing." --Sir James Barrie
"The poet doesn't invent. He listens." Jean Cocteau
"Poetry is language at its most distilled and most powerful."
To be great is to be misunderstood.
Ralph Waldo Emerson
"Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words." Robert Frost
"Poetry is thoughts that breathe, and words that burn." Gray, Thomas
"Perhaps no person can be a poet, or can even enjoy poetry, without a certain unsoundness of mind." Thomas B. Macaulay
I'm Not Sure which one I should pick. So assuming anyone ever actually reads, Give me an opinion on the best one.
"It's only when you look at an ant through a magnifying glass on a sunny day that you realise how often they burst into flames" - Harry Hill
"Music washes away from the soul the dust of everyday life." Berthold Auerbach
"Music is the art which is most nigh to tears and memory." Oscar Wilde
"All great deeds and all great thoughts have a ridiculous beginning. Great works are often born on a street corner or in a restaurant's revolving door." Albert Camus
"Lying in bed would be an altogether perfect and supreme experience if only one had a colored pencil long enough to draw on the ceiling." Gilbert K. Chesterton
"There are some days when I think I'm going to die from an overdose of satisfaction." Salvador Dali
"Nowadays most people die of a sort of creeping common sense, and discover when it is too late that the only things one never regrets are one's mistakes." Oscar Wilde
"You don't have to suffer to be a poet; adolescence is enough suffering for anyone." John Ciardi
"Nearly all men can stand adversity, but if you want to test a man's character, give him power." --Abraham Lincoln
Whenever a man does a thoroughly stupid thing, it is always from the noblest motives.
Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray, 1891
"Flying is easy, just throw yourself at the ground and miss." Hitchhiker's guide to the galaxy
"If you cannot teach me to fly, teach me to sing." --Sir James Barrie
"The poet doesn't invent. He listens." Jean Cocteau
"Poetry is language at its most distilled and most powerful."
To be great is to be misunderstood.
Ralph Waldo Emerson
"Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words." Robert Frost
"Poetry is thoughts that breathe, and words that burn." Gray, Thomas
"Perhaps no person can be a poet, or can even enjoy poetry, without a certain unsoundness of mind." Thomas B. Macaulay
I'm Not Sure which one I should pick. So assuming anyone ever actually reads, Give me an opinion on the best one.
Sunday, September 23, 2007
The time has come
So I've finally convinced the queen to link my blog to hers, meaning that (hopefully) it will actually be visited by random people more tan once a month. With that in mind, I have resolved to post more often, and post actual stuff instead of my random crappy poetry. So here's my first actual blog since I started this thing.
I tagged along with my parents to Utah for the Evergreen conference, and had a blast over the weekend. While I didn't actually go to the conference itself, I did go to dinner with everyone Thursday, Friday, and Saturday. I met tons of people and got to see some old friends, and it was pretty much just awesome. It was kind of amazing to me, because I'm pretty sure that at any other time and/or place, with any other people, I would never even consider talking about the things we discussed this weekend (ok, I might consider it. But in Cowtown, Wyoming, most people I mention it to would probably run away screaming.) So the weekend was kind of therapeutic. Ever since I found out about my mom's (Sam) and my friend's SSA, I haven't really talked about it to anyone except my mom, and it took me a few minutes to adjust to the openness of everyone at the conference. I loved it.
I think to avoid too much confusion, I'm just going to call my mom Sam in my blog from this moment on. Sam has insanely good gaydar, and I being her son, wondered how she did it. So I asked, and she gave me a quick seminar on recognizing family (f.y.i. I'm not a member, just a member's son. But I'm pretty sure I could pass for one. I think I'm pretty flamboyant. And have pretty metro tendencies. Thought you might like to know.) Anyways, turns out that I have pretty awesome gaydar as well. We went to Costa Vida for dinner on Friday, and I wanted to see how well I could spot. I nailed 2, and found a third that We couldn't confirm cause he left too soon. I'm not sure why, but I'm pretty pleased with it. It's almost like having a superpower, which I've always wanted. I think I'm going to end this post here. I'm sure there's a ton of stuff I could blog about from this weekend, but I'm not going to because I'm still trying to get used to normal blogging. And I still plan to post any poems I write, hopefully to receive any critique from people who read them (assuming anyone ever does). So that's all for now.
I tagged along with my parents to Utah for the Evergreen conference, and had a blast over the weekend. While I didn't actually go to the conference itself, I did go to dinner with everyone Thursday, Friday, and Saturday. I met tons of people and got to see some old friends, and it was pretty much just awesome. It was kind of amazing to me, because I'm pretty sure that at any other time and/or place, with any other people, I would never even consider talking about the things we discussed this weekend (ok, I might consider it. But in Cowtown, Wyoming, most people I mention it to would probably run away screaming.) So the weekend was kind of therapeutic. Ever since I found out about my mom's (Sam) and my friend's SSA, I haven't really talked about it to anyone except my mom, and it took me a few minutes to adjust to the openness of everyone at the conference. I loved it.
I think to avoid too much confusion, I'm just going to call my mom Sam in my blog from this moment on. Sam has insanely good gaydar, and I being her son, wondered how she did it. So I asked, and she gave me a quick seminar on recognizing family (f.y.i. I'm not a member, just a member's son. But I'm pretty sure I could pass for one. I think I'm pretty flamboyant. And have pretty metro tendencies. Thought you might like to know.) Anyways, turns out that I have pretty awesome gaydar as well. We went to Costa Vida for dinner on Friday, and I wanted to see how well I could spot. I nailed 2, and found a third that We couldn't confirm cause he left too soon. I'm not sure why, but I'm pretty pleased with it. It's almost like having a superpower, which I've always wanted. I think I'm going to end this post here. I'm sure there's a ton of stuff I could blog about from this weekend, but I'm not going to because I'm still trying to get used to normal blogging. And I still plan to post any poems I write, hopefully to receive any critique from people who read them (assuming anyone ever does). So that's all for now.
Friday, September 07, 2007
new song...not about me
A friend of mine had a Really rough day a little while back. And there was this huge storm that night. One thing led to another, and this came out.
The road to life is filled with stones
and glass to cut your heart
the potholes catch and twist my heels
and tear my life apart
sometimes I want to stop and wait
for a bus to run me down
to end it all, to kill the ache
but then it comes around
Rain, rain, sings my name
Weeps drops of hope to numb my pain
a melancholy balm for soul
to heal my heartache, leave me whole
The game of life's a game that's played
by someone on their own.
Sometimes it feels like life is cheating,
I just can't pass go.
I'm Body in the parlor with
the rope, all set to swing.
Again it comes, I hear its words
that shower down, and sing:
Rain, rain, sigh my name,
caress my heart, rinse out my pain.
Weeps crystal tears to hide my own
remind me that I'm not alone.
Come laugh with me
in the rain
Come cry with me
in the rain
Come dance with me
in the rain
We'll fly away...
...in the rain.
Rain, Rain, breathe my name
come shower stars to light the way
to guide me home, grant healing sleep
on bed of cloud, in sky so deep...
The road to life is filled with stones
and glass to cut your heart
the potholes catch and twist my heels
and tear my life apart
sometimes I want to stop and wait
for a bus to run me down
to end it all, to kill the ache
but then it comes around
Rain, rain, sings my name
Weeps drops of hope to numb my pain
a melancholy balm for soul
to heal my heartache, leave me whole
The game of life's a game that's played
by someone on their own.
Sometimes it feels like life is cheating,
I just can't pass go.
I'm Body in the parlor with
the rope, all set to swing.
Again it comes, I hear its words
that shower down, and sing:
Rain, rain, sigh my name,
caress my heart, rinse out my pain.
Weeps crystal tears to hide my own
remind me that I'm not alone.
Come laugh with me
in the rain
Come cry with me
in the rain
Come dance with me
in the rain
We'll fly away...
...in the rain.
Rain, Rain, breathe my name
come shower stars to light the way
to guide me home, grant healing sleep
on bed of cloud, in sky so deep...
Wednesday, August 01, 2007
Warning! The doom of childhood approaches!
come, won't you come
take a swim with me
in the crystalline lake of dream
the amnesiatic ambrosia
rinsing away these newly accuired
cares, responsibilities, and stress
a break from carrying the monumental yoke of adulthood
that has replaced the pretend-cape of childhood.
just a short break, take it with me,
let's color, or mold the play-dough of sunny memories
between our newly-"mature" hands.
let the crayons of nostalgia rub against the
construction-paper of still bright youth,
presenting a picture of things that were, happiness,
innocence, with things that are coming, satisfation, responsibility,
and a new bliss completely bleached of all naivite.
Ahhh, what a break that was, a fresh waft of our lives' springs,
quickly dissappearing to be replaced be the dawning summer.
thank you for your company!
now, back to growing up...
take a swim with me
in the crystalline lake of dream
the amnesiatic ambrosia
rinsing away these newly accuired
cares, responsibilities, and stress
a break from carrying the monumental yoke of adulthood
that has replaced the pretend-cape of childhood.
just a short break, take it with me,
let's color, or mold the play-dough of sunny memories
between our newly-"mature" hands.
let the crayons of nostalgia rub against the
construction-paper of still bright youth,
presenting a picture of things that were, happiness,
innocence, with things that are coming, satisfation, responsibility,
and a new bliss completely bleached of all naivite.
Ahhh, what a break that was, a fresh waft of our lives' springs,
quickly dissappearing to be replaced be the dawning summer.
thank you for your company!
now, back to growing up...
cause it's time for a new song!
don't get too close
you might get burned
just hide within
the lies you've learned
stay safe within illusion sound
don't try to see,
to break new ground
though truth can hurt,
while it can scare
you know it's best,
though it can tear
to see the truth
within your soul
can shred your mind
or leave you whole
accept what's there
or make a change
it's up to you
how life's arranged
but only when
you know what's true
can you be free
to love what's you
so ditch the coward
leave the mask
desert the throng
the hiding mass
accept yourself
and be what's right
acceptence only in your sight
is all for which you
need fight
chorus
Let thunder roar
let lightning flash
if you think you see
it's just the mask
it's hard for anyone to be
the them they want for world to see
but if the masks and lies were gone
it be easier to leave them off
you might get burned
just hide within
the lies you've learned
stay safe within illusion sound
don't try to see,
to break new ground
though truth can hurt,
while it can scare
you know it's best,
though it can tear
to see the truth
within your soul
can shred your mind
or leave you whole
accept what's there
or make a change
it's up to you
how life's arranged
but only when
you know what's true
can you be free
to love what's you
so ditch the coward
leave the mask
desert the throng
the hiding mass
accept yourself
and be what's right
acceptence only in your sight
is all for which you
need fight
chorus
Let thunder roar
let lightning flash
if you think you see
it's just the mask
it's hard for anyone to be
the them they want for world to see
but if the masks and lies were gone
it be easier to leave them off
Sunday, July 15, 2007
I missed writing poems
Separated together
Together
Heartbeats synchronized
thoughts mingle
blood pounds and boils
together, we feel
Separated
Face to face
brushing hands, hugs
comfort in person
impossible
Together
phoned voices, laughter
crying, silence,
new esperience, life
shared through tech-transported sound
Separated
swinging, singing, talking
in person, next to each other
chasing, teasing, helping, carrying
impossible
Together
written love,
doodled experience
sealed off glimpses of life
delivered by urban hermes'
Together
highs, lows,
sobs and giggles
we hold hands
despite hundreds of miles
between, we will always be
together
Together
Heartbeats synchronized
thoughts mingle
blood pounds and boils
together, we feel
Separated
Face to face
brushing hands, hugs
comfort in person
impossible
Together
phoned voices, laughter
crying, silence,
new esperience, life
shared through tech-transported sound
Separated
swinging, singing, talking
in person, next to each other
chasing, teasing, helping, carrying
impossible
Together
written love,
doodled experience
sealed off glimpses of life
delivered by urban hermes'
Together
highs, lows,
sobs and giggles
we hold hands
despite hundreds of miles
between, we will always be
together
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