Saturday, December 12, 2009

Imitation Poem

I like the way tattoos change your identity.
They give you a deeper meaning
Vague ideas or intricate images

I'm interested in the ink of tattoos.
The way it rots your veins,
With their permanence
Piercing your skin with remembrance
Of past and present experiences

Tattoos exist in collages of colors
Or simply black and white
Complicated or boring,
Large or small
Diversions of definitions

And descriptions, rules, or morals
Love or hate
Passion and anger
Emotions of all kind

Structure Poem

Comfort is soft, warm sweatpants
Laying within someone's arms
Doing things the way you've always done them
Fluffy pillows consoling your head after a long day of work
Steady salary or a house to come home to

Vision is the ability to see clearly
Your personal idea of something
Eyes entrancing objects in the way you like them
Different views amongst observers

Passion is the essence of fire between you and a partner
Your intensity
A longing to be in touch with another soul

Wondering is guessing
A rehearsal of thoughts before making actions

Ordinary is simple and expected

Magnetic Poetry

The lessons of the invisible universe,
Developed a revolution
Pictures reveal the controversy and issues
Within the clouds
The surprising lush of speed
Swallows the speaker's beliefs
The qualities of problems became wicked failures

The almost famous rose storm pleaded life
Talking back to the egotistical
Legacy of mankind
Leading the outshining Mayhem
Among Mother Nature's war
And spending shadowy figures of mythical creativity.

The stalker forgets the ordinary killer
Flashbacks of masterpieces of wondering paradise
Who knew urban essentials
Created deep vision crises.
The universe earth quaked with compassion
Tsunami claiming victory.

Friday, December 11, 2009

Short Story

The day started out silent as Loretta played in solitude in her quiet backyard. She made sandcastles and cruised down her slides in her precious play set. It was an ensemble of different structures including, swings, ladders, twisty poles, slides, and the most particular sandbox. The sandbox was large and had a unique bright red roof to protect the girl from rain. This sandbox was different; it was her sanctuary, her place of peace. It was enclosed at all sides with blue plastic, like a little hideout. The way the sand ran through her hands, so natural, it was like pen to paper. Everyday Loretta would go to school, finish her homework, and then she would entrance herself in the sand of her playground. Being an only child she didn’t have to share her family or food, and most importantly her playground. She had few friends, so she didn’t have to share it with them either. As she was playing in her sandbox one afternoon, she heard loud screams from familiar voices. She quickly sprinted into her enormous house, searching every room to find the source of the sound. When she hit the kitchen, she found an unclear situation. The noise had been from her mother hollering loud obscenities at her inattentive father. Torn between love and anger, her mother couldn’t get a grip on her actions. Before Loretta had the chance to ask what was going on, her mother yelled, “You son of a bitch, how could you do this to me?” Her father murmured half asleep, “I don’t know.” His face was blank, his responses meager. He always had his foot halfway out the door in their marriage; it was only a matter of time before he vanished. Puzzled by the yelling and devastation of her mother, Loretta asked, “What’s wrong Mommy?” Her mom couldn’t find a way to put the words lightly. Infuriated, she attempted to portray what was going on calmly. Her words jumbled out like an intoxicated child, “Um, sweetie, your father is leaving.” Loretta was too young to understand the concept of cheating. Each word her mother said was a blur, all she thought of was the idea that she would grow up without a father. He viciously flew out the door and Loretta’s mother chucked a beautiful gold platter at his face, a few inches short, it shattered into a million pieces.
Loretta learned to loathe one word and one word only, DIVORCE. Every time she pondered it, her body went cold and her brain would come up with a collage of torturing images. She imagined her mother pacing back and forth and she sobbed hysterically. From that moment on, Loretta’s life changed.
As her mom was beginning to move on from her loss, Loretta felt alone and still longed for a father. During recess one day, she sat by herself and just observed her joy filled classmates. She watched as too blonde-haired girls held hands as they played hopscotch together. She thought to herself, I want that. She never managed to make too many friends in kindergarten, she was too shy and naïve. Losing her father and having no friends, gave her a motive to be more outgoing. She didn’t need loads of friends, she just wanted one. She wanted THE friend, one she could talk about crushes to, or cry to when the boys stole her lunch money. As first grade rolled around, she searched for the perfect friend, examining each individual student, like a bug under a microscope. She was never satisfied. Finally, a few weeks into the school year there was a new student. His name was Cameron. A dirty a blonde-haired boy with eccentric green eyes caught Loretta’s attention. His background consisted of a perfect family, small town living’, and the beginning to an athletically successful childhood. The more Loretta learned about him through observation, the more she admired him. She wanted to be his friend, but so did everybody else. She was looking for a spectacular way to get his attention. She then came across an idea. In first grade reading logs are the express-lane to “fundays”. Ms. Spire, their beautiful red-headed teacher, set a goal for the class. As collaboration, the students had to reach 1000 pages of reading, which led them to a funday. Fundays involve popsicles for everyone, excessive recess, no homework, and other varying experiences. Ms. Spire had just told the class that they were at 891 pages and they were approaching a freeday. That afternoon, Loretta had her mom take her to the library, to pick out a lengthy “big kid book.” It was 206 pages. She knew that there were only 108 pages left before the funday. Although Loretta was sometimes naïve her intelligence level was way above the other students. When she got home she sprinted to her room and viciously tore open the first page and engulfed herself in its secrets. She discovered the power of romance. The pages held intense passion, precise love, and a happy ending. Each word was imprinted in her heart and she couldn’t stop. When she started reading it, it was to impress Cameron, but it began to mean so much more to her. This book was special it made her think. Once she finished the breathtaking book, she came to a realization. Loretta Marie Brown wanted to fall deeply in love, and have an amazing family, which fully functioned, much unlike hers. The next morning she woke up and her life was different. She smiled particularly brightly, the waves in her oceanic eyes crushed at shore with beauty, and her mind settled itself completely. She walked into her class with confidence, and a sense of pure accomplishment. She wore a buttoned down bright blue dress, with a flower headband and little black shoes. Her pride amplified as she thought about how much she had read. I completed the log for my class, we get a freeday, I hope Cameron notices me. Loretta ran up to Ms. Spire and said “Ms. Spire, I read 206 pages last night!!!”
Ms. Spire’s smile gleamed through the entire room and she said “Wow sweetie that’s fantastic, let’s check the calculation, and see if it is time for a funday”. Ms. Spire announced to the class that thanks to Loretta, tomorrow would be a freeday. The clamor of the classroom excitement was as loud as a rock concert. To fulfill Loretta’s expectations, Cameron scurried towards her. He murmured “I wish I could read like that”. Loretta smiled and said “it’s easy I will show you how.” Cameron said “That would be nice.” The conversation they were having was a blur to Loretta, she was just happy they were communicating. They introduced themselves and decided to sit together the rest of class. The two of them, grew fond of each other quickly, Ms. Spire frequently interrupted their conversation with “Come on you guys, please be quiet.” It didn’t stop them. They talked about everything, from the items in their lunches, to recess, to their favorite colors; very important areas to cover in the first grade. After becoming friends with Cameron, Loretta began to forget the hardship of losing her dad, and her everyday experiences with Cameron flourished. They started to do everything together. Climbing monkey bars together, watching Disney movies, and eating were their three favorite pastimes. Other first graders wanted to be Cameron’s friend, but Loretta just seemed to dominate everyone. She wouldn’t allow other friends to associate with him. She called him Cam-Cam. He was HER Cam-Cam. She became way too possessive for a simple friendship. Their innocent friendship quickly became a disaster. One day Cam-Cam was absent from school, Loretta built a fort in the playground. It consisted of clean card-board, a collage of pink, purple, and red hearts, and a plastic yellow roof she took from an old junkyard. Everyone thought it was brilliant, until they realized it was to prevent Cameron from associating with anyone but her. She was trying to separate the kids from like oil from water. The two loving hopscotch girls came to the door of the fort to see if they could go inside. They said “This is pretty, can we come inside?” Loretta violently retorted, “No only Cameron can.” She then proceeded to spit on them, causing tears. When Cameron was at school again the girls told him what had happened, making him uncomfortable. He stopped talking to Loretta; he wouldn’t sit with her, or even look at her. Loretta didn’t understand, until later that day. During Physical Education, Cameron was picked at team captain for the vicious game of kickball. IN Elementary School, physical games are the equivalent to death. This game had no afterlife. Loretta expected to be the first girl picked on Cameron’s team, as always. She was picked second. She didn’t understand. I just mad ethis pretty pink fort for Cameron and I, and he isn’t talking to me anymore. He doesn’t want me on his team. She had never been more broken hearted and swarmed with anger. Her walls came crashing down and it felt as if her life was shattering. She lost her only happiness, Cameron. Her first reaction was to snap. She stood there for a minute, taking it all in, and then she screamed, “If I can’t be your only best friend, then we can’t be friends at all!” Everyone was confused, except Cameron. Cameron knew she would respond this way. He retorted “Fine, I don’t want to be your friend anyway, you are weird and mean to my friends.” Holding back her tears, she threw a rock at Cameron’s foot and said, “Don’t ever talk to me again.” It was almost as if he didn’t care about her at all, he just shrugged and found new best friends. Loretta waddled away aimlessly and the tears gushed down her face. Once she was inside the cold dark playground slide, she cried and cried and cried. She had snot bubbles bursting left and right. She wanted to be his friend, but she wasn’t ready to share him with anybody else.

Thursday, December 10, 2009

Narrative Poem-

His hands pulled me closer

Smirking and kissing me

He admired the way

My hair curled flawlessly down my back,

And then continued his previous actions

Cooking dinner for two

I was excited,

A night of peace and alone time

He said,

This is it,

All the lemon you have?

Frowning, he forcefully squeezed the lemon

To get out every last drop for the marinade

I said, “we were at the store, you should have said something”

Disgruntled he began his next task

Steaming the rice

I hoped it would all be ready soon,

Both of us starving

A few minutes passed,

I picked at the Caprese salad, he turned the chicken

And then we ate

It may have just been the best meal ever.


Ode to Sleep

You wait for me every night

Though you refresh me by the morning

You renew me

My beauty, my body, my energy

You create my dreams

Capture my thoughts

You find a way to cater to

My sore legs, sickness or heartache

You defeat both my anger and sadness

Lessoning my rage or calming my tears

Oh sleep, I could not live without you.

Sometimes you keep me functioning,

Giving my brain a break

Or forcing my eyes closed when they want to play

Using the pillow as your guidance,

You create a place of comfort

I come to you sleep

For when things get tough

You are always there to support my suffers.


Raging Races

The memory was vague, but simple small details seemed to jump out at me. It was the Fourth of July and I was a nervous, hyper four- year old. My mom had forced me overcome my fear of competition, but I was extremely reluctant. The crowd of vigorous children filed into rows at the starting line. The man who administered the race scolded us about the rules, and not to cheat. His words echoed in my head “If you go out of bounds, you will be asked to leave the race.” This was my first time ever running in a race. My nerves would not calm down; they fizzled like a chemical reaction. The gunshot spewed violently into the air, and there was no turning back. I was frightened, but all I could do was run my fastest. I took off like a rocket in my little plastic pink shoes, refusing to run in any other attire. After gaining distance on several other runners, I was in first place. Each curve further seemed like a pathway to death. I was panicking, I hadn’t really understood the concept of a race, I was so young and naive. I slowed down, because I was so far ahead and thought that was wrong. After a few steps of walking, I reached my Mom. She said, “Ali, what are you doing” “Run sweetie, Go, Go, Go” “You’re in first place”. Her encouragement brought me back to sanity. She started to pace me. I reached a speed comparable to waves crashing quickly at shore. I felt as if I was flying, as if my feet were flaming beneath me. The finish line became visible. I didn’t want to run anymore, I was so tired. A quarter-mile sprint was an absurd distance for a four year old. I approached the Mount Everest of Hills. I wanted to give up, I could barely breathe. A six year old was gaining on me, right on my tail. My incentive rose again. I ran my fastest ever, blocked out the pain and burst into the finish line with lack of breathe. In bright orange the light-up board read 1st place, and my time. The volunteers at the end of the lane pulled off my number to record my running time. I was then given a cup for water. I took a quick swig. The water moistened my dry, dehydrated mouth. Water had never tasted so amazing in my life. I could breathe again. My family paraded me with hugs. This included my aunt, uncle, cousin, grandparents, and of course my parents. I was the first in the family to make it through the race. I could care less about the results of the rest of my family’s future races. The only thing I was concerned with was the scorching sun beating down my back. I begged my mom to take me to the pool. Reluctantly, she took me to swim. I slipped on my favorite scarlet red Dalmatian bathing suit, and dived into the cold refreshing water. My body became numb with relief. My mother then left me there with my grandparents so she could observe my brother’s race. I lay in the pool consumed by complete and utter satisfaction.