Poetry from My Twenties

Okay, so, I'm going to post some of my serious poetry now. I was going to wait a really long time and just post funny stuff, but I don't have a lot of silly poems and I'm going to have to retype up all of my "Three Club" stories... Oh my "Three Club" stories. Most of them were written before my dad died, at least the early ones. I think I stayed up all night to write the first five of them. I just couldn't stop writing. Everything was flowing so smoothly and quickly. I could barely keep up with the Muse!

***

 I-Goddess (No Year) 
sitting in the corner,
slack-eyed and wondering,
always star-gazed and brilliant,
the child of me cowers,
shivers in the cold fear
of the world,
the day,
the breath of morning on my neck
and when i dare look up,
when I peak from my fingers
toward the monster-air around me,
the shakes of life convulse me,
tackle me dumb-founded,
slipping me some drug I can't name...
but the high of the ultimate low
is my thrill,
forever being below the plebian minds
thinking they know so much about me
and my life...
so when I stand up to shout,
to screech the defiance in me,
they are left with a feeling of wide-eyed amazement...
"look at her,
all strong like she's a goddess,
who does she think SHE is?" 

August 18, 2005
there is magic in the sounds that pull me apart, and into tiny pieces
i feel myself scattered into the wind, and drifting up into the sky
i settle with the stars in the sounds above the earth, and i look down
upon a world of shadows and reflections of light, i see it all connected
below the toes and above the eyes that fail to notice, the simple design
of everything that i feel in and out of my skin, the sounds provoke most
the uncontrollable desire to embrace the stars, and the blackness
in between the light, stretching further the ever-consuming passion
for the comfortable warmth of the sun, and the calm chill at night
when the magic in the sounds pulls me apart and into tiny pieces.

Parallel (No Year)
much time is wasted in thoughts
of that and the other, but
this is all we have, this
is all we can ever think of,
just all of this,
a second’s tick of the clock and a
dream of waking life,
and wanting for nothing of
death and horror, and pain; however,
is always unavoidable,
but the hands keep clicking forward,
a snap away from the darkness towards
new sight, in moments of thought,
dawn the light.

Work Poetry - The Windex Bottle

So, I'm feeling silly today and I'm going to share these poems. I wrote them at one of my jobs; there was often downtime between calls and we had to clean our desks every night with Windex. I wrote every one of these on our dry erase board in the office.

***

The Windex Bottle
so much depends
upon
a clear Windex
bottle
filled with blue
solution
beside the paper
towels

Again With The Windex
you sit there
with your streak free shine
you are not better
than me
you are blue and sterile
I am blue and alive

Oh, Windex Of My Dreams
32 ounce value pack
original with Ammonia-D
oh, Windex of my dreams
will you clean
my desk?

Don't Jump
Mr Windex-so
blue
don't jump
off the ledge
you clean
very well

Farewell
oh, Windex
you grow short
but you will always clean
my mind

Writing Assignment - 1998 - Dopey

I took one semester of college level creative writing; they published one of my poems in their literary magazine that year. I'll have to dig it up. Something that I've always kept close to my current computer is this little story. I can't remember specifically what the assignment was, but I wanted to play with perspective. I also liked the idea of using months as names for triplet girls. So without further ado...

Dopey: A Short Story

***FEBRUARY***

The first thing I did was hide the body, then I called my mother. She told me not to worry, that she would take care of everything. I hung up the phone and fell into my dad's Lazy Boy. I hoped my mom would get home before he did. Dopey was his favorite.

"What the hell is going on?"

My sister, January stomped her way into the living room and stood in front of me. Her fingers tapped her hips while her blue eyes danced furiously. "Where is he? Where is the little cretin?"

I glared back at her. "What's wrong with you?"

"My silver necklace is gone, the one with the diamond that Roger gave me," she spat. "I know that little mutant took it again. Where is he?"

"Maybe you left it at Jonathan's house last night," I suggested, clicking the television on. "Beside his alarm clock on his night table perhaps?"

"You little -" she began, the huffed back to her room.

January had a very strong dislike of all dad's "little men", but she hated Dopey the most. She ordered him to clean her room, wash her car, do her share of the chores, etc. and if he were the slightest bit disobedient, she would beat him. She would beat him senseless. She would beat him within an inch of his life.

I never liked my sister January very much.She was a cold-hearted, two-faced bitch princess. Definitely, she was the most evil of the three of us. My other sister, March was almost too kind. She volunteered at the hospital, a few rest homes, an animal shelter, a daycare, the soup kitchen and worked at the grocery store; for free.

"Hello, February," March greeted in her candy-coated voice. She sat down on the couch and smiled. "How was your day?"

"It was okay," I shrugged, turning the channel to MTV. "Dopey is gone."

March gasped. "What do you mean?"

"I found him when I got home."

"That's awful," she cried. "Does daddy know?"

"Nope," I told her, flipping to another channel. "MTV plays nothing, but garbage anymore."

March stood up. "How can you just sit there and watch TV at a time like this?"

I had to chuckle. "March, there is a row of six little graves in the backyard. I was kind of expecting Dopey to kick it sooner or later."

"Well I wasn't!" she sobbed, throwing herself to her room.

I shrugged and turned on the Playstation. January screamed from the depths of her room then pounded back into the living room.

"I'm going to kill him!" she shouted, beating the stairs on her way down to the basement.

***JANUARY***

I marched right over to the little monster's basket bed and tore out his blankets. He always hid the stuff he took from me under the cushion. Just the thought of his stubby, furry fingers curling over my necklace made my blood boil. I tossed the dirty, red plaid piece of stench from the basket.

"Damnit!"

I flew back upstairs. "Where he is February?" I demanded. "I know you're hiding him somewhere. You and March always hide him from me."

My sister ignored me, her attention glued to her stupid video game.

"Put down that damn controller and tell me where the little freak is!"

February dodged a virtual tree on her virtual snowboard. "He's with God."

"Excuse me?"

She jerked the controller to the left. "He's dead. I found him on the living room floor when I got home." She jerked the controller to the right then slid the snowboard through the finish line. "I guess someone didn't notice his lifeless body when she walked into the house."

"Well isn't this just wonderful! Roger will be here in half an hour expecting that necklace to be around my neck."

February looked at me like my head was a flaming ball of water. "You don't even like Roger so why do you care?"

"His parents are, like, the most important people in town, February. I just can't break up with him."

"You told me he was a boring, conceited moron."

I rolled my eyes and went to the bathroom to look for my necklace. February was such a loser. She didn't understand anything about social circles. She didn't even care! She was always climbing onto my last nerve to jump on it as hard as she could. It was true, Roger was boring, conceited and a complete moron. I didn't like him. Not an ounce, but he had money.

"What are you looking for?"

I shut the medicine cabinet to discover my sister March looking at me with swollen red eyes, holding a dripping wash cloth in her hands.

"What's wrong with you?"

"Dopey died," she sniffed, plastering the wash cloth to her face.

"Yeah, I know. Have you seen the silver necklace that Roger gave me?"

March looked horrified. "Not you too!"

"What? He's died just like all the rest," I said. "What did you think was going to happen?"

***MARCH***

"I don't know how I can even be related to the two of you!"

I turned on a heel and walked back to the living room. February was playing one of her video games. I hated to interrupt her, but I had to see him.

"Where did you hide him?"

She put down the controller and turned off the machine. "Under my bed. Come on." We walked down the hall towards February's room. "Jan! Stop whining about your stupid necklace and get in my room!"

January mumbled some obscenities, but followed me through February's bedroom door.

"Brace yourselves, ladies," February said, reaching under bed, dragging Dopey's body to the middle of the floor.

"Oh my God," January laughed.

"I know," February agreed, suppressing giggles. "I don't know how he got that magazine, but I couldn't pry it from his fingers."

I stared down at Dopey's body. His eyes were almost popping out of their sockets and his mouth was stretched into a capital "O".

"Why is he so stiff?" I finally managed to ask.

My sisters laughed. "March, when boys get excited-" January started to explain.

"I know about that!" I cut her off, disgusted. "But his whole body is stiff, even his tail. He couldn’t be that stiff yet. He was hopping around just fine this morning."

February shrugged. "Just be glad I put his overalls back on. You couldn't have handled that sight, March."

I knelt down beside Dopey and brushed his soft, brown fur with my fingers. He was by far the cutest of daddy's "little men". I would come home from school, or the nursing home or where ever I had been and he was always jumping up and down on the porch waiting for me. On my birthday, he dug up mom's roses and handed them to me roots and all. When my hamster died it was Dopey that hugged me while I cried.

"Did you call mom," I asked.

"She said she'd be home as soon as she could."

I nodded. "What do you think daddy will do?"

"Who knows," February answered. "He was certain he had perfected his recipe this time."

I started crying. Dopey was so sweet, not like Doc at all. Doc always ripped the blankets off my bed. Sneezy was always depressed. Sleepy died after a month so I didn't get a chance to know him. Grumpy was nice, but all he did was play with daddy. Happy was born without feet or hands so he survived as well as a fish in the desert. It was Bashful, the first of daddy's "little men" that was the oddest. He was hyperactive. He ran around the house like a chicken with its head cut off most of the time.

***DOPEY***

The front door opened then shut.

"Dad's home!" our father announced. "Where's my little man?"

The triplets looked at each other.

"Shove him back under the bed!" March hissed.

"I thought mom said she'd be home before him," January grunted, helping February shove me back under the bed.

"I can't help it that he got home early."

The girls rushed out of February's bedroom to greet father. I relaxed and flipped through the copy of Playboy I found in mother's dresser drawer. I couldn't wait for January to empty my litter box.

***

So yeah... That's "Dopey". Also, my "student" never showed up for class. Devastated, I vow to never attempt to "teach" again. I blame my unorthodox methods and the insanity that somehow slips through my filter and actually forms itself into tangible word structures. Stuff like that is what I'm talking about.

Writing Assignment One: The Zombies

To help inspire a friend of mine to do more writing, I assigned some homework. I highly doubt the assignment will be completed, but it was such a good starting sentence, I had to write a page of my own. All I want is one page. Mine took about two hours collectively, but I wrote some last night and finished it this afternoon. My muse works when she wants to and rarely adheres to my schedule. I struggle through some of my reality show blogs... So, without further ado - The Zombies...

***

In our defense, we didn’t know they were zombies until it was too late and by then, they had us surrounded. We thought their voices in the dark were honest cries for help in the beginning; lost survivors like we had once been, huddled together around small fires at night and searching for salvation by day. We figured they were so desperate for food they risked the drawing the attention of the drooling ghouls that lurked in the darkness so we sent out a search party.

I knew it was a bad idea, but no one ever listened to me. When the echo of their calls drifted into my ears I knew the tone was not to be trusted. For the first time in my life I had to crawl out of my shell and expose the real twists and turns of my crazy mind to people that I wasn’t so sure could handle the truth. They all rejected me; put me in a little place where I couldn’t be seen so I wouldn’t be constant reminder of their inevitable failure. They didn’t have to lock the door.

And you could have let me out! I begged you not to go with them, begged you to sneak swiftly through the trees and away from what I now realize was a convoluted bag of ideals and hierarchies. Why did you not choose my side? Why didn’t you believe you me? Why couldn’t you see through the veil that had been placed over your eyes by the drooling ghouls that lurked in the darkness? Why didn’t you at least kiss me one last time before walking out of the door to your ultimate doom?

They on all sides of me now, their snarling, snapping, stagnate jaws clamping ever closer to my skin. They will most certainly tear me apart. You could have saved me, we could have saved each other, we could have saved the world. I would have really liked that kiss to think about right now. Nice last thoughts to have while being devoured by the soulless mass of voiceless zombies that have me surrounded in my cell. But you were all, including you, too shaded in shadow to see the truth.

***

Adventure? Excitement? A Jedi craves not these things.