It’s a terror plot
To have them dodging bombs
And tasting dirt
They have to stand the heat
Even when
Their performance is covered up
By pioneers who’ve died fighting
And those with cancer
All trying to rid the monsters
Their headaches fizzle
As they discover unfinished symphonies
They take a flying leap
To interact
It’s the next big thing
Less pressure comes
From bold hospitality
It comes from the comfort
Of lullabies and vacations
It’s a mystery
And we can only survive
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
We all Have Weird Habits
We all have weird habits,
I am no exception
I pluck out my eyelashes
Whenever I wear mascara,
It’s awful because
I love luscious lashes.
I scream every time
Someone pops a balloon.
The unexpected noise
Always gets me
I have ADD
With my rings.
I take them off,
Then put them back on
And do the same thing again
And whenever I paint my nails,
I pick off the polish,
And soon as they dry
and re-paint them again.
But what my family makes fun of me the most
is the way I sneeze.
You know how you can feel a sneeze coming?
Well, whenever I get that
tickling sensation inside my nose,
I scrunch up my face
and stick my tongue
out as far as it can go.
Then I wait with my eyes closed,
usually for a couple of seconds.
Those seconds are enough
to make people stare at my face.
I bet you can imagine
how ridiculous I look.
My eyes nothing but slivers
and my tongue is touching my chin.
But I can’t help it
it’s just a natural reaction for me.
I am no exception
I pluck out my eyelashes
Whenever I wear mascara,
It’s awful because
I love luscious lashes.
I scream every time
Someone pops a balloon.
The unexpected noise
Always gets me
I have ADD
With my rings.
I take them off,
Then put them back on
And do the same thing again
And whenever I paint my nails,
I pick off the polish,
And soon as they dry
and re-paint them again.
But what my family makes fun of me the most
is the way I sneeze.
You know how you can feel a sneeze coming?
Well, whenever I get that
tickling sensation inside my nose,
I scrunch up my face
and stick my tongue
out as far as it can go.
Then I wait with my eyes closed,
usually for a couple of seconds.
Those seconds are enough
to make people stare at my face.
I bet you can imagine
how ridiculous I look.
My eyes nothing but slivers
and my tongue is touching my chin.
But I can’t help it
it’s just a natural reaction for me.
Stream of Conscious: Mad
Mad, Angry, Upset
Nothing is going as planned
I got the test back
And it wasn’t what I thought
Those answers
Were not the right ones
We lost the game
After our efforts to win
Playing our hardest
Sweating from the heat
She said no
When I asked
To go out
When I said why
She turned it on me
And it was my fault
Mad at my parents
And my brother
For ganging up against me
Angry with myself
For letting their words
Sink in
Tears stream down and mad
Turns to sad
Then they feel sorry
And want to make it up
It’s the opposite of joy,
Happiness,
And love
Us girls
We switch back and forth
Our emotions swirling
All of a sudden
It’s an extremity
Causing hate and despair
But when they are mad at me
It’s a whole other story
I don’t know what to do
I shiver and shake
Wanting someone else
To take the blame
Uncertain whether to back off
Or stay closer
Mad like crazy
My grandmother too
Insane is what she is
Its again leads to sadness
And hate and anger
A rush of feelings
Too much to handle
Nothing is going as planned
I got the test back
And it wasn’t what I thought
Those answers
Were not the right ones
We lost the game
After our efforts to win
Playing our hardest
Sweating from the heat
She said no
When I asked
To go out
When I said why
She turned it on me
And it was my fault
Mad at my parents
And my brother
For ganging up against me
Angry with myself
For letting their words
Sink in
Tears stream down and mad
Turns to sad
Then they feel sorry
And want to make it up
It’s the opposite of joy,
Happiness,
And love
Us girls
We switch back and forth
Our emotions swirling
All of a sudden
It’s an extremity
Causing hate and despair
But when they are mad at me
It’s a whole other story
I don’t know what to do
I shiver and shake
Wanting someone else
To take the blame
Uncertain whether to back off
Or stay closer
Mad like crazy
My grandmother too
Insane is what she is
Its again leads to sadness
And hate and anger
A rush of feelings
Too much to handle
The Rovers
When it comes to cars, my family is a little bit crazy. For a while, we were not the typical family that has a mom-like SUV and a dad’s nice car. We were not even the kind of family that has a few different cars. Range Rovers were our thing. We had three. They were all made in the year 1995 or before, and looked identical to one another. Two of them were black, but one was long wheel based and the other was short. We called the long one “Long” and the short one “Short.” Our third was a dark green, which still looks black in most light. My brother named it after a Bratz doll he had when he was like three years old, and we called it “Blaze.”
It’s not like there is something so great about these Range Rovers that we had to have three of them. In truth, they are pretty bad cars. We spent more money fixing them up in the shop than what they were worth. They aren’t very reliable, and very often overheat when we drive up Dallas Divide. When you are driving them, it’s almost as if you were steering a truck. They can go about sixty on a good day, but anymore than that they begin to shake.
But for some odd reason, my dad loves them. Either that or he is stuck in a rut, unable to sell them or buy anything new. He is emotionally attached to these pieces of metal, and I have even seen him talk to them as if they were humans.
After a few years living in Telluride, we decided three cars was one too many. I couldn’t drive yet and our driveway at home only fit two anyway. My dad got up the courage and decided to sell one. He chose Short, the oldest one, and sold it to a young fellow who worked at a local restaurant. My mom, brother, and I were excited to let Short go, but it wasn’t so easy on my dad.
For the longest time we made it through our daily routines with the two rattling cars until something clicked in my dad’s brain. It was around November, a few months away from when I would be getting my permit. I was accompanying my dad on his walk to the mine when we started talking about cars.
“I want to get you a nice, safe car to drive,” my dad said.
And my immediate response was, “Anything but a Range Rover.” My dream car was an Audi A4 Convertible, stick shift of course. I had never driven one or even been in one for that matter, but I wanted one so badly. Later that month on our way home from Aspen, we stopped in Glenwood Springs to test drive some cars at the Audi dealer. I hadn’t got my permit yet, so I was just a passenger in the red Audi with the slick black leather seats. I could feel the excitement each time my dad shifted into a lower gear, going faster and faster down I-70.
“Wow this car is nice,” my dad admitted.
“Little better than a Range Rover, right?” I joked.
The whole drive home we talked about cars. My mom thought it was “inappropriate” for me to be driving a car that nice; she was the one who needed a new car. She kept trying to tell me that I should get something more substantial, something that will work wonders in the snow. I did agree with her theories, but it was hard for me to picture myself in a different car.
Later in the year, my mom’s words had gotten to me. I said something to my dad about how it would probably be better to have an SUV. I figured a bigger car may be safer for a new driver like me and also I did not want any problems in the winter storms. Immediately my dad started rambling on about his top choices for an SUV. Obviously Range Rovers were still at the top of his list, but he did mention a few other models made by Land Rover that I began to consider. Back when one of our old cars was getting worked on, the car company would send us a “loner” car. We got one almost every time our car went in, and sometimes we would end up keeping it for months. It was always a Land Rover, but usually ten times nicer and newer than ours. I remembered that those cars were like heaven compared to our junk, and I actually would be blessed just to get anything but a fifteen year old car. I didn’t know at the time, but over the next few nights my dad went online and looked for deals on pre-owned Discoveries. He still remembered my desire for an Audi, and therefore he would look for good deals on them as well. Every now and then, he would show me a picture of a car he found, but after a while I stopped caring. I had come to the conclusion, after all our talk, that I didn’t need a car. Of course my dad paid no attention to me, and a few days later went on to purchase a silver Discovery, 2004, without my knowledge of it. It was a Land Rover just like our other cars, but because of the newer model, it was a lot nicer.
I came home from hockey late one night, starving and ready for dinner. I was a few months before my birthday, but on my place setting lay a little box that read “Zia Sun” on the cover.
“What’s this?” I asked, confused as to what it could possibly be.
“Open it!” My mom urged.
“Does she know what it is?” Benni asked in his ten year old baby voice.
I pealed off the tape and opened the tiny blue earring box to find keys inside. Car keys. My eyes widened and my parents said “Happy Birthday” in unison. I ran to the window to look for the new car, which I somehow had not seen on my way home.
“Oh. My. God!” I gushed, and ran out the front door to the silver Discovery. I didn’t care that it wasn’t the Audi I had longed for, this was better. My whole family was outside, making a commotion, making sure I loved it (which of course I did). Névé, my long term boyfriend, drove up just as we were all piling into the new car, me in the driver’s seat, for a test drive. Névé hopped in shotgun while my family piled in the back, and I put the car in drive and headed down the street.
I hadn’t really driven a car before, so it was kind of interesting. I ran a few stop signs, jerked a bit, and went a little to fast on the fifteen-mile-an-hour streets. But I was mesmerized. I was unable to be behind the wheel for another month or so, but with a smooth new car, I enjoyed tagging along in the passenger seat for the ride.
It’s not like there is something so great about these Range Rovers that we had to have three of them. In truth, they are pretty bad cars. We spent more money fixing them up in the shop than what they were worth. They aren’t very reliable, and very often overheat when we drive up Dallas Divide. When you are driving them, it’s almost as if you were steering a truck. They can go about sixty on a good day, but anymore than that they begin to shake.
But for some odd reason, my dad loves them. Either that or he is stuck in a rut, unable to sell them or buy anything new. He is emotionally attached to these pieces of metal, and I have even seen him talk to them as if they were humans.
After a few years living in Telluride, we decided three cars was one too many. I couldn’t drive yet and our driveway at home only fit two anyway. My dad got up the courage and decided to sell one. He chose Short, the oldest one, and sold it to a young fellow who worked at a local restaurant. My mom, brother, and I were excited to let Short go, but it wasn’t so easy on my dad.
For the longest time we made it through our daily routines with the two rattling cars until something clicked in my dad’s brain. It was around November, a few months away from when I would be getting my permit. I was accompanying my dad on his walk to the mine when we started talking about cars.
“I want to get you a nice, safe car to drive,” my dad said.
And my immediate response was, “Anything but a Range Rover.” My dream car was an Audi A4 Convertible, stick shift of course. I had never driven one or even been in one for that matter, but I wanted one so badly. Later that month on our way home from Aspen, we stopped in Glenwood Springs to test drive some cars at the Audi dealer. I hadn’t got my permit yet, so I was just a passenger in the red Audi with the slick black leather seats. I could feel the excitement each time my dad shifted into a lower gear, going faster and faster down I-70.
“Wow this car is nice,” my dad admitted.
“Little better than a Range Rover, right?” I joked.
The whole drive home we talked about cars. My mom thought it was “inappropriate” for me to be driving a car that nice; she was the one who needed a new car. She kept trying to tell me that I should get something more substantial, something that will work wonders in the snow. I did agree with her theories, but it was hard for me to picture myself in a different car.
Later in the year, my mom’s words had gotten to me. I said something to my dad about how it would probably be better to have an SUV. I figured a bigger car may be safer for a new driver like me and also I did not want any problems in the winter storms. Immediately my dad started rambling on about his top choices for an SUV. Obviously Range Rovers were still at the top of his list, but he did mention a few other models made by Land Rover that I began to consider. Back when one of our old cars was getting worked on, the car company would send us a “loner” car. We got one almost every time our car went in, and sometimes we would end up keeping it for months. It was always a Land Rover, but usually ten times nicer and newer than ours. I remembered that those cars were like heaven compared to our junk, and I actually would be blessed just to get anything but a fifteen year old car. I didn’t know at the time, but over the next few nights my dad went online and looked for deals on pre-owned Discoveries. He still remembered my desire for an Audi, and therefore he would look for good deals on them as well. Every now and then, he would show me a picture of a car he found, but after a while I stopped caring. I had come to the conclusion, after all our talk, that I didn’t need a car. Of course my dad paid no attention to me, and a few days later went on to purchase a silver Discovery, 2004, without my knowledge of it. It was a Land Rover just like our other cars, but because of the newer model, it was a lot nicer.
I came home from hockey late one night, starving and ready for dinner. I was a few months before my birthday, but on my place setting lay a little box that read “Zia Sun” on the cover.
“What’s this?” I asked, confused as to what it could possibly be.
“Open it!” My mom urged.
“Does she know what it is?” Benni asked in his ten year old baby voice.
I pealed off the tape and opened the tiny blue earring box to find keys inside. Car keys. My eyes widened and my parents said “Happy Birthday” in unison. I ran to the window to look for the new car, which I somehow had not seen on my way home.
“Oh. My. God!” I gushed, and ran out the front door to the silver Discovery. I didn’t care that it wasn’t the Audi I had longed for, this was better. My whole family was outside, making a commotion, making sure I loved it (which of course I did). Névé, my long term boyfriend, drove up just as we were all piling into the new car, me in the driver’s seat, for a test drive. Névé hopped in shotgun while my family piled in the back, and I put the car in drive and headed down the street.
I hadn’t really driven a car before, so it was kind of interesting. I ran a few stop signs, jerked a bit, and went a little to fast on the fifteen-mile-an-hour streets. But I was mesmerized. I was unable to be behind the wheel for another month or so, but with a smooth new car, I enjoyed tagging along in the passenger seat for the ride.
Abstract Poem
Across the street
I saw her walking
In prim high heel boots
Strolling along
Her head held high
Like she was better
Than everyone else
I saw the blue gum
That lay in her path
And knew she would make contact
Even before it happened
I watched her left tow
Squash the gum
And stick to her shoe
Like glue
I could see the anger
And annoyance in her eyes
Gum on her new
Leather boots
I saw the uncertainty
Of what to do next
She wasn’t going to touch it
But she wouldn’t dare leave it
The incident brought
Her back to reality
She was no longer
The high class woman
That she used to be
Her leather boots
Were now dirty with gum
She was frustrated
To say the least
I saw her walking
In prim high heel boots
Strolling along
Her head held high
Like she was better
Than everyone else
I saw the blue gum
That lay in her path
And knew she would make contact
Even before it happened
I watched her left tow
Squash the gum
And stick to her shoe
Like glue
I could see the anger
And annoyance in her eyes
Gum on her new
Leather boots
I saw the uncertainty
Of what to do next
She wasn’t going to touch it
But she wouldn’t dare leave it
The incident brought
Her back to reality
She was no longer
The high class woman
That she used to be
Her leather boots
Were now dirty with gum
She was frustrated
To say the least
Narrative Poem: Fizzles
I watched her from afar
Grab his soda can
It seemed a little bizarre
Because this was her man
It was probably meant
To be a silly joke
But from the way it went
It seemed like she wanted to hide in an invisible cloak
He didn’t see her shake it
Because he was looking the other way
But soon after he had a fit
And she didn’t know what to say
As he opened the can
The pressure let out
And her man
Just shout!
The bubbles rocketed all over the place
On his jeans and his shirt
On his hands and even his face!
Sadly, he just looked hurt.
He was all sticky
With the soda goo
And I imagine he felt all icky
And didn’t know what to do
The force of the fizz
Made it shoot ten feet up
Her face was more shocked than his
After the whole blowup
It began to dry
And bubbles to pop
I thought he was going to cry
And I saw her face drop
It was supposed to be funny
And they were supposed to be having fun
But now it wasn’t even sunny
And it was clear they were done
Grab his soda can
It seemed a little bizarre
Because this was her man
It was probably meant
To be a silly joke
But from the way it went
It seemed like she wanted to hide in an invisible cloak
He didn’t see her shake it
Because he was looking the other way
But soon after he had a fit
And she didn’t know what to say
As he opened the can
The pressure let out
And her man
Just shout!
The bubbles rocketed all over the place
On his jeans and his shirt
On his hands and even his face!
Sadly, he just looked hurt.
He was all sticky
With the soda goo
And I imagine he felt all icky
And didn’t know what to do
The force of the fizz
Made it shoot ten feet up
Her face was more shocked than his
After the whole blowup
It began to dry
And bubbles to pop
I thought he was going to cry
And I saw her face drop
It was supposed to be funny
And they were supposed to be having fun
But now it wasn’t even sunny
And it was clear they were done
Summer '09
We were wide awake at night, looking up at the southern sky, flooded with stars. Laying in our hammocks arranged in a triangle, the Triangle of Love as we called it, we giggled as we watched above for shooting stars. After the first night we had all become best friends. It was like we had known each other forever. Wells was there, sitting on the deck, pointing out Scorpio, Hercules and the Northern Crown.
“See those ones right there?” He would say.
“Yea,” I always said, even if I didn’t know which of the billions he was pointing to.
The stars would glisten on the ocean’s waves, which were calm now. The laughter and conversations would subside, and one by one I would watch the others put their head phones in to drown out the banging sounds that Gigi made. The ropes would bang against the mast with every gust of wind, but eventually I would get used to the random knocks and it would seem calming. I enjoyed listening to the waves crash upon the shore and an unusual animal wailing in the distance. The sounds put me in a peaceful state; I just felt so lucky to be where I was. Every now and then we would whisper to each other, not knowing who was listening. Eventually the exhaustion from the dives and the heat would catch up to us, and we would be asleep in an instant. Some nights it would begin to pour in the middle of the night. We would hide in our sleeping bags, hoping it would be gone in a minute or so, until we realized it wasn’t going to stop anytime soon. By the time we were already soaked, everyone would quickly gather up all their wet belongings and make a mad dash down the stairs to get the best spot on the couch. I would wake up mid morning not knowing where I was. After realizing it must have rained and I ran down below half asleep, I would get up and return to my spot in the hammock. It was to claustrophobic downstairs in the humid, crowded space, that it was a relief to go up on deck at last. Slowly everyone would return to their hammocks. Some didn’t even wake up to get to shelter during the rain. Sarah was the worst. She was the deepest sleeper I knew and never woke up during the storms. “Thanks for waking me,” she would say, sarcastically of course.
But my favorite times happened when there were no dark clouds filled with moisture in the sky and we made it through the entire night on deck. It was the silence and isolation of being in the middle of the ocean that made it so serene. As dusk grew closer, sounds of seagulls were the only noise. I would feel the sprinkles of rain on my shoulders; it almost tickled me. We would try and hide under our covers for another hour or so until it was time for our day to start. The sun would start to shine in the distance over the horizon and light up the sky. The rain would let up and the warmth would get us out of our sleeping bags. I would run down to my room and put on a suit, for it was already to hot to wear anything more.
“See those ones right there?” He would say.
“Yea,” I always said, even if I didn’t know which of the billions he was pointing to.
The stars would glisten on the ocean’s waves, which were calm now. The laughter and conversations would subside, and one by one I would watch the others put their head phones in to drown out the banging sounds that Gigi made. The ropes would bang against the mast with every gust of wind, but eventually I would get used to the random knocks and it would seem calming. I enjoyed listening to the waves crash upon the shore and an unusual animal wailing in the distance. The sounds put me in a peaceful state; I just felt so lucky to be where I was. Every now and then we would whisper to each other, not knowing who was listening. Eventually the exhaustion from the dives and the heat would catch up to us, and we would be asleep in an instant. Some nights it would begin to pour in the middle of the night. We would hide in our sleeping bags, hoping it would be gone in a minute or so, until we realized it wasn’t going to stop anytime soon. By the time we were already soaked, everyone would quickly gather up all their wet belongings and make a mad dash down the stairs to get the best spot on the couch. I would wake up mid morning not knowing where I was. After realizing it must have rained and I ran down below half asleep, I would get up and return to my spot in the hammock. It was to claustrophobic downstairs in the humid, crowded space, that it was a relief to go up on deck at last. Slowly everyone would return to their hammocks. Some didn’t even wake up to get to shelter during the rain. Sarah was the worst. She was the deepest sleeper I knew and never woke up during the storms. “Thanks for waking me,” she would say, sarcastically of course.
But my favorite times happened when there were no dark clouds filled with moisture in the sky and we made it through the entire night on deck. It was the silence and isolation of being in the middle of the ocean that made it so serene. As dusk grew closer, sounds of seagulls were the only noise. I would feel the sprinkles of rain on my shoulders; it almost tickled me. We would try and hide under our covers for another hour or so until it was time for our day to start. The sun would start to shine in the distance over the horizon and light up the sky. The rain would let up and the warmth would get us out of our sleeping bags. I would run down to my room and put on a suit, for it was already to hot to wear anything more.
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