Sharing a Wall

I would wake up to the sound of Tim
hitting the wall in the house next door.
When he needed medicine or his mother's help
he wiggled on his mattress
and the headboard jolted the wall.
I never liked the abrupt awakenings
that kept me from sleep at nights
but because the duplex walls were thin,
I didn't only wake to Tim's fits.
Through the single layer of dry wall
I could hear his laughter,
his stories,
his music,
his cries,
his dreams.
Countless nights I had woken up
to the awkward cries through the wall.
Through those nights I grew to love
the lullaby of Tim.

Through Clenched Teeth

My mother is making me apologize
for pulling your hair on the playground today.
I was just playing, and I didn’t mean to hurt you.
Don’t tell your mom on me.
I am sorry.

My mother told me to apologize
for being so late today.
We had a conflict with time
and traffic didn’t really cooperate.
Don’t hold it against me.
I am sorry.

My mother taught me to apologize
even when I don't want to.
But Boss, I had the best intentions of doing my task.
There has been a mistake.
Don’t let me go because of this.
I am sorry.

My mother hoped I would apologize
if I ever got into this sort of trouble.
But really, I am not sure the wreck is my fault.
Accidents happen.
Don’t call your lawyer.
I am sorry.

My mother wished I would apologize
to all the people I have hurt through the years.
I have already said the magic words.
I shouldn’t have to say it twice.
So she doesn’t ask me again,
I am sorry.

Heaven on a Magazine Rack

It pains me that you bought that lie.
The magazines that preach a Modern-Gospel
cost you more than your wallet should be willing to sacrifice.
Five point sermons full of self-improvement commandments
grace the covers and find their way between advertisements.
Did you realize that each time you touch the glossy finish
of the pages, you leave a little of your self behind?
You come off with each page you turn,
but I assume the glossy finish that remains on your fingers
is what gives you your shine these days.
That, my friend, is a bona fide tragedy.

katapillerscheme: always thinking on your feet
HockALuigi: that's why my brain is attached to my hips


kris...nice try. I really do think that was an excellent line to finish with. but no way can you top the ultimate. keep going for the gold though, or the pink(lemonade in the shade?)

Night Life

The girls stayed up late last night.
Or, later than their Mother knew.
It was one of those evenings
that the crickets played
their square dance music
and the fireflies had a social
flitting by the porch screen.
Those fireflies were the life of every party,
with sparkling personalities
stealing the lime light
and playing hard to get.

The girls made themselves comfortable
on three cots lined up on the back porch.
Whispering and telling secrets
they waited for their mother
to fall asleep inside the house.

At the sound of mother's soft snoring
the girls creeped from their cots
gathered by the swinging door
and slowly pushed it's hinges,
cringing in anticipation
fearing they would wake mother.

The girls were silent and cautious,
wallflowers standing close to the screen.
Then the crickets struck up the music,
the fireflies began their dance,
and the girls took flight
chasing the streams of light
through the yard,
joining in the firefly follies.

The Mighty Jungle

underneath the darkened
green canopy
upon the shimmering
dew dropped earth
unaware of the light steps
of the young wide-eyed hunter
thumbing redwood arrows
a stout
iron gray elephant
rests

Mask Vignette

He just meant to be the messenger.
The more messages he shared, the more he felt why he was needed.
She was the kind of girl who could take the wits from a man.
He was certainly dumbstruck.
“He is safe.”
Or so thought his friend when he was asked to win her for him.
He pretended to be speaking for his friend but after her kiss he couldn’t play on.
Had he stolen her from his friend?

     brief pleasure

     a one night stand

     under thin sheets
     in chilled darkness
     bodies embracing
     frozen in
     between space
     kept in rest

until


     child mouth wants more
     flavor ice

One Thousand Ways to Lose a Love

She stopped on the sidewalk by the oak tree and counted the leaves as they fell from the shaking branches. The air was still and chilled. As her body shivered she closed her eyes and imagined herself lying on the cement below the bow among the fingers of the limbs covered by the leaves that fell this time of year. She was trying to distract herself from this day when Matthew called to her from the peak of the oak's body and startled her from her momentary dream. He paused before he spoke again, giving her time to regain her sense of reality. "Here is comes. Try to catch it, Sarah." he yelled as he threw the frisbee from the tree. She made a step to catch the disk but her cautious steps weren’t quick enough and it fell against the concrete with a hollow sound. "Maybe we can work on your arm a little...you will get better at throwing it, catching, too. I promise. Just let me teach you." He hopped from the branches and landed on both feet. He walked to stand in front of her. "Sarah,"
She remained silent, her eyes transfixed on his feet.
"Sarah. Will you look at me?"
She hesitated to make his eye contact, but brought her gaze from the ground to his face. He took a step towards her and was now only inches from her body. Now his eyes faltered and he paused before he spoke again.
"Sarah...you know that I would do anything for you? I would get a thousand frisbees from the thousand tallest trees and carry them down one thousand times and walk one thousand miles to your door and stand, and wait, and call to you until you opened the door and let me inside. "
He brought his arm from his side and offered his hand to her. His pleading eyes were peircing in the stillness.
"Sarah...why won't you let me inside?"
In silence they stood. Matthew brought his hand back to his side dejectedly and took a step backwards. He looked at her once more and conceded to her silence. He stepped backwards, his eyes never breaking from hers until he fumbled on the frisbee laying on the ground. He bent over to pick it up, and when he stood again, his head remained lowered. He quickened his pace and began to run, away from Sarah standing there.
She was breathing so deeply that with every exhalation a cloud of condensation formed in the air around her mouth and nose. She felt a pain of regret. The words came to her mouth with the warm breath she released, but by the time they escaped the trap of her mouth, Matthew had long been out of sight.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Matthew...I just can’t open the door."
She stepped forward, and grasped her arms around her shoulders, pretending to feel the chill of the breeze through the wavering branches of the tree that stood above her. But in the secrets of her heart, she felt a longing for his arms to be wrapped around her, and the chill that kept her frozen there was the fear she had to fall. She was frightened by the nightmare that if she let herself love him, she would only lose him, or worse yet, hurt him. She stayed away and safe by counting leaves and walking too slowly to pick up the things that fell.

Green Beans Aren’t Just Cheap Food


Parker’s wife sat on the porch snapping beans. In her 34 years of living, snapping beans was the only practice her family exercised cooperatively. Her mother was a non-practicing Jew and her father was a stay at home dietician who believed in the food pyramid according to cost efficiency. Her mother spoke a language of gibberish she fondly called Yiddish. When speaking to her husband she took care to be misunderstood. It was a game she played “in fun” but it was know by all that she just resented her husband’s stinginess and raily body. If she couldn’t buy her lamb chops and veal, he shouldn’t get the pleasure of understanding her. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a non-cuisine-experiencing tooth. Father in earnest believed that the best meal could be purchased and prepared for under $3. He designed charts and shopping guides, which were hung from the walls and ceilings by recycled Scotch Tape pieces. He didn’t believe in waste and was bound by his conscience to maximize resources. His life practices conflicted with her fantastic dreams but there was a point between their worlds where the reality of their extremes collided.

Mother had a rebellious spirit so from her youth on she made an effort to be a challenge. Her parents were casual attendees of the synagogue only making appearances on Jewish holidays that excused their absences from their workplaces. Mother inherited their defiance. She developed exquisite taste for apparel, food, music, and art. The only aspect of this equation that wasn’t balanced was her choice of men. After all, she found her husband who was by no means anything worth bragging about.

Her husband, on the complete opposite end of the spectrum, was a simply spoken fellow who didn’t mind being told what to do. He quite enjoyed his wife’s deliverance of opinions.

They were not a picture perfect couple but they respected each other’s differences. It was quite a prosperous arrangement. She carried the whip and reigns while he pulled the cart, uphill and barefoot. They almost understood each other, or managed to build an oddly balanced life together. Even the stork was so perplexed by their relationship he was hesitant to drop their new child at their doorstep, but mother forcefully demanded the child. Mother knew what she wanted and father just followed her lead. However, as different as they seemed to be, they shared a common pleasure beyond the enjoyment of their daughter.

Father was the leader of the family’s grocery store excursions, being the wallet carrier, breadwinner, and health guru. This was the only circumstance in which mother’s aggressiveness was pacified. The corner market was the parallel universe wherein mother had no interest in dominance. She held their little baby anxiously, awaiting her pleasure. Father loved green beans and his treat to mother was what every Jewish girl ought to eat: ham. Green beans and ham cost all of $2.35. The perfect meal.

To prolong the delight of their shared pleasure, Mother and father made an event of snapping the beans. Mother would dress up and take a seat on the front porch of their house, sitting in a rocking chair to keep the baby silent so that everyone might consider the wonderful event taking place without distractions. Father would sit beside her quietly gathering the snapped ends of the beans and setting them in one bowl and the beans in another. They didn’t speak much during these times for they didn’t intent to ruin their closest moments with words. However their daughter heard loud enough that this time was something special.

Since these weekends spent silently snapping beans with Mother and Father clumsily loving each other, Parker’s wife made a tradition of the occasions. On this particular day years later, after she grew to be a woman herself, she snapped green beans bought from the corner market and waited for her husband to return from the city. She sat and dreamed of the sole act of togetherness that her parents shared snapping the ends and pulling the ends from their awkward love.

celtic 206: maybe we are walking in the shallow water until we are ready for the ocean

Xandr05: fierce is the word gay's use for hot/neat/cool
Xandr05: that's so fierce
katapillerscheme: neat
katapillerscheme: he had a fierce look in his eyes
Xandr05: gotta say it with a lisp
katapillerscheme: he had a fierth look in hith ice
Xandr05: there ya go

A Friend

I don't know what to say to you
to tell you that I care
to show you what you mean to me
to make your heart aware
of all the charming, selfless, daring, caring things you've done
to share with me your loving smile
and give me strength in times of trial.

Through the Grapevine

Poetry rests upon the earth
among the beads of silkened dew
covered by the viney growth
awaiting the hour of moon's descent.
At the touch of sun's warm rays
against the face of the dormant sky
life begins to stir beneath
the bed where Poetry did sleep.

The drops of dew are guided down
from leaves that stretch their fingers out
to catch and hold the stirring wind
that races through the twisted veil.
Milky clouds go quietly by
waltzing with stiff legged blades
of grass that stand alert and stern
to guard the dance of Poetry.

Poetry does walk amidst
the grapevines climbing playfully
to kiss the fruit upon each branch
and taste the sweetness of new life.

Channel 32 on Highway 9

Your radio tuner just won't change the station.
You don't really have anything against jazz
but the big band blocking the intersection
could be a road hazard
for people who accelerate
when they tap their toes to the beat.

How many tires will blow out before your bank account falls in?
These off-road reunions are getting too frequent
but at least you don't have to buy the hotdogs
for the tailgate parties
on Highway 9.
Can you buy hubcaps in packages of 10 like the buns?

You had never been on a safari
until you found the jungle in the median.
To save the whales
they started hanging traffic lights from trees.
You never expected to watch the Discovery Channel
from the interstate, did you?

Just remember that musicians roll in enough dough
to replace your tires
buy the hotdogs and buns
adopt Free Willy
and take you on a wildlife adventure.
Take pictures at their next concert.
The Discovery channel may do a special on them.

Late at Night He Writes to be Forgotten

At 10:00 pm the candle flickers
and the wick abandons the flame
that lights the dusky room wherein
the newspaperman sells his name.
He writes the stories to fill the pages
of headliners that made news that day
but no one sees his fairy tales
on the sections that get thrown away.

Second Hand Smoke

He was smoking in the car that night.
At least he wasn't drinking,
but smoking right in front of me?
What was my best friend thinking?
His awkward calm gave me a sense
that he hadn't made a mistake.
I guess he wanted me to see
the path that he'd chosen to take.
Forever I assumed he'd be
a person I would love,
until that day he drew away
and chose the cigarettes over me.

A Dream to Build a Trip On

My best friend and I plan to go to Australia some day.
We dream of travel and adventure,
the sun on our backs and the wind in our hair.
We want to rent a shack,
which he and I will cover with psychedelic colors.
Both of us are terrible painters but it is our shack to share,
and we will be the only ones to see the clumsy walls.
But Australia won't be about surfing and the waves,
the kangaroos and dingoes,
or the hundred sunrises or sunsets,
but that he will be with me
and we will share those moments together.

Bend the Spork With Your Mind

Just a spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down
the long forked tongue of the serpent
slithering under the mattress that Connie and Body spooned on
after feeding each other chicken without a fork.
They studied their images in spoons that reflected like mirrors at the fair
past the fork in the road
where the blind man makes music slapping spoons on his knee
as busy people hurry past flattening forks on the pavement.

As they walked, Petra boldly reached out and took hold of Bean's hand as if they, too, were lovers or at least friends who liked to stay close enough to touch. To her surprise, he did not pull his hand away. Indeed, he gripped her hand in return, but if she harbored any notion that Bean was capable of romance, he instantly dispelled it. "Race you around the pond," he said, and so they did.
But what kind of race is it, when the racers never let go of each other's hands, and the winner pulls the loser laughing over the finish line?

-Shadow Puppets by Orson Scott Card