20 Pieces: A little poetry project

In class exercise where Alison gave us instructions (write a metaphor...Use a proper name...Tell a lie...Etc)

My heart is a bungee jumper plummeting down to the unknown.

I wake to dog's breath.

A flute solo. A warm kiss. Brown eyes with flecks of green...crinkles around them. A crisp apple. My laundry after it is done in the dryer.

I saw before me a warm smile as i hugged my grandmother.

her name was Ruth Wilson SanSimeon. Full of families of women with heads held high despite tragedies and oppression.

Her name as not SanSimeon. But the lie was not total. She lived outside the city of San Simeon and loved to drive to Hearst Castle to see the objects purged from Europe and brought to America. It was the closest she'd get.

My father's Corvette is a brilliant white with no scratches or rust to be seen. "Upair" is where he keeps his favourite California Car Duster. Just behind the wooden sign. Why it was hidden there, i'll never comprehend.

He knew if i used it for my car, the paint would not shine but would turn my car from midnight blue to red and perhaps he would fear the Corvette tainted.

"I have coffee on my hand and sweatshirt but it hasn't spilled out of the cup!!"

The snow is my shower as i walk to class despite my clean hair.

I watched a giraffe on the discovery channel fall over its own feet. Aren't they supposed to edit these things?

I rode a camel through the desert, abandoned of all hope. I fell forward in the saddle before i came to a town.

"Stacey is a waterworks" I heard him say.

he will not remember me. or her. we will part ways and at first stay in contact with overly simplified emails and birthday cards. But it will fade and while i will be slumped like a wilting sunflower, i will grow again.

I found on my desk my harmonious post cards i was to bring to europe.

"I am going to be the first woman to hike up the Eiffel tower."

Mais, c'est impossible. Ah, c'est la vie mon chère. Je t'adore.......

The Tower hugged me in its arms as i climbed the stairs and felt as if i was with Ruth. Safe in her arms.

The coffee's steam rises from her sweatshirt.

Glorious Elbow

Free write for 20 minutes based on a part of my body. i choose elbow. :)

My elbow is bony. almost unbelievable for the rest of the fluff that is on me as i feel it kreek into my other apendages. Kreep with a "K"? And it often seems like it is flying out of my body with no one to guide it, as i hit people i dn't like because they have prettier blonde hair or bigger teeth.

my weapon of choice. Becuase it has an easy "sorry" with it.

oh man, that elbow just was out there. I was talking with my hands and didn't see my chicken wing arms peck your eyes out.

Ha!

I am writing in the near total darkness to keep from editing. My elbow is dry and it catches on a running shirt I have. It's supposed to soak up sweat as i "work out." (ha!) But instead pulls on the scales oof my elbow as if it were small mice teeth. What are you doing there mice?

I'm trying not to think about not thinking and this is almost harder than in class.

My roommate is almost literally coughing out her lungs. Maybe i should've written about those. It pisses me off because i am awake too, but really, I feel sorry for her. Her and her perfect blonde hair and blue eyes. If you'd have pointed her out to me before we were friends, i'm sure my elbow, especially the right, would've nearly jumped at the chance to accidently bump her She'd fall like a willow branch.

My elbows will one day be moisture rich. Glorious. No more mice bites.

My arm hurts.

My elbow sees what i cannot. If it had ears on it, how beautiful! I heard and saw what you said across the dinner party. And now that i know you don't like me, i can stop being so dog, dod, god damn polite! FUCK!

my mom is dsylexic. Am I?

I rang up an order wrong at work again. Whoops. Screwed up more $ @ the cstore. Hatred.

I smashed a door with my fist. My elbow was jealous.

he doesn't get to act out any fantasies. Only passively listening to all that goes on, wondering why he must stay so far away. Even in writing this, he tries to get close to my belly, but she hates me and retracts inward with the repulsion of sauerkraut. Yuck.

Poor guy just wants to be loved.

As i age, his skin will be lazy. As lazy as i am now? Impossible. That was in a french dialect or accent. ok, word. But it is spelled the same.
Oh the french.

With their own elbow sticking out for the world to see. Their tower of lights that symbolizes love and art.
My elbow symbolizes death and isolaation.

Come close to my core, dear elbow. Stop holding the weight of the world, ok...my head in my hand, and be warm with me for a few short moments. Feel needed. Feel loved. Then run back out to the cold where i keep you like a dog gone rabid.

Poor Yeller. Poor Ol' Dan. wasn't rabid. Was he?

My elbows. Full of pain. but not from tennis.

Almost done w/20 minutes. To keep on keepin on? No like i've really stayed on the elbow thing.

Jesus...should've done ankle..as mine screams at me when my foot hangs off the bed. No longer. Poor thing. Bruised and swollen.

The elbow never gets that love and attention. It is the class clown of the body parts, tied in with the shy nerd who gets off as a crazed voyeur. But is deaf moute. Mute. silent. Shhhhhhh

heather's asleep, sick and coughing.

It watched out of for me as i wrote an essay on Harry Potter and The Giver.

My elbow will watch the mourners come to say goodbye to me as they cry. But only if i'm placed just right.

Secrets

This was another writing exercise in class. We started to write a poem about a National Enquirer article, then we were given a secret from a classmate (random) and fuse that in with the story.

Secrets

Jimmy Swaggart's love for God is evident as he gives his hand to the woman on the floor who begs for her sins to be forgiven. He cries with her, prays with her, then leaves the stage.

Cannot do it anymore. His sex scandal has wiped his credibility out the window. But the paraplegic didn't say no, so it wasn't rape; it was fine. Right?

But Jimmy again uses this to his advantage. "I have sinned as you have sinned! Now there is nothing between us. Only JEsus Christ, the ONE son of God, is free from sin! He wipes a tear with his hankerchief.

The phone rings with a credit card number. Collection plates are passed around. Even more money is given to the Church because Jimmy came out straight with his followers.

Jesus's followers?

So life at home is great. His family and he in a 3 story house with a car for each; even those under 16.

It pays to work for the Lord.

He goes for a soak in the hot tub. All that preachin' can wear a man out. The bubbles burst on his skin like boils. Feels so good.. Gettin' right with the Lord. The margurita in his hands is cold and smooth on his throat. He is at peace with his life.

But all will change in a few short hours. Because while being honest with your church will bring kudos to your wallet, you haven't been that honest now were you Jimmy?

because the whole truth is that Jimmy is still a virgin. Oh yes! Your sex scandals were a scandal weren't they? That poor paraplegic. Thinking she got the best sex of her life. No. the dildo you used worked wonders didn't it?

Your wife. Your...child? The dildo worked on her too, but how to explain your daughter? Paternity tests. oh yes. All of your best friends. the Church requires urine drug tests after the debacle with Tammy Faye. So you creeped in like mouse and took all. Took one from your baby girl. oh yes.

and now.

you wait.

working first lines

i saw an asian man waxing his car in the moonlihght tonight.


i am a marshmellow in a microwave, expanding and expanding until i cannot take the self inflicted torture and wait for either final explosion or sweet release of the timer that is so loud it wakes me up inside and i can shrink back to my original size and be soft and warm.

Combination Poem

Another in-class assignment. Directions: make 2 lists then combine them into a poem. I used my room and my grandparent's pyramid house)

The cold glow of the computer monitor
illuminates the Buddha that calms me.
Two blue wool scarves are out of place in the desert of Las Vegas.
But it cools down at night and
the sphinx guards the door
against unwanted spirits.

A jar of change in case of an
emergency
run to a Laundromat.
Old pictures of friends from high school are
brightened by the sun coming through the
stained glass.

Glass prisms lie on
each window sill.
The window is open a crack and the peach tree
in the garden is showered
by the artificial rain
falling up from the sprinkler.

Majestic Tour

We were lost going nowhere
as the road took us away
from our mundane lives of
reading and
writing and
working and
towards the unknown
which revealed trees
in yoga positions
and grass dancing
in such synchronicity that the Rockette's would be envious
when we found a winery,
a secret vineyard made just for the two of us
(the other 7 people
were figments of the owner's imagination
we suspect),
and we majestically walked through the
dirt rows of grapes
picking out the lucky ones
privileged enough for this year's harvest
then laughed until we fell
as we sank into the ground
and looked at the clouds that were just
the faintest of painters' touches against the sky
before before we drove home
and sang to Fank Sinatra:
The Way You Look
Tonight.

Autobiography List

(This was a free write done in class very soon after Chloe's funeral)



The ancient house with six generations and I am one of the last. My 2 sisters whose youth I envied at a young age as my back went out at 12. My mother who baked chocolate chip cookies for my girl scout troupe that at met across the street as we screamed, played tag and harassed the old people who lived on my block. My dad who was often at work and never played with us. The three lazy boyz he sat in. The constant fixing of the ancient wood, brick and paint. The glassy, shiny and cold "new" products for the house. The fridge, wishing machine, and stereo. My dog. That everyone loved and loved to hate until I left for college and missed her shedding blonde hair so much it hurt. Her warm brown eyes that always trusted. My brown eyes. My sisters' brown eyes. My dad's brown eyes. My mother's emerald eyes. My dad's cancer. A tear as he holds his towel to his face as he washes my car with me. The first time I've seen him cry. My mother who cries everytime I leave for school. The cancer, as I see it, invaded my father like battleships in space. My cousin who deals with more death than anyone could handle. Ten years apart. Suicide. Car wreck. Suicide. Car wreck. Watching him cry. Watching myself say bye to Chloe. The ice on my hands as I touched her face. Was that a snowflake? The theatre where I learned to cry and the hating of crying as the doves flew to meet God with Chloe.

Work Haikus

(these are in preparation for the poem/s due Tuesday)

A bored expression
At least the money is good
God I hate it here.

people wait for food
their lips downturned in a frown
not even "thank you"

The bacon is done
Lettuce so crisp in my mouth
hating this sandwich

Alarms going off
Cookies are burnt to a crisp
No milk anyway

Incompetant boss
overpriced slice of pizza
glorious when starved

Put on the old coat
I know you can see your breath
But freezers need stocked

Thank you bags and smiles
We dont mean a word of it
Give me an Oscar.

Dont forget the gloves
making the salads today
wouldn't want them sick

The apple is bruised
The orange with white spots on it
Please throw them away

Elegy for a Stag

Preface: This is an in class poem in which I had to write an elegy (ie, funeral poem) for one of Aesop's animals. Here is the fable:

The Stag With One Eye
A stag, blind of one eye, was grazing close to the sea shore and kept his sound eye turned towards the land, so as to be able to perceive the approach of the hounds, while the blond eye he turned towards the sea, never suspecting that any danger would threaten him from that quarter. As it fell out, however, some sailors, coasting along the shore, spied him and shot an arrow at him, by which he was mortally wounded. As he lay dying, he said to himself, "Wretch that I am! I bethought me of the dangers of the land, whence none assailed me: but I feared no peril from the sea, yet thence has come my ruin."

Also, dear reader(s), stags often symbolize pride, sacrifice, and independence.

Elegy for a Stag

The white snow falls as we walk
away from the beach.
The lighthouse shines on us
momentarily as we speak.

I remember he left to be on
his own on his second birthday.
In stag years, that’s about 12. Still
ambitious.

I knew he visited his mother
often, bringing her the best raspberries
he could find.

How she weeps.
Her head hung to the snow covered beach.
As she looks back,
his blood, though dulled, is still
too bright against the contrasting white.

When he lost his eye, he was
bleeding and laughing.
"How all will know me!
I saved my wife and the bobcat
now dead!” as he held his head high.

He was always on guard after that day.

I am always on guard too.

I see him in the sea now.
He dances on the waves and I
smile as I watch him laugh
the same laugh as the day he was mauled.

I giggle as I point to the sea and shout “I see you!”

I see you.