New Poem

This is not something I wrote for class. This is just something I wrote for me. It is as yet untitled.


Untitled


I could set it in one of those
cafés that are really overpriced
coffee shops selling the Art
hanging on their walls
done by some great Artist
who just happens to be besties
with the manager

I could set it in one of those
Cities that everyone knows
until they live there Cities
of strangers Cities of light
Cities of wonder Cities somehow
different from the other Cities
just like them

I could set it somewhere
personal like my studio
with the fuchsia not pink
K superglued to the wall
because the mounting tape
would not work on the brick
next to broadsheet of Orlen
from the memorial gently framed
above the convertible couch
she used until she moved out
leaving me with my thoughts
and poetry to set.

Post Created Sep 16, 2011 10:34:20 AM

I wrote a poem for class Wednesday. A poem I won't post here because if it was a movie it would be rated NC 17. It was extremely adult in subject manner. I had no qualms turning it in and providing copies for my classmates since we are adults. At least, I thought we were.

After class, a classmate whom I've talked to a few other times and am on friendly terms with were discussing our poems. While we were talking about them, she told me how the guy who sits next to her responded to mine. He read the first line and demanded to know who I was. Just the first line. The line that has two profanities. The line that describes a sexual assault without implicitly stating it is such.

He would not read further. He judged my poem, and worse he judged me, by one line. One line that I intentionally made coarse and vulgar. I am not sure what he expects in a 400 level poetry class, but if he is that easily offended, perhaps he should switch to writing children's fiction.

Soul Separation

I was leaving my body behind
I was being drawn out
Not yet I thought
I started
A dream I must convince myself

I reached for you
Received no comfort
My small concern less important
Than the rain and the television

Post Created Aug 25, 2011 2:17:24 PM

All you want

All you want
Is my blood
To burn away
Your guilt

All I want
Is not to
Feel the anger
You left as
A consolation prize

Reruns

It's 2 am and I am watching a rerun of Roseanne. If I am awake at 2 am, I always watch Roseanne, even if it is one from the last season when they completely jumped the shark. I watch because of my mom.

She loved Roseanne. She identified with her. She also saw me as a real life equivalent of the character Darlene (which actually was my mom's name). I think she may have been right about that and a lot of other things. I miss my mom and I wish life had reruns you could play when you miss someone who has passed, but it doesn't. So I watch reruns of Roseanne.

A quick note to Facebook users

Dear Users of Facebook;


Facebook is not planning on becoming a paid site. There is no special education week . Most of those shocking videos are scams or viruses . Copy and paste statuses are rarely interesting or pertinent. Furthermore, writing happy birthday to your child as your Facebook status when your child is not even on Facebook just tells me you want attention. All those quizzes you do that tell you that if you were a wine, you'd be a MD40/40 and if you lived in the Harry Potter universe, you'd be a troll are not only extremely annoying, but are also an easy way for hackers to get enough personal information on you to steal your identity . Liking a lot of pages does not make you interesting. Posting a quote every so often is okay, but if you have nothing original to say ever, maybe you should log off and try this new 3D experience called "having a life."

Short Poem

This is a short poem I left on someone's Facebook wall.

Sleep and head into Nod
See the words fly
Away from the poet,
The musician, the writer
Chasing them like
...The ice cream trucks
Of Youth

Catch your words
Hold them tight
As you dream back to reality

Bad Parenting Advice

Parenting Tips

1. Lying is good. Always. Lie as often as possible to your children, they need to learn to detect lies as early as possible in order to deal with the real world.


2. Children are stupid. They will believe anything you tell them and have no cognative abilities.


3. Only build up hope in your children if you can crush it later. Tell little Snauflayke that she is the best singer in the world (even though she's tone deaf). Enter her into a talent competition and laugh when she doesn't make the second round.


4. Spoil your children, they deserve every cent spent on them and they should grow up feeling entitled. How else will they get a reality show?


5. Children who kick and bite others are a joy to be around. Encourage your children to explore their world with their teeth.


6. Do your children's homework for them and ignore the teachers who say they need to learn grammar and math. They can always learn those things in college.


7. Your children will never do anything wrong despite your complete lack of moral fiber. Everything is obviously someone else's fault. Georgie wouldn't have hit the Jenny if she had not called him a name and the teacher had been paying better attention.


8. Television is an excellent, and cheap, babysitter. Use it early and often.


9. Learning social skills is overrated. We're all going to have android friends in a few years anyway.


10. The best way to stop a tantrum is candy, lots of candy. Also soda and cake.


11. A little nip of Jack Daniels, some tylenol, or cough syrup is an excellent way to get a child to sleep so you can have some quiet t-shirt time.*


12. The teachers at your child's school are nothing more than way overpaid babysitters; treat them as such.


13. Kids can survive for years on Milky Ways and Mountain Dew.


14. Teach your child that every event is clothing optional.

*YSaC reference of an adult nature.

Blarg.

Blarg blarg blarg shiznu blarg.

I won't bleed for you.

I cannot donate blood for medical reasons. I know many others who also, for various reasons, cannot or chose not to donate blood. Their reasons, and mine, are no one’s business. When blood drives are run on campus or at work, they and occasionally I are hounded by well meaning, but ignorant people. If you ask someone to donate blood and they politely decline, the correct response is to accept it, not to ask why not and try to challenge their objections.


When I was still at Pima, I watched a volunteer harass a classmate. She was walking towards me to start a study group and he got in front of her, telling (not asking, mind you, but telling) her to sign up to give blood. She politely said, “I’m sorry, I can’t.” He told her that was ridiculous. She responded, “It’s for medical reasons.” By this time, I was not happy and I walked towards them. He asked, “What medical reason?” She started to answer, but I interrupted, “It’s none of your business. Shame on you for harassing her.” I was given a death glare and asked if I had donated yet. I looked him straight in the eye and said, “No, and I am not going to donate and my reasons are none of your business.”

Now, I am in favor of blood drives. They do a lot of good and they save lives. If you can donate medically and it is not against your religion or views, then I encourage you to donate as often as you can. However, do not pressure anyone to donate or harass people because they do not or cannot do the same.

Most of you know that I work at a grocery store that is part of a large chain in Arizona and owned by a national chain. I worked on Memorial Day, which I didn't mind because I can use all the hours I can get during the summer break. We were busy because apparently it makes the most sense to do all your holiday shopping on the holiday in question. For the most part, our customers were polite, well mannered, fairly sane, and reasonably intelligent. There were, of course, exceptions.

We were sampling ribs, so we had our store grill out front being used to cook said ribs. Now I am sure that most of you know that when a grill is being used, it gets hot and it would not be a good idea to play around with it. We set cones up around the grill, but seeing as we do not have, "leave the grill alone, it is hot, stupid" cones, we used the ones that simply said caution and have the falling man on them. Most of our customers were smart enough to figure out that the cones meant that we did not want them to get too close to the grill when our grillmaster was not there to physically prevent them. However, we had a customer, a grown man, decide that since the cones did not specifically say to leave the grill alone that it meant he could start investigating it. I scared him off just as he was about to put his hand on the side to see "how hot it gets when you cook it." My coworkers said I should have let him burn himself, but I hate to see anyone, even the stupid, hurt themselves.

Later in my shift, I was in the lot grabbing carts when a customer approached me. He had a look on his face that I've seen before, the "I have a problem and I want it to be your problem" look. I took a breath and smiled like a good wage slave. I then had an interesting conversation with him, I'll call him Captain Idiot...

Captain Idiot : "Hey, my car is over there, the green truck, and if I turn it off, it won't start up again. I have to run in really quick to get something. Can you keep an eye on it?"

Me: "No, I can't. We can't be responsible for it."

Captain Idiot : "Don't you have a security guard or something?"

Me: "Yes, but he can't watch it for you either. We cannot be liable..."

Captain Idiot (interrupting me): "I won't hold you guys reliable"

Me (walking away): "It doesn't matter, sir, our policy is clear on this."

Captain Idiot (shouting as he walks into the store): "Sorry you have to work on Memorial Day!"


He was in the store for half an hour and when he came back out, his piece of junk was still there, running and wasting gas.

Pick A Hand

I am ambidextrous. There is only about 5% of the world’s population who are considered ambi (no, I do not want to spell out ambidextrous a bunch of times), and most of these “ambi” people are converted lefties or right-handed people who have made a conscious effort to learn to use their non-dominant hand.* Around 10% of people in the United States are left handed by comparison.**

I am a natural ambi, I was not a lefty switched to righty or a righty who “picked up” left-handed skills. I have been this way since birth. My mother once told me that even as a baby, I would alternate hands with no preference for either. I was a rare find, an almost mythical beast. My mother was content to let me have no dominant hand, having already had a lefty and two righties.


In kindergarten, I met the first obstacle to my neither-handedness. My otherwise nice teacher did not believe ambidexterity truly existed. To her, it was like big foot or the perfect swimsuit for any woman over a size 6. She thought that I was just being obstinate when I would alternate hands midway through a writing lesson. Through gritted teeth told me, “choose a hand already.” I looked around and noticed most of the kids were using their right hands, so I chose to use my right one for writing. It was the first time I made a conscious decision to favor one hand over the other. When I got older, I taught myself to write with my left, but it will probably never be as good as my right.


Because I am an ambi, I don’t pay much attention to which hand I am using to eat unless I am sitting next to Jamila. She is a natural lefty. If I am sitting on her left, I will make a willful effort to use my left hand. It upsets her when she is placed to the right of a right handed person as she knows they will end up bumping into each other multiple times. She often had that trouble when she was in Head Start.


Having her in Head Start caused many headaches. First, they placed her in the Spanish speaking section. She speaks maybe three words (non food) of Spanish now, and she spoke less of it then. Secondly, the “teacher” (teacher is in quotation marks because that is what her title was, but I considered her as much a teacher as I consider the Flintstones to be a historically accurate cartoon) would “correct” her when she would do anything with her left hand.

Despite my daily complaints, this continued for weeks. I had enough the day I showed up early and she was crying because her “teacher” yelled at her, in Spanish, for knocking over another student’s glass when she was eating. I was not happy. I got down to Jamila’s level and I told her that she had done nothing wrong, that the adults had made a mistake by putting her in the middle instead of on the end. Then I voiced my displeasure to this “teacher” and her supervisor. After the stunned looks started to fade from their faces and the supervisor started to give me a weak apology, I let them know that my left-handed, English speaking daughter would not be returning and left without looking back. It was one of my momma bear moments. I am not a woman to be trifled with if I am in momma bear mode.


*I read this on some website that I am pretty sure was scientific or something, but I don’t remember the website name because I visit a *lot* of websites and I read a *lot* of stuff.


**I am pretty sure that I read this in “Left Handed Kids, Why are They So Different”- the 1997 edition, so it may be outdated information. I only remember the book because of how wrong it was in so many ways.

Regret - a haiku

I let a lover
leave Afraid I was to speak
the word to keep him

Random Thoughts

Just some random early morning thoughts -

In Rappiccini's Daughter, could the garden be a fallen Eden, Beatrice would be Adam, Gustavo would be Eve, Doctor Rappiccini would be the Creator, and Professor Baglioni would be the serpent.

I have several teachers recommend that I read Sharon Olds's poetry after reading mine. I have read her stuff, while she has an interesting style, I don't really enjoy reading her stuff.

I will never understand why people will walk further to leave a cart in the wrong place than they would have walked if they had left it in the cart corral.

David Spade's character on Rules of Engagement (I only watch it occasionally and only because it has Patrick (the Tick) Warburton) is not funny.

Carrot cake should not be called cake and if you serve it and call it cake, I will call you a liar.

I really want wall to wall bookcases.

How I Use Class Time

During class time, I have a bad habit of doodling or writing random little snippets of things. On Monday, listening to my ENGL 373B professor give yet another sex laden lecture this time focused on Whitman, I wrote, "Literature is his heroin." I kind of liked that so I wrote a (extremely) short poem with that as the first line. I still don't like the ending, but I'd figured I'd post it since it's been so long since I've added anything.

Professor S.

Literature is his heroin
Injects it into the minds of his students
The 72 year old dealer doles out Swift
Just a little taste of Whitman
Shooting up a bit of Defoe
A hit of Dickinson
Sex from the chandeliers with Kubla Kahn
Emerson cut with Keats
Freebasing the Shelleys
The only hope for this addiction - television rehab

A letter to a professor

I have liked most of my professors and even the ones I did not personally care for I have been able to at least learn something from. The professor that I call MegaBoring is a notable exception. I wrote a letter to MegaBoring on my way to her class tonight.


Dear professor,

When one speaks eloquently and succinctly on a subject of which one is passionate and knowledgeable, and uses humor to underscore one's particular viewpoint, an audience can become quite engaged even if they possess an opposing viewpoint or little interest in said subject. A professor who engages his students will be much appreciated, for a student will find the classwork less dreary and tiresome if he is invested in the subject.

You, professor, are passionate about many subjects; few of them have any relevance to the course you are teaching. You are knowledgeable but the small kernels you offer the class are often lost in the pointless blather you wrap around them. Even those students who originally were looking forward to learning about this subject became disillusioned and disinterested after only a class or two. The typing you hear while you speak is not students taking copious notes, rather it is students doing their homework from other classes, updating their FaceBook statuses, playing games, and anything other than actually paying attention to your rambling tangents that occasionally stray onto the actual topic on hand.
Sign me resigned to learn nothing.

Old poem

This is a collage poem I did last year. I didn't really have a theme or an idea in mind. I just cut out some words from the Tucson Weekly and kept rearranging them until I liked what I saw. It's a little schmaltzy, but I like it.

Totally Selfish am I

I decided something a couple of days ago; I want to try to find one nice thing to do for someone every day. It’s not about karma or being a “better person” or even about some life changing resolution.I just want that tiny thrill that comes with doing something for someone else. Basically, I want to do something nice for purely selfish reasons.

Angel Wings

I got an e-mail yesterday from the Pride Alliance at my campus. Brother Jed is back. To help shield fellow students from his hate, "angels" volunteer. To quote the e-mail,

" If you have not seen Project Angel, it is a project in which volunteers wear "angel wings" made of PVC pipe and sheets in order to block what Brother Jed is saying from the people who are walking by.This is made to prevent him from pointing people out. The demonstration is completely silent."

I decided to volunteer for today. As a Christian, Brother Jed offends me and I am saddened that there are others who agree with his racist, misogynistic, homophobic, and anti-Semitic views. I think the hardest part for me will be remaining silent.

After Rocky

This poem has adult language and situations in it. Please do not read it if you find such things objectional.



AFTER ROCKY

Grime coats the pillar
On the unused side of
The underground el station
Still I grip it tightly
As you thrust your cock
Even deeper into me
It hurts and I know blood
Will come as it always does
I say nothing to you
Enjoying the pain
Anticipating the pleasure

The platform hides
From our view
Trains pass
Unnoticed
Drops of sweat
Fall onto me

Brace thrust brace
Your arm lifts
My hips a fraction of an inch
Bettering your angle
Bringing us to the sacred O
At almost the same time
My head drops slightly
Then rises again

Your stubble scratches
My cheek agreeably
A chaste kiss
We walk over
And wait for our trains
Mine going to the western suburbs
Yours going back to the north side