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.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Monday, January 31, 2011
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
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
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Las Vegas and a poem
For Christmas, I went to Las Vegas with Jamila to see the other three. It was an interesting trip. It started with the plane there being delayed an hour and a half because the plane was waiting in Albuquerque for people who were delayed from other places. It came and we boarded. We were lucky and got a 3 seat row to ourselves. During the flight, I kept hitting the attention button when I meant to hit the light button and I spilled a full cup of ginger ale (no ice, of course) all over myself.
We got off the plane and looked for a shuttle when I realized I had forgotten to take out any cash. Back into the airport we went. I found an ATM and it was one of my bank's (yay!). I got the money, paid for the shuttle, and we waited for the driver on the wet sidewalk. We finally board the shuttle bus and head towards the various hotels that the driver has to service. The bus decides to break down as we approach the first hotel. The driver calls in to dispatch and they tell her to wait there for an emergency bus. So we sit on the bus as the other passengers get angry and storm off to find taxis. She was very sweet and we had a lot of laughs while we waited. About 55 minutes later, dispatch calls her and says the other bus is there but can't find us. She asks if he's at the right hotel at the right pick up spot. Then dispatch says the emergency bus driver "gave up and left" and she should just try to push the bus to our hotel and then baby it all the way to the yard.
We made it to the hotel around 11ish. There was a long line and two clerks were working. We noticed that the clerk that was wearing a blazer was much faster and friendlier than the clerk who was not. We decided that the blazer was +5 speed and +2 charisma. As we got towards the front, another clerk started working, he was also wearing a blazer and was quicker than his blazerless co-irker. We were checked in by the original blazer guy and made our way up to the room on the 13th floor. Yes, the 13th floor.
I found out the next day that he was supposed to give me a special coupon when we checked in for the "kids eat free" special that I had booked. I had to go downstairs (after a very long wait on the phone to get the information) and be questioned thoroughly to receive said coupon.
Later during the stay, the 3 younger ones and I went to eat some pizza while Jamila stayed in the room. She was in bed when the door opened. Some Chinese people had the wrong room and spoke almost no English. She tried to explain that they were in the wrong room and resorted to speaking in Japanese to their Chinese including reading out our room number in Japanese to them. That's when we realised that we did not need a key to open our door.
There was other stuff that happened, but I don't want to bore anyone. It was pretty much a typical trip with Jamila. Here's a poem I wrote in the beginning of the fall semester. It's untitled because it's untitled.
UNTITLED
Lost on Sheridan
A familiar curve
Oak Street beach is near
We arrive
Closed to public,
Golf course replacing beach
A hole in the fence
We sneak through
The rocks are still here
I step forward
She is split in two piles
One for me
One for her best friend
A few words said
I hold her in my hand
I let her go
I hold her in my hand
I let her go
The wind picks up over the lake
Throwing her back in our faces
One last kiss goodbye
We got off the plane and looked for a shuttle when I realized I had forgotten to take out any cash. Back into the airport we went. I found an ATM and it was one of my bank's (yay!). I got the money, paid for the shuttle, and we waited for the driver on the wet sidewalk. We finally board the shuttle bus and head towards the various hotels that the driver has to service. The bus decides to break down as we approach the first hotel. The driver calls in to dispatch and they tell her to wait there for an emergency bus. So we sit on the bus as the other passengers get angry and storm off to find taxis. She was very sweet and we had a lot of laughs while we waited. About 55 minutes later, dispatch calls her and says the other bus is there but can't find us. She asks if he's at the right hotel at the right pick up spot. Then dispatch says the emergency bus driver "gave up and left" and she should just try to push the bus to our hotel and then baby it all the way to the yard.
We made it to the hotel around 11ish. There was a long line and two clerks were working. We noticed that the clerk that was wearing a blazer was much faster and friendlier than the clerk who was not. We decided that the blazer was +5 speed and +2 charisma. As we got towards the front, another clerk started working, he was also wearing a blazer and was quicker than his blazerless co-irker. We were checked in by the original blazer guy and made our way up to the room on the 13th floor. Yes, the 13th floor.
I found out the next day that he was supposed to give me a special coupon when we checked in for the "kids eat free" special that I had booked. I had to go downstairs (after a very long wait on the phone to get the information) and be questioned thoroughly to receive said coupon.
Later during the stay, the 3 younger ones and I went to eat some pizza while Jamila stayed in the room. She was in bed when the door opened. Some Chinese people had the wrong room and spoke almost no English. She tried to explain that they were in the wrong room and resorted to speaking in Japanese to their Chinese including reading out our room number in Japanese to them. That's when we realised that we did not need a key to open our door.
There was other stuff that happened, but I don't want to bore anyone. It was pretty much a typical trip with Jamila. Here's a poem I wrote in the beginning of the fall semester. It's untitled because it's untitled.
UNTITLED
Lost on Sheridan
A familiar curve
Oak Street beach is near
We arrive
Closed to public,
Golf course replacing beach
A hole in the fence
We sneak through
The rocks are still here
I step forward
She is split in two piles
One for me
One for her best friend
A few words said
I hold her in my hand
I let her go
I hold her in my hand
I let her go
The wind picks up over the lake
Throwing her back in our faces
One last kiss goodbye
Monday, December 20, 2010
Spice Christ
I used "spice Christ" in this poem, some of you know where I got that from and some of you do not. If you don't know then you are missing out a really great website with a superb bunch of regular snarkers.
Also, this is a prose poem, so there are no line breaks. Fair warning, this poem has crude language and adult situations.
6 Weeks With S.C.
"and that was whenever I seen her last," he remarks of his not quite ex-wife in our post coital bed. Oh my dear Bob, I've fucked an idiot. I resist the urge to correct him. We part. He calls and we meet again. Great Zeus, he doesn't understand negative numbers. Dumbass. He asks me if I am threatened by his intelligence and I reply in a kind manner instead of laughing in his face because I am not yet done with his cock. He takes off his clothes. My brain quiets down so the rest of me may enjoy him. He speaks. Shut up moron, you'll ruin it. I kneel and shut off his meager brain. He's just so damn pretty. The body I wish for Stephen Hawking. He pays for my cocoa at the coffee shop. He tries to hold my hand as we walk to his car. He wants me to meet his mother. Holy fat Buddha, he thinks we're in an actual relationship. "Fuck," I mutter. He replies, "we did." Sweet spice Christ, that's almost clever.
Also, this is a prose poem, so there are no line breaks. Fair warning, this poem has crude language and adult situations.
6 Weeks With S.C.
"and that was whenever I seen her last," he remarks of his not quite ex-wife in our post coital bed. Oh my dear Bob, I've fucked an idiot. I resist the urge to correct him. We part. He calls and we meet again. Great Zeus, he doesn't understand negative numbers. Dumbass. He asks me if I am threatened by his intelligence and I reply in a kind manner instead of laughing in his face because I am not yet done with his cock. He takes off his clothes. My brain quiets down so the rest of me may enjoy him. He speaks. Shut up moron, you'll ruin it. I kneel and shut off his meager brain. He's just so damn pretty. The body I wish for Stephen Hawking. He pays for my cocoa at the coffee shop. He tries to hold my hand as we walk to his car. He wants me to meet his mother. Holy fat Buddha, he thinks we're in an actual relationship. "Fuck," I mutter. He replies, "we did." Sweet spice Christ, that's almost clever.
Saturday, December 18, 2010
CRADLE
Whenever my daughter tells me she’s done something incredibly stupid
I ask if she’s outdone my great uncle Cradle
Cradle isn’t his given name but being the youngest,
It was what everyone called him
Life on the farm in the 20s and 30s could get tedious
Convince Cradle became a game four of his older brothers would play
“Milk tastes best from the teat Cradle”
A round of antibiotics was required
“Ma found you on the doorstep Cradle”
His birth certificate was the only thing that stopped his tears
“Hey Cradle, do you want be a paratrooper?”
Cradle agreed readily
Who wouldn’t want to be a war hero?
They took him out to the old barn with the peeling red paint
Up to the dusty hayloft barren except for a few spiders looking for a new home
Since the hay bales had been cleared and sold a few weeks ago
They led him out the barn window out onto the roof
Their sister Diamond saw them from where she was scattering corn for the hens
They called to her, “Bring us Ma’s old umbrella”
She did as she was bid and joined them up on the roof of the barn
“Take the umbrella Cradle. Jump, count to three and open it, it’ll be like a parachute”
Cradle jumped.
His leg took six weeks to heal in a cast
While his leg healed, his brothers did his chores
They chided him for waiting too long to open the umbrella
“If you had opened it on time, you would have been fine”
He had counted to three he argued
“When did you start your count? After you jumped? That’s too late”
The cast came off and his brothers took him back to the barn
“Do it right this time Cradle. How can you be a paratrooper if you can’t even count to three?”
I ask if she’s outdone my great uncle Cradle
Cradle isn’t his given name but being the youngest,
It was what everyone called him
Life on the farm in the 20s and 30s could get tedious
Convince Cradle became a game four of his older brothers would play
“Milk tastes best from the teat Cradle”
A round of antibiotics was required
“Ma found you on the doorstep Cradle”
His birth certificate was the only thing that stopped his tears
“Hey Cradle, do you want be a paratrooper?”
Cradle agreed readily
Who wouldn’t want to be a war hero?
They took him out to the old barn with the peeling red paint
Up to the dusty hayloft barren except for a few spiders looking for a new home
Since the hay bales had been cleared and sold a few weeks ago
They led him out the barn window out onto the roof
Their sister Diamond saw them from where she was scattering corn for the hens
They called to her, “Bring us Ma’s old umbrella”
She did as she was bid and joined them up on the roof of the barn
“Take the umbrella Cradle. Jump, count to three and open it, it’ll be like a parachute”
Cradle jumped.
His leg took six weeks to heal in a cast
While his leg healed, his brothers did his chores
They chided him for waiting too long to open the umbrella
“If you had opened it on time, you would have been fine”
He had counted to three he argued
“When did you start your count? After you jumped? That’s too late”
The cast came off and his brothers took him back to the barn
“Do it right this time Cradle. How can you be a paratrooper if you can’t even count to three?”
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Professor Hottie
This is the poem I didn't send in to the grad student who's filling in for Poetry Professor. I sent him one about sex ed, teen pregnancy, stds, prostitution, and infidelity instead.
EDIT- To clarify, Poetry Professor is not Professor Hottie
Professor Hottie
My professor smiles revealing
Two symmetrical dips, one in
Each cherubic cheek
My eyes hunger for a peek
Under his academic shell
His nutmeg and cinnamon orbs
Search the class for a volunteer
I almost always have something
To add to the discussion
Which he rarely steers preferring
A more open forum
He draws a picture on the whiteboard
Which hardly resembles the cow he
Claims it to be, Pictionary, he tells us
Is not a game we should play with him
His arms firm yet supple extend as he
Adds what he insists is a barn
His top two shirt buttons are undone today
Revealing his creamy skin beneath
I imagine the rest of his chest to be
Toned but soft and smooth like Michelangelo’s
David wrapped in layers of silk
My professor turns to face the board again
My eyes drift down to the tight roundness
That shapes the top of his pants
My left hand squeezes my laptop almost involuntarily
I force my eyes up to the back of his neck
He turns to face the class again pushing
A curl temporarily back into place
He quickly wraps up the discussion as
We put away our laptops, notebooks, and folders
I wonder if he knows what his female students
Call him when he and the male students aren’t around
EDIT- To clarify, Poetry Professor is not Professor Hottie
Professor Hottie
My professor smiles revealing
Two symmetrical dips, one in
Each cherubic cheek
My eyes hunger for a peek
Under his academic shell
His nutmeg and cinnamon orbs
Search the class for a volunteer
I almost always have something
To add to the discussion
Which he rarely steers preferring
A more open forum
He draws a picture on the whiteboard
Which hardly resembles the cow he
Claims it to be, Pictionary, he tells us
Is not a game we should play with him
His arms firm yet supple extend as he
Adds what he insists is a barn
His top two shirt buttons are undone today
Revealing his creamy skin beneath
I imagine the rest of his chest to be
Toned but soft and smooth like Michelangelo’s
David wrapped in layers of silk
My professor turns to face the board again
My eyes drift down to the tight roundness
That shapes the top of his pants
My left hand squeezes my laptop almost involuntarily
I force my eyes up to the back of his neck
He turns to face the class again pushing
A curl temporarily back into place
He quickly wraps up the discussion as
We put away our laptops, notebooks, and folders
I wonder if he knows what his female students
Call him when he and the male students aren’t around
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Leisure Time
I should write more poetry
I should write more stories
But homework needs doing
Work must come before
My other life
If I were rich
I might have time
To write the next novel
But what would I write about?
I should write more stories
But homework needs doing
Work must come before
My other life
If I were rich
I might have time
To write the next novel
But what would I write about?
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