With a mouthful of dirt I quickly got to my feet. The warm summer air created a haze that blurred my view of the ominous beehive in the distance. A swift glance over my shoulder revealed my companion toppling over the sinister log. “This looks like a good one,” Marcus remarked as he spit a rather large clump of dirt from his mouth. “Yeah, a painful one,” I replied. Do you see how many there are? I hope you remembered the band aids.” “Why the hell would I bring band aids you stupid kid,” shouted Marcus. “I don’t think they would be of any use to help with the stingers.” “Don’t call me stupid, you’re the one who is failing math,” I retaliated. Ten minutes later we rose from the ground covered in dirt and wiping blood from our noses and lips. In spite of this small struggle, no lasting anger remained between us.
Sweat and grime covered our bodies as we took sniping positions atop a large boulder overlooking the ancient oak tree. I set up ten pellets by my side and slid the first one into the barrel. “Okay so whatever happens, that queen bee must rest on the sole of either of ours shoes,” I said. I have been waiting for vengeance for the past two weeks ever since one stung me in the heel. “First let’s take care of this one,” said Marcus as he pinned a stray bee under his shoe. “Ready?” I asked. With a nod, Marcus and I carefully took aim as brothers in arms.
3.18.2009
Noticing Cracks -
About a month ago
a small pebble hit the window of my car.
The damage began as a small knick,
no bigger than an ant.
Over the course of the month
that small knick grew.
So the once unnoticeable scratch
now resembled branches of a mesquite tree
Etched across my glass.
I now have to replace the whole window
or bear the cracks.
My brother, Riel, recently ran into an old friend,
Whom he has claimed to hate for three years now.
Riel told me about their great memories,
And admitted how he missed that old friend
But, when I suggested that he call him
He said he couldn’t,
The grudge had gone on for too long.
Be weary of holding grudges
And keeping disagreements alive,
They begin as small and stupid,
And if not addressed soon
They spread and slice through your life
Like the branches of a mesquite tree.
-Chaviess
a small pebble hit the window of my car.
The damage began as a small knick,
no bigger than an ant.
Over the course of the month
that small knick grew.
So the once unnoticeable scratch
now resembled branches of a mesquite tree
Etched across my glass.
I now have to replace the whole window
or bear the cracks.
My brother, Riel, recently ran into an old friend,
Whom he has claimed to hate for three years now.
Riel told me about their great memories,
And admitted how he missed that old friend
But, when I suggested that he call him
He said he couldn’t,
The grudge had gone on for too long.
Be weary of holding grudges
And keeping disagreements alive,
They begin as small and stupid,
And if not addressed soon
They spread and slice through your life
Like the branches of a mesquite tree.
-Chaviess
3.17.2009
Mimicry of "This Moment"
Mimicry of "This Moment"
Armory Park
At noon.
Things are getting ready
to happen
out of thin air.
Strings and woodwinds,
and a rolling xylophone.
But not yet.
First stubborn sticky pegs,
a shrill from the piccolo.
A baton slowly rises
and silence fills the room
this moment.
A downbeat,
and rosin flies from the twang of the string.
Rehearsal begins.
By Sarah Tatman
The Great War of Second Grade
Omar and I stood face to face, each holding our weapons of choice, and our respective armies behind us. I clutched my bow tightly in one hand and stroked the foam tipped arrow with the other. I watched him put his hand on the double barrel Nerf gun that slung across his waist. This was the calm before the storm, the standoff before the duel. If we were outside a bushel of tumbleweeds would have passed in front of us to set the tone of battle. Anything could shatter the fragile peace that hung between the two of us. A member of my army, which was also known as the spitting cobras, decided to strike a member of Omar’s Army, which was also known as the wolf’s claw, with his glow in the dark lightsabre. And so the Great War of Second Grade began.
Omar tackled my right hand man, Aamir, got on top of him and fired his double barrel Nerf gun point blank on his chest, causing Aamir to weep in defeat. I took out an arrow from the quill, slung back the string, and let the arrow whizz through the air where it met its mark; the nose of Omar’s best friend, Osama. He instantly doubled over, clenched his nose and cried for mommy. I quickly fired off my final two arrows and made two more babies wail. But before I could savor my 100% head shot accuracy, I felt my feet loose the ground, and my head hit the soft blue rug. Osama had tripped me, sat upon my chest, and now began to raise his plastic Samurai sword. As the sword began to accelerate towards me, I shut my eyes to brace for the blow. A second later I felt his weight lift off my body. I opened my eyes to see Osama in the same position I was in with Aamir sitting on top of him. I nodded a thank you to Aamir, and struggled to regain my footing, but once I did I knew the time had arrived.
Omar and I were on opposite sides of the “Big Blue Room,” but once our eyes met, the room shrunk, and the ultimate showdown of ultimate destiny had begun. I dropped my bow, unsheathed my Pirate sword, and sprinted towards him. He threw down his double barrel Nerf gun, pulled his Power Ranger dagger out of his sock, and stood waiting for me. We were just about find out the answer to the age old question: what happens when and unstoppable force meets and immovable object. The answer would have been epic, if our older brothers had not intervened.
Ahsan, my brother, tackled me before I reached my target, and Ahmed, Omar’s brother, slapped the dagger out of Omar’s hand and pushed him to the ground. Our brothers, both of whom were two years older than us, cackled at their superiority over us, and congratulated each other for averting a catastrophe.
Without a single word being exchanged between me and Omar we knew what to do. Omar and I called upon the spitting cobras, and the wolf’s claw to join forces and attack our older brothers. Me, Omar, and our collective posse came together to defeat a common enemy, and in doing so forged a friendship in the fires of battle.
Omar tackled my right hand man, Aamir, got on top of him and fired his double barrel Nerf gun point blank on his chest, causing Aamir to weep in defeat. I took out an arrow from the quill, slung back the string, and let the arrow whizz through the air where it met its mark; the nose of Omar’s best friend, Osama. He instantly doubled over, clenched his nose and cried for mommy. I quickly fired off my final two arrows and made two more babies wail. But before I could savor my 100% head shot accuracy, I felt my feet loose the ground, and my head hit the soft blue rug. Osama had tripped me, sat upon my chest, and now began to raise his plastic Samurai sword. As the sword began to accelerate towards me, I shut my eyes to brace for the blow. A second later I felt his weight lift off my body. I opened my eyes to see Osama in the same position I was in with Aamir sitting on top of him. I nodded a thank you to Aamir, and struggled to regain my footing, but once I did I knew the time had arrived.
Omar and I were on opposite sides of the “Big Blue Room,” but once our eyes met, the room shrunk, and the ultimate showdown of ultimate destiny had begun. I dropped my bow, unsheathed my Pirate sword, and sprinted towards him. He threw down his double barrel Nerf gun, pulled his Power Ranger dagger out of his sock, and stood waiting for me. We were just about find out the answer to the age old question: what happens when and unstoppable force meets and immovable object. The answer would have been epic, if our older brothers had not intervened.
Ahsan, my brother, tackled me before I reached my target, and Ahmed, Omar’s brother, slapped the dagger out of Omar’s hand and pushed him to the ground. Our brothers, both of whom were two years older than us, cackled at their superiority over us, and congratulated each other for averting a catastrophe.
Without a single word being exchanged between me and Omar we knew what to do. Omar and I called upon the spitting cobras, and the wolf’s claw to join forces and attack our older brothers. Me, Omar, and our collective posse came together to defeat a common enemy, and in doing so forged a friendship in the fires of battle.
"In the Night" mimicry of "This Moment" by Eavan Boland
A park.
At dusk.
No one will see the changes
About to unfold
The moon's light, the star's gleam
And the dog chasing his tail
But not yet.
One grassy patch is yellow
A new leaf emerges, one that noone's ever seen before
Helmets in hand
Young boys playfully skip to the field
Blanketed by the night's sky
The wind chills
Mountains vanish
Children age in the dark
At dusk.
No one will see the changes
About to unfold
The moon's light, the star's gleam
And the dog chasing his tail
But not yet.
One grassy patch is yellow
A new leaf emerges, one that noone's ever seen before
Helmets in hand
Young boys playfully skip to the field
Blanketed by the night's sky
The wind chills
Mountains vanish
Children age in the dark
"Three Little Birds": Mimicry of Mary Oliver's "Why I Wake Early"
Hello sun splash
Hello to you
Who wakes me up everyday
You lighten up my room and my house
You wake up everything
Including the mouse
Hello sun
You put the night away
Hello sun
You brighten up my day.
Tangled: Response to Sarah Tatman's Art
Our lives are all intertwined
with each others
and even with ourselves.
Some of us wear thorns on the outside
to defend from pain,
or more truly
to hide from the possibility
of imperfections.
We all have petals that we will lose,
that will take away from our outer beauty,
but we also have leaves that will reappear
and remind us
of our inner youth.
There is confusion, speed, and directionless direction
imbedded through our stems.
Our color can fade and rejuvenate with our emotions,
but despite it all,
the fear, the joy, the hate, the perplexities, and depravities
we are all beautiful
just like the rose that may prick our finger, and make us bleed,
only to remind us
we are alive.
with each others
and even with ourselves.
Some of us wear thorns on the outside
to defend from pain,
or more truly
to hide from the possibility
of imperfections.
We all have petals that we will lose,
that will take away from our outer beauty,
but we also have leaves that will reappear
and remind us
of our inner youth.
There is confusion, speed, and directionless direction
imbedded through our stems.
Our color can fade and rejuvenate with our emotions,
but despite it all,
the fear, the joy, the hate, the perplexities, and depravities
we are all beautiful
just like the rose that may prick our finger, and make us bleed,
only to remind us
we are alive.
Sonnet 1
Sonnet 1
Que tengo líneas mente de amor,
escrito por la mano hombroso.
Son algo que siempre da dolor?
Se puede los borrar tiempo paso?
There's something about a different stream of thought
that passes in a language not your own
that let's you seep in something you might not
absorb in just the company of your own.
Subconscious tells me I should let him know
our love is bound so inward in my brain
that as I let the other rhythms go
new ripples trace the force behind the pain.
Mañana cantaré la canción
Que sabe, junta mente y corazón.
-Rachel Rosenberg
Que tengo líneas mente de amor,
escrito por la mano hombroso.
Son algo que siempre da dolor?
Se puede los borrar tiempo paso?
There's something about a different stream of thought
that passes in a language not your own
that let's you seep in something you might not
absorb in just the company of your own.
Subconscious tells me I should let him know
our love is bound so inward in my brain
that as I let the other rhythms go
new ripples trace the force behind the pain.
Mañana cantaré la canción
Que sabe, junta mente y corazón.
-Rachel Rosenberg
Mimicry of Pat Schneider's "The Patience of Ordinary Things"
It is a kind of love, is it not?
How the case holds its CD,
how the earring rack cradles the posts,
how the paper receives the stab of a pen
or pencil. How the pen knows
what it's supposed to write.
I've been thinking about the patience
of ordinary things, how a blanket
folds comfortably at the bottom of a bed,
and a toothbrush drips in its cup,
and the carpet soaks up the sun,
shimmering through the window.
And the swirling metal of a slinky.
And what is more giving than a book?
How the case holds its CD,
how the earring rack cradles the posts,
how the paper receives the stab of a pen
or pencil. How the pen knows
what it's supposed to write.
I've been thinking about the patience
of ordinary things, how a blanket
folds comfortably at the bottom of a bed,
and a toothbrush drips in its cup,
and the carpet soaks up the sun,
shimmering through the window.
And the swirling metal of a slinky.
And what is more giving than a book?
3.16.2009
"Under the Wings of the Butterfly" Immitation of "How to Listen"
I am going to lie limp on the grass of the park
like a child tired from play;
I am going to watch as a butterfly dips
softly, carefree, beneath the canopy of the mulberry tree--
its powdered wings catching wind
and carrying itself along the breeze.
I am going to allow the breeze to relieve
me of unwanted thoughts, under the wings of the butterfly.
For once, I will not think about a problem,
or task undone.
For once, I am going to let my mind wander,
just as the butterfly.
An Untitled Poem: Response to "Witness"
I am a witness.
I witness my own life
as it passes me by on the sidewalk
with a casual nod
of acknowledgement.
I witness time
ticking along--
a constant reminder
of my fragile humanity
being held like a porcelain doll
in God's steady hands.
I am a witness.
I witness my own life
as it passes me by on the sidewalk
with a casual nod
of acknowledgement.
I witness time
ticking along--
a constant reminder
of my fragile humanity
being held like a porcelain doll
in God's steady hands.
I am a witness.
"Control"
I am going to hunch my back like an old man
with a cane and plant myself in the white leather chair.
I am going to be washed by the pink
sunset which has splattered itself all over the mountain.
I am going to pay attention to our lives
zooming quickly past like shooting stars.
For once, we won't talk about the unraveling
economy or the fancy Mustang that crisply sings.
For once, I am going to ignore the whirling emotions,
thoughts, and chaos
so I can take the moment to stop.
Breathe
inhale, exhale.
And realize that I
am in control.
with a cane and plant myself in the white leather chair.
I am going to be washed by the pink
sunset which has splattered itself all over the mountain.
I am going to pay attention to our lives
zooming quickly past like shooting stars.
For once, we won't talk about the unraveling
economy or the fancy Mustang that crisply sings.
For once, I am going to ignore the whirling emotions,
thoughts, and chaos
so I can take the moment to stop.
Breathe
inhale, exhale.
And realize that I
am in control.
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