tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-48068683026471563502024-02-06T23:31:17.647-08:00Through The Pen and PaperAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00699852319503916438noreply@blogger.comBlogger14125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4806868302647156350.post-83555246665551719162012-08-23T17:51:00.002-07:002012-08-23T17:51:50.673-07:00Shuttle HuddleFall semester is right around the corner and I thought I would share a poem about the shuttle bus that takes Umass Boston students from the train to the campus center and vice versa. Enjoy!<br /><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">
<u>Shuttle Huddle </u></div>
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Her small hand grips the gray rubber strap. </div>
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Her hand tightens with every curve of the crowded bus. </div>
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Her body sways around the backpacks, </div>
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Conversation,</div>
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Words.</div>
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Why do we need to fill the air with words so a five </div>
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Minute bus ride is less awkward? </div>
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Her coat becomes tighter with every pointless conversation. </div>
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With every intake of breath. </div>
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The hum of the bus is drowning. </div>
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Drowning out particular sentences and words. </div>
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The voices become apart of the hum. </div>
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Steady.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00699852319503916438noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4806868302647156350.post-19103613857931089802012-08-19T19:38:00.000-07:002012-08-19T19:38:11.291-07:00Her First FuneralThis is a poem about the first funeral I ever went to a funeral. R.I.P <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">Bluey</span>!<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">
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Her First Funeral </div>
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She was running around on Beckler Ave </div>
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Just another ordinary Saturday of her six-year-old life. </div>
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She saw a lifeless body in the middle of the dead-end street. </div>
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A dead bird… a blue jay </div>
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She knew the bird had already passed </div>
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But wanted to put the bird in a safe place. </div>
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The funeral procession started at Beckler Ave and ended in her backyard. </div>
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Gingerly holding the bird, she gazed upon the creature. </div>
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"Bluey" she whispered. </div>
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She worked silently and </div>
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Dug a small grave and </div>
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Built a makeshift cross. </div>
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The bird was buried and with the final pat of the dirt she knew </div>
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Bluey would forever remain in peace </div>
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In the grave that she created </div>
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On that ordinary Saturday.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00699852319503916438noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4806868302647156350.post-20347414541555976792012-08-12T16:17:00.001-07:002012-08-12T16:17:54.272-07:00Trigger FingerThis is a flash fiction piece about the first time I went to New Mexico and the first time I shot a gun. Enjoy!<br /><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">
<u>Trigger Finger </u></div>
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The desert sun beats down on the red sand. The ripples in the sand become more frequent and wider as the wind blows. The sound of a round of bullets being released from a chamber is the only noise. She feels as small as the grains of sand that surrounds her small knees. She is from a land of tall buildings, constant noises, and guns that are only used to kill people. But, she takes a deep breath, looks through the small scope of the light .22, focuses on the beer bottle, and pushes her cold pointer finger on the black thin trigger.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00699852319503916438noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4806868302647156350.post-81216942780536996502012-07-31T17:50:00.002-07:002012-07-31T17:59:54.697-07:00I AMI wrote this poem in a creative writing class I took last semester at Umass Boston. The teacher told us to just start writing and then she would say a word that we had to incorporate into the writing. This is what I ended up with and I have underlined the words she told us to use.<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">N.d. Photograph. The Blog Is Mine. Slarhel Karotkl, 15 Dec. 2009. Web. 31 July 2012. <http://www.theblogismine.com/2009/12/15/awesome-black-and-white-photography/>.</span></div>
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I AM <u><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple;">purple</span></u>. </div>
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I have been stitched carefully. </div>
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A mistake in a stitch was the <u>mis-education</u> of </div>
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My maker. My color is a <u>punch</u> to the senses and I drip </div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple;">Purple</span> like a sparrow dripping with <u>blood</u>. Hateful words can be </div>
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Wrapped around you if you stand on a <u>soapbox</u> and preach. That's what </div>
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My mother always told me. Instead I scream at the <u>ocean</u>. I look up as the sun </div>
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Bursts open like a can of <u>yellow paint</u>. I look at the water and scream. I scream until </div>
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A <u>plastic bag</u> drifts by. It taunts me. I break its serenity and jump in. The water washes my <u>starvation</u> for attention away and I AM the water.<br />
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</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00699852319503916438noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4806868302647156350.post-57319844129913354192012-07-29T11:21:00.000-07:002012-07-29T11:22:38.932-07:00Train WreckI started to write this poem when I was waiting for my train to come. I was sitting next to a lady who yelled at her son, who had to be three or four, to "get the fuck back". When I saw this scene, I decided to write...<br />
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<u>Train Wreck </u></div>
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I creep towards the dirty yellow strip. </div>
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"Get the fuck back over here". </div>
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I turn around to the voice of </div>
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My mother. </div>
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Her words make strangers uneasy and </div>
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Turn away. </div>
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But, when they see my eyes they understand. </div>
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Three years ago, when I was closer to her. </div>
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As close as a child can be </div>
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The doctor told her, </div>
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"Make sure to mix probiotics in your juice". </div>
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She mixed vodka. </div>
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The doctor told her, </div>
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"The boy wont survive if you keep this up". </div>
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She didn’t listen but </div>
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I survived. </div>
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"The train is coming you fucking idiot. Come here!" </div>
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Sometimes I wish the doctor won and </div>
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My mother had lost.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00699852319503916438noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4806868302647156350.post-59259991773313100822012-07-28T11:47:00.000-07:002012-07-28T11:48:08.845-07:00Facts About The Moon And StarI wrote this while my boyfriend was deployed and I was really missing him. We love the movie <i>It's A Wonderful Life. </i>In particular the "you want the moon?" scene...<br />
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I decided to write a poem about a moon and star :)</div>
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<u>Facts About The Moon And Star </u></div>
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After "Facts About The Moon" by Dorianne Laux </div>
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A massive shimmering sphere of plasma held together by gravity. </div>
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Its interior power prevents it from collapsing under its own gravity. </div>
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The star scopes out the gargantuan ball of iron </div>
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Mantle </div>
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Nickel </div>
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Oxygen </div>
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Potassium </div>
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Sulfur </div>
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Uranium </div>
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And sighs at its presence. If the moon is there, she is there. Right? </div>
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The star wants to tell the moon that its presence, not the inner pressure within her, prevents her from collapsing. </div>
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But it's too far away like </div>
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A woman away from the man she loves with a sky between them that is </div>
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Unbearable. </div>
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The fact that they share the same sky is comforting. Looking up they see </div>
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The same moon. </div>
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The same star.</div>
</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00699852319503916438noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4806868302647156350.post-40107672306673708802012-07-28T11:35:00.001-07:002012-07-28T11:35:27.222-07:00White Noise<div>
I have been working on a short story. The character for this story was inspired by a real person. I see him every once in awhile on the corner handing out pens and Jesus pamphlets. I have always wondered what his back story was so I decided to write one for him. Enjoy! The ending is not really how I want it but here it is...</div>
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<u>White Noise</u> </div>
<br /> The AC was on full blast and it hit my sun-scorched face as they opened the door for me. The room I was brought to was even colder. The ancient camera was mounted on a white wall. My clothes matched the peeling wallpaper around me- tattered and drained of color. The smell of three nights of drinking dripped out of me. I stood facing the camera as the photo that would forever capture the pitfall of my life flashed before my bloodshot eyes. <br /><br /> An hour ago I was picked up for smashing my fist into the glass of a bookstore front. I wasn’t going to steal nothing. I was just pissed that Jack was closing the bar early and there happened to be some ugly motherfucker looking at me. Realized later that the ugly motherfucker was me. Once I broke the glass, I remember seeing this book. There was a sun on and it and I swear it looked straight into my eyes. It looked fucking freaky. Right above this freaky sun was the words and book that changed my life forever, “The Power Of Myth”. Once I got released I went to the same bookstore and bought this book. I was laughing the whole time because these idiots didn’t even know that I was the same asshole who fucked up their store. The girl looked at me like I was on drugs. That night after work I sat down and read this book. As soon as I started reading Joseph Campbell I quit my job, stopped drinking, and fucking hookers. Joseph led me to become religious. <br /><br /> I went to my local church and some guy with a turned around collar handed me a bunch of pamphlets to give out to “potential brothers and sisters who need to be saved by our Lord”. He promised to pay me a little money and I wanted to “spread the word” as they call it so I took a whole bunch of them. I walked to the corner between Ashmont Street and Dot Ave with the outline to find Jesus Christ in my left hand. <br /><br /> “Hey buddy! You wanna find Jesus Christ on this lovely Saturday afternoon?” <br /><br /> No answer. Not even a glance towards me. <br /><br /> “Ma’am? “ <br /><br /> Nope. <br /><br /> “Hey Kid! Take this home and read it!” <br /><br /> “Fuck off” said the asshole on the skateboard. <br /><br /> <br /><br />I found out quickly that this was not working. Apparently these dickheads didn’t want to be saved by the Lord Jesus Christ today. So, I concluded that buddy, ma’am, and asshole on the skateboard were going to Hell and I was going to go across the street to get a box of pens and a pack of cigarettes. Once I got back to my corner I beat the pack of cigarettes against my right wrist to pack the tobacco down to the filter. I always felt accomplished when I opened the pack and the cigarettes were in a small neat square. Counting to five I flipped over the lucky cancer stick. That one I’d save for last. I got the only lighter I could find from my bag. It was white and that was bad luck. Before lighting the square, I blessed myself. I’m in the clear. <br /><br /> The flame rose from the metal as I sparked it and soon my treat was lit. Sucking in the smoke I started to remember how good it tasted to have a cigarette with a glass of Jack. How good a cigarette was after beating the fuck out of some son of a bitch that looked at me funny. I shook my head as if these thoughts would plop out of my head and onto the gray ground. I have to remember how good it was going to feel to have this cigarette, then attach these pens to pamphlets, and save people. Everyone loved a new pen. <br /><br /> After standing out on my corner for hours and down to my lucky cigarette I was tired and ready to go back home to my television when I saw dark suit. “Hey buddy! You wanna find Jesus?” was repeated so many times that he switched to just asking passerbys, “You wanna free pen?” This got more of a response. Dark suit was coming out of the station. He was looking at the ground and making an effort not to look at me. As soon as I saw him I knew I had to ask this person. He knew that face, that walk, and could almost feel the weight they carried on their shoulders. I just knew I had to switch back to my first question. <br /><br /> “Sir?” I also switched from buddy to sir because dark suit looked more of a sir than a buddy kind of guy. I was good at picking up this kind of stuff by just looking at a man’s walk. <br /><br /> “Sir? Would you like to find Jesus today?” <br /><br />Dark suit slowed down and looked like he was going to keep going. But, he came six inches away from Frank’s unshaven face in three tiny steps towards him and whispered. <br /><br /> “Do I want to find Jesus? How about you go ask my wife who just left me for the fucking neighbor and took my kid. He didn’t even give me back my lawn mower. How the fuck am I going to mow my lawn when the grass grows back? Huh? Can Jesus help me out with this one? Can he resurrect a new lawn mower for me? <br /><br />Frank stood there motionless then looked at the pen that was attached to the pamphlet and asked, “Do you wanna free pen?” <br /><br /> That guy made my night. If I wasn’t on the path to becoming saved I would have taken him out for a beer. But, now I couldn’t associate with guys who went in people’s face talking about how Jesus can’t help them out. I was done for the night and decided to walk home. But before that I went to get a fresh pack of Marlboros. When he was in there he thought about Dark suit. If I was at my lowest would Jesus help me out? Let’s see. I bought a bottle of Jack and headed home. <br /><br /> The clear glass was filled with ice cubes and Jack. I had poured it and placed it on the bible. I’ve done this before. Tested myself. But, this time I had actually poured myself a drink. I would usually go to the store, buy it, walk out the store, and end up throwing it away at the trash can that stood at the corner. Not this time. Jack had made it all the way home to his one bedroom apartment. He was open and poured. I took the glass off the bible ready to dump it down the drain when I saw the ring it had left. Seeing that ring of condensation triggered something inside of me. This is just a book. A book of words made up by who the fuck knows. It’s nothing special. Dark suit was right. Where was Jesus now? Where was God? God wasn’t helping him with the temptation of Jack. He wasn’t helping him get a decent job to pay his bills. For all he knew, all Jesus did was make him hand out pamphlets in the freezing cold and look like a complete asshole. He didn’t need a book of made up stories anymore. He needed someone to hand him a pamphlet on how to get through his life. <br /><br /> I ran my fingers over the ring and spread the condensation around the book and over the gold letters. This book didn’t make me happy. I poured the glass of Jack down my throat and filled it up again. I quit my job? The second glass was empty again. I poured myself another glass. What was I doing? Thinking I could become this Jesus loving, pamphlet giving son of a bitch. I laid down and starting thinking of her again. She made me happy. I closed my eyes. <br /><br /> It had been a sweltering summer day and the evening cooled the earth. The sun was setting on the waves and the hood of the 1960 powder blue Ford thunderbird. All the windows were down and time didn’t matter. My cologne reached her sticky seat and planted itself in her black hair as the breeze blew in from the west. Her blue dress stuck to her for a brief moment then released, going back to its normal shape. When the wind stopped she slid with ease to the close the space between us and dissolve the smell of the ocean as I breathed in her beautiful scent. <br /><br /> That had been one of the best days of my life until I had crashed that thunderbird into another car going the wrong way. She died instantly. I survived. Me. I survived. Why didn’t God give me a flat tire when we were leaving the beach? I realized that God didn’t help me out then and he wasn’t going to help me out now. <br /><br /> Frank turned on the television, turned his back to it, and fell asleep to the sound of white noise.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00699852319503916438noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4806868302647156350.post-38089456416527277132012-07-28T11:20:00.001-07:002012-07-28T11:20:50.939-07:00Garden Of ChivesThis poem is dark. I got inspired to write it after watching The Wire. If you haven't watched this series- watch it! Every season touched upon something different whether it was the drug dealers, the school system, the longshoremen, the media, the politicians, or the city government in Baltimore, Maryland. This poem was inspired by the season that focused on the drug dealers and drug addicts of West Baltimore.<br />
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<u>Garden of Chives</u></div>
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The stick of happiness burrows into my skin.<br />It tears next to the freckle that<br />My mother would always kiss.<br />It tears into the purple vein that pulses<br />From excitement.<br />Happiness is injected into the purple pulsing passageway<br />And I'm gone.<br />But back.<br />Back to the small garden full of chives.<br />I can almost feel the onion taste in my mouth.<br />I run back to my mother<br />As she embraces my small body and the scent.<br />She doesn’t get mad at me for eating the garden of chives.<br />Then I finish the ride of my high and I'm back.<br />Back to the empty redbrick row house staring at the<br />Plywood that’s used as my door.<br />The tiny hole in the middle reveals a garden of<br />Junkies, crimes, prostitutes.<br />No chives.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00699852319503916438noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4806868302647156350.post-49167922420250494772012-07-27T11:16:00.000-07:002012-07-31T18:09:52.866-07:00Some Sinatra InspirationHere's another flash fiction piece I wrote. This was inspired from a black and white photo too.<br />
<br />
Here's the inspiration...<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwYb8sTWV3aniN4Tq72XTmQcL_htPvk6dWPqBuIByzKgiYVBKbVQSyrXydtVNlK5qo9sandN4MKv5IWEW-nitQpeNe4dgxmUouVv_jA38GvoXJoAtrP8CIEZ8KyKEcDvZFMbsBM9so8hc4/s1600/sinatramug1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="251" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwYb8sTWV3aniN4Tq72XTmQcL_htPvk6dWPqBuIByzKgiYVBKbVQSyrXydtVNlK5qo9sandN4MKv5IWEW-nitQpeNe4dgxmUouVv_jA38GvoXJoAtrP8CIEZ8KyKEcDvZFMbsBM9so8hc4/s320/sinatramug1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
I love Sinatra! Such a great photo</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">N.d. Photograph. The Smoking Gun. Dec. 2012. Web. 27 July 2012. <http://www.thesmokinggun.com/mugshots/celebrity/music/frank-sinatra>.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
And this is what I ended up with...</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The AC was on full blast and it hit his sun-scorched face as they opened the door. The room he was led to was even colder. The ancient camera was mounted on the white wall. His clothes matched the peeling wallpaper around him- tattered and drained of color. The smell of three nights of drinking dripped out of him. He stood facing the camera as the photo that would forever capture the pitfall of his life flashed before his blood shot eyes. </div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00699852319503916438noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4806868302647156350.post-66501755613259978292012-07-27T11:06:00.002-07:002012-07-27T11:08:16.224-07:00Sweltering Summer DayI experimented with some flash fiction. I got my inspiration from some black and white photography I googled.<br />
<br />
Here's the picture that inspired me...<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgip1k_2kzfbUTfoq8G0t3LEPZb0guT4fMgr9kkAVoRnxeNpld6v7aiK6longTk9TYFsODDoKeplLq2DeG9rUFTi8Nn60ZESi04Hkjhv9PXn5evS6FiVWwhiFezphvJUswz8CffLvkVaxHg/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="202" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgip1k_2kzfbUTfoq8G0t3LEPZb0guT4fMgr9kkAVoRnxeNpld6v7aiK6longTk9TYFsODDoKeplLq2DeG9rUFTi8Nn60ZESi04Hkjhv9PXn5evS6FiVWwhiFezphvJUswz8CffLvkVaxHg/s320/photo.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
This is what I ended up with...<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
It had been a sweltering summer day and the evening cooled the earth. The sun was setting on the waves and the hood of the 1960 powder blue Ford thunderbird. All the windows were down and time didn't matter. His titillating cologne had reached her sticky seat and planted itself in her black hair as the breeze blew in from the West. Her blue dress stuck to her for a brief moment then released, going back to its normal shape. When the wind stopped she slid with ease to close the space between them and dissolve the smell of the ocean by breathing in his thin white t-shirt.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00699852319503916438noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4806868302647156350.post-17514217946112343342012-07-27T10:50:00.002-07:002012-07-27T10:50:13.925-07:00Blue Warmth<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<!--StartFragment-->
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Instantly there's a calmness that runs through me that I can
feel throughout my body,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Like taking a shot of Jameson's.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It's shoving my body off my feet.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Can't get up. Don’t want to.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This blue warmth has encased my body.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I pull more of that warmth over my head and disappear.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The heat radiates off my body and bounces off the blackness.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Underneath, the mattress forms to my shape.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I peek out.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Looking towards that red sand stained rock that lies beside
my bed.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I close my eyes and<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I hide again when I remember.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Remember getting on the plane that flew me back to reality.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And the plane that flew him to a War that shouldn’t be
fought.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The thought makes me want to turn off my brain.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Just for a few hours. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Instead I stretch, covering every inch of the mattress until<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Blackness falls over me and I fly back to where I found the
red sand stained slab of Earth.<o:p></o:p></div>
<!--EndFragment-->Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00699852319503916438noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4806868302647156350.post-14802683919002862462012-07-27T10:24:00.002-07:002012-07-27T10:30:59.091-07:00SerenityMy boyfriend is a Marine and he just came back from his second deployment. Some poems I will be posting are about him when he was away. Writing helped me a lot through his deployment. When I wasn't able to talk to him- I wrote. I wrote this poem from his point of view as a Marine...<br />
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 11.5pt;"><b>Serenity</b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 11.5pt;">What day is it?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 11.5pt;">It doesn't matter.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 11.5pt;">When the days get longer <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 11.5pt;">That's when I'll know.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11.5pt;">When the days get longer<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11.5pt;">I leave this sandbox. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Till then I rest. I patrol. I
post. I wait.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 11.5pt;">I wait for my friends <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 11.5pt;">To come out and play.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 11.5pt;">I wait with my SAW.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Safety- off.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Straining my eyes<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11.5pt;">To see an end <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11.5pt;">But its just endless sand.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11.5pt;">A beach with no water.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Ripples in the sand <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Come into view and then<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Vanish. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 11.5pt;">I'm still here. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Undisturbed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Each new ripple is different.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Ever changing patterns.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 11.5pt;">One minute- there.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Next minute- gone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Sounds all too familiar.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 11.5pt;">A lot of men, a lot of
friends<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Have been that ripple.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Here one minute,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Gone the next.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 11.5pt;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 11.5pt;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 11.5pt;"><br /></span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6uSd5TDtu6jmo5O2-Q-Jpqyni3cT85LIvz5LXW2QU6klAgAgfGVDALbD2jw_WYaP2f04gEfgZUo38TVl2EsEzF_gn3QmghWBBVI0Gh5ouesKg4Jn8aIF-5oBerDpFV2a19eSPW3gRMw5A/s1600/314745_2097027861565_1654891556_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="191" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6uSd5TDtu6jmo5O2-Q-Jpqyni3cT85LIvz5LXW2QU6klAgAgfGVDALbD2jw_WYaP2f04gEfgZUo38TVl2EsEzF_gn3QmghWBBVI0Gh5ouesKg4Jn8aIF-5oBerDpFV2a19eSPW3gRMw5A/s320/314745_2097027861565_1654891556_n.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-size: 11.5pt;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 11.5pt;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 11.5pt;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 11.5pt;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 11.5pt;"><br /></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 11.5pt;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 11.5pt;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 11.5pt;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 11.5pt;"><br /></span></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00699852319503916438noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4806868302647156350.post-23713970719563623042012-07-27T10:15:00.003-07:002012-07-27T10:15:42.135-07:00It's All On The Table<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<!--StartFragment-->
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
The table knew Pa and George,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
I never did.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
The table knew my father, John,
when he was called Johnny,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
I never did. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
The four-legged metal table was
cold except when the clock made it to 5:00 am and 5:00pm.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
Its curved edges were inviting.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
I learned not to stick purple
flowers in a light socket with this table.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
I inspected a bee with my mother
with this table.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
I learned how to push my food
around my plate to make it look like I ate more than I did with this table.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
Only two more bites.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
I learned that life could change in
a split second by picking up a ringing phone.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
She has cancer.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
What's cancer?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
She will get through this.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
Nope. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
Fold up that table we are moving
away.<o:p></o:p></div>
<!--EndFragment-->Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00699852319503916438noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4806868302647156350.post-15777040611826964892012-07-27T10:14:00.003-07:002012-07-27T10:14:51.495-07:00Pen and Paper to ....blogI love reading and writing. I try to write everyday and this blog will be where I put it. My writing is going through my pen and paper to this blog. Hope you guys enjoy it :)Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00699852319503916438noreply@blogger.com0