i was there the day they dropped the bomb, watching it whistle as it broke the air before it, all the way down to the concrete.
stark white purity lay across the field, unmarred by what was yet to come. breath becoming solid, fresh out of our mouths, clattering to the sidewalk; drum beats stirring our hearts to battle. heavy words taunt us into action, first one shot, then two, excitement spilling over into madness, as laughter fills the air with each fallen comrade.
it began as a small skirmish, between families defending borders, laying claim to the land between us. soon cousins and brothers, then acquaintances spilled out doors, down paths to join. the air became crowded, buzzing like hornets, our boots sucking deep in the snow as we dive for cover.
soon none of us remember how it even started, only marvel at the hundreds that have joined some unknown cause. setting right, some wrong that was never intended. my hands ache, my legs are stiff, but i press on.
what else is there to do, when they cancel all the classes because of snow, finding yourself trapped on campus? a snow ball fight for the ages, and then...
men in black armor, bearing shields follow a megaphone mouthed man issuing orders to cease and desist, which are lost amongst the clamor, until they drop the bomb. this scream captures all of our attention, we pause staring slack jawed at he red and white casing pirouetting through the air from thirteen stories, plummeting down...
down...
down...
crumpling like an accordion, the coke machine implodes, sending cans of pop whizzing like rocket propelled grenades, spraying sticky brown mist across face and bodies, dripping down to our fingers.
looking at our red ripe hands, wet and shivering, we wonder...it seemed like a good idea once, but now we just walk slowly away, back to dorm rooms...pondering the bomb. and all that it takes away.
Monday, February 8, 2010
Sunday, February 7, 2010
160 - sweet & sour paper airplane trashcan memories
on a soft cotton sheet
by the open window
she lays in
silent repose,
his hand
holding
it tightly
against the clouds
slowly erasing her memories.
see you soon, mom
what can you say in 160 characters (spaces included). go see monkey man.
This one was the completion of the trilogy of 160s the last couple weeks. Here together for your pleasure...
on a Chinese takeout menu,
under a brown stain
she writes in
angry letters
an apology.
folding
it neatly
she flies it
out the window to the world.
i forgot you
on a soiled paper airplane
beside a steel trashcan
he reads in
heavy tears
her words,
tossing
it absently
among the debris
in the alley out her window.
i never did
on a soft cotton sheet
by the open window
she lays in
silent repose,
his hand
holding
it tightly
against the clouds
slowly erasing her memories.
see you soon, mom
by the open window
she lays in
silent repose,
his hand
holding
it tightly
against the clouds
slowly erasing her memories.
see you soon, mom
what can you say in 160 characters (spaces included). go see monkey man.
This one was the completion of the trilogy of 160s the last couple weeks. Here together for your pleasure...
on a Chinese takeout menu,
under a brown stain
she writes in
angry letters
an apology.
folding
it neatly
she flies it
out the window to the world.
i forgot you
on a soiled paper airplane
beside a steel trashcan
he reads in
heavy tears
her words,
tossing
it absently
among the debris
in the alley out her window.
i never did
on a soft cotton sheet
by the open window
she lays in
silent repose,
his hand
holding
it tightly
against the clouds
slowly erasing her memories.
see you soon, mom
Friday, February 5, 2010
simple things
when i was younger
i wanted elaborate things
giant houses with endless rooms,
fast cars and bling
so i worked, worked, worked
chasing the American dream
from airport to airport
missing the first year
of my son's life, barely
dating my wife...
oh what a life...
sitting here, now
in the soothing shadow
of the grape arbor,
sipping black coffee out of
a brown barrel mug
(that cost a quarter
at a yard sale)
watching my boys
throw snow balls
at my wife...
a simpler life...
guess i better
put down this notebook and
go defend her honor.
Enchanted Oak is doing a Simple Things Challenge on Saturday. Post about simple things you cherish, link up and for each post or comment on her blog $2 will be donated to a medical clinic in Haiti. Perhaps it will help provide a few simple things.
i wanted elaborate things
giant houses with endless rooms,
fast cars and bling
so i worked, worked, worked
chasing the American dream
from airport to airport
missing the first year
of my son's life, barely
dating my wife...
oh what a life...
sitting here, now
in the soothing shadow
of the grape arbor,
sipping black coffee out of
a brown barrel mug
(that cost a quarter
at a yard sale)
watching my boys
throw snow balls
at my wife...
a simpler life...
guess i better
put down this notebook and
go defend her honor.
Enchanted Oak is doing a Simple Things Challenge on Saturday. Post about simple things you cherish, link up and for each post or comment on her blog $2 will be donated to a medical clinic in Haiti. Perhaps it will help provide a few simple things.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
55 - origami
it all starts with
a clean white page
flat on the desk...
fold, fold, fold
tuck
fold, fold, unfold
tuck
unfold, crease
fold
admiring my paper dragon,
all the intricate maneuvers
that sustain him,
opening wide he
consumes me
chomp, crunch, munch
gulp
my day begins
with a clean white page
flat on the desk...
Tell a story in 55 words. Give it a try or just read more, go see g-man.
Looking for something to write that will make a difference? Enchanted Oak is doing Simple Things this Saturday and for each blog that participates her family will donate $2 to a medical clinic in Haiti. For complete details, check it out here.
a clean white page
flat on the desk...
fold, fold, fold
tuck
fold, fold, unfold
tuck
unfold, crease
fold
admiring my paper dragon,
all the intricate maneuvers
that sustain him,
opening wide he
consumes me
chomp, crunch, munch
gulp
my day begins
with a clean white page
flat on the desk...
Tell a story in 55 words. Give it a try or just read more, go see g-man.
Looking for something to write that will make a difference? Enchanted Oak is doing Simple Things this Saturday and for each blog that participates her family will donate $2 to a medical clinic in Haiti. For complete details, check it out here.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Theme Thursday: Red
smoke tendrils rise
round her face
catching in creases
left by life.
plunk.
another butt rings
on the rusty coffee can
by the concrete stoop
where she sits.
plunk.
sounds from memory,
phone receiver bouncing
on mustard linoleum
dangling by the cord.
plunk.
beautiful once, now
staring through cars
careening through intersections
ignoring the signs.
plunk.
red neon vacancy
flickering overhead
pointing furiously
at her faith.
plunk.
no one notices
this forgotten valentine.
For more takes on the theme, go see my friends at Theme Thursday.
round her face
catching in creases
left by life.
plunk.
another butt rings
on the rusty coffee can
by the concrete stoop
where she sits.
plunk.
sounds from memory,
phone receiver bouncing
on mustard linoleum
dangling by the cord.
plunk.
beautiful once, now
staring through cars
careening through intersections
ignoring the signs.
plunk.
red neon vacancy
flickering overhead
pointing furiously
at her faith.
plunk.
no one notices
this forgotten valentine.
For more takes on the theme, go see my friends at Theme Thursday.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
end of the road
from the dark shadows
living in basement corners
at the edge of light
the tattered map finds us,
breathing new life
into the afternoon sun.
clomp.
clomp.
clomp.
up the step we fly
before our new wings
collect the weight of dust,
slowing us down, nor
dashing our dreams
into the afternoon sun.
hiss.
hiss.
hiss.
down forgotten roads
rising to kiss wetly
black rubber bike tires
we follow our finger
along drawn dotted lines
into the afternoon sun.
huff.
puff.
huff.
at the end of the map
dangling our legs over
the edge of the world
we look down on the clouds
on their way to tomorrow
into the afternoon sun.
i dare you to jump.
and so we do,
before we get to old
to wonder.
living in basement corners
at the edge of light
the tattered map finds us,
breathing new life
into the afternoon sun.
clomp.
clomp.
clomp.
up the step we fly
before our new wings
collect the weight of dust,
slowing us down, nor
dashing our dreams
into the afternoon sun.
hiss.
hiss.
hiss.
down forgotten roads
rising to kiss wetly
black rubber bike tires
we follow our finger
along drawn dotted lines
into the afternoon sun.
huff.
puff.
huff.
at the end of the map
dangling our legs over
the edge of the world
we look down on the clouds
on their way to tomorrow
into the afternoon sun.
i dare you to jump.
and so we do,
before we get to old
to wonder.
Monday, February 1, 2010
inside man
cold steel cranks around my wrist, pinching at the hinge and i can't help but smile. i always wondered what this was like, as the blue man group leads me away.
brushed concrete floors clap to the tune of steel toed boots as we march back and forth, truck to shelf, unloading the cargo. furniture. baby seats. clothes. box after box. after box.
jewelry and electronics go into lock-up, up the freight elevator, clang, clang, clanging as it rises into the darkness between floors. little white button on the wire mesh cage...buzzzzzzz...i have today's shipment to unload.
this is where he makes the deal, in hushed voices, out of sight of preying rotating eyes mounted high in the corner. they will never know what hit them. his eyes hit me with the left hook of seriousness.
how did he come up with the idea? are you sure you did not just get cold feet? what do you hope to get out of telling us this? white walls seem so cliche, like they watched one too many cop shows, before they decorated the interrogation room. shiny gold badges delight in my confessions.
here is how it will go down...stale coffee breath lays out his plan.
rubbing red ringed wrists, i watch him lay out the story in his own little white room, pushing stick pins through my wings like a butterfly for his transgressions. little does he know, they heard me story last week, before he ever hatched his plan.
i was the inside man.
brushed concrete floors clap to the tune of steel toed boots as we march back and forth, truck to shelf, unloading the cargo. furniture. baby seats. clothes. box after box. after box.
jewelry and electronics go into lock-up, up the freight elevator, clang, clang, clanging as it rises into the darkness between floors. little white button on the wire mesh cage...buzzzzzzz...i have today's shipment to unload.
this is where he makes the deal, in hushed voices, out of sight of preying rotating eyes mounted high in the corner. they will never know what hit them. his eyes hit me with the left hook of seriousness.
how did he come up with the idea? are you sure you did not just get cold feet? what do you hope to get out of telling us this? white walls seem so cliche, like they watched one too many cop shows, before they decorated the interrogation room. shiny gold badges delight in my confessions.
here is how it will go down...stale coffee breath lays out his plan.
rubbing red ringed wrists, i watch him lay out the story in his own little white room, pushing stick pins through my wings like a butterfly for his transgressions. little does he know, they heard me story last week, before he ever hatched his plan.
i was the inside man.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
