Ah, But There Are No Excuses For What I Have Done

All the same, let's not jump to conclusions.

These weeks preceding the start of school have been on heck of a ride, which is why most of my readers have assumed my death (well, so I assume). But as my seventh grade science teacher once said:

When you assume, you make an *** of u and me

 She swore in class, and our young minds were scandalized. To this day I have yet to recover....

She was kind of mean...

My past aside, I felt it only fair that I post something since I haven't posted anything for almost two weeks, I think. If I were following my blog, I would drive me crazy like that!

BUT FIRST I want to blab about school for a while, because reminiscing about seventh grade has put me on a tangent.

This being my senior year, I get to take fun classes! My schedule turned out great, because I have two hard and two easy classes every day. My schedule goes something like this:

A Days: Symphonic Band (because I don't practice enough to be in wind symphony, our school's top band), AP Statistics, AP Political Science (I must be crazy, but the subject fascinates me and taking it in college will be no easier), Creative Writing 2 (I'm Editor-in-Chief this year! Woo-hoo!)

B Days: AP Literature (I still haven't finished the summer homework... :O ), School Newspaper (our editor-in-chief isn't high this year (last year my favorite activity was listening to the EIC describe all the drugs she was taking and how she thought she was a rug once when she got high)), Cooking 2, Seminary (religious instruction, for those who don't know.)

And then there's marching band, which is a totally different story.

It was a long summer and boy does my brain need a workout! I'm taking AP Stats this year and our first homework assignment was to review some algebra II concepts. It felt like I was reading a foreign language! But I'm not worried, because although math is not my lifelong dream, it's also far from my lifelong struggle.

Speaking of homework, I need to wrap this up and chat about this in a different post, because I still haven't finished that math assignment or that summer homework.

I've deliberated about this for a while, as far as what to post, because I wrote quite a few things in the past few weeks and before that I never got around to posting. Naughty me... So as an apology for being so exceedingly tardy, here are a handful of poems on a variety of topics! Hooray!

Two Inches

The mind is an ocean about two inches deep
filled with fishes slipslidesuffocating,
mechanical spasms in the open air,
or rotting in a heap of twisted herringbonehearts,
blackblank eyes and
other suchthings.
 
The mind has storms above that shallow sea.
It reaches out coldwhitefingers
Among the half-rotted herringbonehearts
Still beating
Then lowlaughs fleeting down at me.
 
The mind is solemndark and gruesomegloom
Alone upon the sea-expanse
The corpses watch with mindless dread
As I give in, lay down my head
Slipslidesuffocating on the ground,
And with two inches wait to drown.

For once, I'm going to talk after a poem, because I didn't want to make you wait any longer. The first stanza was written on a day when I literally felt as though I was drowning inside of myself. I was unhappy and anxious and altogether not feeling well. The second and third stanzas were written during a late-night thunderstorm. Thunderstorms are excellent times to write because usually the power goes out and there's nothing else to do, but also because thunder and lightning are very emotional. In fact, if you think about it, a storm can express any range of emotion.

City Lights 

The fireflies blanketed cross the sticky flytrap strip greeted my glancing eyes.
I freed a few on my passing past by,
I wanted to watch them float,
Often alone, but sometimes in pairs,
Sets of lovebugs speeding on.
 
They stop for brighter lights than they,
And then go quickly on their way.
They’ve no time to thank me, no,
They’ve miles to go before they sleep,
And some their marital promise to keep.
 
I thought they formed fireworks on that formidable field
Of blackness. I find it strange that they would yield
Themselves up and stay there, stuck,
On the sticky stripe of dark,
Those orange-and-yellow fireflies,
 
Who pass me by, without a care,
Sometimes alone, but often in pairs.

I should have been watching the road more carefully, but city lights in the rain are so mesmerizing... (thankfully no one was on the streets when I left my friend's house on the eve of this poem).

Pool

 Blue chalk squeaks on the end of
A white pine pole leaves marks on
The cue ball clicks and rolls across
The green felt scarred and stained by
Cigarettes and coffee create a haze.
 
The balls clack together as
The game begins by breaking
The triangle explodes into a thousand colorful
Points are scored by
Sinking spirits as
Points are lost by
Scratching my initials in
The table.

 Fingers arched, I set my sites on
The eight ball thunks into the back left
Pocket filled with loose change for
The jukebox music joins the haze of
Coffee and cigarettes in the billiards hall.

I've never actually been to a billiards hall, but that's what the imagination (and movies) is (are) for! This is an older poem, but still a favorite. (I'm also not good at pool, but I can dream (and watch movies)...)

Death is Unfair

Yesterday I had to bury my guinea pigs.

I got a call from my mom right as I was beginning another day at band camp. When she told me that my piggies had died during the night, I couldn't help myself. I bawled. I cried. I couldn't get control of myself, so I went home.

Seeing their little bodies sprawled out in their cage cut my heart in half.

...

I'm crying too hard. I can't see the screen. I'll finish this later.



I was up until an obscene hour last night crying on and off. Jeez, I'm such a wreck. It doesn't help that I'm just emotionally drained from marching band. Normally I come home from marching band, crash on the couch, and watch TV with a piggie. Now I don't know what I'll do.

I thought a lot about her. Her name was Reeses. She was chocolate brown with patches of black and orange, and her hair was swirly. We bought her and her sister, KitKat, in a rural area. The previous owners bred guinea pigs partly for fun, partly for money, and partly by mistake (that's what happens when you put boy and girl guinea pigs in the same cage), and they charged us ten dollars for each of them. They're worth more than a million dollars to me.

On the ride home, my sister and held them in our arms because we didn't have a cage for them yet. She peed on me in the car, all over my shirt and on the seat belt. That was a recurring theme for the four years we owned them. Guinea pigs have very small bladders.

She loved to eat lettuce, and she licked my fingers when she wanted more. When we let them run around in the grass, they ate like lawnmowers and hid in the chives plant. In the winter when it was too cold for them to live outside under our porch, they stayed in my room or in my sister's. When I read books in bed I took one or the other out and let them crawl under the sheets or nibble the pages. Reeses once ate the corner of a library book, plastic cover and all.

We always called them dumb, not to be mean, but they were actually pretty smart. Reeses figured out that if I held out my hand to her, she should climb onto my arm and then she would be brought back to her cage. KitKat learned that if she jumped up on the roof of their little house, we might give her a treat.

They were usually nice to each other, but KitKat made it very apparent that she was in charge. Even though we had two water bottles for them to drink out of, Reeses always let KitKat drink and eat first. When they ran around in the grass, KitKat led the way, and Reeses followed with her nose practically shoved up KitKat's wee bum. Sometimes they fought, as sisters do, and they would nip hair off each other's bums. We affectionately called Reeses "baldy" as she had three or four large bald spots as a result of these little spats. But even so, it was obvious they loved and cared about each other. Even in death they were close, though KitKat had kicked Reeses out of their little house to die.

KitKat always had something to say, but Reeses was content to sit quietly in my lap and resorted to violence (biting me) when she had an opinion to state. She loved being held and stroked, and she purred like a little motor when she was happy.


I don't know if I'll be able to have another piggie. I leave for college in a year, and I probably won't be able to have a pet there. My parents are... reluctant. Piggies are stinky little critters, even if you clean their cage twice a week, and my mom isn't a fan of that.

Death isn't fair. If we had left them under the porch when our lawn got fertilized, KitKat and Reeses would still be alive. It was my sister's month to take care of them, and I want to blame her. I want to blame her so much. But I can't. I wonder, does she think about them as much as I do? Does she cry in the shower, at night, at lunch, in bed, like I do?

We buried them on Friday at 10:15 am in a Boutique shoebox lined with a handtowel we had used when we gave them baths. I pulled their cold, stiff bodies from the cage. It felt wrong. It felt... unnatural. Reeses didn't move, didn't struggle, didn't protest as she usually did. Her eyes were open, her beautiful, melted-chocolate eyes.

My sister put them in the hole my dad dug in the corner of our backyard. I hate that grave. I hate it.

Death isn't fair.

KitKat, Reeses... I love you. I love you so much. I know you're in a better place now, but I wish I could cuddle you one more time, just one more time.

Death

isn't

fair.

Forget Rhyme Schemes. I'm a Rebel.

IN OTHER NEWS: I'm probably worrying too much (as usual), but I was just curious if you, all my readers, like my blabbing before posting poetry (like what I'm writing here). I've been looking at a lot of other poetry blogs and I've noticed that no one else seems to chat about what they've written in each post like I do. Does that make me unique, or is it annoying? Do you read my little introductions or skip right to the blockquotes? Just curious.

ALSO IN OTHER NEWS: I will be on a short LOA from the internet for the next two weeks or so, as I am leaving for a camping trip on Wednesday and then it's time for band camp! I'll be playing trumpet this year, for those who are interested. Anyone else do marching band (or color guard, for that matter)?

This here's a poem I wrote the other day inspired by a fallow field of alfalfa by my house. There were thousands of dandelions just waiting to be used for wishing, but I resisted because they actually grow alfalfa there and they wouldn't appreciate me spreading the love. I abandoned the rhyme scheme in the second stanza because I couldn't think of anything that rhymed with "farm" except "arm," and I couldn't think of a way to make that sound un-cheesy. (Actually what happened was I got bored and it made sense the way it was. ;)

Also, I haven't decided on a title. ;)

How many wishes d’you think lay concealed
In the corners and pockets of alfalfa fields,
Cotton-white dand’lions nodding their heads.
Forget about wheat; let’s plant wishes instead.

Farmers, forget all the weeds you’ve been weeding,
And think of, instead, all the wishes you’re seeding
By letting the dand’lions grow on your farm.

Then if fishes were wishes we’d scour the seas,
Seeking the goldfish to end all the pleas
For the wheat and the flour that we had stopped sowing
Because our main crop was wish-flower growing.

And, for the heck of it, here's another poem I finished recently. It was inspired by mascara, and it has a title.

Arachnophobia

Her eyes were like flies’ eyes,
How they shone back the light in five thousand colors
Like multi-faceted black-and-blue diamonds
Shuttered beneath butterfly eyebrows.

Her lips were silkworms as she
Pulled thread from her mouth
Full of maggots
To weave a skirt like a spider’s web.
 
The lies she lied were locusts,
Jumping out at me and scratching my skin with their
Grasshopper claws and lying eyes.

 Her hands were like spiders,
Spindly, five-legged carnivores
Attached to praying mantis arms,
Twitching across the sticky thread
Reeling between her silkworm lips.

 But as I think about it,
It was not her hands but her eyes that preyed
Arachnid-like on my face,
Hungry for my flies’ eyes eyes.

A Sudden Flash of Fiction!

Hello everyone! First off, I have a special announcement to make! The lovely V-writer from That V Word gave me an award! I do love those, you know.

The award is given to up-and-coming bloggers with fewer than 200 followers. So, according to the rules (which are right here:) ,
(1. Thank the giver and link back to the blogger who gave it to you.
2. Reveal your top 5 picks and let them know by leaving a comment on their blog.
3. Copy and paste the award on your blog.
4. Have faith that your followers will spread the love to other bloggers.
5. And most of all - have bloggity-blog fun!)

according to the rules I get to give it out again! Woo-hoo!

So the people I feel deserve this award are:

1. EAL from Assembling Imaginations, a brilliant young writer who always has something interesting to say, whether it be on her own blog or on mine. ;)

2. Kevin Routh from Shards: The Poetry of Kevin Routh, an amazing wordsmith. I'm always excited to see what he's written next.

3. Esjae from Esjae Official. What can I say? I have a soft spot for sadgirlpoetry.

4. Myself from Myself Through My Eyes, who helps me find my inner child and always makes me laugh.

5. RJ from a drop in the ocean, whose thought-provoking posts, poems, and prose should be posted more often, because when they're not I go into withdrawal. 0_____0

Congrats you guys, and another huge thanks to V!

Now back to our regular program.

Remember how I said that I write poetry, not prose? Remember that? Well, I was lying. The only things I've been writing lately are PROSE! (Writing prose kind of kills my soul sometimes, so I've still been writing poetry intermittently.)

Today's post is a flash fiction piece I've been focusing on the past few days. Criticism would be appreciated, and suggestions on how to cut down on words. I'm keeping it under 1000 words, and right now I'm at about 950, but I'd like to add some more stuff at the end. (Also, sorry if it's a little hard to read. Blogger was giving me a hard time. :P )

“LEAVE A MESSAGE AT THE—”


“TO CHECK UNHEARD MESSAGES, PRESS ONE-ONE.”
Beep-beep
“UNHEARD MESSAGE. SENT FRIDAY AT THREE-FIFTY-ONE, P.M..”
“Hey David, it’s Mitchell from Maple Mountain Apartments. Just callin’ back to chat with you about your new apartment. Give me a call.”

“END OF MESSAGE. NEXT MESSAGE. SENT SATURDAY AT FOUR-THIRTEEN, P.M..”
“Hi hon. It’s Annette. Just wondering if you’d like to have dinner with me later tonight to celebrate your new home. I’m making pasta. Give me a call.”

“END OF MESSAGE. NEXT MESSAGE. SENT SUNDAY AT SEVEN-TWENTY-SEVEN, P.M..”
“Hi Davey. It’s Mom. Um, just wanted to see if everything is okay. Alyse called earlier today. She didn’t sound very well. Do you want to talk? Call me when you—”
beep-beep

“YOUR MESSAGE HAS BEEN DELETED. NEXT MESSAGE. SENT TUESDAY AT SEVEN-FIFTY-EIGHT P.M..”
“Sweetie? It’s Alyse. Um, I know you don’t want to talk, but—”
beep-beep

“YOUR MESSAGE HAS BEEN DELETED. NEXT MESSAGE. SENT TUESDAY AT EIGHT-OH-THREE, P.M..”
“Hey man. It’s Jeremy. I heard about you and Alyse and just wanted to let you know that I’m here for you. If you’re up for it, me’n some of the guys are going bowling tomorrow night. Give me a call or text me. Whatever’s cool.”

“END OF MESSAGE. NEXT MESSAGE. SENT SUNDAY AT TEN-FIFTY, P.M..”
“Hey Davey, it’s me again. Alyse. Just wanted to call to see how you’re doing, and—”

click


“TO CHECK UNHEARD MESSAGES, PRESS ONE-ONE.”
Beep-beep
“FIRST UNHEARD MESSAGE. SENT MONDAY AT ONE-TWENTY-FIVE, A.M..”
“Davey, I know you won’t answer, but I needed to hear your voice on the answering machine.“I miss you so much. I can’t sleep without you here. This house is too big for me to live in alone.”

“END OF MESSAGE. NEXT MESSAGE. SENT MONDAY AT TEN-TWENTY-ONE, A.M..”
“Hello, Dave, this is Craig from Hansen and Associates. I set up a settlement session for you and Alyse for tomorrow, Tuesday, at nine o’clock am. If you can come earlier so we can discuss the situation beforehand, that would be great. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

END OF MESSAGE. NEXT MESSAGE SENT MONDAY AT TWO-FORTY-SEVEN, P.M..”
“Hi Davey, it’s Annette. I never heard back from you about dinner on Saturday, and you haven’t been returning my calls. Did you lose your phone? Call me back.”

“END OF MESSAGE. NEXT MESSAGE. SENT TUESDAY AT ELEVEN-SEVENTEEN, A.M..”
“Hey Dave. It’s me, Alyse. I was just wondering if you… well, if you wanted some paint for your apartment.
“I started painting the walls like you and I planned. Blue. I know it’s your favorite color.” sniff “Blue with yellow furniture, like the beach. Do you remember when we went to the beach last year? When we were just engaged. We flew a kite and you showed me how to send messages to it with a paperclip. Did I ever tell you what I wrote to the kite?
“I decided to paint the master green. I read that green is a calming color, and that’s why greenrooms are green so the actors don’t get nervous before their performance. Maybe we—I—should have painted it a long time ago. Maybe things would be different…”
“…Anyways, I’m sorry I missed the settlement. I haven’t been feeling well lately, and I slept late by accident. All I’ve wanted to do lately is sleep. It feels so good.
“I promise I won’t miss the next session. Call me back if you’d like me to bring over the paint.”

“END OF MESSAGE. NEXT MESSAGE SENT TUESDAY AT TWELVE-OH-ONE, A.M..”
“Hi Dave. It’s Alyse. I know you won’t answer, but… I need to talk to something other than myself.
“I… I decided it was time to clean out the baby—the storage room yesterday, and while I was in there I… I heard a baby crying. And I knew it was… that it was our baby.
“I looked all over the place—in the crib, the closet, through all the boxes, but I never found a baby. And it kept crying and crying, like it had been left alone. And I can still hear it. It’s there all the time, crying in every room. I’m afraid it’s haunting me, but no one else can hear it.
“Dave, I think I’m going insane! I need you! Please, answer the phone!”

“END OF MESSAGE. NEXT MESSAGE. SENT TODAY AT THREE-THIRTY, A.M..”
“Hi Dave… It’s Alyse... I was thinking about one of the messages I sent you and I realized that I never did tell you the message I sent to the kite.

“I asked it if it was lonely.
…
“It never answered…”

“END OF MESSAGE. NEXT MESSAGE. SENT TODAY AT THREE-THIRTY-NINE, A.M..”
“Davey…
“I wanted to call you and tell you that I love you.
…
“Don’t return my calls. I can’t answer anymore.”

“END OF MESSAGE. TO SAVE MESSAGE, PRESS THREE-THREE. TO CALL SENDER, PRESS ONE. TO—”
beep
“Hi, you’ve reached Alyse. If this is Dave, keep listening. Otherwise, please hang up.
…
“Davey, I’m sorry. I can’t be here, alone, anymore. I just… I know that our baby needs me. I don’t know how I know, but I do. And without you here… Well, I don’t know what else to do.
“I’m sorry. I… I wish things could have been different. I feel like… like this is all my fault. I just want to make things better.
…
“Leave a message after the—

“BANG!”

beeeeeeep

click