Finally, its come. Blastingly hot summer weather, ushering in a flood of tests before we are set free. This summer will be one of less anticipation, for we know what we will return to. Yet there is that same constant aura of change, of moving on, of wondering of what next year will bring. Who will replace those who are leaving? What will the year be like?
We have come so far since September, and yet at the same time nothing has changed. It seems like so long ago that we were rehursing like crazy for the Music Man, or when physics class seemed like it went on forever. Since the change from one school to the new, to meeting new people, to becoming reaquainted with those I had left behind. From class changes to improvements to supposed maturity, we have come so far.
And yet as we drift, we stay together. We keep those friends who mean a lot to us close by, and plan with them. Parties and movies and food, which is a necessity with teenage guys around.
We miss what was around before, but we look to the future. Changing views in a changing world. Just think, our friends will be driving soon. It wasn't that long ago that I was amazed that I had turned 13, or had a Bat Mitzvah, or mad it to middle school...
So as I face finals, I wonder what would have happened if I had done it differently. If I hadn't switched schools. If I wasn't friends with the people I am now. If my friends had different friends. Each event and decision makes an impact. Will I come out of freshman year feeling that I should have done some thing differently? I don't know.
Monday, June 9, 2008
Thursday, June 5, 2008
****Note****
If drafts were not just published, then they are already up here in final form. Please check them out too!
Short Story (in progress)
Jean was completely sheltered. He did everything with his father; he went to the zoo with him, was tutored by him everyday. He lived to please his father, to have some connection to the mother whom he never knew; he knew that his father was always dreaming about her.
He disliked Celeste because she was the only one who didn’t love everything he did. He heard her muttering under her breath about how spoiled he had become, and he never understood exactly what she meant. All he knew is that she made him do all the stuff that he didn’t want to do, like practicing his math and his French when his father was busy.
Lemonnier devoted himself to spending time with his son, no matter what business changes came up. He made sure to plan outings at least three times a week, despite Celeste’s insisting that the boy’s time would be much better spent learning instead of constant pranks and playing. Yet Lemonnier insisted on spending as much time with his son as possible.
Jean loved sports, including soccer and tennis. He would play with his father all the time, with their games often dissolving into fits of laughter. Lemonnier’s friend M. Duretour often came by as well, and joined in the action. Even strict Celeste, watching from the window, couldn’t always hold back a smile watching the two men and the boy chasing each other around the field.
M.Duretour had become somewhat of an uncle to Jean. When he traveled, he would bring back little trinkets so that the boy had a small collection of items from across the globe. Jean looked up to him a lot, in some ways even more than his father. He once told Duretour that he wanted to be just like him when he grew up, and travel all around the world to all of the different cultures. Duretour also was willing to talk about Jean’s mother, a feat that Lemonnier had not yet achieved. He was full of stories, and always told Jean how much he was like his mother.
As Jean matured, he had become accustomed to a lot of attention. However, as a few more years went by, he began to feel the way Celeste had known he would feel eventually – restricted. He began to notice things about how his father behaved. One day he approached his father and inquired as to whether he could invite his friend to come and visit. Lemonnier was completely surprised. “My Jean,” he said. “We were going to go for a walk in the park that day! Don’t you remember?”
Jean accepted that excuse for the day, and had a lovely time in the park. Yet he couldn’t help noticing that his father seemed to have something planned for every single time he wanted to do something on his own. When he asked if he could go and speak to some children his age while watching a tennis match in a nearby town, he was told no, and asked, “Don’t you enjoy spending time just you and me?”
As Jean grew a little older, he was saddened by the fact that many children living on his road were being sent of to boarding schools. Jean, who had never really been farther from home than two or three towns, was intrigued. He went to his father one day, and asked casually, “Father, have you ever considered sending me to boarding school? Many of the other children are going, and I think it could be fun.”
Lemonnier didn’t skip a beat. “Jean,” he said. “I’ve been teaching you for a very long time now, and we’ve always had fun, haven’t we?”
After a few more incidents of this sort, Jean began to get fed up. Everywhere he looked he saw opportunities for more freedom, but when he asked his father, his requests were always denied. He grew more and more exasperated.
Once, as he left one such meeting with his father, he ran into Celeste outside the door, smirking. Still incredibly frustrated by his father’s lack of understanding, he had absolutely no patience. “What?” he snapped. “What’s so funny?”
“I knew this would happen, from the day you were born,” the nurse responded. Ever since your lovely mother died, he could not let you go for a minute. God forbid that you scrape your little knee, and he would never let himself get over the guilt of it. But to let you go away and be taught by someone else… it would take several major miracles to convince him of that one.”
Jean stormed off to his bedroom, and flopped into one of the soft, deep blue armchairs in the corner. He buried his face in his hands and sat there, contemplating what Celeste had said. “Ever since your mother died…” His mother. That was the key to the whole thing. He was being doted upon beyond words because his mother wasn’t there. He laughed out loud. Knowing that Duretour was coming for dinner that night, he decided what he was going to do.
After dinner that evening, Lemonnier went into his office to do some work on a particularly difficult project. With his father gone, Jean presented his idea to Duretour. However, Duretour was skeptical. “It will be very difficult to pull off… your father never loved anything or anyone more than he did your mother. We’ll see what happens.”
The next weekend, Duretour informed Lemonnier that he was going to bring a guest to dinner. Lemonnier, of course, thought nothing of it. He assumed that Duretour had finally found a nice woman to date. He was not at all prepared, though, for what happened next.
The woman who came to dinner was equal in beauty, if not more beautiful than his wife had been. She was a head shorter than Lemonnier, and was thin, but not sickly thin. She had a shy, gentle smile in the shape of a perfect quarter moon, and huge grey blue eyes. She wore her rabbit soft, dirty blond hair so that it draped gracefully down her back, reaching to just below her shoulders. Her skin was very pale, but with the tanned hue of being out in the sun.
As she stood in the front hall looking around, Lemonnier’s first thought was that he had never seen a more perfect looking woman. He immediately reprimanded himself for having that thought, thinking it an insult to his wife’s memory. At the same time, he couldn’t help thinking that after twelve or so years, his wife had become just that – a memory. “She would want me to move on,” Lemonnier thought to himself. “But I don’t know if I can. How can anyone be more darling than my Jeanne?”
Pulling himself together, he realized he had company. He hurried down from where he had been standing to welcome Duretour and the mysterious woman to his home. Jean, who had been standing near by, had judged his father’s thoughts by his facial expressions. He smiled to himself. His plan was actually working!
During dinner, Lemonnier could not stop talking to the woman. They discovered that her name was Rose, and she and Duretour were friends, but were not dating. Jean smirked as a quick smile darted across his father’s face.
*** To come: as Jean wishes for more freedom, his father finds a woman he loves as much as his first wife, and begins to ignore Jean. Having received his freedom, Jean wants his shelter back.****
He disliked Celeste because she was the only one who didn’t love everything he did. He heard her muttering under her breath about how spoiled he had become, and he never understood exactly what she meant. All he knew is that she made him do all the stuff that he didn’t want to do, like practicing his math and his French when his father was busy.
Lemonnier devoted himself to spending time with his son, no matter what business changes came up. He made sure to plan outings at least three times a week, despite Celeste’s insisting that the boy’s time would be much better spent learning instead of constant pranks and playing. Yet Lemonnier insisted on spending as much time with his son as possible.
Jean loved sports, including soccer and tennis. He would play with his father all the time, with their games often dissolving into fits of laughter. Lemonnier’s friend M. Duretour often came by as well, and joined in the action. Even strict Celeste, watching from the window, couldn’t always hold back a smile watching the two men and the boy chasing each other around the field.
M.Duretour had become somewhat of an uncle to Jean. When he traveled, he would bring back little trinkets so that the boy had a small collection of items from across the globe. Jean looked up to him a lot, in some ways even more than his father. He once told Duretour that he wanted to be just like him when he grew up, and travel all around the world to all of the different cultures. Duretour also was willing to talk about Jean’s mother, a feat that Lemonnier had not yet achieved. He was full of stories, and always told Jean how much he was like his mother.
As Jean matured, he had become accustomed to a lot of attention. However, as a few more years went by, he began to feel the way Celeste had known he would feel eventually – restricted. He began to notice things about how his father behaved. One day he approached his father and inquired as to whether he could invite his friend to come and visit. Lemonnier was completely surprised. “My Jean,” he said. “We were going to go for a walk in the park that day! Don’t you remember?”
Jean accepted that excuse for the day, and had a lovely time in the park. Yet he couldn’t help noticing that his father seemed to have something planned for every single time he wanted to do something on his own. When he asked if he could go and speak to some children his age while watching a tennis match in a nearby town, he was told no, and asked, “Don’t you enjoy spending time just you and me?”
As Jean grew a little older, he was saddened by the fact that many children living on his road were being sent of to boarding schools. Jean, who had never really been farther from home than two or three towns, was intrigued. He went to his father one day, and asked casually, “Father, have you ever considered sending me to boarding school? Many of the other children are going, and I think it could be fun.”
Lemonnier didn’t skip a beat. “Jean,” he said. “I’ve been teaching you for a very long time now, and we’ve always had fun, haven’t we?”
After a few more incidents of this sort, Jean began to get fed up. Everywhere he looked he saw opportunities for more freedom, but when he asked his father, his requests were always denied. He grew more and more exasperated.
Once, as he left one such meeting with his father, he ran into Celeste outside the door, smirking. Still incredibly frustrated by his father’s lack of understanding, he had absolutely no patience. “What?” he snapped. “What’s so funny?”
“I knew this would happen, from the day you were born,” the nurse responded. Ever since your lovely mother died, he could not let you go for a minute. God forbid that you scrape your little knee, and he would never let himself get over the guilt of it. But to let you go away and be taught by someone else… it would take several major miracles to convince him of that one.”
Jean stormed off to his bedroom, and flopped into one of the soft, deep blue armchairs in the corner. He buried his face in his hands and sat there, contemplating what Celeste had said. “Ever since your mother died…” His mother. That was the key to the whole thing. He was being doted upon beyond words because his mother wasn’t there. He laughed out loud. Knowing that Duretour was coming for dinner that night, he decided what he was going to do.
After dinner that evening, Lemonnier went into his office to do some work on a particularly difficult project. With his father gone, Jean presented his idea to Duretour. However, Duretour was skeptical. “It will be very difficult to pull off… your father never loved anything or anyone more than he did your mother. We’ll see what happens.”
The next weekend, Duretour informed Lemonnier that he was going to bring a guest to dinner. Lemonnier, of course, thought nothing of it. He assumed that Duretour had finally found a nice woman to date. He was not at all prepared, though, for what happened next.
The woman who came to dinner was equal in beauty, if not more beautiful than his wife had been. She was a head shorter than Lemonnier, and was thin, but not sickly thin. She had a shy, gentle smile in the shape of a perfect quarter moon, and huge grey blue eyes. She wore her rabbit soft, dirty blond hair so that it draped gracefully down her back, reaching to just below her shoulders. Her skin was very pale, but with the tanned hue of being out in the sun.
As she stood in the front hall looking around, Lemonnier’s first thought was that he had never seen a more perfect looking woman. He immediately reprimanded himself for having that thought, thinking it an insult to his wife’s memory. At the same time, he couldn’t help thinking that after twelve or so years, his wife had become just that – a memory. “She would want me to move on,” Lemonnier thought to himself. “But I don’t know if I can. How can anyone be more darling than my Jeanne?”
Pulling himself together, he realized he had company. He hurried down from where he had been standing to welcome Duretour and the mysterious woman to his home. Jean, who had been standing near by, had judged his father’s thoughts by his facial expressions. He smiled to himself. His plan was actually working!
During dinner, Lemonnier could not stop talking to the woman. They discovered that her name was Rose, and she and Duretour were friends, but were not dating. Jean smirked as a quick smile darted across his father’s face.
*** To come: as Jean wishes for more freedom, his father finds a woman he loves as much as his first wife, and begins to ignore Jean. Having received his freedom, Jean wants his shelter back.****
Who Would Have Thought? (Final)
June
One dollar and eighty-seven cents. That was all. And sixty cents of it was in pennies. That’s all I found as I groped in my pocket for money, standing at the cool, black restaurant counter. My food rang up on the register as seven bucks and three cents and all I had was this. I was too young to have a credit card, or to use one, and I had somehow managed to lose the other ten bucks I had been carrying. Oh yeah… I lent it to my friend to buy something yesterday, and this was the change. What had I thought I could buy with only the change? I didn’t want to hear the lecture about money management, which my mom had essentially pounded into my head, over and over, using her words as mortar and pestle, for the thousandth time. The cashier, who was tall, thin, and wearing a lot of black eyeliner, started looking at me impatiently. Maybe she thought I was being parsimonious. I just wasn’t sure what to do.
*****
Shannon
A teenaged girl, probably about sixteen, stood before me, wearing faded blue jeans and a navy blue hoody. Her dirty blond hair was pulled back into a high ponytail, and it draped down behind her like a curtain. Her initially confident expression faltered as she searched her pockets for money and found very little. I drummed my fingers on the cash register, watching each shiny red painted nail hit with a satisfactory thud. Her food sat on the counter, getting continuously colder. She glanced up, an apologetic, nervous look on her face. I shifted from one leg to the other, then back again, waiting.
“Are you gonna pay?” I finally asked.
She looked up again, and then continued pulling copious numbers of pennies from her pocket.
“I sure hope so.”
*****
Danny
I went out to lunch with Mommy the other day. She got us food (I got chicken fingers and French fries), and she let me play with her smooth, tan wallet, as long as I didn’t spill the coins on the floor. Mommy had lots of money in her wallet, with endless numbers of silvery, shiny coins, each like a little moon, and crisp, greenish dollar bills. I stuck a few coins in my pocket, ‘cause Mommy said I could. I felt like a big grown-up.
While we were eating, there was a girl who couldn’t find enough money to give the food lady. The food she was going to buy looked very yummy, and she looked very sad. I thought that maybe she would be happier if I gave her the coins that I had in my pocket. I told Mommy that I was gonna walk around, and, pretending that I was a knight, galloped up to the girl on my invisible horse. When I got closer to her, I pulled up on the reins, and my horse stopped with a loud whinny. The girl was a lot taller than she had looked from near Mommy, and she looked almost as tall as Mommy is
I tapped her on the leg, said, “Here you go,” and handed her four very shiny quarters. She looked down nicely and said softly, “Thank you, little boy, but I can’t take your money. Why don’t you keep it?” I shrugged, shoved the quarters back in my pocket, and galloped away.
*****
Samantha
I was in the middle of my second meeting of the day when my phone started vibrating. I wouldn’t have noticed except for the fact that I had put it on the table in the meeting room and it caused the entire table to shake. I hung up on whoever was calling, and then put it on silent. I turned back to my coworkers, slightly embarrassed. The meeting finished about ten minutes later, and by then I had sixteen missed calls, all from my daughter. With a tired sigh, I called June back.
“Hello?”
“Hi, June, it’s Mom.”
“Oh thank goodness! I’m at that restaurant downtown and I only have a buck eighty-seven. Can you come help me out?”
“Honey, I’m at work, and I have yet another meeting in about fifteen minutes for this big project the company’s doing. I can’t go running all around town.”
“So what am I supposed to do?”
“Well… here, this is what I would do. Find someone at one of the other tables who seems like someone you would be comfortable talking to, ask if you can borrow some money, and write down their contact information. We’ll pay them back.”
“Um… ok… I guess.”
*****
Terri
The girl approached my table where I was eating lunch on my own. She seemed unsure as to which table to go up to, but mine won out.
“Um… hi,” she said. “Could I borrow six bucks? I will definitely pay you back if you write down some way I can contact you.”
I studied her for a minute, running my fingers through my curly brown hair, pulling it back into a ponytail. She seemed vaguely familiar, but I wasn’t sure from where. Did she go to my school? Was she in the dance class before mine? She seemed honest enough, either way.
“Sure…” I said. I pulled my hair through the hair elastic, then handed her the six dollars. “Here you go.”
She began to walk away. She didn’t have anyone to sit with either.
“Hey,” I called. “D’you wanna come sit over here and eat? I can give you my email address…” I clicked open a pen and began to scribble it down on a napkin.
“Sure,” she said. “Thanks.”
*****
June
Who would have known that one dollar and eighty-seven cents would lead to me meeting one of my best friends for the rest of high school and beyond? It turned out that Terri, the girl who lent me the money, went to the same school as me, and was the same age. We even shared an interest in cooking, something none of my other friends thought was a huge waste of time. I had just somehow never seen her at school before, each of us blending into a crowd of high school students. I did eventually pay her back for that day, both in money and in trust. We are great friends to this day.
One dollar and eighty-seven cents. That was all. And sixty cents of it was in pennies. That’s all I found as I groped in my pocket for money, standing at the cool, black restaurant counter. My food rang up on the register as seven bucks and three cents and all I had was this. I was too young to have a credit card, or to use one, and I had somehow managed to lose the other ten bucks I had been carrying. Oh yeah… I lent it to my friend to buy something yesterday, and this was the change. What had I thought I could buy with only the change? I didn’t want to hear the lecture about money management, which my mom had essentially pounded into my head, over and over, using her words as mortar and pestle, for the thousandth time. The cashier, who was tall, thin, and wearing a lot of black eyeliner, started looking at me impatiently. Maybe she thought I was being parsimonious. I just wasn’t sure what to do.
*****
Shannon
A teenaged girl, probably about sixteen, stood before me, wearing faded blue jeans and a navy blue hoody. Her dirty blond hair was pulled back into a high ponytail, and it draped down behind her like a curtain. Her initially confident expression faltered as she searched her pockets for money and found very little. I drummed my fingers on the cash register, watching each shiny red painted nail hit with a satisfactory thud. Her food sat on the counter, getting continuously colder. She glanced up, an apologetic, nervous look on her face. I shifted from one leg to the other, then back again, waiting.
“Are you gonna pay?” I finally asked.
She looked up again, and then continued pulling copious numbers of pennies from her pocket.
“I sure hope so.”
*****
Danny
I went out to lunch with Mommy the other day. She got us food (I got chicken fingers and French fries), and she let me play with her smooth, tan wallet, as long as I didn’t spill the coins on the floor. Mommy had lots of money in her wallet, with endless numbers of silvery, shiny coins, each like a little moon, and crisp, greenish dollar bills. I stuck a few coins in my pocket, ‘cause Mommy said I could. I felt like a big grown-up.
While we were eating, there was a girl who couldn’t find enough money to give the food lady. The food she was going to buy looked very yummy, and she looked very sad. I thought that maybe she would be happier if I gave her the coins that I had in my pocket. I told Mommy that I was gonna walk around, and, pretending that I was a knight, galloped up to the girl on my invisible horse. When I got closer to her, I pulled up on the reins, and my horse stopped with a loud whinny. The girl was a lot taller than she had looked from near Mommy, and she looked almost as tall as Mommy is
I tapped her on the leg, said, “Here you go,” and handed her four very shiny quarters. She looked down nicely and said softly, “Thank you, little boy, but I can’t take your money. Why don’t you keep it?” I shrugged, shoved the quarters back in my pocket, and galloped away.
*****
Samantha
I was in the middle of my second meeting of the day when my phone started vibrating. I wouldn’t have noticed except for the fact that I had put it on the table in the meeting room and it caused the entire table to shake. I hung up on whoever was calling, and then put it on silent. I turned back to my coworkers, slightly embarrassed. The meeting finished about ten minutes later, and by then I had sixteen missed calls, all from my daughter. With a tired sigh, I called June back.
“Hello?”
“Hi, June, it’s Mom.”
“Oh thank goodness! I’m at that restaurant downtown and I only have a buck eighty-seven. Can you come help me out?”
“Honey, I’m at work, and I have yet another meeting in about fifteen minutes for this big project the company’s doing. I can’t go running all around town.”
“So what am I supposed to do?”
“Well… here, this is what I would do. Find someone at one of the other tables who seems like someone you would be comfortable talking to, ask if you can borrow some money, and write down their contact information. We’ll pay them back.”
“Um… ok… I guess.”
*****
Terri
The girl approached my table where I was eating lunch on my own. She seemed unsure as to which table to go up to, but mine won out.
“Um… hi,” she said. “Could I borrow six bucks? I will definitely pay you back if you write down some way I can contact you.”
I studied her for a minute, running my fingers through my curly brown hair, pulling it back into a ponytail. She seemed vaguely familiar, but I wasn’t sure from where. Did she go to my school? Was she in the dance class before mine? She seemed honest enough, either way.
“Sure…” I said. I pulled my hair through the hair elastic, then handed her the six dollars. “Here you go.”
She began to walk away. She didn’t have anyone to sit with either.
“Hey,” I called. “D’you wanna come sit over here and eat? I can give you my email address…” I clicked open a pen and began to scribble it down on a napkin.
“Sure,” she said. “Thanks.”
*****
June
Who would have known that one dollar and eighty-seven cents would lead to me meeting one of my best friends for the rest of high school and beyond? It turned out that Terri, the girl who lent me the money, went to the same school as me, and was the same age. We even shared an interest in cooking, something none of my other friends thought was a huge waste of time. I had just somehow never seen her at school before, each of us blending into a crowd of high school students. I did eventually pay her back for that day, both in money and in trust. We are great friends to this day.
Warning Label Poem (Final)
WARNING
SERIOUS IRRITATION may occur.
Older siblings can and will be annoyed by their younger siblings.
NEVER put a feuding pair of siblings together in a car or other tightly enclosed area.
Stay as far from siblings who choose to disagree with everything you say and just generally irritate you as possible.
ALWAYS use ANY MEANS to get away.
Fly Away (Final)
Some days I long to spring up to the sky,
I’d flap my arms and soar so far away,
Yet nobody would ever question why,
A flying person – what is there to say?
I’d dance about both butterfly and cloud,
The perfect cyan blue sky right behind,
Such joy at this that I would shout out loud,
And none on Earth would pay me any mind.
The wind would carry me on shining wings,
Just laughing, smiling everywhere I go,
I’d swirl around the robin as he sings,
And smile as the notes go high to low.
But much as I would like to float around,
I know I’m just as happy on the ground.
I’d flap my arms and soar so far away,
Yet nobody would ever question why,
A flying person – what is there to say?
I’d dance about both butterfly and cloud,
The perfect cyan blue sky right behind,
Such joy at this that I would shout out loud,
And none on Earth would pay me any mind.
The wind would carry me on shining wings,
Just laughing, smiling everywhere I go,
I’d swirl around the robin as he sings,
And smile as the notes go high to low.
But much as I would like to float around,
I know I’m just as happy on the ground.
O, Illness (Final)
You are a panther in the dark, never seen coming
Until you are spread far and wide
Like soft powder thrown into a fan, still humming
And there is no good place to hide.
Everything about your presence is sour
From the taste that you cause to your potent smell.
Sitting, sick, on rumpled and clammy feeling bed sheets all day long
A mere minute becomes an hour.
The murmuring of the TV helps to quell
And the softness of sleep helps as well.
Illness, you are a beast to be reckoned with, powerful and strong.
Until you are spread far and wide
Like soft powder thrown into a fan, still humming
And there is no good place to hide.
Everything about your presence is sour
From the taste that you cause to your potent smell.
Sitting, sick, on rumpled and clammy feeling bed sheets all day long
A mere minute becomes an hour.
The murmuring of the TV helps to quell
And the softness of sleep helps as well.
Illness, you are a beast to be reckoned with, powerful and strong.
Oh, For A Cherry (Final)
Cherubic fruit for the world to relish
Yet it comes and goes so fast.
A lightning flash of a season
Of plump, purple red
Delicious, dripping cherries
Must satisfy
Until the summer again blows through.
Each one
Delicately plopped
In a hungry mouth,
Opened wide like a baby bird’s,
Is savored to the full extent
Before the pit is neatly spit
Out, a game in and of itself.
Oh, for the sweetness of a cherry
The tender, perfect fruit
Waiting to be devoured
For why else would there be a confection of such perfection?
A shining aurora of fruit
Which must wait
For the bright summer months
And then again
For a whole year
Until the summer comes again.
Yet it comes and goes so fast.
A lightning flash of a season
Of plump, purple red
Delicious, dripping cherries
Must satisfy
Until the summer again blows through.
Each one
Delicately plopped
In a hungry mouth,
Opened wide like a baby bird’s,
Is savored to the full extent
Before the pit is neatly spit
Out, a game in and of itself.
Oh, for the sweetness of a cherry
The tender, perfect fruit
Waiting to be devoured
For why else would there be a confection of such perfection?
A shining aurora of fruit
Which must wait
For the bright summer months
And then again
For a whole year
Until the summer comes again.
The Lighthouse at Portrieux (Final)
The water sparkles with spots of light.
Flickering dots of glowing yellows and gentle blues,
Shimmering blots of soft greens and pale whites.
Ships bob, bare and free
Of sail
Waiting to fly across the water
On the billowing wings of the wind.
Masts rise above
Everything around
A line from the sea to the sky.
A tan beach, speckled with brown
Paves a road
Into the distance
Where a lighthouse perches
Alert and watchful
Shining bright even in daylight
An enormous candle
Illuminating the surrounding world.
A tumble of rock
Is an island, wide and strong
Reaching a hand
Like a small moth at dusk
Toward the light.
The rock is of all sorts
Made up of various colors
From shining yellow,
To plush purple and bubbling blue and regal red,
Surrounded by
Soft, tan grains identical
To those at the lighthouse’s feet
On the opposite shore.
Flickering dots of glowing yellows and gentle blues,
Shimmering blots of soft greens and pale whites.
Ships bob, bare and free
Of sail
Waiting to fly across the water
On the billowing wings of the wind.
Masts rise above
Everything around
A line from the sea to the sky.
A tan beach, speckled with brown
Paves a road
Into the distance
Where a lighthouse perches
Alert and watchful
Shining bright even in daylight
An enormous candle
Illuminating the surrounding world.
A tumble of rock
Is an island, wide and strong
Reaching a hand
Like a small moth at dusk
Toward the light.
The rock is of all sorts
Made up of various colors
From shining yellow,
To plush purple and bubbling blue and regal red,
Surrounded by
Soft, tan grains identical
To those at the lighthouse’s feet
On the opposite shore.
Monday, May 19, 2008
Short Story (in process)
Jean was completely sheltered. He did everything with his father; he went to the zoo with him, was tutored by him everyday. He lived to please his father, to have some connection to the mother whom he never knew; he knew that his father was always dreaming about her.
He disliked Celeste because she was the only one who didn’t love everything he did. He heard her muttering under her breath about how spoiled he had become, and he never understood exactly what she meant. All he knew is that she made him do all the stuff that he didn’t want to do, like practicing his math and his French when his father was busy.
Lemonnier devoted himself to spending time with his son, no matter what business changes came up. He made sure to plan outings at least three times a week, despite Celeste’s insisting that the boy’s time would be much better spent learning instead of constant pranks and playing. Yet Lemonnier insisted on spending as much time with his son as possible.
Jean loved sports, including soccer and tennis. He would play with his father all the time, with their games often dissolving into fits of laughter. Lemonnier’s friend M. Duretour often came by as well, and joined in the action. Even strict Celeste, watching from the window, couldn’t always hold back a smile watching the two men and the boy chasing each other around the field.
As Jean matured, he had become accustomed to a lot of attention. However, as a few more years went by, he began to feel the way Celeste had known he would feel eventually – restricted. He began to notice things about how his father behaved. One day he approached his father and inquired as to whether he could invite his friend to come and visit. Lemonnier was completely surprised. “My Jean,” he said. “We were going to go for a walk in the park that day! Don’t you remember?”
Jean accepted that for the day, and had a lovely time in the park. Yet he couldn’t help noticing that his father seemed to have something planned for every single time he wanted to do something on his own. When he asked if he could go and speak to some children his age while watching a tennis match in a nearby town, he was told no, and asked, “Don’t you enjoy spending time just you and me?”
*** To come: as Jean wishes for more freedom, his father finds a woman he loves as much as his first wife, and begins to ignore Jean. Having received his freedom, Jean wants his shelter back.****
He disliked Celeste because she was the only one who didn’t love everything he did. He heard her muttering under her breath about how spoiled he had become, and he never understood exactly what she meant. All he knew is that she made him do all the stuff that he didn’t want to do, like practicing his math and his French when his father was busy.
Lemonnier devoted himself to spending time with his son, no matter what business changes came up. He made sure to plan outings at least three times a week, despite Celeste’s insisting that the boy’s time would be much better spent learning instead of constant pranks and playing. Yet Lemonnier insisted on spending as much time with his son as possible.
Jean loved sports, including soccer and tennis. He would play with his father all the time, with their games often dissolving into fits of laughter. Lemonnier’s friend M. Duretour often came by as well, and joined in the action. Even strict Celeste, watching from the window, couldn’t always hold back a smile watching the two men and the boy chasing each other around the field.
As Jean matured, he had become accustomed to a lot of attention. However, as a few more years went by, he began to feel the way Celeste had known he would feel eventually – restricted. He began to notice things about how his father behaved. One day he approached his father and inquired as to whether he could invite his friend to come and visit. Lemonnier was completely surprised. “My Jean,” he said. “We were going to go for a walk in the park that day! Don’t you remember?”
Jean accepted that for the day, and had a lovely time in the park. Yet he couldn’t help noticing that his father seemed to have something planned for every single time he wanted to do something on his own. When he asked if he could go and speak to some children his age while watching a tennis match in a nearby town, he was told no, and asked, “Don’t you enjoy spending time just you and me?”
*** To come: as Jean wishes for more freedom, his father finds a woman he loves as much as his first wife, and begins to ignore Jean. Having received his freedom, Jean wants his shelter back.****
Ekphrastic Poem: The Lighthouse at Portrieux Original Draft
The water sparkles with dots of light.
Yellows and blues,
Greens and whites.
Ships bob
Bare of sail
Waiting to fly.
Masts rise above all else
A line from the sky to the sea.
A tan beach, speckled with brown
Paves a road
Into the distance
Where a lighthouse sits
A commander
Glowing even in daylight
A beacon to the surrounding world.
An island reaches toward the light.
The rock of all sorts of colors,
From shining yellow,
To purple and blue and red,
Lined with that same pure sand
As the opposite shore.
Yellows and blues,
Greens and whites.
Ships bob
Bare of sail
Waiting to fly.
Masts rise above all else
A line from the sky to the sea.
A tan beach, speckled with brown
Paves a road
Into the distance
Where a lighthouse sits
A commander
Glowing even in daylight
A beacon to the surrounding world.
An island reaches toward the light.
The rock of all sorts of colors,
From shining yellow,
To purple and blue and red,
Lined with that same pure sand
As the opposite shore.
Ekphrastic Poem: The Lighthouse at Portrieux
The Lighthouse at Portrieux (Based on the painting by Paul Signac)
The water sparkles with dots of light.
Glowing yellows and gentle blues,
Greens and whites.
Ships bob, bare
Of sail
Waiting to fly.
Masts rise above
All else
A line from the sea to the sky.
A tan beach, speckled with brown
Paves a road
Into the distance
Where a lighthouse sits
A commander
Bright even in daylight
A beacon to the surrounding world.
An island reaches
Toward the light.
The rock of all sorts
Of colors,
From shining yellow,
To purple and blue and red,
Lined with that same pure sand
As the opposite shore.
The water sparkles with dots of light.
Glowing yellows and gentle blues,
Greens and whites.
Ships bob, bare
Of sail
Waiting to fly.
Masts rise above
All else
A line from the sea to the sky.
A tan beach, speckled with brown
Paves a road
Into the distance
Where a lighthouse sits
A commander
Bright even in daylight
A beacon to the surrounding world.
An island reaches
Toward the light.
The rock of all sorts
Of colors,
From shining yellow,
To purple and blue and red,
Lined with that same pure sand
As the opposite shore.
Original Sonnet Draft
Some days I wish to fly into the sky,
Just like a bird I’d soar so far away,
Yet nobody would ever question why,
For some the earth is not the place to stay.
I’d dance about both butterfly and cloud,
The penetrating blue sky right behind,
Such happiness that I would shout out loud,
And none would bother to pay any mind.
The wind would carry me across on wings,
Just laughing, smiling everywhere I go,
I’d spin around the robin as he sings,
The only place to just go with the flow.
But much as I would like to fly around,
I would be just as happy on the ground.
Just like a bird I’d soar so far away,
Yet nobody would ever question why,
For some the earth is not the place to stay.
I’d dance about both butterfly and cloud,
The penetrating blue sky right behind,
Such happiness that I would shout out loud,
And none would bother to pay any mind.
The wind would carry me across on wings,
Just laughing, smiling everywhere I go,
I’d spin around the robin as he sings,
The only place to just go with the flow.
But much as I would like to fly around,
I would be just as happy on the ground.
Sonnet: Fly Away
Some days I long to fly into the sky,
Just like a bird I’d soar so far away,
Yet nobody would ever question why,
For some the earth is not the place to stay.
I’d dance about both butterfly and cloud,
The purely colored blue sky right behind,
Such joyfulness that I would shout out loud,
And none would bother to pay any mind.
The wind would carry me across on wings,
Just laughing, smiling everywhere I go,
I’d swirl around the robin as he sings,
The only place to just go with the flow.
But much as I would like to float around,
I know I’m just as happy on the ground.
Just like a bird I’d soar so far away,
Yet nobody would ever question why,
For some the earth is not the place to stay.
I’d dance about both butterfly and cloud,
The purely colored blue sky right behind,
Such joyfulness that I would shout out loud,
And none would bother to pay any mind.
The wind would carry me across on wings,
Just laughing, smiling everywhere I go,
I’d swirl around the robin as he sings,
The only place to just go with the flow.
But much as I would like to float around,
I know I’m just as happy on the ground.
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Ode to Cherries
Oh, For a Cherry: An Ode
Cherubic fruit for the world to relish
Yet it comes and goes so fast.
A lightning flash of a season
Of plump, purple red
Delicious, dripping cherries
Must satisfy
Until the summer returns.
Each one
Delicately placed
In a waiting mouth,
Opened like a baby bird’s,
Is savored to the full extant
Before the pit is neatly spit out,
A game in and of itself.
Oh, for the sweetness of a cherry
The tender, perfect fruit
Waiting to be eaten
For why else would there be a confection of such perfection?
A shining aurora of the fruits
Which must wait
For the bright summer months
And then again
For a whole year
Until the summer returns.
Cherubic fruit for the world to relish
Yet it comes and goes so fast.
A lightning flash of a season
Of plump, purple red
Delicious, dripping cherries
Must satisfy
Until the summer returns.
Each one
Delicately placed
In a waiting mouth,
Opened like a baby bird’s,
Is savored to the full extant
Before the pit is neatly spit out,
A game in and of itself.
Oh, for the sweetness of a cherry
The tender, perfect fruit
Waiting to be eaten
For why else would there be a confection of such perfection?
A shining aurora of the fruits
Which must wait
For the bright summer months
And then again
For a whole year
Until the summer returns.
Ode to Cherries (Draft 1)
Ode to Cherries (Draft 1)
One of the sweetest fruits
Yet it comes and goes so fast.
A brief season
Of delicious, purple red
Plump, dripping cherries
Must satisfy
For a whole year
Until the season returns again.
Each one
Delicately placed
In a waiting mouth
Is savored to the full extant
Before the pit is neatly spit out.
Oh, for the sweetness of a cherry
The tender, perfect fruit
Which must wait
For the summer months.
One of the sweetest fruits
Yet it comes and goes so fast.
A brief season
Of delicious, purple red
Plump, dripping cherries
Must satisfy
For a whole year
Until the season returns again.
Each one
Delicately placed
In a waiting mouth
Is savored to the full extant
Before the pit is neatly spit out.
Oh, for the sweetness of a cherry
The tender, perfect fruit
Which must wait
For the summer months.
Ode to Illness (Draft 1)
Ode to Illness (Draft 1)
You never see it coming
Until it’s spread far and wide
Like it was thrown into a fan, still humming
And there is no good place to hide.
Everything about it is sour
From the taste in your mouth to the smell.
Sitting on rumpled and almost sticky bed sheets all day long
A minute becomes an hour.
The sound of the TV helps to quell
And the softness of sleep helps as well.
Illness is a devil to be reckoned with.
You never see it coming
Until it’s spread far and wide
Like it was thrown into a fan, still humming
And there is no good place to hide.
Everything about it is sour
From the taste in your mouth to the smell.
Sitting on rumpled and almost sticky bed sheets all day long
A minute becomes an hour.
The sound of the TV helps to quell
And the softness of sleep helps as well.
Illness is a devil to be reckoned with.
Ode to Illness
O, Illness: An Ode
You are a sneaky spy, never seen coming
Until you are spread far and wide
Like something thrown into a fan, still humming
And there is no good place to hide.
Everything about your presence is sour
From the taste that you cause to your potent smell.
Sitting, sick, on rumpled and clammy feeling bed sheets all day long
A mere minute becomes an hour.
The murmuring of the TV helps to quell
And the softness of sleep helps as well.
Illness, you are a devil to be reckoned with, powerful and strong.
You are a sneaky spy, never seen coming
Until you are spread far and wide
Like something thrown into a fan, still humming
And there is no good place to hide.
Everything about your presence is sour
From the taste that you cause to your potent smell.
Sitting, sick, on rumpled and clammy feeling bed sheets all day long
A mere minute becomes an hour.
The murmuring of the TV helps to quell
And the softness of sleep helps as well.
Illness, you are a devil to be reckoned with, powerful and strong.
Warning Label Poem
WARNING
SERIOUS IRRITATION may occur.
Older siblings can and will be annoyed by their younger siblings.
NEVER put a feuding pair of siblings together in a car or other tightly enclosed area.
Stay as far from irritating sibling as possible.
ALWAYS use ANY MEANS to get away.
SERIOUS IRRITATION may occur.
Older siblings can and will be annoyed by their younger siblings.
NEVER put a feuding pair of siblings together in a car or other tightly enclosed area.
Stay as far from irritating sibling as possible.
ALWAYS use ANY MEANS to get away.
Parody Poem
Longing For Sun : A Parody of April Rain Song by Langston Hughes
Let the rain drench you
Let the rain prevent you from playing outdoors
Let the rain rattle annoyingly through the gutter
The rain lands in your eyes as you walk
The rain drips down foggy car windshields
The rain wakes people from the safety of sleep
And I despise the rain.
April Rain Song by Langston Hughes
Let the rain kiss you
Let the rain beat upon your head with silver liquid drops
Let the rain sing you a lullaby
The rain makes still pools on the sidewalk
The rain makes running pools in the gutter
The rain plays a little sleep song on our roof at night
And I love the rain.
Let the rain drench you
Let the rain prevent you from playing outdoors
Let the rain rattle annoyingly through the gutter
The rain lands in your eyes as you walk
The rain drips down foggy car windshields
The rain wakes people from the safety of sleep
And I despise the rain.
April Rain Song by Langston Hughes
Let the rain kiss you
Let the rain beat upon your head with silver liquid drops
Let the rain sing you a lullaby
The rain makes still pools on the sidewalk
The rain makes running pools in the gutter
The rain plays a little sleep song on our roof at night
And I love the rain.
Thursday, April 3, 2008
Metaphor Poem
What is Fear?
A Metaphor Poem
Fear is a moon
Reflecting other ideas
Yet often overpowering
In the broad, dark sky of emotions.
Fear is a star
Shooting by when you don’t want it
Other times, a wish come true
And a conscience’s best tool.
Fear is a hair elastic
Rubber in form
It keeps things together, but
When overused, causes things to fall apart
And the dam of tears to break.
Fear is a penguin
Making constant trips
From strong, right in the heart
To distant, as it waddles far away,
To return when the time is right.
A Metaphor Poem
Fear is a moon
Reflecting other ideas
Yet often overpowering
In the broad, dark sky of emotions.
Fear is a star
Shooting by when you don’t want it
Other times, a wish come true
And a conscience’s best tool.
Fear is a hair elastic
Rubber in form
It keeps things together, but
When overused, causes things to fall apart
And the dam of tears to break.
Fear is a penguin
Making constant trips
From strong, right in the heart
To distant, as it waddles far away,
To return when the time is right.
Form Poem
*The blog doesn't like the format so much, so here it is without the cool format*
Stuck In Hershey
It’s been a L O N G time since
That ride S
O
U
T
H
With a STOP
In Hershey
And NO ONE
Expected the snow
Not to mention
The sheer AMOUNT
And we were trapped
The car COVERED in white, feathery snow
And Pennsylvania
Doesn’t get that much snow
So they couldn’t
Clear it ALL
But
If you HAVE to get STUCK
In tons of snow
Then why not
In Hershey?
Stuck In Hershey
It’s been a L O N G time since
That ride S
O
U
T
H
With a STOP
In Hershey
And NO ONE
Expected the snow
Not to mention
The sheer AMOUNT
And we were trapped
The car COVERED in white, feathery snow
And Pennsylvania
Doesn’t get that much snow
So they couldn’t
Clear it ALL
But
If you HAVE to get STUCK
In tons of snow
Then why not
In Hershey?
Found Poem
General Progression
A Found Poem
Time
Years
Seventeen
Success
Grades
Smart
Senior
Young Man
Life
Profession
Law
Attorney
Fireman
Tennis
Occupations
Education
University
Future
A Found Poem
Time
Years
Seventeen
Success
Grades
Smart
Senior
Young Man
Life
Profession
Law
Attorney
Fireman
Tennis
Occupations
Education
University
Future
Ballad of Beautiful Words
The Beauty of Language
Soft, silvery, snap
Carnation, lunar, bloom
Aluminum, Parthenon, median
Chime, pearl, luminescence
Swallow, dove, lark
Air, feather, birch
Flow, pendulum, semaphore
Pachyderm, hippogriff, chameleon
Pacify, twilight, canoe
Felicity, charity, smile
Soft, silvery, snap
Carnation, lunar, bloom
Aluminum, Parthenon, median
Chime, pearl, luminescence
Swallow, dove, lark
Air, feather, birch
Flow, pendulum, semaphore
Pachyderm, hippogriff, chameleon
Pacify, twilight, canoe
Felicity, charity, smile
Writer's Manifesto
WRITING FOR TODAY
A Writer’s Manifesto
Writing has become a tedious exercise that one is forced to do in school year after year. Yet, it cannot be categorized with math problems and homework. Writing is feeling, and writing is imagination. It is our form of expression, along side painting and art.
Art is not just drawing or painting! Writing is art!
It spins a story to captivate a reader, or weaves a poem that everyone can relate to. It is communication and history! The writer should be the reader, understand what others feel and care about. Writing is today’s continuation; it’s today’s future. It records life today for people to come.
Society needs writing to survive.
Books and screen plays, letters and emails, TV shows – all written. We as writers need to maintain the quality of writing! People are writing cartoons in which the characters are senseless and what they say is stupid and worthless. We write for the generation! If a pointless TV show can captivate and hold someone’s attention, then a story or poem can do much better. It can keep people’s attention and make their whole entertainment experience better.
Writing can take people to fantastical places, or give facts about history. It can be a time machine or a treasure trove of new ideas.
Writing holds the past, and writing holds the future!
Writers’ Goals:
1. We will write for today’s generation.
2. We will record life today for people to come, both through stories and poetry.
3. We will be the reader and connect to them as we write.
4. We will write so that writing is interesting and appealing.
5. We will write to make a story as much of a draw to people as a TV show by being equally creative with none of the stupidity.
A Writer’s Manifesto
Writing has become a tedious exercise that one is forced to do in school year after year. Yet, it cannot be categorized with math problems and homework. Writing is feeling, and writing is imagination. It is our form of expression, along side painting and art.
Art is not just drawing or painting! Writing is art!
It spins a story to captivate a reader, or weaves a poem that everyone can relate to. It is communication and history! The writer should be the reader, understand what others feel and care about. Writing is today’s continuation; it’s today’s future. It records life today for people to come.
Society needs writing to survive.
Books and screen plays, letters and emails, TV shows – all written. We as writers need to maintain the quality of writing! People are writing cartoons in which the characters are senseless and what they say is stupid and worthless. We write for the generation! If a pointless TV show can captivate and hold someone’s attention, then a story or poem can do much better. It can keep people’s attention and make their whole entertainment experience better.
Writing can take people to fantastical places, or give facts about history. It can be a time machine or a treasure trove of new ideas.
Writing holds the past, and writing holds the future!
Writers’ Goals:
1. We will write for today’s generation.
2. We will record life today for people to come, both through stories and poetry.
3. We will be the reader and connect to them as we write.
4. We will write so that writing is interesting and appealing.
5. We will write to make a story as much of a draw to people as a TV show by being equally creative with none of the stupidity.
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Who Would Have Thought?
Who Would Have Thought?
June
One dollar and eighty-seven cents. That was all. And sixty cents of it was in pennies. That’s all I found as I groped in my pocket for money, standing at the cool, black restaurant counter. My food rang up on the register as seven bucks and three cents and all I had was this. I was too young to have a credit card, or to use one, and I had somehow managed to lose the other ten bucks I had been carrying… oh yeah. I lent it to my friend to buy something yesterday, and this was the change. What had I thought I could buy with only the change? I didn’t want to hear the lecture about money management, which my mom had essentially drilled into my head, for the thousandth time. The cashier, who was tall, thin, and wearing a lot of eyeliner, started looking at me impatiently. Maybe she thought I was being parsimonious. I just wasn’t sure what to do.
*****
Shannon
A teenaged girl, probably about sixteen, stood before me, wearing faded blue jeans and a navy blue hoody. Her dirty blond hair was pulled back into a high ponytail, and it draped down behind her like a curtain. Her confident expression faltered as she searched her pockets for money and found very little. I drummed my fingers on the cash register, watching each shiny red painted nail hit with a satisfactory thud. Her food sat on the counter, getting continuously colder. She glanced up, an apologetic, nervous look on her face. I shifted from one leg to the other, then back again, waiting.
“Are you gonna pay?” I finally asked.
She looked up again, and then continued pulling copious numbers of pennies from her pocket.
“I sure hope so.”
*****
Danny
I went out to lunch with Mommy the other day. She got us food, and let me play with her smooth, tan wallet, as long as I didn’t spill the coins on the floor. Mommy had lots of money in her wallet, with endless numbers of silvery, shiny coins, each like a little moon, and crisp, greenish dollar bills. I stuck a few coins in my pocket, ‘cause Mommy said I could. I felt like a big grown-up.
While we were eating, there was a girl who couldn’t find enough money to give the food lady. The food she was going to buy looked very yummy, and she looked very sad. I thought that maybe she would be happier if I gave her the coins that I had in my pocket. I told Mommy that I was gonna walk around, and, pretending that I was a knight, galloped up to the girl on my invisible horse. Up close, she looked very tall, almost as tall as Mommy.
I tapped her on the leg, said, “Here you go,” and handed her four very shiny quarters. She looked down nicely and said softly, “Thank you, little boy, but I can’t take your money. Why don’t you keep it?” I shrugged, shoved the quarters back in my pocket, and galloped away.
*****
Samantha
I was in the middle of my second meeting of the day when my phone started vibrating. I flipped it open, closed it, and then put it on silent. The meeting finished about ten minutes later, and by then I had sixteen missed calls, all from my daughter. I called June back.
“Hello?”
“Hi, June, it’s Mom.”
“Oh thank goodness! I’m at that restaurant downtown and I only have a buck eighty-seven. Can you come help me out?”
“Honey, I’m at work, and I have yet another meeting in about fifteen minutes for this big project the company’s doing. I can’t go running all around town.”
“So what am I supposed to do?”
“Well… here, this is what I would do. Find someone at one of the other tables who seems like someone you would be comfortable talking to, ask if you can borrow some money, and write down their contact information. We’ll pay them back.”
“Um… ok… I guess.”
*****
Terri
The girl approached my table where I was eating lunch on my own. She seemed unsure as to which table to go up to, but mine won out.
“Um… hi,” she said. “Could I borrow six bucks? I will definitely pay you back if you write down some way I can contact you.”
I studied her for a minute, running my fingers through my curly brown hair, pulling it back. She seemed vaguely familiar, but I wasn’t sure from where. Did she go to my school? Was she in the dance class before mine? She seemed honest enough, either way.
“Sure…” I said, handing her the six dollars. “Here you go.”
She began to walk away. She didn’t have anyone to sit with either.
“Hey,” I called. “D’you wanna come sit over here and eat? I can give you my email address…” I clicked open a pen and began to scribble it down on a napkin.
“Sure,” she said. “Thanks.”
*****
June
Who would have known that one dollar and eighty-seven cents would lead to me meeting one of my best friends for the rest of high school and beyond? It turned out that Terri, the girl who lent me the money, went to the same school as me, and was the same age. We even shared an interest in cooking, something none of my other friends would even think of. I had just somehow never seen her at school before. I did pay her back for that day, both in money and in trust. We are great friends to this day.
June
One dollar and eighty-seven cents. That was all. And sixty cents of it was in pennies. That’s all I found as I groped in my pocket for money, standing at the cool, black restaurant counter. My food rang up on the register as seven bucks and three cents and all I had was this. I was too young to have a credit card, or to use one, and I had somehow managed to lose the other ten bucks I had been carrying… oh yeah. I lent it to my friend to buy something yesterday, and this was the change. What had I thought I could buy with only the change? I didn’t want to hear the lecture about money management, which my mom had essentially drilled into my head, for the thousandth time. The cashier, who was tall, thin, and wearing a lot of eyeliner, started looking at me impatiently. Maybe she thought I was being parsimonious. I just wasn’t sure what to do.
*****
Shannon
A teenaged girl, probably about sixteen, stood before me, wearing faded blue jeans and a navy blue hoody. Her dirty blond hair was pulled back into a high ponytail, and it draped down behind her like a curtain. Her confident expression faltered as she searched her pockets for money and found very little. I drummed my fingers on the cash register, watching each shiny red painted nail hit with a satisfactory thud. Her food sat on the counter, getting continuously colder. She glanced up, an apologetic, nervous look on her face. I shifted from one leg to the other, then back again, waiting.
“Are you gonna pay?” I finally asked.
She looked up again, and then continued pulling copious numbers of pennies from her pocket.
“I sure hope so.”
*****
Danny
I went out to lunch with Mommy the other day. She got us food, and let me play with her smooth, tan wallet, as long as I didn’t spill the coins on the floor. Mommy had lots of money in her wallet, with endless numbers of silvery, shiny coins, each like a little moon, and crisp, greenish dollar bills. I stuck a few coins in my pocket, ‘cause Mommy said I could. I felt like a big grown-up.
While we were eating, there was a girl who couldn’t find enough money to give the food lady. The food she was going to buy looked very yummy, and she looked very sad. I thought that maybe she would be happier if I gave her the coins that I had in my pocket. I told Mommy that I was gonna walk around, and, pretending that I was a knight, galloped up to the girl on my invisible horse. Up close, she looked very tall, almost as tall as Mommy.
I tapped her on the leg, said, “Here you go,” and handed her four very shiny quarters. She looked down nicely and said softly, “Thank you, little boy, but I can’t take your money. Why don’t you keep it?” I shrugged, shoved the quarters back in my pocket, and galloped away.
*****
Samantha
I was in the middle of my second meeting of the day when my phone started vibrating. I flipped it open, closed it, and then put it on silent. The meeting finished about ten minutes later, and by then I had sixteen missed calls, all from my daughter. I called June back.
“Hello?”
“Hi, June, it’s Mom.”
“Oh thank goodness! I’m at that restaurant downtown and I only have a buck eighty-seven. Can you come help me out?”
“Honey, I’m at work, and I have yet another meeting in about fifteen minutes for this big project the company’s doing. I can’t go running all around town.”
“So what am I supposed to do?”
“Well… here, this is what I would do. Find someone at one of the other tables who seems like someone you would be comfortable talking to, ask if you can borrow some money, and write down their contact information. We’ll pay them back.”
“Um… ok… I guess.”
*****
Terri
The girl approached my table where I was eating lunch on my own. She seemed unsure as to which table to go up to, but mine won out.
“Um… hi,” she said. “Could I borrow six bucks? I will definitely pay you back if you write down some way I can contact you.”
I studied her for a minute, running my fingers through my curly brown hair, pulling it back. She seemed vaguely familiar, but I wasn’t sure from where. Did she go to my school? Was she in the dance class before mine? She seemed honest enough, either way.
“Sure…” I said, handing her the six dollars. “Here you go.”
She began to walk away. She didn’t have anyone to sit with either.
“Hey,” I called. “D’you wanna come sit over here and eat? I can give you my email address…” I clicked open a pen and began to scribble it down on a napkin.
“Sure,” she said. “Thanks.”
*****
June
Who would have known that one dollar and eighty-seven cents would lead to me meeting one of my best friends for the rest of high school and beyond? It turned out that Terri, the girl who lent me the money, went to the same school as me, and was the same age. We even shared an interest in cooking, something none of my other friends would even think of. I had just somehow never seen her at school before. I did pay her back for that day, both in money and in trust. We are great friends to this day.
Sunday, March 16, 2008
Self Portrait Poem
A Cat’s Perspectives on Life: A Self Portrait Poem
She chose me when I was but more than a kitten,
And she was about the same.
I entered into a strange new land,
And I still love her – that, at least, has not changed.
I have watched her since then.
I’ve seen friends come and go.
She has changed and grown so much,
And who but I could know.
She is the one who hears me,
When my claws dig at the back door.
Her kindness is overwhelming,
I mean, what else are owners supposed to be for?
She, of course, gets angry and irritable,
Especially when her brother says that things are unfair,
But of course this means nothing to me,
For frustrated human affairs I have no care.
Her schoolwork tends to annoy her,
And stress sometimes leads to tears,
But she need not fear her physics,
When she has me - for comfort - near.
She has good friends, who like her,
And who pay attention to me.
When they are around and she is too,
I know that I need not flee.
Her family has endless conversations,
From complex schedules to honeybees.
Sometimes she laughs very hard,
Depending on where the conversation leads.
Endless nights she can be found,
No matter how late it’s gotten to,
Deeply engrossed in any book,
Whether it is an old reread or brand new.
Through all of her young life,
She’s had character traits and flaws,
But as long as she pays more attention to me,
I need not use my claws.
She chose me when I was but more than a kitten,
And she was about the same.
I entered into a strange new land,
And I still love her – that, at least, has not changed.
I have watched her since then.
I’ve seen friends come and go.
She has changed and grown so much,
And who but I could know.
She is the one who hears me,
When my claws dig at the back door.
Her kindness is overwhelming,
I mean, what else are owners supposed to be for?
She, of course, gets angry and irritable,
Especially when her brother says that things are unfair,
But of course this means nothing to me,
For frustrated human affairs I have no care.
Her schoolwork tends to annoy her,
And stress sometimes leads to tears,
But she need not fear her physics,
When she has me - for comfort - near.
She has good friends, who like her,
And who pay attention to me.
When they are around and she is too,
I know that I need not flee.
Her family has endless conversations,
From complex schedules to honeybees.
Sometimes she laughs very hard,
Depending on where the conversation leads.
Endless nights she can be found,
No matter how late it’s gotten to,
Deeply engrossed in any book,
Whether it is an old reread or brand new.
Through all of her young life,
She’s had character traits and flaws,
But as long as she pays more attention to me,
I need not use my claws.
Flash Fiction
The Shovel
Savannah sat among the sand dunes, working with the other children around her, digging through heaps of smooth, flow-out-of-your-hand sand. They walked back and forth with brightly colored buckets, transporting sand from one huge project to another. Savannah’s job was to fill the buckets as fast as she could. Suddenly, while she was working, Savannah’s shovel broke with a loud snap. She turned confidently to her brother, Carter, and told him to give her his shovel. Her job was more important than his anyway. However, Carter stubbornly refused, taunting, “You’re gonna be in trouble with the oracle….”
Savannah was outraged and terrified at the same time. She consulted some of her fellow workers, but none of them had spare shovels either. Growing anxiety filled her. She began to see truth in her brother’s statement. The shovel had been new, a gift from the oracle just that morning. What if the Oracle was unhappy? Suddenly, her fear was replaced with resentment. Why couldn’t Carter just give her the shovel? She was superior in rank and more important to the project. Turning back to Carter, she announced confidently that she was going to report his behavior to the oracle. He glanced at her, and then replied smugly, “It’s you who’ll be in trouble, not me!”
Savannah scowled, then trudged toward the jungle. There was a huge root that you had to climb over, one foot after another, to enter the jungle, but Savannah, in her sulky determination, forgot about it. She walked straight into it, hitting her lower legs, and tumbled forward, straight into the green, wood filled jungle. When she pulled herself together, she noticed a huge gash on her leg. Her eyes filled with tears, but she remembered the cause of her journey. Looking back toward the sand dunes, she realized that there was no chance to turn back now. She pushed herself to her feet and continued on.
As she limped through the jungle, she saw other workers scampering around. She had to walk in a zigzag to avoid being run over, for there were jungle builders everywhere. However, her luck ran out. She did not get out of the way in time to avoid an extremely energetic worker, who crashed into her as he rushed from place to place, continuing up and into another tree. Without the use of her painful leg, she stumbled backwards, slamming into one of the trees. Her head began to ache slightly. She shook her head hard to clear it, gathered herself together, and continued on.
Savannah was nearing where the oracle sat, trying to figure out what to say. She gripped her broken shovel even tighter as she limped up to the oracle, worrying more and more about what the oracle’s response would be.
******
Monica looked up from her conversation to see her five-year-old daughter limping toward her, a neon pink shovel in her hand. Her knee was slightly scraped and some wood chips from the playground clung to her shorts. There was a bump on her head like she had banged it against something.
“Savannah, are you OK?” she cried. “What happened?”
Savannah turned and looked across the wood-chip covered playground, past the jungle gym, and to the wooden edged sand box where her three-year-old brother and several other children still played.
“My shovel broke,” she whined. “And Carter wouldn’t give me his and it was a new shovel and I was so worried that you’d be mad at me and- and-“
“I’m not mad at you,” Monica interrupted. “Now tell me – how did you get all scratched up?
Savannah smiled. “Well, it was a long journey here from the sandbox…”
Savannah sat among the sand dunes, working with the other children around her, digging through heaps of smooth, flow-out-of-your-hand sand. They walked back and forth with brightly colored buckets, transporting sand from one huge project to another. Savannah’s job was to fill the buckets as fast as she could. Suddenly, while she was working, Savannah’s shovel broke with a loud snap. She turned confidently to her brother, Carter, and told him to give her his shovel. Her job was more important than his anyway. However, Carter stubbornly refused, taunting, “You’re gonna be in trouble with the oracle….”
Savannah was outraged and terrified at the same time. She consulted some of her fellow workers, but none of them had spare shovels either. Growing anxiety filled her. She began to see truth in her brother’s statement. The shovel had been new, a gift from the oracle just that morning. What if the Oracle was unhappy? Suddenly, her fear was replaced with resentment. Why couldn’t Carter just give her the shovel? She was superior in rank and more important to the project. Turning back to Carter, she announced confidently that she was going to report his behavior to the oracle. He glanced at her, and then replied smugly, “It’s you who’ll be in trouble, not me!”
Savannah scowled, then trudged toward the jungle. There was a huge root that you had to climb over, one foot after another, to enter the jungle, but Savannah, in her sulky determination, forgot about it. She walked straight into it, hitting her lower legs, and tumbled forward, straight into the green, wood filled jungle. When she pulled herself together, she noticed a huge gash on her leg. Her eyes filled with tears, but she remembered the cause of her journey. Looking back toward the sand dunes, she realized that there was no chance to turn back now. She pushed herself to her feet and continued on.
As she limped through the jungle, she saw other workers scampering around. She had to walk in a zigzag to avoid being run over, for there were jungle builders everywhere. However, her luck ran out. She did not get out of the way in time to avoid an extremely energetic worker, who crashed into her as he rushed from place to place, continuing up and into another tree. Without the use of her painful leg, she stumbled backwards, slamming into one of the trees. Her head began to ache slightly. She shook her head hard to clear it, gathered herself together, and continued on.
Savannah was nearing where the oracle sat, trying to figure out what to say. She gripped her broken shovel even tighter as she limped up to the oracle, worrying more and more about what the oracle’s response would be.
******
Monica looked up from her conversation to see her five-year-old daughter limping toward her, a neon pink shovel in her hand. Her knee was slightly scraped and some wood chips from the playground clung to her shorts. There was a bump on her head like she had banged it against something.
“Savannah, are you OK?” she cried. “What happened?”
Savannah turned and looked across the wood-chip covered playground, past the jungle gym, and to the wooden edged sand box where her three-year-old brother and several other children still played.
“My shovel broke,” she whined. “And Carter wouldn’t give me his and it was a new shovel and I was so worried that you’d be mad at me and- and-“
“I’m not mad at you,” Monica interrupted. “Now tell me – how did you get all scratched up?
Savannah smiled. “Well, it was a long journey here from the sandbox…”
Friday, March 14, 2008
Micro Fiction
A Failed Escape
Elizabeth scrambled up to the top of the blooming cherry tree, crawling out along the thick, strong branches until she found a comfortable place to sit, sitting on one branch and leaning against another.
She was completely content up there, especially due to the fact that her irritating younger sister couldn’t climb that high yet. It was her shelter, with the flowers blowing all around her, a wall of pink and white protection.
When she noticed her sister approaching she announced loudly, “I’m not coming down for any reason, so you might as well not come over here.”
“Fine,” her sister said. “But it’s dessert, so I’ll just eat your chocolate cake for you.”
Elizabeth jumped down from the tree and chased her sister all the way back to the house, where her delicious slice of cake sat, still intact and waiting.
Elizabeth scrambled up to the top of the blooming cherry tree, crawling out along the thick, strong branches until she found a comfortable place to sit, sitting on one branch and leaning against another.
She was completely content up there, especially due to the fact that her irritating younger sister couldn’t climb that high yet. It was her shelter, with the flowers blowing all around her, a wall of pink and white protection.
When she noticed her sister approaching she announced loudly, “I’m not coming down for any reason, so you might as well not come over here.”
“Fine,” her sister said. “But it’s dessert, so I’ll just eat your chocolate cake for you.”
Elizabeth jumped down from the tree and chased her sister all the way back to the house, where her delicious slice of cake sat, still intact and waiting.
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