Friday, June 26, 2009

Skipping Stone Memories Poem!

I wrote this the other day in an attempt to write a Palindrom Poem – Mirrored Poetry. This type of poem is to read the same way forward and backwards. The center word is the reverse of the prior sentences.

For some reason or another, I decided to try different poetry styles as a challenge even though I’ve only been writing poetry for a year. Anyways, here goes my blog poem.

Stone Memories,
triggered song, restless thoughts,
or moment that appears familiar,
from times adored,
some truly abhorred,
but beauty
such ponderings
lives within
within lives
ponderings such
beauty but
abhorred truly some,
adored times from
familiar appears that moment or,
thoughts restless, song triggered,
Memories Stone,

My other challenge is finding a picture for my Skipping Stones Poem. I’d like to even use it as a background on my blog, but I haven’t found a picture. If you have a picture you’d like to share of skipping stones that isn't copyrighted, I’d appreciate you letting me know. In the meantime, I’ll keep up the search.

Have a Great Weekend!

Wednesday, June 24, 2009

It's My Story!

“Ouch! Don’t do that. Every time you erase something it hurts.”

“Is she doing that again?”

“Yes, along with various painful and embarrassing things. What happened to her growing up?” I roll my eyes without being told.

“I like what I do.”

“Yeah, if I got to be a Rock Star I’d like it too, but your personality is all wrong for it.”

“You think?”

I sigh without direction and sarcastically say, “Yes, I think. Asking that question is proof enough that you can’t handle the fame. You’re too nice. I don’t know why she gave you the job, and made you the Protagonist. The main character is supposed to be flawed. You… you’re booming with happiness and a clean cut life.”

“Maybe she’s tired of her characters being flawed and wants to have someone with an easy life.”

“And maybe you should shut up! I don’t know why I even bother talking to you, you’re annoyingly perfect.”

“What’s wrong with being perfect and nice? I bet she feels the same way that’s why I’m the main character.”

“You’re a character all right. SHE made you the main character because her life is all messed up. I mean just look at her.”

We both look up at you at the same time without a prompt.

“She looks fine to me. I can see the crinkles between her eyebrows. It looks like she’s concentrating hard.”

“That’s what I’m talking about. There shouldn’t be any concentration. She should put pen to paper and follow along with the story.”

“Why have writers if the story writes itself?”

“Because someone needs to write what WE tell them to you idiot!”

“Then I wouldn’t be a Rock Star. You’d beat me up, take my fame and I’d be homeless.”

“Now that’s a story!”

“But it’s not how the story should be told.”

“Really? Who says that’s not how it should be told?”

“She did.” He points up to me.

“You mean OUR writer?”

“Yes. Our writer. She seems to have everything under control. I’m going to be performing in Times Square… OW! What are you doing?”

I start punching the Rock Star with all my might. He runs away, but I chase after him and catch up. My fists sink into his softness.

“Stop it! You’re hurting me.”

“That’s the point dummy.”

With increased speed, my fists connect with his face, one after the other stopping Mr. Rock Star from getting up. In an instant, I feel a sharp pain in my back as I stumble away. I feel wet warmth, so I touch my back and my hand is covered in blood.

He looks up at me. “You bitch! I’m the one who--- ”

He falls with his eyes still open but motionless.

Rock Star looks at him then me then back to him. He gets up, throws the knife in the dumpster and brushes the dirt from his clothes. Other than a bleeding lip he’s fine.

Again, he looks up, winks and smiles. “Thanks for your help. I was beginning to think you changed your mind and wanted him as the Protagonist.”

Monday, June 22, 2009

It's Sunday!

"It’s Sunday,” I said to my guest,

"Such a beautiful day, I feel blessed."

He looked outside, saw the rain fall

couldn’t understand why so in awe.

I sat next to him on the couch

gave him coffee to cure the grouch.

He smiled, I touched his cheek to say,

“You are my love, it’s a beautiful day.”

Friday, June 19, 2009

Part Two of Come on in and Critique (Warning: Adult Language)

Upon request, I’ve decided to post the rest of the short story I posted on April 19. Here’s the beginning of the story, Untitled if you haven’t read it yet. Below is the rest, so let me know what you think. Your comments mean a lot to me, so please share your thoughts on whether you like it or not and where it failed or succeeded. Also, I don’t have a title for this story, so if something comes to mind let me know, but I want to warn you, if curse words offend you I’d advise you to not read on.

Thanks again for all your support!

The water poured over my face from the showerhead while I tried to remember recent events. After work, I met up with Brandon, my “I’m not sure where we stand” companion. He still causes me to hold my breath when I see him. His trademark walk turns heads, straight shoulders and back, right leg gliding forward then the left coming down hard favoring his right knee from an old injury. He doesn’t need to duck down when walking through doorways, or occupy the entire side of a booth. Brandon has an average build and smothering personality. Our relationship consists of Brandon talking about ‘his’ life, and how ‘he’ feels and what ‘he’ wants as if my mouth was taped shut. And although it’s a one-sided love affair, the thought of saying good-bye to find another outfit terrified me.

I leaned in for a kiss, but he took my arm and led the way to the table. Before I was seated, he began his day’s journal.

“You’ll never believe who I ran into.” A sly smile crept on his face.


“Cheryl.” He sighed from aggravation. “Don’t look at me like that. You know Cheryl, my ex-wife.”

“Oh!” My face began to melt. “How is she doing?”

“Good. Real good. We went out to lunch and got to talking about our marriage, what happened, shit like that.”

My heart pounded out the words. “Is that right? And what did you learn?”

I thought, why did you ask him that question? I said I wasn’t ready for another outfit. This one tapers where sex is concerned and dangles my emotions. Brandon had a natural tendency to lure me in just enough for me to think I could come aboard and then leave me bobbing, unsure of whether I missed his emotions, or he wasn’t able to give me his heart. It’s hard being in an endless sea with only a row boat to rely on. The words ‘give it another go’ brought me back to the conversation, but those words hooked into my memory and I pulled his sentences out again.

“I’m sorry. What did you say?”

He let out another sigh as if bored with the conversation. “I said Cheryl and I decided to give it another go. We gave up on our marriage too soon. We owe it to each other to try again.”

“But what about me? What about owing me?”

“Come on Sharon. We met at a bar, fucked, hooked up occasionally for dinner. A movie. More fucking. Hell, I didn’t learn Parker was your last name until a few days after we met. Neither of us talked about OUR relationship because there isn’t one.”

“We’ve been together for six months. It warrants an explanation one that isn’t geared at tossing me like a letter in a mailbox. I deserve--- “

“Deserve! Give me a break. You’re with me because I look good and I’m a good fuck.”

His snake tongue made others turn to see what was going on. How could two people be together for six months and view the relationship completely different? I felt like a fly under a magnifying glass, large for everyone to see however, insignificant to save.

This is the point where my memory was wiped clean. I shut the shower off so my skin could iron out the wrinkles. The water didn’t arouse my senses, and the emptiness within began to grow. Even the mirror reflected an unfamiliar image. My coconut skin had a grayish tint as though mold began to form underneath. Bulging eyes stared motionless from draining emotions and numb sensations. I turned away from the mirror unable to cope with my new reflection. When I said I didn’t want another outfit I meant another man. Whatever clothes laid on the floor wound up on my body. I had to get some fresh air and find out if this person I’ve become is my imagination or did I gamble my soul to Lucifer?

At least my car still looked of new adventure. Its leather bucket seats were smooth and unblemished. I turned on the GPS system and an address popped up on the screen. It didn’t look familiar. The voice said I had 5 miles to my destination. I hit the steering wheel with my hand at the same time letting out a laugh that increased in volume. The new me and the unknown destination made the laugh deepen and become sinister. I’m going mad. Someone walked by the car and didn’t take notice. Am I really laughing or is it in my head?

I put the car in drive and followed the voice. The sun started to wake, and what normally is a busy street was quiet while the wind cleaned up. I turned onto a road stuck between two cemeteries. The one on the left had monuments and headstones setup like a chess set while the other contained wooden markers, the poor’s only choice for art. It’s been so long since I came down here that it took me a minute to realize my family is buried in the wealthier cemetery. The car automatically turned into the entrance where the gates stood open. I inched the car towards my family’s legacy. As I approached, I saw a fresh burial next to my mother’s place of rest. I got out and shut the door hard enough for the birds to notice. A rose floral arrangement of peach, purple and pink sat atop the fresh earth. I bent down to read the card:

"We’ll miss you Sharon Parker."