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Honors English I
Our block “A” freshman honors English class recently completed a unit on poetry. We learned a few things about poetry in general. The best poetry is that which paints a picture in the reader’s mind through specific images. The best poetry is personal (not to be confused with private). The best poetry is not about huge topics that you can’t picture, like love or anger, but about scenes that help readers picture what you are writing about. We didn’t write things like “Oh, I love him like the ocean is deep,” but we did write things like, “I gave him the last French fry from the oil-stained bag I bought on the Seaside Boardwalk, that last French fry that I was saving for myself.” If you’ve had an experience, chances are we have had a similar one, and can therefore relate to it. We learned that nouns and verbs are the best words to use: adjectives can, many times, hold you down like you’re a mosquito struggling to free yourself from evergreen sap. The culmination of our unit was for each student to write one poem. This poem was to be a labor of love: brainstormed, drafted, cried upon, laughed about, ripped up, rewritten, sweated over, and, finally, either reluctantly or proudly, turned in. I wanted to publish these poems on the Warren Hills website because I think each student rose to the occasion and produced terrific pieces. We hope you’ll enjoy them as much as we did. Mr. Horn
A FRIEND “Can I kiss you now?” I felt him say, as he slid closer. The music roaring, Just making out the words. Smoothing a finger over The thick dark cursive on his wrist. “Bop-Bop” made it worth the giggle, But the story brought a tear. A way to remember A loved one, now lost. Taking bites, eating slow. Savoring every word. 2 hours of the perfect conversation, And 2 more for the movie, Made the night complete. Some memories already formed, Many more to come. It all goes back to that first night. As I slid too, and whispered back, “You don’t have to ask.”	BASEBALL There must be no feeling like beholding a baseball field at the break of dawn, The clay of the basepath waiting to be pieced by the daggers of the players’ spikes, The sod casting miniature shadows upon the ground, burdened with the morning dew, The foul poles glistening in the waking rays of sunshine, at opposite ends of the ballpark, A peaceful place compared to the battlefield it becomes at game time. There must be no feeling like taking the field or stepping into the batters box in this baseball park, Fielding a goundball, lunging to snag a line drive, catching a fly ball, Swinging at a pitch released from sixty feet away, tearing past at ninety miles per hour, From lining a single, double, or triple to the outfield, To sending a pitch soaring above the homerun fence, over three hundred feet away. There must be no feeling like hearing the roar of the crowd after a spectacular feat, Generally, the crowd seems unemotional, almost unaware of the baseball game taking place, They’re calm, except for the chatter among themselves, the munching of hot dogs or crackerjacks, There are some fans who holler cheers, and others that snarl jeers, But all at once, as if on cue, when a spectacular event takes place,the crowd erupts in celebration. BASEBALL: THERE IS NO FEELING LIKE IT.
GOING SOLO I’m putting bags in the back of our mini-van. A prisoner helping the escape of her best friend. Tonight, there are three plates at the table, The two extra slices in the tomato pie taunt me. Numbers seventeen, thirty-four, and thirty-six are left vacant on my math homework. My clothes don’t match because he is not here to tell me so. His cell phone; voice mail, His screen name; the familiar “elsewhere,” This is no longer a duet, but two separate solos, And I am center stage in the red spotlight for the first time. He is doing theory homework by the fountain, Strolling through the fluff of snow. And I am forgotten. Will I even receive a farewell embrace, Before I force myself to turn and walk out, Through the doorway with the chipped paint, And be driven away pretending I don’t care?
NIGHT LIGHTS Plowing through the screen door, balmy summer air, my accomplice, awaits me. Exhilaration canoes through my body as I see the buzzing beacons pierce the darkness. They sprinkle the night landscape: grass, shrubs, trees Two legs propel me across the yard. My bare feet become grass-stained, but that is of no importance. I am on an excursion. An adventure. I crouch and my hands cup to encompass the creature. Moving it to its new glass microcosm with a sky of perforated silver foil. I keep this routine up for hours and soon I recognize my mother beckoning. I, disappointed, start my trek toward the house; the jar is my lantern in the absence of light.	SUMMER Never will I forget those days of summer, Holding buttercups beneath my chin, Running through the prickly grass, As it tickles between my toes, In my wet bathing suit Being dried by the vibrant sun. Feeling the warmth on my back, And on my peeling burnt shoulders. Playing basketball on the scorching blacktop, Too into the game to pay attention to the developing blisters on the bottom of my burning feet. Sweat trickling down my face as drops penetrate my eyes making them sting. Catching lightning bugs, Laying in bed tossing and turning, With the cool air of the fan blowing on my face As the sound of crickets chirping Puts me to sleep.
DAYDREAMING Dreary, rainy day Simply sitting on the sofa Reluctantly doing my homework. Steady beat of the raindrops Drumming on the roof. I look up. Pitter patter, pitter patter The even, comfortable pattern of the rainfall Lulling me, mesmerizing me Into a deep slumber In which my eyes remain open. Staring out the window At that one piece of grass. Not seeing it, yet not not seeing it either. My mind wanders, My thoughts leap out in every direction. I am thinking nothing And I am thinking everything. I do not point my mind in any one direction, But let the current pull it. It’s like floating down a river. Not struggling against the pull of the water, Yet not helping the current either. This is what tranquility is. But then someone throws me a life preserver And yanks me back into the real world. Pitter patter, pitter patter I hear the roar of the rain again, And now I see that piece of grass I blink. And resume my work From where I left off before.	I REMEMBER THE GOOD TIMES DRIFTING AWAY I remember the sleepovers we used to have, the pillow fights, scary stories we used to tell. The challenges we were faced with during our teenage years, the boyfriends, breakups, and even the exercising. the hard times we went through when your mom got sick. I remember those times when we used to talk, share, laugh and cry. I remember when you came from Tennessee, with your accent and short hair cut. I remember when we would forget our worries an jog for hours, until we were ready to go back to the rest of the world. I remember our very first girls night out to the movies, we saw Remember the Titans, and even got yelled at by the people around us. But now those good times are like a leaf, they’re drifting away, and may never come back. You have a new life now, with the one you seem to love. You spend all your time with him, the time that used to be yours and mine. I rarely see you now, so rare, I can’t remember what you look like. I seem to be invisible to you, that’s why I made new friends. While losing a best friend and making another, I realized now our time has ceased. I see you drifting to the east, while I in sorrow and anguish drift to the west.
ARACHNOPHOBIA The day withers from the mountains and night creeps in, Blurring things from recognition. I enter through the mouth of the tent, Engulfing myself in a flannel cocoon, And close my eyes to snuff out the eerie darkness. Rain falls in torrents upon the canvas fabric As I try to sleep, unaware of what lies above me. there is a faint rustling in which I awake to. My cot groans as I reach for my flashlight. And a beam of light cuts through the abyss and rests on the celling. Arachne’s children have already consumed it. Their legs like needles, Stitching their way across the roof, Waiting in a quiet that is full of the noise of thoughts. Shrieks pierce the silence. I am held captive in their gaze As I probe my way out of the tent. But though I leave unharmed, Their vision will permeate my mind forever. The morning administers no cure.	PLAN B It’s that time again and it’s just like the last. It seems to me You haven’t learned from the past. It is a twisted cycle, that attacks and attacks. You make your fake friends and get stabbed in the back. Now you are alone, and you’ve lost your place as tears and mascara spill down your face. But you smile to know that there is always me. Cold and forgotten, Your perfect Plan B. You don’t know what it is like to wake up knowing someone might talk to you if they feel desperate enough.
‘FALL OF TYRANTS’ The anger searing in my mind. Thinking about those who dictate, Causing woe to entire nations. Rage spreading through my body like wildfire, Watching dictators throw away lives, For amusement and self indulgence. The sense of power engulfs them, blinding them of their self annihilation. But within their deluge of tormenting, A beacon of hope shines. I begin to see, The inevitable fall of tyrants. A coalition of friends and neighbors arise, Fighting against the oppressors, Who will always be defeated in the cessation. After my temper washes out, I realize that, In a time of dire need, The common civilian will unite To vanquish their evils. And on the remains of the aftermath, They begin to rebuild.	FABULOUS FIVE There were five of us fabulous ones, Five who knew Bob Three movies that we could watch repeatedly Millions of inside jokes that kept us laughing Hundreds of secrets that were never shared Many times spent making fools of ourselves Numerous parties spent dancing An enormous amount of lemon game notebooks kept hidden Thousands of unforgettable times. Not to be forgotten the bad times: Four out of five at a sleepover Excluding one, who was left home alone crying. Two mad at each other; three opting for a side Sometimes an intruder threatening to split the group would succeed momentarily. Five are still fabulous, but are we still the Fabulous Five? A few more additions were added to make more than five; It is still a separate category on everyone’s Buddy List, And our friendship will never die, but Who are the Fabulous Five?
TOMORROW, ICE CREAM DAY Looking up at the people in this room, I realize that the sound of tears was prominent, And all the sentences that are spoken, Seem to include the word “was”. She was nice, She was funny. That one word, Telling me everything that I need to know, Yet almost nothing. Who, Why, How? Questions fly in and out of my brain. Did I know her, Why “was” she? Vague images appear and slip away, A woman, A wheelchair, me. She’s familiar, yet...not really. Pictures line the wall, A plaque on which a name is scrolled. I know that name, Elsie Toth...my great-grandmother. Scared, Nervous; Mixed with guilt, For all that I can think of is, Oh man, tomorrow is ice cream day!
UNDESERVING SINNER He’s indentured to grief He’s chained to loss He’s handcuffed to loneliness He’s surrounded by sorrows He’s imprisoned in reality Offered bail, But the costs are too high. No such thing as parole, Because who trusts the heart of the unknown. Innocent of crime, Yet charged with destiny Already defeated, Yet he never fought His eyes are holes of emptiness which he’s plummeted down and hit rock bottom. He’s skulking with shackles affixed to his feet weighed down by immeasurable sadness.	ACCEPTED I watch your gaze scan my body. My shoulders tighten, head drops, eyes lower, My body is afraid of rejection. Your head lowers and eyes meet mine. You lift my head with your caring hand; My shoulders relax, eyes gleam, and mouth smiles. I can feel the nervousness in your hand; You are just as afraid as I. We are accepted.
GOING HOME The door swings behind me Coat billowing, I begin to trudge. The street is crossed with eyes tearing, head bowed, hands in pockets. The birds are silent, The wind is still. My foot sets down in mud. I am trapped. I fight futilely to continue. Freeing my foot, I venture on. Imprisonment is imminent. The paper in my backpack seals my fate. I walk in the rusty lines of steel. The behemoth lumbers ahead, it’s speed matching my thoughts. I open the door at home and glare defiance into the eyes of my parents.	BLACKOUT A Tuesday night, the crisp summer air shoots down my neck; I glance over at my friend, Who is riding beside me. We race through the field, kicking the motorcycles up to third gear. Daydreaming about winning the race, I am not aware of the ditch that lies ahead. The motorcycle comes to a sudden halt; Clueless, I fly through the air. I plummet headfirst to the ground, then roll onto my back, With the motorcycle catapulting over me. Nature is silent, unbelieving of the crash; The trees stand firm, the sunset pauses in awe of the sight. Like a drunken man, I lay there groggily, The pain screams at my senses and my eyes rain teardrops. As I lie there, my backyard starts to disappear into the shadows, My world is black My eyes open, the trees start to whisper, the sun continues to set. I stumble inside and flop myself into a chair at the dinner table, As if nothing happened, I start to devour my meal in front of me. The mashed potatoes put up a fight, but I managed to muscle them down.
SPEAKING OUT As I lie down on a sheet of ice I see the man I thought you were Your voice repeating everything you ever said Breaks the silence Like church bells do in a temple Vivid pictures of you and me Keep going back and forth Like a slide show that never seems to end I keep wondering why I couldn’t see Your true identity I don’t know what hurts more.... Seeing you walking beside her Or Realizing the image I had of you Is a crystal statue shattering into pieces How did you blind me? All I saw was perfection Which I thought I was lucky to have Friends kept trying to take The bandage off my eyes... I would talk to you And automatically it was placed over my eyes again Drying the salt beneath As a detective I organized the informaltion given Carefully analyzed it The bandage was ripped off I discovered who you are I was finally capable of seeing Through your intricately woven mask I figured out your theatrical act I’m not your fan anymore! You carved a deep scar You didn’t say you were sorry You might think your’re skilled As you claim victory and Dash to put the golden trophy On your crooked shelf My sympathy... Like the wind blows on your face Hoping it will make your bandage blow away Feeling stronger as I wander Through the unknown forest A voice shouts and echoes inside my head... “It’s better to walk alone than with a lion by my side”	IN A HEARTBEAT When we breeze right through, We think we have all the power. The adrenaline is pumping, And our energy seems endless. We’re geared for the game It’s about to begin. We’re out in the field, when the count is full. The umpire yells “ball four” For what should have been “strike three”. A runner is clearly out, We’re frustrated, he’s on first. “We’re being cheated!” Squeezed by incompetence, Too many bad calls There’s nothing we can do. Our lead falls from two, then one. Now we are even. Frustration is mounting, His anger is growing. His emotions, beyond his control Inappropriate gestures, the umpire is dissed. Our pitcher, ejected, is one for this game. Soon we fall behind, The wind out of our sails. The game is over, we have lost. It just goes to show, when you feel in total control, everything can.......
WHAT HAPPENS WHEN.... What happens when the words you say don’t mean a thing? The “I love you’”s and “your so cute”s turn to dust, and I’m left here with nothing much; just my head on my shoulders and no ones trust. What happens when my walls are built so high that no one dares to climb up? Where’s my Romeo? with doubtless devotion to rescue me from loveless dreams, irresistible nothings, and sweet absences! What happens then?
‘...ALRIGHT.’ Hot summer day in late June. Feet on the dashboard, shoes on the floor. Windows down and my elbow out as I listen to the news on the radio. “Five car pileup on the Parkway. Two known fatalities. Expect backup for two miles.” No more. I click it off, too depressing. Besides I can see it I can see the lights upahead. I put my headphones on. They block out the sirens well, With their music drumming in my head. Cars slow down as they pass by. Morbid curiosity I guess. We slow down too, the other cars, They are the reason, moving slow so we can’t move any faster. My music blocks out the sirens well, but I can see them. I can see the lights flashing while people hold each other as they shout and cry. I could move, but my skin is stuck to the leather seat. To shift my body would hurt, because I would have to tear my skin from the seat. There would be pain, but nothing like their pain. I sit and stare out the window, like I always do when traveling. I sit with my headphones on and As we pass, low and sweet, the song sings “Everything will be alright.”	THE BRIDGE OF OUR SUMMER It was one of those summers they describe in movies... Overabundance of sunshine and humid heat That stuck to your skin and soon became a familiarity of summer. We walked to the river, freed of our sandals and priorities. Sitting on the ledge of the bridge, dangling our feet above the water There was completeness to our contentment, to our friendship. Afterwards we would float on rafts down the river Holding hands, linking rafts, joining lives. Laughed and splashed and waved at cars Smiled at the dog that swam beside us A wind breathed, tousling our hair and Kissing the surface of our skin The din of the outside world filtered through the air But failed to permeate our thoughts. Then one by one we left the river Scrambling up the embankment and filled with sadness. The end of summer drew near and still we did not return Though the river beckoned and waited. We went, never to come back again together So we left the bridge with the memory of us. With only the solitary image of a pair of flip-flops Resting on the bridge’s ledge, to tell of it.
BEACH HOUSE SUMMER White caps crashing down like an avalanche Gulls bobbing on the deep blue Beaming sun from every angle But yet aiming to hit me A rainbow of colors, scenes and cartoons Spread across the sandy miles An occasional laugh, giggle or yawn From near and afar Radios heard in the distance Blasting that classic one hit wonder Which everybody complains about Yet secretly loves. Shaggy haired surfer boys Shuffle their sandy toes on the wooden boardwalk Their boards shiny and intriguing As if trying to pull me into the ocean themselves The many seashell contests Where we all swore we had the most And the loser would have to get more water For our giant sand castle Which was a mere lump of sand There was a family hole where all could fit Much like the beach house That both seemed like a mansion And ceased to get boring All old memories still fresh in my heart As if it was yesterday, yet it was far from that	She was never happy with herself Every day she wondered why. Why should she hold on, If holding on only brought a hopeless tomorrow? Why should she believe in herself, When believing was all false promises? What does she live for? A question she asks herself. Is it her misery? Is it her pain? Or is it the endless hole in the sorrows within her heart? Inside she aches for someone to save her. She yearns for a reason to hold on, But her conscious is conniving her to let go. She always seemed like a content person. She always had something going for her. Yet the waves kept on crashing, Sending her hope lost into the tide. She slowly drifted away... but she keeps on laughing hiding the tears in her eyes.
RELATIVE A stench consumes the streets of Sudan As I inhale the aroma of fruits freshly harvested. A boy stumbles down a path hauling a bucket of pain. Ew, bug in my food! Trash Mama excavates a final grain of rice into sister’s bowl Computer, I guess. What game to beat? Damn! Froze again Time halts as rations are devoured No, I won’t return to teacher tower. My rage is fueled No help ahead, just a journey and a job I crawl into my bed engulfed in covers to sleep away my troubles. Down he falls, to the ground in his own blanket of mud.
SOMEWHERE IN EUROPE Somewhere in Europe some eight years ago Was a young girl who did not accept the beauty surrounding her. She faintly recalls the foreign words gliding Off the tip of her mothers tongue as if she belonged there. She remembers being perched under a canopy in a cafe Laboring over a menu that only had fish, searching for fruit salads. She remembers relaxing on a boat with leather interior, Anticipating the moment when she could buy cantaloupe gelati. She remembers wearing a purple halter top with pink shorts, Dangling her untied shoes and skinny legs off the the side of the dock. She remembers playing restaurant with her sister in the hotel room with the mini bar. She loved how she gazed out the hotel window and saw water and boats In the place of cars and streets. She didn’t know much back then. She remembers being at the airport, reluctantly stepping on the plane Wishing she never had to come back to reality. It was Heaven in Venice back then, a time when worries and problems Were as foreign to her as the country she occupied those eight years ago. But that was a long time ago.	FEAR I plunged into the waters of the Caribbean, And immediately I was enclosed by Myriads of wandering fish, Whose colors mixed together into a large mosaic, While the various coral rested silently beneath me, displaying their beauty. Such a paradise I was in as I slowly dirfted in this utopia, Yet I drifted into an oblivion. Suddenly I was hovering over the edge of the reef, And heading towards Medusa’s lair As the sea grass turned into snakes. I dashed to the surface. Noticed that land on either side was equidistant away, And the boat smaller than ever in the distance. Lying at the mouth of the bay was an ominous ocean That I was nearing as it was slowly swallowing me. Finally realized I was in the middle of the bay. Terror struck. With one great kick I shot back like torpedo, Driving into the boat. But with a little pain and humiliation, I was back at paradise.
WHAT’S HAPPENED? Whispering and giggling, we told each other everything. Constant phone calls about crushes and school. We were always together. Inseparable. Casual talk, rarely anything is shared. Suddenly the phone’s not ringing much. Gradually fading... Now there’s no talking. The phone never rings. We are like strangers in the hallway. I see a part of my life walking by, everyday, a part I can’t reach anymore... Separated
YELLOWCARD Standing at the end of line, As the rain zips off our noses. Watching every shadow move forward, Awaiting the new world inside. Getting near the front, Waiting to make new memories Pouring off the bodies, Sweat absorbs into our clothes. He jumps into the crowd, Touching his worn-out black hi-top shoe. Passing crowd surfers to the front, Thinking only two more bands. Pushing and shoving, They are torn from me. Reaching for that last hand, But missing by a fingertip. Feeling empty, With that bittersweet loneliness. Moving on, Putting the feelings away. Hearing The Format’s last song. Appearing in the shadows, Until the pick hits that lonely guitar. Reading his lips, As every single word is said. You are my only, my only one. Searching for those faces, Looking near and far. As the tears almost tip-toe down the cheeks, Her vibrant red hair shines in my eyes.

Honors English I

Our block “A” freshman honors English class recently completed a unit on poetry. We learned a few things about poetry in general.

The best poetry is that which paints a picture in the reader’s mind through specific images.
The best poetry is personal (not to be confused with private).
The best poetry is not about huge topics that you can’t picture, like love or anger, but about scenes that help readers picture what you are writing about. We didn’t write things like “Oh, I love him like the ocean is deep,” but we did write things like, “I gave him the last French fry from the oil-stained bag I bought on the Seaside Boardwalk, that last French fry that I was saving for myself.” If you’ve had an experience, chances are we have had a similar one, and can therefore relate to it.
We learned that nouns and verbs are the best words to use: adjectives can, many times, hold you down like you’re a mosquito struggling to free yourself from evergreen sap.

The culmination of our unit was for each student to write one poem. This poem was to be a labor of love: brainstormed, drafted, cried upon, laughed about, ripped up, rewritten, sweated over, and, finally, either reluctantly or proudly, turned in. I wanted to publish these poems on the Warren Hills website because I think each student rose to the occasion and produced terrific pieces. We hope you’ll enjoy them as much as we did.

Mr. Horn

A FRIEND

“Can I kiss you now?”
I felt him say, as he slid closer.
The music roaring,
Just making out the words.

Smoothing a finger over
The thick dark cursive on his wrist.
“Bop-Bop” made it worth the giggle,
But the story brought a tear.
A way to remember
A loved one, now lost.

Taking bites, eating slow.
Savoring every word.
2 hours of the perfect conversation,
And 2 more for the movie,
Made the night complete.

Some memories already formed,
Many more to come.
It all goes back to that first night.
As I slid too, and whispered back,
“You don’t have to ask.”

BASEBALL

There must be no feeling like beholding a baseball field at the break of dawn,

The clay of the basepath waiting to be pieced by the daggers of the players’ spikes,

The sod casting miniature shadows upon the ground, burdened with the morning dew,

The foul poles glistening in the waking rays of sunshine, at opposite ends of the ballpark,

A peaceful place compared to the battlefield it becomes at game time.

There must be no feeling like taking the field or stepping into the batters box in this baseball park,

Fielding a goundball, lunging to snag a line drive, catching a fly ball,

Swinging at a pitch released from sixty feet away, tearing past at ninety miles per hour,

From lining a single, double, or triple to the outfield,

To sending a pitch soaring above the homerun fence, over three hundred feet away.

There must be no feeling like hearing the roar of the crowd after a spectacular feat,

Generally, the crowd seems unemotional, almost unaware of the baseball game taking place,

They’re calm, except for the chatter among themselves, the munching of hot dogs or crackerjacks,

There are some fans who holler cheers, and others that snarl jeers,

But all at once, as if on cue, when a spectacular event takes place,the crowd erupts in celebration.

BASEBALL: THERE IS NO FEELING LIKE IT.

GOING SOLO

I’m putting bags in the back of our mini-van.
A prisoner helping the escape of her best friend.
Tonight, there are three plates at the table,
The two extra slices in the tomato pie taunt me.
Numbers seventeen, thirty-four, and thirty-six are left vacant on my math homework.
My clothes don’t match because he is not here to tell me so.
His cell phone; voice mail,
His screen name; the familiar “elsewhere,”
This is no longer a duet, but two separate solos,
And I am center stage in the red spotlight for the first time.

He is doing theory homework by the fountain,
Strolling through the fluff of snow.
And I am forgotten.
Will I even receive a farewell embrace,
Before I force myself to turn and walk out,
Through the doorway with the chipped paint,
And be driven away pretending I don’t care?

NIGHT LIGHTS

Plowing through the screen door,
balmy summer air, my accomplice, awaits me.
Exhilaration canoes through my body as I see the buzzing beacons pierce the darkness.
They sprinkle the night landscape: grass, shrubs, trees
Two legs propel me across the yard.
My bare feet become grass-stained, but that is of no importance.
I am on an excursion.
An adventure.
I crouch and my hands cup to encompass the creature.
Moving it to its new glass microcosm with a sky of perforated silver foil.
I keep this routine up for hours and soon I recognize my mother beckoning.
I, disappointed, start my trek toward the house; the jar is my lantern in the
absence of light.

SUMMER

Never will I forget those days of summer,
Holding buttercups beneath my chin,
Running through the prickly grass,
As it tickles between my toes,
In my wet bathing suit
Being dried by the vibrant sun.
Feeling the warmth on my back,
And on my peeling burnt shoulders.
Playing basketball on the scorching blacktop,
Too into the game to pay attention
to the developing blisters on the bottom of my burning feet.
Sweat trickling down my face
as drops penetrate my eyes making them sting.
Catching lightning bugs,
Laying in bed tossing and turning,
With the cool air of the fan blowing on my face
As the sound of crickets chirping
Puts me to sleep.

DAYDREAMING

Dreary, rainy day
Simply sitting on the sofa
Reluctantly doing my homework.
Steady beat of the raindrops
Drumming on the roof.
I look up.

Pitter patter, pitter patter
The even, comfortable pattern of the rainfall
Lulling me, mesmerizing me
Into a deep slumber
In which my eyes remain open.

Staring out the window
At that one piece of grass.
Not seeing it, yet not not seeing it either.

My mind wanders,
My thoughts leap out in every direction.
I am thinking nothing
And I am thinking everything.

I do not point my mind in any one direction,
But let the current pull it.
It’s like floating down a river.
Not struggling against the pull of the water,
Yet not helping the current either.
This is what tranquility is.

But then someone throws me a life preserver
And yanks me back into the real world.
Pitter patter, pitter patter

I hear the roar of the rain again,
And now I see that piece of grass
I blink.
And resume my work
From where I left off before.

I REMEMBER THE GOOD TIMES DRIFTING AWAY

I remember the sleepovers we used to have,
the pillow fights, scary stories we used to tell.

The challenges we were faced with during our teenage years,
the boyfriends, breakups, and even the exercising.
the hard times we went through when your mom got sick.

I remember those times when we used
to talk, share, laugh and cry.

I remember when you came from Tennessee,
with your accent and short hair cut.

I remember when we would forget our worries an jog for hours,
until we were ready to go back to the rest of the world.

I remember our very first girls night out to the movies,
we saw Remember the Titans, and even got yelled at by the people around us.

But now those good times are like a leaf,
they’re drifting away, and may never come back.

You have a new life now,
with the one you seem to love.

You spend all your time with him,
the time that used to be yours and mine.

I rarely see you now,
so rare, I can’t remember what you look like.

I seem to be invisible to you,
that’s why I made new friends.

While losing a best friend and making another,
I realized now our time has ceased.

I see you drifting to the east,
while I in sorrow and anguish drift to the west.

ARACHNOPHOBIA

The day withers from the mountains
and night creeps in,
Blurring things from recognition.

I enter through the mouth of the tent,
Engulfing myself in a flannel cocoon,
And close my eyes to snuff out the eerie darkness.

Rain falls in torrents upon the canvas fabric
As I try to sleep, unaware of what lies above me.
there is a faint rustling in which I awake to.

My cot groans as I reach for my flashlight.
And a beam of light cuts through the abyss and rests on the celling.
Arachne’s children have already consumed it.

Their legs like needles,
Stitching their way across the roof,
Waiting in a quiet that is full of the noise of thoughts.

Shrieks pierce the silence.
I am held captive in their gaze
As I probe my way out of the tent.

But though I leave unharmed,
Their vision will permeate my mind forever.
The morning administers no cure.

PLAN B

It’s that time again
and it’s just like the last.
It seems to me
You haven’t learned from the past.

It is a twisted cycle,
that attacks and attacks.
You make your fake friends
and get stabbed in the back.

Now you are alone,
and you’ve lost your place
as tears and mascara spill down your face.

But you smile to know
that there is always me.
Cold and forgotten,
Your perfect Plan B.

You don’t know what it is like to wake up
knowing someone might talk to you
if they feel desperate enough.

‘FALL OF TYRANTS’

The anger searing in my mind.
Thinking about those who dictate,
Causing woe to entire nations.
Rage spreading through my body like wildfire,
Watching dictators throw away lives,
For amusement and self indulgence.
The sense of power engulfs them,
blinding them of their self annihilation.
But within their deluge of tormenting,
A beacon of hope shines.
I begin to see,
The inevitable fall of tyrants.
A coalition of friends and neighbors arise,
Fighting against the oppressors,
Who will always be defeated in the cessation.
After my temper washes out,
I realize that,
In a time of dire need,
The common civilian will unite
To vanquish their evils.
And on the remains of the aftermath,
They begin to rebuild.

FABULOUS FIVE

There were five of us fabulous ones,
Five who knew Bob
Three movies that we could watch repeatedly
Millions of inside jokes that kept us laughing
Hundreds of secrets that were never shared
Many times spent making fools of ourselves
Numerous parties spent dancing
An enormous amount of lemon game notebooks kept hidden
Thousands of unforgettable times.

Not to be forgotten the bad times:
Four out of five at a sleepover
Excluding one, who was left home alone crying.
Two mad at each other; three opting for a side
Sometimes an intruder threatening to split the group would succeed momentarily.

Five are still fabulous, but are we still the Fabulous Five?
A few more additions were added to make more than five;
It is still a separate category on everyone’s Buddy List,
And our friendship will never die, but
Who are the Fabulous Five?

TOMORROW, ICE CREAM DAY

Looking up at the people in this room,
I realize that the sound of tears was prominent,
And all the sentences that are spoken,
Seem to include the word “was”.
She was nice, She was funny.

That one word,
Telling me everything that I need to know,
Yet almost nothing.
Who, Why, How?
Questions fly in and out of my brain.
Did I know her, Why “was” she?

Vague images appear and slip away,
A woman, A wheelchair, me.
She’s familiar, yet...not really.
Pictures line the wall,
A plaque on which a name is scrolled.
I know that name,
Elsie Toth...my great-grandmother.

Scared, Nervous;
Mixed with guilt,
For all that I can think of is,
Oh man, tomorrow is ice cream day!

UNDESERVING SINNER

He’s indentured to grief
He’s chained to loss
He’s handcuffed to loneliness
He’s surrounded by sorrows
He’s imprisoned in reality
Offered bail,
But the costs are too high.
No such thing as parole,
Because who trusts the heart of the unknown.

Innocent of crime,
Yet charged with destiny
Already defeated,
Yet he never fought

His eyes are holes of emptiness
which he’s plummeted down
and hit rock bottom.
He’s skulking with shackles affixed to his feet
weighed down by immeasurable sadness.

ACCEPTED

I watch your gaze scan my body.

My shoulders tighten, head drops, eyes lower,

My body is afraid of rejection.

Your head lowers and eyes meet mine.

You lift my head with your caring hand;

My shoulders relax, eyes gleam, and mouth smiles.

I can feel the nervousness in your hand;

You are just as afraid as I.

We are accepted.

GOING HOME

The door swings behind me
Coat billowing, I begin to trudge.
The street is crossed with eyes tearing,
head bowed, hands in pockets.
The birds are silent,
The wind is still.
My foot sets down in mud.
I am trapped.
I fight futilely to continue.
Freeing my foot, I venture on.
Imprisonment is imminent.
The paper in my backpack seals my fate.
I walk in the rusty lines of steel.
The behemoth lumbers ahead,
it’s speed matching my thoughts.
I open the door at home
and glare defiance
into the eyes
of my parents.

BLACKOUT

A Tuesday night, the crisp summer air shoots down my neck;
I glance over at my friend,
Who is riding beside me.
We race through the field, kicking the motorcycles up to third gear.
Daydreaming about winning the race, I am not aware of the ditch that lies ahead.
The motorcycle comes to a sudden halt;
Clueless, I fly through the air.
I plummet headfirst to the ground, then roll onto my back,
With the motorcycle catapulting over me.
Nature is silent, unbelieving of the crash;
The trees stand firm, the sunset pauses in awe of the sight.
Like a drunken man, I lay there groggily,
The pain screams at my senses and my eyes rain teardrops.
As I lie there, my backyard starts to disappear into the shadows,
My world is black

My eyes open, the trees start to whisper, the sun continues to set.
I stumble inside and flop myself into a chair at the dinner table,
As if nothing happened, I start to devour my meal in front of me.
The mashed potatoes put up a fight, but I managed to muscle them down.

SPEAKING OUT

As I lie down on a sheet of ice
I see the man
I thought you were
Your voice repeating everything you ever said
Breaks the silence
Like church bells do in a temple

Vivid pictures of you and me
Keep going back and forth
Like a slide show that never seems to end

I keep wondering why
I couldn’t see
Your true identity

I don’t know what hurts more....
Seeing you walking beside her
Or
Realizing the image I had of you
Is a crystal statue shattering into pieces

How did you blind me?
All I saw was perfection
Which I thought I was lucky to have

Friends kept trying to take
The bandage off my eyes...
I would talk to you
And automatically it was placed over my eyes again
Drying the salt beneath

As a detective
I organized the informaltion given
Carefully analyzed it
The bandage was ripped off

I discovered who you are
I was finally capable of seeing
Through your intricately woven mask
I figured out your theatrical act
I’m not your fan anymore!

You carved a deep scar
You didn’t say you were sorry

You might think your’re skilled
As you claim victory and
Dash to put the golden trophy
On your crooked shelf

My sympathy...
Like the wind blows on your face
Hoping it will make your bandage blow away

Feeling stronger as I wander
Through the unknown forest
A voice shouts and echoes inside my head...
“It’s better to walk alone than with a lion by my side”

IN A HEARTBEAT

When we breeze right through,
We think we have all the power.
The adrenaline is pumping,
And our energy seems endless.
We’re geared for the game
It’s about to begin.

We’re out in the field,
when the count is full.
The umpire yells “ball four”
For what should have been “strike three”.
A runner is clearly out,
We’re frustrated, he’s on first.

“We’re being cheated!”
Squeezed by incompetence,
Too many bad calls
There’s nothing we can do.
Our lead falls from two, then one.
Now we are even.

Frustration is mounting,
His anger is growing.
His emotions, beyond his control
Inappropriate gestures, the umpire is dissed.
Our pitcher, ejected,
is one for this game.

Soon we fall behind,
The wind out of our sails.
The game is over, we have lost.
It just goes to show,
when you feel in total control,
everything can.......

WHAT HAPPENS WHEN....

What happens when
the words you say
don’t mean a thing?
The “I love you’”s
and “your so cute”s
turn to dust,
and I’m left here with nothing much;
just my head on my shoulders
and no ones trust.
What happens when
my walls are built so high
that no one dares to climb up?
Where’s my Romeo?
with doubtless devotion
to rescue me from
loveless dreams,
irresistible nothings,
and sweet absences!
What happens then?

‘...ALRIGHT.’

Hot summer day in late June.
Feet on the dashboard, shoes on the floor.
Windows down and my elbow out as
I listen to the news on the radio.

“Five car pileup on the Parkway.
Two known fatalities. Expect
backup for two miles.” No more.
I click it off, too depressing.
Besides I can see it
I can see the lights upahead.

I put my headphones on.
They block out the sirens well,
With their music drumming
in my head.

Cars slow down as they pass by.
Morbid curiosity I guess.
We slow down too, the other cars,
They are the reason,
moving slow so we can’t
move any faster.

My music blocks out the sirens well,
but I can see them.
I can see the lights flashing while people
hold each other as they shout and cry.

I could move, but my skin is
stuck to the leather seat.
To shift my body would hurt,
because I would have to tear
my skin from the seat. There would be
pain, but nothing like their pain.

I sit and stare out the window,
like I always do when traveling.
I sit with my headphones on and
As we pass, low and sweet, the song sings
“Everything will be alright.”

THE BRIDGE OF OUR SUMMER

It was one of those summers they describe in movies...
Overabundance of sunshine and humid heat
That stuck to your skin and soon became a familiarity of summer.
We walked to the river, freed of our sandals and priorities.
Sitting on the ledge of the bridge, dangling our feet above the water
There was completeness to our contentment, to our friendship.
Afterwards we would float on rafts down the river
Holding hands, linking rafts, joining lives.
Laughed and splashed and waved at cars
Smiled at the dog that swam beside us
A wind breathed, tousling our hair and
Kissing the surface of our skin
The din of the outside world filtered through the air
But failed to permeate our thoughts.
Then one by one we left the river
Scrambling up the embankment and filled with sadness.
The end of summer drew near and still we did not return
Though the river beckoned and waited.
We went, never to come back again together
So we left the bridge with the memory of us.
With only the solitary image of a pair of flip-flops
Resting on the bridge’s ledge, to tell of it.

BEACH HOUSE SUMMER

White caps crashing down like an avalanche
Gulls bobbing on the deep blue
Beaming sun from every angle
But yet aiming to hit me
A rainbow of colors, scenes and cartoons
Spread across the sandy miles

An occasional laugh, giggle or yawn
From near and afar
Radios heard in the distance
Blasting that classic one hit wonder
Which everybody complains about
Yet secretly loves.

Shaggy haired surfer boys
Shuffle their sandy toes on the wooden boardwalk
Their boards shiny and intriguing
As if trying to pull me into the ocean themselves

The many seashell contests
Where we all swore we had the most
And the loser would have to get more water
For our giant sand castle
Which was a mere lump of sand

There was a family hole where all could fit
Much like the beach house
That both seemed like a mansion
And ceased to get boring
All old memories still fresh in my heart
As if it was yesterday, yet it was far from that

She was never happy with herself
Every day she wondered why.
Why should she hold on,
If holding on only brought a hopeless tomorrow?
Why should she believe in herself,
When believing was all false promises?

What does she live for?
A question she asks herself.
Is it her misery? Is it her pain?
Or is it the endless hole in the sorrows within her heart?
Inside she aches for someone to save her.
She yearns for a reason to hold on,
But her conscious is conniving her to let go.

She always seemed like a content person.
She always had something going for her.
Yet the waves kept on crashing,
Sending her hope lost into the tide.
She slowly drifted away...
but she keeps on laughing
hiding the tears in her eyes.

RELATIVE

A stench consumes the streets of Sudan
As I inhale the aroma of fruits freshly harvested.
A boy stumbles down a path hauling a bucket of pain.
Ew, bug in my food! Trash
Mama excavates a final grain of rice into sister’s bowl
Computer, I guess. What game to beat?
Damn! Froze again
Time halts as rations are devoured
No, I won’t return to teacher tower. My rage is fueled
No help ahead, just a journey and a job
I crawl into my bed engulfed in covers to sleep away my troubles.
Down he falls, to the ground in his own blanket of mud.

SOMEWHERE IN EUROPE

Somewhere in Europe some eight years ago
Was a young girl who did not accept the beauty surrounding her.
She faintly recalls the foreign words gliding
Off the tip of her mothers tongue as if she belonged there.
She remembers being perched under a canopy in a cafe
Laboring over a menu that only had fish, searching for fruit salads.
She remembers relaxing on a boat with leather interior,
Anticipating the moment when she could buy cantaloupe gelati.
She remembers wearing a purple halter top with pink shorts,
Dangling her untied shoes and skinny legs off the the side of the dock.
She remembers playing restaurant with her sister in the hotel room with the mini bar.
She loved how she gazed out the hotel window and saw water and boats
In the place of cars and streets.
She didn’t know much back then.
She remembers being at the airport, reluctantly stepping on the plane
Wishing she never had to come back to reality.
It was Heaven in Venice back then, a time when worries and problems
Were as foreign to her as the country she occupied those eight years ago.
But that was a long time ago.

FEAR

I plunged into the waters of the Caribbean,

And immediately I was enclosed by

Myriads of wandering fish,

Whose colors mixed together into a large mosaic,

While the various coral rested silently beneath me, displaying their beauty.

Such a paradise I was in as I slowly dirfted in this utopia,

Yet I drifted into an oblivion.

Suddenly I was hovering over the edge of the reef,

And heading towards Medusa’s lair

As the sea grass turned into snakes.

I dashed to the surface.

Noticed that land on either side was equidistant away,

And the boat smaller than ever in the distance.

Lying at the mouth of the bay was an ominous ocean

That I was nearing as it was slowly swallowing me.

Finally realized I was in the middle of the bay. Terror struck.

With one great kick I shot back like torpedo,

Driving into the boat.

But with a little pain and humiliation,

I was back at paradise.

WHAT’S HAPPENED?

Whispering and giggling,
we told each other everything.
Constant phone calls
about crushes and school.
We were always together.
Inseparable.

Casual talk,
rarely anything is shared.
Suddenly the phone’s not ringing much.
Gradually fading...

Now there’s no talking.
The phone never rings.
We are like strangers in the hallway.
I see a part of my life walking by,
everyday,
a part I can’t reach anymore...

Separated

YELLOWCARD

Standing at the end of line,
As the rain zips off our noses.
Watching every shadow move forward,
Awaiting the new world inside.

Getting near the front,
Waiting to make new memories
Pouring off the bodies,
Sweat absorbs into our clothes.

He jumps into the crowd,
Touching his worn-out black hi-top shoe.
Passing crowd surfers to the front,
Thinking only two more bands.

Pushing and shoving,
They are torn from me.
Reaching for that last hand,
But missing by a fingertip.

Feeling empty,
With that bittersweet loneliness.
Moving on,
Putting the feelings away.

Hearing The Format’s last song.
Appearing in the shadows,
Until the pick hits that lonely guitar.

Reading his lips,
As every single word is said.
You are my only, my only one.

Searching for those faces,
Looking near and far.
As the tears almost tip-toe down the cheeks,
Her vibrant red hair shines in my eyes.