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| DANGER: Idea Zone |
Poems/Free Verse
The Beginning
Open your eyes
See past the light
The darkness is over
Bygone is the night
Reach out your hand
Touch what is real
Grasp what you can
Tell what you feel
Breathe in the air
Smell the fresh breeze
Note your surprise
At your very first sneeze
Open your mouth
Taste this new world
Catch all the flavors
As past you they whirl
Lend me your ears
Hear what I say
Smile up at me
As you start your first day
The moment is over
I gave all I can give
To explore this new world
As you start to live
Light
She is among the light
Breathlessly
She stands
She’s come from longest night
She reaches out her hand
The light, it shimmers
Gently
Like a well-forgotten dream
She touches it
Reverently
Until it almost seems
As if the light is water
Splashing over her hand
A river neither cold nor hot
Running on air, not land
She cups her hands
Nervously
And brings them to her lips
She drinks down the light
Joyfully
And waits
The light
It burns
And cools
And spreads
First to her fingers
Shooting out in beams
Then to her arms
And to her head
It turns her hair to silver-gold
And her eyes to white flames
It fills her heart
Her mind
Her soul
She begins to twirl
On light-tinged feet
Faster, faster
Across the floor
And so light dances
Now and then
And so it shall
Forevermore
Eyes
The eyes of a child
Are a doorway to a world
That can only be visited
By small boys and girls
A world where there’s laughter
And fun day and night
And nothing goes wrong
And everything’s right
There’s candy and popcorn
And ponies and books
And music and toadstools
And crannies and nooks
There’s no school and no bullies
No flus and no shots
And all they need eat
Are Gumdrops and Dots
The wind smells of peppermint
The water is blue
There’s enough sweets
For me and for you
Everyone has a home
No one’s out in the cold
No one’s every hungry
No one ever grows old
And every wee child
Has a mother and dad
No one’s left alone
No one’s ever sad
Yes, look in the eyes
Of a child in your life
And glimpse a place
Free of hardship or strife
A place where there’s nothing
But fun day and night
And nothing goes wrong
And everything’s right
Please (Starla)
Please
Don’t leave me here alone
Please
Don’t scar me to the bone
Please
Don’t look away from me
Please
Don’t leave just to be free
Please
Don’t let your heart stop now
Please
Don’t let your breath die down
Please
If I could breathe for you
Please
You know that I would, too
Please
I’ll do anything you know
Please
Just stay with me somehow
Please
If I could bleed for you
Please
If I could breathe for you
Please
If I could die for you
But please
I can’t live without you
On Misfortune (If You Think You Have It, Read This and Be Enlightened)
My name is Twink
It’s Twink, I think
My parents named me so
But I was just a baby then
So how am I to know?
I think I should have named myself
I would have pondered long
Upon the name I would so choose
Like Ferdinand or Mulan
But not my name today, I think
The name I have today is Twink
Twink the teacher calls at school
Twink his daddy chases
Twink the bullies pound to pulp
And poor Twink is thus defac-ed
And Twink is stepped on by the cow
And Twink is chased by hens
And just last week ‘twas poor small Twink
Who broke his brand-new pen
As you can see, the folks named Twink
Are eternally unlucky
And the wretched of this spinning earth
Are not called Sue or Bucky
Or Bill or Kate or Marmaduke
Or even Tiddlywink
Not the wretched of the earth—that’s me—
Answer to the name of Twink
A Promise
I promised her I wouldn’t cry
I always do what just what I say
So stick it out now, kid, come on!
You can make it through today
Don’t cry
Don’t cry
She said to me, “Don’t cry for me;
I’m almost glad to go.”
She can’t have known how hard it is
I know she didn’t know.
Don’t cry
Don’t cry
I feel a tingling in my eyes
A tightening in my throat
I promised her I wouldn’t cry,
So I shan’t, I can’t, I won’t.
Don’t cry
Don’t cry
But in my heart there is a hole
A hole nothing can fill
I don’t know what she took from me
I guess I never will.
Don’t cry
Don’t cry
I can’t imagine life without her
That best-est friend of mine
Though we were not friends for years
It seemed a long, long time
Don’t cry
Don’t cry
Something in me’s coming out
Something’s blurring up my eyes
Something’s pressing on my throat
But I promised her I wouldn’t cry
Don’t cry
Don’t cry
We used to sing, and dance, and play
And have the greatest quests
We had adventures, we were daring
We were friends, best of the best
Don’t cry
Don’t cry
I can’t see my own hand right now
Thought it’s right before face
My breathing’s short and jagged
Like I’ve just run a mile-long race
Don’t cry
Don’t cry
I made a promise to her, yes
I promised her I wouldn’t cry
But she never told me how it’d end
She never told me that she’d die
Don’t cry
Don’t cry
The something in has gotten out
The tears begin to fall like rain
My whole body’s shaking now
I’ll never make a promise again
I promised her I wouldn’t cry
I promised her I wouldn’t cry
I promised her I wouldn’t cry
Don’t cry
Don’t cry
Don’t cry
Snow, In a Different Time
Snow falls, softly, gently.
Why is it so gentle now?
I can remember a time
When the snow punished the earth
Punished the children
Of the earth.
Now it falls in feather flakes
Making shivering drifts.
Then it rained down
Buried the dead
Deadened the living to life.
Now it swirls above my head
Like thousands of tiny dancers
Putting on a show.
Then every flake existed
To smite your face
And freeze your skin.
Now children spin and play
Making snowmen
Laughing
Then they stood in rows
Pounding their little feet
To keep warm
As the snow slowly buried them
Alive.
The snow is beautiful
And yet I cannot look at it.
Oh, dear God
Will I ever see anything the same
Again?
Earth Renewed
Sheets of rain fall down
Down
Down
Down to kiss the ground, the cold
Dry
Ground
The parched earth opens, without a
Single
Sound
And blood water flows in rivulets
All
Around
Into the veins of the earth
Down
Down
Down
Was It All the Same?
Time changes things
Time reverses
Time erases
Time forgets
As I stand here, I wonder
If this place was the same
Was it all the same
On the day you were here?
The clouds are beautiful
A pure, regal white
As if painted on the sky
Did they appear the same
When you saw them?
And when it began to rain
Did they bleed off
And fall on your face?
I take off my shoes
And begin the long march
When you walked this path
Did you feel every blade of grass
Between your bare toes?
And was its hue green
As the eyes of your lover?
The wind kisses my cheek
And whispers sweet nothings
Did the wind remind you
Of your mother
Did you cry?
Was the world never more beautiful
Than on that bright day?
Did you dread to leave
And beg God to stay?
I run, the sun hot on my back
Was the weight of the gun
Against your shoulder a comfort?
Or the heaviest burden you bore?
The distance is long
I gasp for air
But the air is warm
It chokes me.
Did the distance seem longer
When you were running
Then when you sat behind the trees?
I stop
I rest.
But you could not, could you?
You kept running
Running
Running
Not even fighting
Not even shooting
Not even when you reached the wall
Not even when you were face-to-face
With the enemy.
I climb the wall
I stop.
Was the pain numbed by relief
Or peaked by fear?
Did you cry out for your mother
Or fall silently?
Did you linger long
Behind the wall
Among the dead
Among the dying?
Did you think about the field
How green the grass
How white the clouds
How blue the sky?
Did you wonder how such a thing
As your death
Could happen on a day
Like this?
I sit.
I touch the ground
And I weep.
For you were not the only one.
The Autistic Butterfly
The whole world spins out of his control
And so he spins with it
Unable to direct his wings
Trapped inside his mind
He flutters aimlessly around
Letting the world pass by
In flashes of colors and light
And things he can’t understand.
He stays low to the ground
Hides in the grass
Keeps himself company
Though watching the others
Out of the corner of his eye
Wanting to be like them
But not knowing how to change
Or why he is the way he is.
But in his mind he’s different
He is a normal butterfly
Somewhere in his maze of thoughts
He finds himself
Holds himself tightly in the storm
Of a strange and careless world
And he hopes that someday the others
Will find the real him, too.
Short Stories
Hold My Hand-100 Themes-#35
I remember the first time you held my hand. You were seven. I was four. You sat at my kitchen table, your face all stained and sticky from your bowl of chocolate ice cream. I could hear our mothers talking in the other room, and so I wasn’t afraid of being in the kitchen with someone I hardly knew. I ate my ice cream slowly, watching you. I was careful not to spill. You had an ice cream stain on your shirt. You caught me staring and cocked your head.
What? you asked.
I quickly pretended to be engrossed in finishing my ice cream.
You looked away.
I looked back up.
You turned your head quickly, catching me off guard. I dropped my spoon. Chocolate ice cream dribbled down my shirt and over my hand. I looked at you, my eyes wide. I suppose I blamed you, but I knew very well that my mother would not spank you for staining my dress.
Oops, you said, almost obliviously. You slopped.
My lip trembled.
You reached across the table and grabbed my hand so quickly that I almost fell off my seat.
Don’t worry, you said, taking your soiled napkin. My little brother does this all the time. You held my hand, tightly but gently, and mopped away the ice cream with a skilled hand. I, who had never had a sibling, watched you in awe.
I was sad when you were finished and you let go of my hand.
I remember the second time you held my hand. You were twelve. I was nine. You came over to my house often. It seemed like you were there every day. Sometimes you came with your mother; sometimes you came alone; sometimes you brought your little brother.
It was summer. You came alone. I showed you my newest discovery—tin can stilts. You were exuberant. I showed you how to make your own. Strangely, I wasn’t jealous when they turned out better than mine. I liked to see you smile.
We went out on the street; you stood on your stilts, and I on mine.
Let’s race, you said once we’d gotten the hang of it.
I agreed. I could never think of refusing you.
We started to clump noisily down the street. You were faster than I was. You got ahead quickly.
Come on! you called.
I went faster and faster. I heard Mr. Engel from across the street shout at us for being too noisy. You were already at the end of the street. I put my foot down and—one can slipped. I toppled to the ground, a mess of string and cans and flailing limbs. I skinned my elbow.
Take a tumble? You clattered back to me and knelt next to me. You’ve got blood on your arm.
I looked at it and shuddered. I felt my lip begin to quiver, but you grabbed my hand before I could cry.
Come on, you urged. Stand up and we’ll rinse it with the hose behind my house. It’ll be fun!
You pulled me to my feet; I teetered breathlessly beside you, one foot on a can, one foot off, until you led me towards your house. You held my hand a little longer that time.
I remember the last time you held my hand. You were nineteen; I was sixteen. We didn’t play with tin can stilts anymore; I was in school, and you had a job. But you still came to my house, and although it wasn’t every day anymore, I still loved your smile.
It was autumn. We walked down the street. The leaves were falling; Mr. Engel was sitting on his porch. He smiled when he saw us—an odd kind of smile. We waved, perplexed. We walked all the way to your house and sat on the bench at the corner. I talked most of the time, slightly alarmed by your silence. Your smile wasn’t the same.
Are you all right? I asked you.
You cocked your head at me, in that way I was so used to. I don’t know.
How could you not know? You knew everything. You were perfect to me.
I think I need to tell you, you said. I didn’t recognize the tone of your voice; you sounded almost frightened. It was impossible. I have to go away for a while.
Why? I asked. I needed you here, in this little town.
Enlisted, you said. You might have said more, but that word was the only one I heard. I’d almost forgotten that there was a war. That you were old enough to be a soldier. That soldiers sometimes die.
I tried, but I couldn’t stop the tears this time. I cried until I felt your hand on mine. Your touch made me look at you; you smiled.
I said only for a while, you said. Don’t worry. By the time you’re finished school, I’ll be here again. You didn’t say anything else, but I know you meant it. You held my hand until I stopped crying; you held my hand as we walked home; you held my hand right up until I was inside.
You left a few days later. I sent you a letter; you sent one back. You told me about the places you went; the people you met; the ones who you helped. I told you about life in our town, about the garden I was growing so that we didn’t have to buy as much food, about my last year of high school. You told me how afraid you were sometimes; I told you that I was afraid, too. You sent me jokes that the other soldiers told; just imagining you laughing made me smile. I sent you clippings from the newspaper and told you about my new job. You marked your third year away by sending me chocolate from a chocolate maker whom you’d met; I sent you a wristwatch. You said its soft ticking helped you to go to sleep at night.
I sent you a letter in the summer—your third summer away. One week passed. Then two. News kept flooding in—the war was ending. Three weeks. Rumors of surrender. Four weeks. The war had ended. Five weeks. Soldiers were coming home. Six weeks. I haunted the post office. I asked every postman. I asked every soldier.
One day, there was a knock on my door. I lunged for it; I could already see your face. I could feel your hand in mine. I opened the door, and for a moment, I thought I was right. You stood there, in your uniform, your eyes shining. But no—you didn’t have red hair. It wasn’t you. It wasn’t you.
He asked my name. I gave it to him. He asked to come inside. I let him in. He had one arm in a sling, and his face—it seemed so old, though he couldn’t have been older than you. We sat down at the kitchen table—where you and I had eaten our ice cream all those years ago. He said that he knew you.
In the same division, he said. Friends.
No. You and I were friends. We were the friends.
A skirmish, he continued. He was shot down.
You’re wrong, I said. It wasn’t him. It wasn’t you.
I stopped to help him, he said. I asked where he’d been hit. He said that he’d been shot in the side.
The side. No. It was the elbow. He scraped his elbow… Tin can stilts.
There was nothing I could do for him, he said. I asked him if he wanted anything. He shook his head.
You didn’t need anything. You never did. You were so independent. You were coming back before I finished school… This was the first promise you’d ever broken. I knew you wouldn’t do it again. You were coming back—that was all that mattered.
But then he stopped me. He looked at me. He said, ‘Hold my hand.’
Sticky hands. Chocolate ice cream. I could feel it dribbling down my shirt.
I did.
Sweaty palms. Tin can stilts. My elbow burned as if I’d just scraped it.
I held his hand.
Gentle fingers. The first time I ever cried in front of you. Your hand squeezed mine.
I held his hand until he died.
You held my hand until I was inside. I could see your smile through our screen door. You stood there for a long moment. The porch light shone flickered hazily. I leaned forward, brushing my fingers against the screen door in a feeble wave. You waved back. Then you turned, and you walked slowly down the steps and away into the dusk among the falling leaves—down the street we’d walked together only a heartbeat before.
I stood there until you were gone.
