Christmas Wagers

Friday, September 27, 2013

This weekend we’re asking for 33 of your own words about a famous trio. The trio could be from literature, from history or from pop culture.

 

“When I showed him his past, he almost cried!”

“Pshh. I freaked him out with Ignorance and Want.”

“Please. One fake tombstone and he became a fan of Christmas. Fork over the cash.” 

Class Interrupted

 

When I came back from Enrichment, the room was dark.

Some teacher came in

In the middle of something I can’t remember.

She held conference with my teacher

And then the TV was on –

You know the one:

The big black thing,

With the huge, wheeled base.

We saw buildings on fire.

Or maybe just the smoke.

I can’t remember registering what was happening;

I just remember going home.

It’s funny how one day can change a nation

And a phone number.

Solace

Monday, September 9, 2013

1
a (1) : a cover or partial cover for the face used for disguise(2) : a person wearing a mask : masker

b (1) : a figure of a head worn on the stage in antiquity to identify the character and project the voice (2) : a grotesque false face worn at carnivals or in rituals

: an often grotesque carved head or face used as an ornament (as on a keystone)

: a sculptured face or a copy of a face made by means of a mold

2
: something that serves to conceal or disguise : pretense,cloak <aware of the masks, facades and defenses people erect to protect themselves — Kenneth Keniston>

: something that conceals from view

: a translucent or opaque screen to cover part of the sensitive surface in taking or printing a photograph

: a pattern of opaque material used to shield selected areas of a surface (as of a semiconductor) in deposition or etching (as in producing an integrated circuit)

He cannot sit still

In his mind

He cannot sit;

Iron spikes of restlessness

Shoot spasms

From their bed, frustration.

Several ropes dangle

At the edge of his

Peripheral vision –

Escape a reach away.

But it’s night now.

Tomorrow.

His soul is an old couch;

His strained smile is the water

Drawn from his well.

 

The answer

To beaten circles

Of paralyzing frustration,

My dear,

Is catharsis.

Now, here is the secret:

This is your gift:

From the world

And to it.

 

He wants self-worth,

But in the arenas he lays down

As important.

His nearest instigate,

But place a load

He can’t bear –

Not with those shoes.

 

Run in those shoes,

Darling,

Until your feet fit them;

Until the sheer joy of running

Outweighs all else.

 

He wears a mask

As a virtual, facial, hardhat,

Used to shield from sticks and stones and words.

He thinks we like him

For the eyes his mask

Reveal.

He doesn’t realize that a mask only covers

The front of his face.

 

You are loved.

And empathized with.

And supported,

If you will just blink

In recognition.

Not everyone becomes something.

But those who give back

The gift they are given

Many times over

Are always gifted.

My Day(s)

Failed whistles,

Birmingham Sunday

And humidity breed

Disillusionment in the best of us.

Can you feel the crackling frustration emanating from my chest?

Can you feel the punch,

The swung fist,

Aimed at your head

In my head?

Do you feel how fake this all is?

Or is it

Just fake for me?

I hadn’t thought of that till now.

Maybe it’s just me.

Again.

But it was fun to sing today.

That was the highlight of the day –

Singing “Before He Cheats”

In my real voice –

It’s always good to speak

From my heart

And not from my heart>head>lips

That’s exactly why

It’s good to be high:

To get to talk

And not speak.

The soundtrack of 300,

Message for the Queen,

Fits my heart –

Strangled yodels

Why?

I know why.

Again.

Always again.

“Never again.”

Of course again.

And again.

And again.

What’s the point?

I know there is one. A good one.

I feel it in myself.

Life is preparation?

No.

It’s a depressing joke.

It’s a diorama

Where the grass tells the tree

I’m happy

And the tree blushes

With delight.

Darkness and solitude cloud my judgement;

Should I celebrate

Introversion to Extroversion

Or feel entirely keenly

The depression that depresses me?

Suddenly I hear

A happy word

Vocabulary reminiscent of childhood

And everything is

Uncontrollably,

Excitingly,

Filled-with-life-edly

Amazing

And exciting

And beautiful again.

Good.

I could live for that.

I could live for the breathtaking peaks.

And the love.

And the happiness.

I do live for it.

Blue Lighter

Monday, September 2, 2013

Trifecta: Week Ninety-Three

GRACE (noun)

1
: unmerited divine assistance given humans for their regeneration or sanctification
: a virtue coming from God
: a state of sanctification enjoyed through divine grace
2
: approval, favor <stayed in his good graces>
archaic: mercy, pardon
: a special favor : privilege <each in his place, by right, notgrace, shall rule his heritage — Rudyard Kipling>
: disposition to or an act or instance of kindness, courtesy, or clemency
: a temporary exemption : reprieve

I press the edge

Of a lighter,

Ironically blue

Or maybe not.

Flames are blue

At the base,

Then brighten

Near the tip,

Swaying with an

Easy grace,

Learned on its way up,

That I want to transfer to my heart

But it’s too hot.

So I burn jeans instead –

The frayed border

Of a hole at the knee

Because I like to see

Sparks jump.

Not fly –

Jump. Spark.

And then comfortably

Die out,

Leaving the area

A little warmer

Than before.

Blue Lighter