NAPOWRIMO!
Tomorrow is the first day of April, and with that comes not only April showers,(though I hope not with the amount of rain we've gotten recently) but also National Poetry Writing Month, which I have decided to participate in. So everyday for the next month I will be posting a poem here, they might not always be amazing, actually some may down right suck, but I'm doing this! So here goes nothing!
-H
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
17.
Work shop A
revised for work shopping.
An eight hour shift was one long television commercial to her. she was interested in things after work and before, but this in between was mind numbing. If only she could hit fast forward. 20 minuets till freedom the tic tic tic of the clock on the wall spoke his name to her, him him him. That's what she wanted most, to rush home to him.
As soon as she smelled the ink on her time card she was filled with a new burst of energy, she ran through the automatic doors coat flying behind her in the autumn chill. She didn’t stop till she reached the top of the cement stairs, they always looked so menacing, anything and anyone could be waiting at their finish. She swiped her metro card and was set on more agonizing waiting but she saw through the darkness, F, express.
The ride home was unbearable, strangers on the train bumping her, touching her didn’t they know this skin was reserved for his touch no one Else's. finally the grimy silver doors slide open and she was free of all the unwanted contact she stopped at the corner mart, "is this all" the tall bearded man with the accent spoke. she looked down at the counter; coffee, Cosmo and condoms, "yes." All she needed, tonight.
The walk up to their fourth floor ramshackle palace was silent only her breath to keep her company. footsteps echoed following her even now in the cramped hall. balancing the coffee and magazine in one hand she knocked their secret knock on the peeling paint of apartment 421, no answer. She grabbed for the knob it didn’t twist. She stared at the door begging it for answers, pleading for it to tell her a lie, he has to be home, he's in the shower, or taking a nap.... but she knew deep down none of this was true, he wasn't home.
Her bags hit the dusty wooden floor with a surprisingly loud bang, she tried to kneel down to dig for her keys in the rubble of her purse but lost her balance spilling coffee all over the magazine, rendering both completely useless to her now. finally her finger felt a stab of cold metal and she extracted her cluttered collection of baubles and keys. the key slammed into the lock with a violent force, a twist and she was in. with a thunderous clash she dropped the keys onto the table by the door, her bags next to the table. As a last attempt she calls his name. Silence.
She walks through the carnivorous space with the lights off the darkness hiding her embarrassment from the walls. Even in absence he made her feel foolish. In the dark she peeled off her days clothes, something she had hoped he would do, and crawled into the familiar warmth of her favorite sweatshirt, now filled with holes and stains, reserved only for times like this.
She cooked their favorite dinner, the meal they shared that first night, two years ago. She cooked enough for both of them still holding onto that small sliver of hope that he'll come bursting in the door and salvage this night.
dinner eaten, dishes washed, dvr set, she climbed into bed alone and attempted to fight off the oncoming slumber, pleading with her eyes to stay open until he came home.
She lost, and faced the world of truth deep in her subconscious. “ You know where he is, you know who he’s with. You give him chance after chance and each time are met with disappointment.” The voice of her dream speaks the truth, she knows exactly where he would be this late into the night.
All this started when he graduated and got a job, working in a field they both hopped to work in together. He was enamoured with his coworkers, and a blonde clone of herself, only younger. She was intelligent, well spoken and loved to listen to his stories. They were the same woman side from hair color. With the new fall semester, classes changed while he was working she was sleeping when she was in class he was sleeping they saw less and less of one another… and eventually she found more and more items around the apartment that wasn’t hers.
There were lies and fights and he always made her out to be the bad guy shaming her for blaming his coworker and accusing him of infidelity. He claimed the hair tie on the couch was hers, the scent of channel on his shirt from an elderly client that simply wore too much. She wanted to believe him, to keep their lives content so she went along with his lies.
The he started coming home late, smelling of booze they drank, but not like this. He claimed it was the guys from work and that she didn’t understand since she was still in school. “You have to go out with the guys after work otherwise you’re a bad sport” he’d tell her. She wanted to be supportive, she let him go.
She would stop by for lunches to be told he was out, “He’s having lunch with his girlfriend.” She knew, he didn’t know. Tonight was the last chance. She told herself she needed to get out, but her heart wasn’t behind her mind with this one, they set tonight as a test. She was so hopeful that she’d come up the stairs to the smells of cooking and the door left opened. He had failed.
The door creaked open and a shadowed figure appeared, framed by the yellow glow of the kitchen light. her eyes, still blinded with sleep strain to identify the figure though she knew who it was. the figure spoke, a whispered scream of urgency, "it's me." two small words, they hung in the air memories sticking to them weighing them down, sinking them into her chest. he stepped into the room bare feet stumbling towards the bed. "you've been drinking," she mumbled as he turned his back. "please just listen to me," his weight caused the bed to shift like the ocean during a storm. they were silent for a moment, his breathing was labored.
"I'm sorry"
"I know"
"I didn't want it to end like this way"
"it's too late now, save your words for her"
he winced as the words stabbed.
"I knew you would hurt me, I was foolish to sit around and wait."
"no, it isn't like that"
"it's exactly like that. don't you see, this is how you are,”
He wiped tears from his eyes she was not surprised, he thought he could still win, but he screwed up on his last chance. That night he slept on the couch and that morning he was gone. Days later though she was still not clear how, anything belonging to him was removed and a key was eventually left on the center on the pock marked coffee table.
She knew that the first time she saw him afterwards it would hurt, but this was the worst pain she had ever encountered in all her 23 years. As she rounded the corner into the coffee shop she heard laughter, looking up she saw them. It hadn’t even been two months and yet there they were in HER coffee shop holding hands and laughing at jokes only they would understand.
She wanted to run away but her feet stayed still as if she’d stepped on one of those glue traps he used to set in the apartment when they heard mice in the walls. She stood there staring, willing her eyes to look away and her stomach not to empty its self on the muddy brown welcome mat. The barista turned a smiled at her, “morning, the ususal?” this of course called attention to her and they both turned and saw her standing there frozen. She tried to respond, a faint nod was all she could muster.
“well we have to get going, “ he spoke to no one in particular, the shop was empty aside from her and the barista now busy steaming her milk. As they walked past her and out the door he didn’t even try to aknowldege her, he knew he was wrong. As the door slammed shut she inhaled deeply, his scent still lingered now mixing with coffee and doughnuts.
Finally snapping out of her frozen state she approached the counter to pay for her drink. As she reached into her purple bag she felt a hand on her arm. “I got this one,” she looked up into a pair of young grey eyes. “thanks” she mumbled trying to place him, she knew him, but how.
“I’m Chris” he said, “ I used to see you in here all the time with that guy and by the looks of things this morning things can’t be going to great.”
“uh yeah, thanks uh thanks for the coffee” and with that she stumbled back towards the door and out into the biting city winds. Was she just hit on in the same coffee spot she stops in daily, and for that matter had she really just seen him with her where he knew she’d be, what was going on.
revised for work shopping.
An eight hour shift was one long television commercial to her. she was interested in things after work and before, but this in between was mind numbing. If only she could hit fast forward. 20 minuets till freedom the tic tic tic of the clock on the wall spoke his name to her, him him him. That's what she wanted most, to rush home to him.
As soon as she smelled the ink on her time card she was filled with a new burst of energy, she ran through the automatic doors coat flying behind her in the autumn chill. She didn’t stop till she reached the top of the cement stairs, they always looked so menacing, anything and anyone could be waiting at their finish. She swiped her metro card and was set on more agonizing waiting but she saw through the darkness, F, express.
The ride home was unbearable, strangers on the train bumping her, touching her didn’t they know this skin was reserved for his touch no one Else's. finally the grimy silver doors slide open and she was free of all the unwanted contact she stopped at the corner mart, "is this all" the tall bearded man with the accent spoke. she looked down at the counter; coffee, Cosmo and condoms, "yes." All she needed, tonight.
The walk up to their fourth floor ramshackle palace was silent only her breath to keep her company. footsteps echoed following her even now in the cramped hall. balancing the coffee and magazine in one hand she knocked their secret knock on the peeling paint of apartment 421, no answer. She grabbed for the knob it didn’t twist. She stared at the door begging it for answers, pleading for it to tell her a lie, he has to be home, he's in the shower, or taking a nap.... but she knew deep down none of this was true, he wasn't home.
Her bags hit the dusty wooden floor with a surprisingly loud bang, she tried to kneel down to dig for her keys in the rubble of her purse but lost her balance spilling coffee all over the magazine, rendering both completely useless to her now. finally her finger felt a stab of cold metal and she extracted her cluttered collection of baubles and keys. the key slammed into the lock with a violent force, a twist and she was in. with a thunderous clash she dropped the keys onto the table by the door, her bags next to the table. As a last attempt she calls his name. Silence.
She walks through the carnivorous space with the lights off the darkness hiding her embarrassment from the walls. Even in absence he made her feel foolish. In the dark she peeled off her days clothes, something she had hoped he would do, and crawled into the familiar warmth of her favorite sweatshirt, now filled with holes and stains, reserved only for times like this.
She cooked their favorite dinner, the meal they shared that first night, two years ago. She cooked enough for both of them still holding onto that small sliver of hope that he'll come bursting in the door and salvage this night.
dinner eaten, dishes washed, dvr set, she climbed into bed alone and attempted to fight off the oncoming slumber, pleading with her eyes to stay open until he came home.
She lost, and faced the world of truth deep in her subconscious. “ You know where he is, you know who he’s with. You give him chance after chance and each time are met with disappointment.” The voice of her dream speaks the truth, she knows exactly where he would be this late into the night.
All this started when he graduated and got a job, working in a field they both hopped to work in together. He was enamoured with his coworkers, and a blonde clone of herself, only younger. She was intelligent, well spoken and loved to listen to his stories. They were the same woman side from hair color. With the new fall semester, classes changed while he was working she was sleeping when she was in class he was sleeping they saw less and less of one another… and eventually she found more and more items around the apartment that wasn’t hers.
There were lies and fights and he always made her out to be the bad guy shaming her for blaming his coworker and accusing him of infidelity. He claimed the hair tie on the couch was hers, the scent of channel on his shirt from an elderly client that simply wore too much. She wanted to believe him, to keep their lives content so she went along with his lies.
The he started coming home late, smelling of booze they drank, but not like this. He claimed it was the guys from work and that she didn’t understand since she was still in school. “You have to go out with the guys after work otherwise you’re a bad sport” he’d tell her. She wanted to be supportive, she let him go.
She would stop by for lunches to be told he was out, “He’s having lunch with his girlfriend.” She knew, he didn’t know. Tonight was the last chance. She told herself she needed to get out, but her heart wasn’t behind her mind with this one, they set tonight as a test. She was so hopeful that she’d come up the stairs to the smells of cooking and the door left opened. He had failed.
The door creaked open and a shadowed figure appeared, framed by the yellow glow of the kitchen light. her eyes, still blinded with sleep strain to identify the figure though she knew who it was. the figure spoke, a whispered scream of urgency, "it's me." two small words, they hung in the air memories sticking to them weighing them down, sinking them into her chest. he stepped into the room bare feet stumbling towards the bed. "you've been drinking," she mumbled as he turned his back. "please just listen to me," his weight caused the bed to shift like the ocean during a storm. they were silent for a moment, his breathing was labored.
"I'm sorry"
"I know"
"I didn't want it to end like this way"
"it's too late now, save your words for her"
he winced as the words stabbed.
"I knew you would hurt me, I was foolish to sit around and wait."
"no, it isn't like that"
"it's exactly like that. don't you see, this is how you are,”
He wiped tears from his eyes she was not surprised, he thought he could still win, but he screwed up on his last chance. That night he slept on the couch and that morning he was gone. Days later though she was still not clear how, anything belonging to him was removed and a key was eventually left on the center on the pock marked coffee table.
She knew that the first time she saw him afterwards it would hurt, but this was the worst pain she had ever encountered in all her 23 years. As she rounded the corner into the coffee shop she heard laughter, looking up she saw them. It hadn’t even been two months and yet there they were in HER coffee shop holding hands and laughing at jokes only they would understand.
She wanted to run away but her feet stayed still as if she’d stepped on one of those glue traps he used to set in the apartment when they heard mice in the walls. She stood there staring, willing her eyes to look away and her stomach not to empty its self on the muddy brown welcome mat. The barista turned a smiled at her, “morning, the ususal?” this of course called attention to her and they both turned and saw her standing there frozen. She tried to respond, a faint nod was all she could muster.
“well we have to get going, “ he spoke to no one in particular, the shop was empty aside from her and the barista now busy steaming her milk. As they walked past her and out the door he didn’t even try to aknowldege her, he knew he was wrong. As the door slammed shut she inhaled deeply, his scent still lingered now mixing with coffee and doughnuts.
Finally snapping out of her frozen state she approached the counter to pay for her drink. As she reached into her purple bag she felt a hand on her arm. “I got this one,” she looked up into a pair of young grey eyes. “thanks” she mumbled trying to place him, she knew him, but how.
“I’m Chris” he said, “ I used to see you in here all the time with that guy and by the looks of things this morning things can’t be going to great.”
“uh yeah, thanks uh thanks for the coffee” and with that she stumbled back towards the door and out into the biting city winds. Was she just hit on in the same coffee spot she stops in daily, and for that matter had she really just seen him with her where he knew she’d be, what was going on.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
16.
nothing academic to blog right now, the post from yesterday is what's due tomorrow...today.... Wednesday. The weather has been so nice I wore my beloved flip flops today for the first time since October the fwack fwacking sound was my lovely brown footwear!
H.
H.
Monday, March 8, 2010
15.
a new venture into the world of writing fiction. The following is the first few pages or so of a piece of fiction I've been playing around with for a while the characters do not have names and I don't think I will give them any.
An eight hour shift was one long television commercial to her. she was interested in things after work and before, but this in between was mind numbing. If only she could hit fast forward. 20 minuets till freedom the tic tic tic of the clock on the wall spoke his name to hear, him him him. That's what she wanted most, to rush home to him.
The ride home was unbearable, strangers on the train bumping her, touching her don't they know this skin is reserved for his touch no one Else's. finally the grimy silver doors slide open and she is free of all the unwanted contact she stops at the corner mart.
"is this all" the tall bearded man with the accent speaks. she looks down at the counter; coffee, Cosmo and condoms, "yes." All she needs, tonight's three C's
The walk up to their fourth floor ramshackle palace is silent only her breath to keep her company. foot steps echo following her even now in the cramped hall. balancing the coffee and magazine in one hand she knocks their secret knock on the peeling paint of apartment 421. no answer. she grabs for the knob it doesn't twist. she stared at the door begging it for answers, pleading for it to tell her a lie, he has to be home, he's in the shower, or taking a nap.... but she knew deep down none of this was true, he wasn't home.
her bags hit the dusty wooden floor with a surprisingly loud bang, she tried to kneel down to dig for her keys in the rubble of her purse but lost her balance spilling coffee all over the magazine, rendering both completely useless to her now. finally her finger felt a stab of cold metal and she extracted her cluttered collection of baubles and keys. the key slammed into the lock with a violent force, a twist and she was in. with a thunderous clash she dropped the keys onto the table by the door, her bags next to the table. As a last attempt she calls his name. Silence.
She walks through the carnivorous space with the lights off the darkness hiding her embarrassment from the walls. she was foolish to expect him home. in the dark she peels off her days clothes, something she had hoped he would do, and crawls into the familiar warmth of her favorite sweatshirt, now filled with holes and stains, reserved only for times like this.
she cooks the meal they had planned together, their favorite, she cooks enough for both of them still holding onto that small sliver of hope that he'll come bursting in the door and salvage this night.
dinner eaten, dishes washed, dvr set, three D's she climbs into bed alone and drifts to sleep, she is no longer pretending, she knows exactly where he would be this late into the night.
The door creaked open and a shadowed figure appeared, framed by the yellow glow of the kitchen light. her eyes, still blinded with sleep strain to identify the figure though she knows who it is. the figure speaks, a whispered scream of urgency, "it's me." two small words, they hung in the air memories sticking to them weighing them down, sinking them into her chest. he stepped into the room bare feet stumbling towards the bed. "you've been drinking," she mumbled as he turned his back. "please just listen to me," his weight causes the bed to shift like the ocean during a storm, and a storm is exactly what they were facing. they were silent for a moment, his breathing was labored.
"I'm sorry"
"I know"
"I didn't want it to end like this way"
"it's too late now, save your words for her"
he winced as the words stabbed.
"I knew you would hurt me, I was foolish to sit around and wait."
"no, it isn't like that"
"it's exactly like that. don't you see,this is how you are, you refuse to let people into your life, you play your games, string people along, and the moment things start getting real, you self destruct.">
The story needs a lot of work, but that's what I've gotten so far. Potential title is three things, which would be woven through the story as things progressed.
I hope you enjoyed reading this.
H.
An eight hour shift was one long television commercial to her. she was interested in things after work and before, but this in between was mind numbing. If only she could hit fast forward. 20 minuets till freedom the tic tic tic of the clock on the wall spoke his name to hear, him him him. That's what she wanted most, to rush home to him.
The ride home was unbearable, strangers on the train bumping her, touching her don't they know this skin is reserved for his touch no one Else's. finally the grimy silver doors slide open and she is free of all the unwanted contact she stops at the corner mart.
"is this all" the tall bearded man with the accent speaks. she looks down at the counter; coffee, Cosmo and condoms, "yes." All she needs, tonight's three C's
The walk up to their fourth floor ramshackle palace is silent only her breath to keep her company. foot steps echo following her even now in the cramped hall. balancing the coffee and magazine in one hand she knocks their secret knock on the peeling paint of apartment 421. no answer. she grabs for the knob it doesn't twist. she stared at the door begging it for answers, pleading for it to tell her a lie, he has to be home, he's in the shower, or taking a nap.... but she knew deep down none of this was true, he wasn't home.
her bags hit the dusty wooden floor with a surprisingly loud bang, she tried to kneel down to dig for her keys in the rubble of her purse but lost her balance spilling coffee all over the magazine, rendering both completely useless to her now. finally her finger felt a stab of cold metal and she extracted her cluttered collection of baubles and keys. the key slammed into the lock with a violent force, a twist and she was in. with a thunderous clash she dropped the keys onto the table by the door, her bags next to the table. As a last attempt she calls his name. Silence.
She walks through the carnivorous space with the lights off the darkness hiding her embarrassment from the walls. she was foolish to expect him home. in the dark she peels off her days clothes, something she had hoped he would do, and crawls into the familiar warmth of her favorite sweatshirt, now filled with holes and stains, reserved only for times like this.
she cooks the meal they had planned together, their favorite, she cooks enough for both of them still holding onto that small sliver of hope that he'll come bursting in the door and salvage this night.
dinner eaten, dishes washed, dvr set, three D's she climbs into bed alone and drifts to sleep, she is no longer pretending, she knows exactly where he would be this late into the night.
The door creaked open and a shadowed figure appeared, framed by the yellow glow of the kitchen light. her eyes, still blinded with sleep strain to identify the figure though she knows who it is. the figure speaks, a whispered scream of urgency, "it's me." two small words, they hung in the air memories sticking to them weighing them down, sinking them into her chest. he stepped into the room bare feet stumbling towards the bed. "you've been drinking," she mumbled as he turned his back. "please just listen to me," his weight causes the bed to shift like the ocean during a storm, and a storm is exactly what they were facing. they were silent for a moment, his breathing was labored.
"I'm sorry"
"I know"
"I didn't want it to end like this way"
"it's too late now, save your words for her"
he winced as the words stabbed.
"I knew you would hurt me, I was foolish to sit around and wait."
"no, it isn't like that"
"it's exactly like that. don't you see,this is how you are, you refuse to let people into your life, you play your games, string people along, and the moment things start getting real, you self destruct.">
The story needs a lot of work, but that's what I've gotten so far. Potential title is three things, which would be woven through the story as things progressed.
I hope you enjoyed reading this.
H.
Sunday, March 7, 2010
14.
Sentences and some what-not.
Though the first day of class I came with the sentence, "And in that moment I swear we were infinite" from the book Perks of Being a Wallflower, I want to post it again as inspiration. Things can inspire you more then once so I believe this is valid!(and that was slightly sarcastic). I had a wonderful weekend complete with the rare Saturday off from work, and took advantage of such freedom. so here is my sentence inspired from my weekend, and the above mentioned sentence.
The sun warmed our legs as we sat sipping and smiling in the city streets.
also a non class related blogging moment.
I realized this weekend that the ever so cheesey sitcoms of my childhood often times are reality. In Saved by the Bell the college years, the main characters all wind up at the same college, I always thought that was so unrealistic I mean who goes to college with almost ALL their high school friends.... apparently the answer is me.
myself and 5 of my closest friends applied to different colleges, and less than two years after graduation we all wound up right here together at William Paterson. I guess 90's sitcoms really do come true.
H.
Though the first day of class I came with the sentence, "And in that moment I swear we were infinite" from the book Perks of Being a Wallflower, I want to post it again as inspiration. Things can inspire you more then once so I believe this is valid!(and that was slightly sarcastic). I had a wonderful weekend complete with the rare Saturday off from work, and took advantage of such freedom. so here is my sentence inspired from my weekend, and the above mentioned sentence.
The sun warmed our legs as we sat sipping and smiling in the city streets.
also a non class related blogging moment.
I realized this weekend that the ever so cheesey sitcoms of my childhood often times are reality. In Saved by the Bell the college years, the main characters all wind up at the same college, I always thought that was so unrealistic I mean who goes to college with almost ALL their high school friends.... apparently the answer is me.
myself and 5 of my closest friends applied to different colleges, and less than two years after graduation we all wound up right here together at William Paterson. I guess 90's sitcoms really do come true.
H.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
13.
Moving forward from poetry to fiction...
five subjects or ideas I want to write about/I need to write about
1. Fights, I like to write fights between couples that usually have a resolution of a positive message.
2.Friendships and how they develop
3.struggling to make a name for yourself in a certain world.
4.family structure and what defines a family that doesn't fit a typical mold
5.opposing cultural outlooks or backgrounds of two people that are somehow forced into interacting with one another
5 stories I've told this past week
1. told a coworker about shoveling the snow
2.discussing post graduation plans with a friend
3.making plans to see a new movie with a friend
4.talking about going on vacation with friends
5. telling my boss I need almost two weeks off to go on spring break
H.
five subjects or ideas I want to write about/I need to write about
1. Fights, I like to write fights between couples that usually have a resolution of a positive message.
2.Friendships and how they develop
3.struggling to make a name for yourself in a certain world.
4.family structure and what defines a family that doesn't fit a typical mold
5.opposing cultural outlooks or backgrounds of two people that are somehow forced into interacting with one another
5 stories I've told this past week
1. told a coworker about shoveling the snow
2.discussing post graduation plans with a friend
3.making plans to see a new movie with a friend
4.talking about going on vacation with friends
5. telling my boss I need almost two weeks off to go on spring break
H.
12.
I'm still a little fuzzy believe it or not on what constitutes a prose poem, but from what I could figure out via google and such I believe that an example of a prose poem would be Allen Ginsberg's Howl which is a personal favorite of mine.
http://www.poets.org/poet.php/prmPID/8
and a Link to the poem its self....
http://sprayberry.tripod.com/poems/howl.txt
H.
http://www.poets.org/poet.php/prmPID/8
and a Link to the poem its self....
http://sprayberry.tripod.com/poems/howl.txt
H.
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