canals of skin/skin weave

canals of skin carved
deeply in crisscrossed lines of
hands folded, resting

and another...

a moment of peace
resting at the end of life
skin weaving my tales

whoops...

forget to post my haikus from the 26th and 27th...

2-26-2006

drifts like clouds mask cliff
snow folds blanket sheer stone in
hues of whitely blues

2-27-2006

hungry mouth displayed
in sun's glare with eyes hidden
by baby's blanket

Eye Love Starf*ck's

(author's note: written with prompt of "cornea transplant, eyes recognize each other, people don't like each other, make them fall in love" i did what i could. hope it's funny at least.)

Eye Love Starf*ck's

It was his first day back on the job at Starf*ck's after receiving a cornea transplant and Jack was having a bitch of a time remembering which fridge they kept the 0%, 1%, 2% and 100% milk in and where which size actually was grande. His eyes, although they followed each command of his brain, didn't recognize anything even if his mind did.

But then, the door opened and in came the most beautiful woman Jack had ever seen, and what's more, he recognized her as she recognized him. She seemed to have a new haircut (never thought she would have spiked and dyed it like that), all sorts of holes filled with metal in her face (completely unexpected and frankly, quite disturbing), and a total overhaul of her wardrobe, dressed in a men's work shirt and khakis with big black combat boots on her feet. Jack didn't know anyone like her, but his eyes had seen her before.

Sally stopped in her tracks just inside the door and stared as if commanded at the guy working behind the counter. He had an unbelievable amount of gel crusted into his black swirling hair, a gold hoop and chain pierced into his ear and dainty, manicured hands. His shoulders were thrown back as if he wanted to display nonexistant breasts but his eyes were fixated on her brand spanking new ones, giving her an unreal sensation of familiarity, but also a kind of creepy vibe.

"Wow, hi." Jack said, his eyes not moving or blinking.

"Yeah, hi. Do I know you?"

"I guess not, but you seem familiar. It's like I know you well, or love you or something, but why would I? You're a woman."

"Yeah, I think I have met you, but I'm in a rush, and you're creeping me out so could you just take my order?"

"Uh, what do you want?"

"Something overly-complicated that vaguely resembles coffee, please." Sally requested, pulling out her wallet.

Jack grumbled and whined while he tried to find the 1% soy milk, pissed he could feel such an attraction to a woman, a scary one at that. When he handed her the drink, she waved a dollar bill in his face and offered up a thank you.

"Look, you do seem familiar, but I don't really like men, not even gay ones." Sally cleared her throat.

"Hey, I share the sentiments, except reversed."

"So, I guess I'll just see you around, then?"

"Works for me." Jack agreed and put the soy milk in the wrong fridge.

"And if I ever come in and want to stare at you for hours, is that alright?"

"Oh yes, please do. But let's not tell anybody, okay?" Jack begged, his eyes weeping with an odd mixture of joy and shame.

And so Sally came into Starf*ck's everyday and order the same complicated coffee concoction and Jack made it for her everyday and accepted the dollar bill she waved in his face and stole looks at her sitting in the corner for hours, staring at him.

Eventually they married out of boredom and lack of other options but never had sex really or tried for children. It was just something else to do and their eyes loved each other, so they figured it was good enough.

The End.

fluke fields like flag stones

fluke fields like flag stones
spontaneous and coalesced
distance made patterns

team work

four boys work as team
share weight of waste, bend to sweep
keep their playground clean

children filling space

children filling space
green girls, brown boys stare forward
shadows cast behind

black, stringy hair hides

black, stringy hair hides
sunken eyes intent on prize
hopes identified

telling tales

"The mind produces a powerful illusion, that of existing in this body which we consider to be our own." -Kalu Rinpoche

telling tales (extended haiku)

a sunrise with clouds
catches light, casts shadow on
each hair of the beast

dimmer shades of dark
sun cares not where it shines light
even shadow fades

silhouette captured
blocky outline of angles
light tells tales of dark

curls of clouds float by
breaking monotony of blue
waves reflecting through

obscure grays hold view
boxed-in voids over pale shade
nowhere one finds late

sculpted many shapes
fleeting images give chase
finite mind fills blank

tales told to placate
sung sweet to halt bitter taste
when dark beast awakes

ballgame

ballgame played in fog
lost in mists, kids reach up blind
even the sky hides

(*i'll stop rhyming these soon, i'm just having too much fun with it for now.)

cloven hoof stampede

cloven hoof stampede
sheep bleat and beat dusty ground
shepherd drags his feet

boy with vibrant eyes

toothy grin covers
grimy skin, feral hair caps
boy with vibrant eyes

and another one...

sleep styled hairdo
molded by tosses and turns
immune to hair brush

A Blood Flower

author's note: this was written for a contest on WF with the prompt of "Worst Valentine's Day Ever"

A Blood Flower

I was praying for a blossom of red, not a flower, but a blood stain. I hadn’t returned his calls, so when he showed up at my house on Valentine’s Day with a bouquet asking me to dinner, I had no viable excuse handy.

Once seated, Ross ordered us a bottle of merlot and reached for my hand.

“We’ve been dating for almost a year.” He said.

“You’re kidding? It’s been that long?” I asked, wondering where the wine was.

He chuckled, “You know what they say about time.”

It crawls when you’re waiting to find out if you’re carrying some lawyer’s spawn? I thought.

The wine arrived and I gulped down my first glass.

“Getting drunk?” He asked.

“I was thirsty.” I said lamely, averting my eyes from the glass of water next to me.

I poured another glass and opened up my menu to use as a shield.

“I want to say something to you.” He said, pulling down at the top of the menu.

I let it drop.

“I love you. Will you marry me?” He asked with a confident smile. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a velvet jewelry box. He opened it, revealing a diamond ring. It seemed to wink, as if taunting me.

At that moment, I felt the slightest of sensations. “I have to go to the bathroom.” I exclaimed.

Locked in the stall, I wept tears of joyful relief at the splash of bright red that greeted me like an old friend.

I walked back to the table with a grin on my face.

“So, you’ll say yes?”

I looked at him, perplexed before I remembered the ring. “Oh, Ross, I don’t want to marry you. I don’t really know why you thought I would.”

“But we’ve been dating for so long; I figured you loved me too.” He stammered.

“Hmm, well, sorry.” I said, trying for an expression of concern but still riding the high of getting my period.

“Sorry?!” He snapped, snatching the box closed. “You’ve been leading me on this whole time?”

“Leading you on? Oh, Ross... I do like you, and well, the sex is fantastic. But seriously... Me? Marry a lawyer?”

His mouth dropped open in shock.

“Are you upset?”

“Of course I am.” He grumbled, throwing back the rest of his wine and pouring another glass.

“Does this mean we can’t have sex anymore?”

river cuts landscape

river cuts landscape
lightning bolt splitting green hills
water reflects sky

boy looks over babe

boy looks over babe
supervises the spoonfuls
waits his turn for eats

sunlight whispers "grow"

sunlight whispers "grow"
shines on teacher and pupils
igniting mind's eye

work heavy mother

work heavy mother
keeps baby safe to watch bugs
dance from stalk to stalk

our mama's breast

our mama's breast that
gives life but can't stop time from
taking it away

lone desert rider

lone desert rider
trods rocky trail hoping for
life beyond mountains

and... because i just can't resist...

lone desert writer
trods rocky trail hoping for
life beyond mountains

it was just too perfect to pass up. :)

Dependable Public Transportation

Disclaimer: this story contains explicit language and sexual innuendo. if this offends you, do not read any further. if this excites you, sorry, but it's not what you're thinking. reader beware!

Dependable Public Transportation

So there I was, just sitting and waiting for the bus when this guy comes up and sits down near me. Unlike most other considerate people, he doesn't leave the obligatory comfort distance between us – no, he sits real close, so that his thigh is almost touching mine. I'm sitting on the end of the bench, so it's impossible for me to move further away, but I still manage to cram up against the cold metal arm rest.

He snorts a little and scoots even closer. Now his thigh is in complete contact with me.

I look at him with that look that says, "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" and he looks back at me with that look that says, "I'm a total nutcase and I want to make you feel dirty."

Needless to say, once I saw that look in his eye, I got up from the bench and stood only a few inches from the street. He gets up and stands near me.

"Am I making you uncomfortable?" He asks in a raspy and perverted tone.

"Why, yes, you are."

He chuckles and runs a grimy nail down the length of my bare arm. All the hairs rise in full alert and I step further away.

He advances closer.

"You sure are purdy." He says, his eyes never once lifting from mine.

"Stop."

"What? I'm just paying a purdy girl a compliment? Don't you like being told you're purdy?"

"Not by men like you."

He laughs again although I can't really tell why. This guy is definitely a fucking sicko and I'm starting to get really scared he'll try something.

"I bet you got a purdy set of tits on you, don't you? Why don't you uncross your arms so I can see ‘em?"

"Why don't you fuck off?" I ask, taking several steps back, but he continues advancing. I wonder what I'm supposed to do. No one else is waiting at the stop and there are no stores around to run to. The bus should be here any minute but of course, it's dawdling. Count on the public transportation system to work just when you need it.

"Mmm, probably got a tight little ass too. Ever let a man stick his dick in you?"

I blush violently and turn around, unfortunately giving him a view of my butt, but fortunately walking briskly away.

"I can keep up with you, baby. Mmm, that is a nice ass. If I gave you a dollar would you let me touch it?"

"Listen, you sick fuck! Leave me the fuck alone, alright?"

"Ain't nobody here to stop me. And the way you act, it's like you want it."

I call back over my shoulder, "So when women are walking away from you, you consider that asking for it?"

He chuckles again, the sound catching up to my ears and I start to break into a run.

"Hey come back! I'm just having a little fun, is all. Stuck up bitch!" He calls after me and I can sense that he's no longer trying to catch up. Still, I run, hoping I can make it to the next stop before the bus comes, as I can't be late for school again.

Behind me, I hear the screech of brakes and a sickening thump. I look back and see the pervert trapped under the wheels of the bus, his head nothing but a mess of liquefied brain, hair and blood.

Yep, you can always count on the public transportation system.

Exercise- Star, Freeze, Gigantic, Stall, Purple

author's note: woohoo! i got em all in! and i even managed to title it. go me!

Purple in the City

Sometimes I think I must be an idiot for moving to the city. Back home, I could always look up into the night sky and see the stars, but here, there is nothing but darkness to see. It's hard to be in a new city without those familiar stars winking at me as if they know a secret and they'll let me in if I could ever reach them.

Every day, I get home from my job and pull something out of the freezer to thaw. Usually some vegetarian frozen dinner that tastes like raw sewage. I miss stopping by the farmer's market on the way home, picking up some fresh vegetables to steam and some rice to cook. Around here, there's only the corner store, and most of the food comes in a package. Nothing is fresh and nothing seems edible. I don't even know where the food came from, so how am I supposed to eat it?

At work, it's like I'm just filling out an empty space and if I wasn't there, management would just fill the space with some other brainless peon, scrambling for a paycheck by pushing pencils and papers around on their desk and clacking away at a computer terminal. I'm not even really sure what I do. I input data here, print out data there, attend meetings which I have no idea what they're about, go to lunch with some of the other workers at a restaurant down the street, punch back in and input some more data. It's not enough to fill a day, so I usually prowl around the internet, looking for something I know I won't find, mainly because I don't know what I'm looking for.

Yes, I look at my life and see this gigantic hole, sucking away all the life and energy that I used to think was me. My eyes have taken on a distant look, darkness shades them and my freckles are starting to fade. And every night when I look in the mirror, I tell myself, "This was your choice. This is what you wanted. You need to make the best of it." But aren't we allowed to make a mistake?

Mistakes, big or small, are hard to take back. Sure at work, I can ignore most of the mistakes I make (and man, do I make plenty of mistakes) or at least blame them on someone else (I learned that one fast, as other people always blame things on the person in the cubicle next to them). I've learned a lot of things from this job, but mostly that there's always a way to elude responsibility, and that nothing I do really matters.

And I guess that's the reason I'm turning so inward and eating disgusting slop I normally wouldn't touch if it were the last bit of sustenance on the earth. I feel like I'm stalling, although I don't know what. Stalling to fix my mistake and crawl back home like a failure? Or am I stalling life, pretending to fit where I obviously don't, playing an elaborate game of make believe, convincing myself that tomorrow will be better. That's when things will change.

I don't even know why I'm writing all this down as it's not coming as a relief. But something struck me on my walk home today and it was a flower growing between the cracks in the pavement. It shone a vibrant purple. It was so defiant against all odds. It struggled to life amidst the harshest of environments, in a place where no one will look to appreciate its beauty. And when I saw it, I was reminded of that line in Alice Walker's The Color Purple, something to the effect of God wanting you to notice and appreciate the color purple if you pass it in a field. And even though I wasn't passing it in a field, there it was, the color purple, so bright and apparent in the middle of this city. And I just had to notice it.

I'm done writing for now. I'm going to pack my bags. I'm going home.

Exercise- Marker, Run, Level, Laughter, Copper

author's note: managed to get all of them in there except copper. damn!

She comes home everyday with more marker on her arm. Apparently she thinks it’s pretty. I keep telling her she’ll clog her pores and she answers back with the cutest smile, “What’s a pore?” Sometimes, it’s just so hard to relate with her. She’s so young and simple after all and I’m old and complicated. I wonder if other mothers have such a hard time communicating with their kids.

The thing is, she never stops asking questions. Now I know how my own mother felt. On one hand, I’m just so thrilled she’s got that curious itch to her and on the other, I get so damn annoyed that I have to explain everything to her. And obviously my explanations just aren’t cutting it, as the questions never stop.

She’s only five but already I’ve bought her a dictionary. I found a full set of encyclopedias at a yard sale a couple of months ago and she’s working her way through them. I mean, she’s actually reading them all the way through. She’s such a bright kid. I’m proud. She’s definitely all mine.

At night, I run a bath for her and we tell stories back and forth. I leave off at a crucial part and she just picks it right up. Normally, her plot lines tend to lean towards the adventures of whatever letter encyclopedia she’s on that week, so the other night was full of B words. I started the story with a fish swimming in the darkest part of the ocean, wondering what it’s like to breathe air and we somehow ended up above sea level in Berlin with Josephine Baker as our protagonist, searching for her long lost bard. Like I said, the kid is bright.

Sometimes, I get scared she hates me because her father isn’t around. And I have no idea how I’ll explain to her that her father is more interested in methamphetamines than he is in watching his little girl flower and become a woman. I can only imagine how much it will hurt her to hear that. I don’t want to be the one to bring such a depressing message. I only want to make her laugh and smile at the world.

Her laughter is the elixir to my soul. She offers it up like she thinks it’ll never run out, and I hope that is true. I hope so much for her, but most of all, I never want her laughter to stop.

meh, might as well...

so my lovely writing mentor gave me a list of "word sets" to use for writing exercises. so far, they've proved mighty helpful. i even managed to write a whole short story based on one of them. here's the idea: five seemingly random words and you have to use them all in a story, paragraph, poem, etc. since i'm trying not to post my actual stories on here (for future publishing possibilities) i figured i'll post these. :)

holes in soles

two men sat and laughed
scoffed at time as it passed and
left holes in their soles

life demands deep thought

blunt eyes drawn taut
dark eyes narrowed and far off
life demands deep thought

eyes fire ferocity

he's parched, cracked, filthy
eyes fire ferocity
his thirst knows no ease

listen wistful child

listen, wistful child
with almond eyes far from here,
hush as the world breathes

charcoal pools deepen

charcoal pools deepen
of sights marveled while nose runs
fused and cut by smudge

faces which betray

eyes shine, eyes downcast
wisdom carves, innocence smoothes
faces which betray

curved bent swathed in red

curved bent swathed in red
will intent on inky marks
heart hunting for peace

A Sestina for Sestinas to Drive Me Insane

(author's note: i apologize in advance for this. and yes, i am blaming a penguin for it.)

A Sestina for Sestinas to Drive Me Insane

A challenge from which I’m too stubborn to refrain:
This funny game of words the French often play.
But no rhyme to sestina! It’s too hard to maintain!
In this complex system to draw words from the brain,
Committed to paper to halt the one who complains,
“A much needed break from haiku to keep sane!”

Who knew it was poetry needed to keep sane?
The naming of names I promise I’ll refrain,
Only a penguin would have the audacity to complain,
“Too few syllables with which I can play,
There’s not enough words to engage a bird’s brain,
Yet with form exact my attention you’ll maintain.”

With words which sound the same, the rhyme is maintained.
Although soon it must end, otherwise, I’ll go insane.
I’ve no wish for repetition (repeating repeats) in my brain,
So after this is done, from poetic verse I’ll refrain.
There’s too many other ways in which my pen plays,
But I suppose I know better than some who complain.

Next time I shall pay no heed a poet in complaint,
Of the lack of excitement it’s my job to maintain.
But as it unfolds, the sestina’s great fun to play,
Although not much helpful when it comes to staying sane.
When the next challenge appears, I know I’ll refrain
‘Cuz I’m going batty with rhymes on the brain.

O Sestina! How you already bore my brain!
Such strict limits I can’t help but complain!
These end words, these lines all sing the same refrain,
This order so diverse yet simplistic rhyme to maintain.
I’ve caught myself in a poem, methodically going insane.
Only nine lines remain. Then, that’s it, I won’t play!

Yet I yielded to the task, this game of verse to play
And the one to pay the consequence is my poor ravaged brain.
Oh well, too late, what good is the poet who remains sane?
Perhaps it’s just instinct for the poet to complain
I’ve got sentences to scribble, imagination to maintain
Next time, I’ll know, from silly poems I‘ll refrain.

This amusement I played, so you’d better not complain.
I’ve exercised my brain - for your entertainment - I maintain
And if you wish to stay sane, from rhyming sestinas, you’ll refrain.

awed yet hesitant

young faces look out
held safe by love, seeing world
awed, yet hesitant.

mindless of cracks

water logged fragments
walking mindless of cracks in
haphazard patterns

face unwashed of depth

(author's note: a dear friend on WF.com had the fabulous and inspired idea to write a haiku a day for the whole year. he is using the book Offerings: Buddhist Wisdom for Everyday by Danielle and Oliver Follmi to draw his inspiration from. i just had to get on that train, so i ordered the book, available at indigo.ca or amazon.com, and am writing my way to haiku nirvana. this one should have been posted yesterday...)

January 31, 2006

face unwashed of depth
green stone encircles her heart
eyes penetrating