new poem

i bite my lip
a drop of blood smeared from mouth to finger
finger to page
an accidental heart-shaped thought
from a nonexistent god
yet all this intention
these ink stained fingers
can’t really compare

I may expand this eventually, but it seems pretty complete right now.

Super

he just wanted to save someone.

comic books and super flicks were his genesis.
in the afternoon, after-school heat, he donned xray sunglasses
and laser swords made from fallen branches.
his younger sister was his sidekick, even though she was just girl
and they would battle ninja pirates from another dimension.
leaping from skyscraping swingsets
through amazonian vegetable gardens
before splash landing into an ocean of spring storm puddles
and he was a hero.

he was superman’s best friend
and batman called him on the weekends
because even the dark knight likes
a good superhero movie.

and he’d let his sister come
because she liked batman, too
which made her less of a girl
he thought.

the three of them would climb
the tall theatre stairs
hand in hand
the boy on one side, his sister on the other
and batman in the middle.
they would hand the cashier a ten dollar bill,
enough for two children’s matinees
because for some reason
batman always got in for free.
and they still had enough left over
for one big popcorn
the kind with free refills.
but no soda.
they drank water.
and they didn’t care
because batman was telling a funny joke
he’d heard from the riddler.
and sometimes, if they were lucky
they’d get there early enough
to watch the previews
and that was the boy’s favorite part.

but before long, the movie would be over
and mom’s deep blue ford taurus station wagon
would roll up to the cinema curb.
they’d wave goodbye to batman
as they crawled into the back seat,
the one that faces the wrong way
and they could watch the sad look
he gave them as they pulled away.

if it was a weekend
the boy could stay up late
reading his comic books
in the living room
with dad watching the late night news
flickering on his furry face.

but on the weekdays,
bedtime was 9 o’clock.
and he would crawl in silence,
through the narrow halls
shadows bouncing off the twisted walls
as he wound his way carefully
between dream and thought
alone into his room
see, mom had stopped tucking him in
a few years ago.
so he switched off the bedroom light himself,
made one last superhuman leap
into bed faster than the darkness could catch him.
where slumber replayed the events
of the day.
superman, batman, hawkman,
the incredible hulk
and even his sister, they were all there.
fighting evil doers and pirate ninjas
until the next day peeked into their fun.

and now, years later
with all the trappings of adulthood
grappling with two jobs
too many classes
and enough broken hearts to fill
the bat cave…
i wonder what happened to that kid.
i still talk to his sister.
she’s starting college now, too.
and she remembers those days
play-acting at being something we weren’t.
or aren’t anymore.
or wish we still could be.

and i wish sometimes,
mostly on days when i can’t seem to get things right
on the tenth, twelfth, or twenty-seventh time
that i could just put on those xray ray-bans
transform my tooth-riddled pencil
into a magic wand
wave it and see the world for what it is.
not what i want it to be.
but this time, have the power to fix it.
if just for five minutes a day,
to travel back in time
and be as adventurous as i once was.
unafraid to jump into danger
and face the unknown
with all the courage of man who can stop bullets.

so now, i look to my cousins, my two nieces and nephews.
the younger ones who still know what it means
to be fearless.
and while their superheroes might not be the same
the message is.

they all just want to save someone.

Back from the AFA-NIET

Returned last night from the AFA-NIET held in Austin, TX. The team took 26th (a slight drop from last year, but we had one fewer competitor and a freshman with only one event). I broke Prose and Poetry to QFs, but that’s as far as I got. One week til NFA in Nashville. Prepping, prepping, prepping. I want to make this one count. A bit of poetry…

would you like to play
a fun little game called
what are you going to say?
can you come around?
my arms and your waist
certain we will fall down.
scribble down my thought
on a scrap of paper.
ideas that can’t be caught.
we will walk in time
to the sound of a drum
beating out nonverbal rhyme.

Despite not quite meeting my goals for AFA, I had a very good time and learned a lot about myself. Which is why I do this activity, I suppose. And I met some really amazing people. Another reason. Alright. School work.

First Real Post

Well, I’ve once again decided to start writing on a more regular basis.  It was spurred by a conversation between myself and a close friend during which we shared a lot of the poetry, prose, and more that we have written in the past.  That is not to say that I think my writings are going to be anything substantial and outstandingly insightful.  I just feel that is time to begin recording my thoughts.  If all goes according to plan, this journal will become a record of the things I think, hear, see, and more.  Some poetry here and there.  Maybe a few short stories.  We’ll see.  But I invite anyone who stumbles across this little plot of the interweb to sit down and stay for a while.  To begin, I think I’ll post a poem I wrote the other night.

Moments
I awake to drops of light falling from the eaves
hitting the porcelain curves of your face
and leaving me wondering what happens next
because this cant be the end of a story long untold

back to the beginning

late sky, up long into the sugar cane night
sweet and sticky as kisses
caught in tangled looks and afraid to move
for fear of a spider in the shape of my heart

But hearts change faster than moments
and we were swept into the arms of passion
like,

moment
two radiant sunbeams whispered
from the darkness into life

moment
rain played solo on the car moonroof
before daredevil dancing under swing-sets and pergolas

moment
borrowed phone calls from 2000 miles away
hoping for a hasty return

moment
fear of summer’s end and
what can happen after seven months of a gambler’s best lucky streak

but then lightning strikes twice and
your skin is back underneath my fingertips
lips pressed against lips
the twisted becomes unwound
and evenings lie flat against our souls
lovers riding shotgun
and forever seems a lifetime away…

but then moment
the death of a dear friend

moment
words left unspoken

moments are not instances of watercolor
splashed onto the memory’s empty slate
they are the wooden grain emerging from behind
peeling paint of conceptualization

of rationalization, our own ocean of insecurities about what was
but even more what wasn’t

yes, i had to leave
and i thought that meant the end
so i struck through your glass box heart
with words that could shatter diamonds
words like “never” and “can’t” and “im sorry”

you were something lost
not to be found for years forgotten
and we were not perfect
we were not shakespearean lovers crossed
by our names
we were two seeds fallen
brushing early leaves in summer breezes
among a garden varied as dreams
lucky for the time we had back then
because like moments
hearts tick past
riding the second hand of fate

and when autumn came that day
on the back of a greyhound bus
we got to start over

cold nights, crisp like paper tigers
bright lights on stalks
watching the one night lovers from their perches

and i found feathers in your sweater
the ones tucked neatly between sheets and blankets
and the morning after
kisses not quite the same as before but still peppermint stained
like the first time
in that sickly sweet Floridian air
when we were young.

and now the clock says go
there’s no more time for hoping

the fading knowledge of an era
but the story hasn’t ended
we’re just authoring a new chapter
carving it among boughs
where those childhood saplings have grown into something more
the roots tangled
giving rise to two strong oaks
branches still brushing lightly
moments
when a sweet southern wind blows our way.