Some 5-7-5′s for Thought

I entered a poetry contest tonight. It was a quick one, a 5-7-5 poem. They’re quite simple. The only requirement is that the first line has 5 syllables; the second, 7; and the third, 5 again. I tried my hand at writing a few of these poems, then picked what I thought to be the most contest-worthy one. I hope I chose right! Anyway, these are the ones that I DIDN’T submit. You’ll get to read the submitted one later, after the contest is over. It was a hard decision. Some of these are mediocre, some a little better. Enjoy

 Joyful Illumination

The brightness of day

Shines through the darkest shadow

When hearts are joyful.

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Company

Some say, “Three’s a crowd,”

Others, “There’s strength in numbers.”

I think four’s okay…?

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Savory Love

You’re the only one

Who makes my heart sing ‘glory,’

Oh dear spaghetti!

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Life’s Point

What fills life with life?

A boat, a car, a pony?

Nay, but only love.

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A Weary Parent’s Prayer

Dear Father Above,

Hear my wallowing request!

Let the children sleep!

Someone

I met her at work. She’d gotten a ride in with one of the truck drivers. It was near impossible to tell her age. She was spry and lively, but her hair was dusty gray and her skin wrinkled as could be.

She talked a lot. It was obvious she truly had something to say. My co-workers smiled awkwardly and nodded as she told us of the people she’d encountered on her journey across the country.

“I can always tell,” she said matter-of-factly, “when they start asking about where I came from, how many children I have, what my full name is… I know they’re just trying to get some information they can give to the homeless shelter. It’s the one’s who can’t have a nice, normal, non-intrusive conversation about the town or the weather…”

At first everyone seemed nervous around her, but after a while it turned into annoyance. Did she not understand that we were trying to work? They pitied her, as she was apparently homeless and without a family. They tried to be charitable.

“Where do you sleep?” my co-worker Susan asked, concerned.

“I sleep wherever I feel like. They’ve got some campsites here and there, or sometimes I decide to go associate with the homeless, see what their lives are like.”

“You’ve got to be careful these days,” Susan cautioned, “a woman traveling alone is so dangerous.”

“Psh! Is that what they’re trying to tell us? Is that what the news is putting in your head? I’ve done my research. A woman, on average, is in more danger in her own home than anywhere else.”

“Still…”

“Oh I’m perfectly fine. Don’t tell me I’m in danger. I’ve made it this far, haven’t I?” then she went outside to check on her things.

“So whataya think about her?” my co-worker motioned outside, “sad, huh?”

“I don’t know. She seems so passionate about what she’s doing…” What I didn’t tell her is that the woman moved me. This nomad (whether homeless or not) was a sparkling example of someone who cared. Did it matter that her teeth were all but rotted away? Did her for-lorn appearance make her desires any less meaningful? This woman was someone.

The part that caught my attention most was when she began to speak of the emotions of the people she’d seen. Some with smiles on their faces but dark, sad eyes; others with a fresh glow of happiness. As she talked, I felt a connection with her, as if we shared a secret that no one else knew. A secret about humanity and it’s tendencies. It’s not that no one else was allowed to know; it’s just that they wouldn’t listen.

She claimed she was a scholar, studying anthropology, “I was studying some records in Boston when I decided it was time to leave the books. I needed to study people. So I started a journey across the U.S. I mostly hitchhike, see who’s willing to give me a ride. The best is when I can find a senior-citizen bus, though. Did you know they have those now? Back in Montana they got me one of those. The bus driver was one of the sweetest guys I’ve ever met. He offered to drive me around to some local historical sites, kind of a tour of the area…”

And you know what? I believed it. I can’t say I was 100% sure, but I whole-heartedly accepted her story. I wanted to believe her. And why shouldn’t she be believed?

The day rolled on and she eventually dragged her 6 suitcases out to the middle of the parking lot to try and find another ride. I wanted to help her. Her plan was to get a ride about 30 minutes down the road to some historical places, and I would have loved to take her. The time came when I was off work and it was time to go. I clocked out, grabbed my things, and headed out to the car. There she sat, in the open parking lot, surrounded by her extensive baggage. Now was my chance to offer. But I missed my husband. I wanted to see him. I didn’t want to be away from him for over an hour and have to drive back all by myself. I wanted him to be with me on the drive. If only he were already with me, I thought. I decided to run home and get him, then we’d go pick her up and bring her where she wanted to go. I drove home excited. As I walked in the door my stomach growled. I was starving. Just a quick bite to eat…

By the time we got out the door and back to my work parking lot, she was gone. Someone else had beat me to it. I was disappointed I hadn’t been fast enough, but on the other hand I was happy someone else had been willing.

The memory of our anthropologist traveler sticks with me, always in the back of my mind.  There was no big award or widely-known accomplishment; she wasn’t a celebrity by any means.  Just a real, motivated, passionate someone.



Based on a true story. (By this I mean it IS a true story, but the quotes aren’t her exact words.  I just wrote what I could remember.)

My Baby in the Sky

Tiny toes wriggling free
Big blue eyes with satin lashes
Grasping fingers, melting hearts
My baby in the sky.

Gentle winds
Whisper love
A longing to be with you.
I whisper back
I’m here for you
My baby in the sky.

Who are you
Who floats above me
Watching me, calling me?
Waiting for me
As I wait for you
My baby in the sky.

Flood

He stared at the little shoes.

Today is Different

Today is different.

It’s exactly the same as any other day.

The storm clouds gather.

I walk to class.

An angry breeze alters the mood.

I procrastinate homework and munch on junk food.

It doesn’t smell like fall, or winter, or even summer or spring.

The plants and trees are all in the same places.

I run to class, for the wind invigorates me.

Casually I rest at my apartment, worn down by the day.

My bones scream, “storm!”

I am tense.

I am relaxed.

Campus is full like usual.

The air is light and empty.

The bikes wiz by.

The birds are gone.

DIAGNOSIS AND TREATMENT OF RESEARCHPAPERITIS

The commonly called “Researchpaperitis” or “RPI” is a life-altering disease, affecting approximately 13.72% of all students in the U.S. daily.  RPI has been known to appear as early as third grade.  There is not sufficient evidence to show cases in babies, toddlers, or young children.  However, this is most likely due to the fact that young children have not yet been assigned a research paper.  RPI has also been known to appear spontaneously in middle school, high school, or even as late as college.

There are few cases in which the individual overcomes his or her illness.  In such cases the individual involved is able to carry out assigned responsibilities, though still affected by some symptoms.

Once RPI appears, one will most likely carry it through his or her entire life.  Cases researched from ages 41-73 show a strong phobia and hate toward children’s and grandchildren’s research papers, English classes, and even all homework.

SYMTOMS

-Cough

-Slight fever

-A feeling of “Empty Brain” when faced with a research paper assignment

-Chronic headaches

-A general aloofness to correct citation technique (no matter how hard you try or how much you learn, you can never seem to cite things correctly)

-Staring (at a book, paper, or a blank word document) for hours and accomplishing nothing.

-Getting the “Munchies” frequently, or the opposite, loss of appetite

-A profound desire to over-sleep

-Waning social skills

-Failing research assignments

-An overwhelming sadness

Severe symptoms include:

-“Empty Brain” while attempting other assignments, such as math.

-Flunking out of college

-Getting held back in grade/high school

-Severe depression

-Living in parents’ basement beyond age 21

COMMON MISDIAGNOSES

Researchpaperitis can have similar symptoms to but should not be confused with the following: Procrastinitis (a strong desire to do things later and not now), Lazy Fever (no motivation to accomplish anything, serve, or meet new people), Sleepless Syndrome (most commonly found in college students; involves an extreme lack of proper sleep; symptoms include loss of focus, spontaneous snoozing, bleary eyes, etc.), Starvation (an extreme lack of food/nutrition; also often seen in the beginning stages in college students), Distractacitis (can’t focus on any one thing for more than a few seconds “Oh yeah! I need to draw my friends as random Happy Tree Friends Characters!” “Homework ti…ime…I wonder what would happen if I tried to balance on one foot atop this big yellow exercise ball!”), Socialbutterflism (an addiction to hanging out with other people; spend all time talking, drinking, playing, or having fun with friends; commonly seen in college freshmen), Concussion (hitting one’s head very hard; can cause dizziness, uneven pupils, lack of focus, “fuzzy-brain,” personality change, minor brain damage, death, etc.) and Drug Addiction (loss of brain cells due to ingestion of strange substances; see anti-drug websites and movies).

CURE

Currently there is no known cure.  Common prevention techniques include dropping out of school, majoring in the arts, blowing off homework, paying a friend to do it, and working fast food.

Popular coping techniques include tutors, English classes for challenged students, writing something, creative writing, starting early, breaking projects down into simple steps, sewing, online citation engines, BS-ing, plenty of exercise, and extremely dedicated fiancés.

People are at the highest risk for RPI between the ages of 15 and 22.

There is help available in many forms to students affected by RPI.  The best approach is not to give up but to embrace the difficulty.

Shoes

Silent.  Two small shoes rest on a picnic table, neatly side by side. Only inhabitants; empty park.  The breeze carries a distant cry.  Still.

Wheels Do Not Define

He says he sees himself

Like you and I.

And in his dreams he runs around

Because he’s not confined.

He knows he isn’t different.

He knows the world’s his place.

The wheels to not define him,

And he will win the race.

She used to view her life

With fear and hate.

But now she knows her life is blessed.

Her looking-glass has changed.

She knows she isn’t separate.

She knows she has a place.

The past does not define her,

And she will win the race.

Sometimes we only see

Where we’ve been thrown

But life is how you look at it,

So when you feel alone

Just know we’re not so different

And know you have a place.

Don’t let your lot define you,

And you can win the race.

Keep it up, hold on tight.

Let your potential shine through,

The reality of you.

Know we’re not so different,

And know you have a place.

Don’t let your lot define you

Then you will win the race.

A to Z (a very short short story)

After was the worst.  Before yesterday, Aaron’s life was happy and uneventful.  Cautiously, he lifted the delicate glass bottle.  Dreams were his only happiness now.  Events of the past few days flooded his mind as he tried to drink them away.  Freedom?  Glowing embers in the fireplace symbolized that something was still alive…but not for long.  He’d slept as it burned, not caring for it, until it died down to this weak glimmer.  Ignorance and selfishness, that was his life.  Just how much he wanted to jump up and rekindle that fire was unbearable, yet he could not.  Karma.  Lying in his bed, paralyzed by the shock.  Molding and stewing he laid there hour after hour, wishing, hoping, regretting.  Not the man he had been.  Over time, he coaxed himself toward the fireplace, though the coals were now all but gone.  Perhaps he could do something. Quietly, hesitantly, he prodded a coal with the spear.  Reluctantly it flared a little, then died completely.  Surely he could get the next to arise into the beautiful flame it had once been?  Tenderly he nudged the next, causing it to glow a little brighter for a moment.  Ultimately, however, the coals faded one by one. Vengeful, unforgiving, stubborn coals.   With the spear he drew in the ashes. “ X” stands for death, nothing left.  Yet somehow that simple, content-looking “x” wasn’t enough to conquer the loss.  Zimara was gone.

Judgements

A DRAMATIC MONOLOGUE

(An old, tattered-looking man walking by himself on a crowded city street.  He hears a woman close by yell, “stop, thief!”)

There he goes, away with her purse.  And look at her cry. Worthless, pathetic.  “Stop your hollering woman!” I wonder what she did to deserve such karma.  Maybe she’s a whore.  She robbed virtue and dishonored her life…and what goes around comes around.  See the thief, at least he knows his place.  He probably started out a thief and stayed one.  He’s only doing what he knows how to do.

There are two types of people.  People are only what they’ve made themselves.  You get what you give, that’s how life goes.

You can see the couples and the siblings…people together…the first kind, happy  people…laughing or fighting or walking together.  Sure, they have troubles.  But they’re decent people, and their problems are only skin deep.  They do things right.  They stay in their place.  That young chap over there…he’s got it made.  See him buy those flowers for his girl?  See him embrace her affectionately?  He knows what to do to get what he wants and therefore he is righteous.  He’s happy, and it’s his own fault.  He gets what he gives, and that’s all there is to it.

Then there are the others.  You see them on the street corners, in the office, in the store… so… broken.  You see the darkness in their eyes.  What made them so alone?  Why are they unhappy? They must have done some terrible things.  It’s obvious that no one wants them.  Evil, worthless people…that’s what they must be.  Like that lawman over there.  See him eat his lunch all alone? No one wants to sit with him.  He’s scum, not worth their time.  In fact, they’re probably better off for not associating with him.  He deserves to be alone.  He deserves to be broken.

Or look at that woman by the dress shop.  See how she gazes in the window, wishing, hoping?  It’s because she’s foolish.  She’s broke.  She must have wasted all her money away and with it her love and friends.  It’s good that she can’t have that dress.  She’d make it look bad with her dark eyes and sad, wrinkled face.  That dress is meant for pretty girls who are good and happy and lovable.  She is not lovable.

You can’t expect something for nothing, and you’ll not get nothing for something.

Alone.

(Pauses)

There are two types of people. The happy and the broken.

I always used to think I’d be one of the happy people…