Tag: poetry


July 17th, 2007 — 4:01pm

I was actually in a happy mood until about three minutes ago, during which time I had to go through pages and pages of spam on my blog. What is it with spammers? What is to be gained by spamming people? The comments go unread and nothing is accomplished. At least with viruses there is the satisfaction that you ruined an unsuspecting person’s machine or with phish, where there is some monetary gain to be had. Spam is just mind-boggling for me…anyway.

My English class is going well, eerily well, it feels. I think I had just grown so accustomed to performing poorly in my classes that I don’t know to feel after coming from an exam with a positive feeling. I have found a new love…well, love is a bit much, but oh well…for Shakespeare. Othello has me frightfully intrigued in every way possible. I have not liked a work this much since reading Fried Green Tomatoes at Whistle Stop Cafe for the first time, however, I feel a bit daunted over the aspect of having to go through some of his historical pieces. I see myself being extremely bored throughout, but I will try to approach the plays with an open mind. I mean, if he wrote them, there had to be some significant story to be told, so there is a possibility that I might just love them. Who knows?

There are so many things I want to do with this life and there simply does not seem to be enough time. I want to write, design websites for every show and book I’ve ever loved, play my sims, write and publish sims stories on my sites, learn to play piano, play the piano, plant trees, knit sweaters, play ddr, go running, write in my blog, implement flash on my church website, be at church, know the Bible, learn some aspects about the Torah, organize all my videos, rip all my shows and movies to my computer, make YouTube videos, watch videos, make up with old friends, contact even older ones, make new friends, be an inspiration to someone somewhere at sometime…

Sigh. There’s just so much to do and there’s no time to do it. That’s the depressing part.

Flight is officially a monster of a book. At 337 pages and more than 177K words, I am wondering just how big it will get. This “part” of the book is moving along in weird spurts of inspiration. I’ll be in the moment and write like crazy and then I get to a point where I just want to scrap the whole thing like I did today with a poem I was attempting to write. I was going on and on about being black instead of an African American and I, quite literally, dragged my pen across the paper and groaned about how ignorant I was sounding. I know what I want to say, and there are times when I think I can communicate those words best through, but I just can’t seem to cut it when it comes to poetry. It sometimes seems like the harder I try, the worst it all sounds. I can hear myself struggling as I re-read the crap…but the fanfic is going as well as it can.

Adventures in Vegetarianism #7
Five months into this, I am still going strong. There are days when it seems almost like second nature, as if I’ve always been living this way. Then, there are others, when all I want to do chow down on chili dogs or grinders, but those days are few and far between. The main thing, however, is that being a full-fledged vegetarian is accomplishing the goal I have set out to do. Slowly, but surely, I have managed to shed ten pounds. Not a huge improvement seeing as how I’ve got so far to go, but the fact is, the scale is going down instead of up for the first time since I was fifteen. I plan on taking my measurements again in another week to see if I’ve made any improvements, but I am astounded how I can eat what I want and just exclude meat, and still get the same results I want. Someone once told me that losing the meat caused the pounds to come off, but I did not believe it as they were wearing a PETA shirt at the time, but now, I do wonder.

What I like about being a vegetarian is the change in me. I feel better and people tell me I look better, too. All in all, I feel like a healthier person and my mother has now dropped meat from her diet. At this rate, PETA might stop eating meat altogether, however, nothing will make me give up cheese. I won’t eat the animal, but cheese, all kinds, is a special treat for me and nothing could make me drop. My body withstands it even through violent lactose intolerance, and yet I still keep going. Oh well. I suppose I should not say what I will and will not do because three years ago, I knew I would never be pro-life and I knew I would never understand why people gave ten percent of their livelihood to the church and so on. God only knows what I’ll know tomorrow.

And, speaking of my Almighty, a year after winning from the church, I finally got my piano. I am so excited by it, I could just scream. There are five broken keys, but I don’t play anywhere near well-enough for those to matter for a bit. I am just so excited to have one that’s all mine and I practice upon until the wee hours of the night. I just love the idea of either getting lessons for it or simply teaching myself how to play. I told my mother that this could be my birthday present because it is simply outstanding. I know I will have years of fun and (to be a bit melodramatic) peace with this instrument and it gets me excited again just thinking about the fact that it sits downstairs waiting for me.

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May 10th, 2006 — 9:40pm

I helped a homeless man today.
Can’t say.

Maybe I just felt bad for him
This man
This white man
Who looked as if he had had every opportunity to succeed.
A pale face and blue eyes,
Sitting on a bench near campus
All I could think
Was, what had truly gone wrong in his life
That he, this man
This white man
Should be sitting
Asking for spare change
On a bench near campus?

Only questions came before me
As I past him by and by:
Why had God forsaken him so?
Did he believe in the same God that I know?
Was his begging only for show?
Did he look at me and see
Only a nigger, so low?

I passed him once and lied
“No spare change” says I
I passed again, but he remembered
And did not ask his question again.
I prepared to pass him thrice
When I heard him call out his words
“Please, I’ll take
A piece of pizza.
Not just change.
I’m starving here.”
I continued to walk
My own endeavour
Of finding that damn book
Maggie: Girl of the Streets
Now fleeting
I heard him say these words
And they struck a chord in me.
Had I not just passed a place
That sold pizza by the slice
For two bucks?
Had I not just pondered to myself
Whether I should splurge for pizza
Or stick to my goal of Chipotle for the day?
I had a choice
I had could make plans
I, who walked the street
In a Coach bag and sweatpants,
I, who’s “mommy” had come forth
To pay a ticket, one-thirty it cost,
So I would not have to give the money myself
I, who was about to go home play
On two personal computers
With everything in my life
Built my own way.
I, who had everything given to her
On a near silver platter
Everyday of her life…
Was I really going to walk on by,
Walk by as if I’d never heard his cry?

I had taken some steps to my car,
The car I took for granted each day,
When his words played through my head
Again and again.
How could I live with myself
For the rest of the day,
Seeing him thrice
And not giving a damn?
I would be no better than all those that I hate.
I would be the same as the greatest hypocrites to date.
The same, just the same.
Preach about poverty in America,
Write about utopian societies
Act like I really cared about my fellow man,
But walk on by like it did not matter,
Like his words has fallen on deaf ears.

When I’d first walked by him
I’d thought,
How could someone allow this to happen?
What had gone wrong in his life?
The second time I’d passed
It occurred to me.
I had no concept
Of poverty.
i could not believe
I could not conceive
Of a time or a place
That that could happen to me.
There were too many that loved
Too many that cared
Too many that knew me
To allow me to sit there.

And so his words echoed through my head.
And I thought of my soul.
How was I going to explain this to God.
Should that day come.
I heard and I felt for him
This man, this white man
But did nothing.
He was my brother through Eve
My family through Jesus
And yet I did nothing.

And so I stopped in mid sidewalk
Walk back to the shop
Where the little New York man
I’d conversed with many times before
Asked me what I wanted.
I bought a slice of plain cheese.
Two bucks, no drink.
I had things to do.
I was to be giving
But could not reliquish
That bitch within me
I returned to give
The man his requested slice
And found that he’d walked down the street.
I pondered then.
What should I do
Eat the pizza?
I bought it,
Why not.
Maybe go back and get a drink too.
The Christian in me
Or maybe it was only my humanity.
Picked up my feet
And I walked down the street.
Caught up with him and said,
“You’d asked for some pizza.
Here you go.”

He looked thankful,
So thankful
And told me such
I nodded and walked away
And while I walked
I saw them
Two white cops in uniforms white
Were coming to rustle
The “vagrants” from the area.
‘Course, the man had been loud
Not louder than too many others
I’d seen in that same spot,
But some uneased student
Or shopkeeper perhaps,
Had called the “po-po”
To remove this man
This white homeless man
From his bench.

I walked by the cops
And back to my car
No smile of self satisfaction
Came to my face.
No feelings of pride
Over what I had done,
No joy, no absolution

I helped a homeless man today.
Still, I can’t say.
I don’t feel like I’ll now go to heaven
For doing what was “right.”
I didn’t know the man.
I didn’t know his story,
But I just felt after all that I have
After all I’ve done.
I could spare five minutes
To help another.
Perhaps he won’t remember me;
Perchance, I won’t he,
But at least for one moment in my life
I did something,
Not because I felt God watching,
Not because I would feel like a better person for doing so,
Not because I felt my one act could save humanity.
I did something
Just because I wanted to.


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