Fighting IntoleranceMy fellow Americans and Swiss, and Provolone, and even that fellow over there from Tibet:
No more shall we, as the saying goes, stand alone! It is time to let our pressers I mean, oppressors know that their rancid regime is about to rind down excuse me, wind down.
For far too long, we cheeses have been treated as second-class foods. Grains and meats garner all the glory, while we languish half-forgotten in the endmost dairy case. It's no surprise that many of us suffer from low self-esteem! And occasionally, heartburn.
Some people will actually go out of their way to avoid us! What have we done to earn such scorn? We are certainly not ashamed of our history and our heritage as curdled milk. Perhaps there is a subtler, more sinister reason?
(By the way, who let in the representative from Limburg? Somebody, please, open a window!)
Well, no more shall we allow them to string us along; we demand our own thick slice on the pantheon of foods! We are
Caffeine and PainkillersFeed me with the poison of this,Caffeine and Painkillers8 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Our dawn to midnight culture
Where we are forced to live our 24/7 lives
Through the chemical haze
That fuels our already broken bodies past the point of breaking.
Another victim of this,
The plague of our twilight generation.
Unable to claw ourselves through the day
Without something to numb the pounding in our brains.
The endless hours we live as our daylight
Drags our fragile bodies to the brink.
Husks of skin and bone bound by the sticky threads,
Residue from years of chemical abuse
Powered by our caffeinated blood.
They are our drugs of choice.
Powdery white pills to dull the pain of
A lifestyle stretched too thin.
Spread ourselves out across the hours
Caffeine IV to keep bodies in motion.
We are the animatronic puppets of an over demanding age
Slaves to our necessary addictions.
AnesthetisedIt never really hurtAnesthetised8 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
when you walked in vapid
and spouted some collage speech
of lines from self-help books and youtube;
you closed the door behind you
to snip any spider silk still hanging
and finish the sentence with a full-stop.
there was only a stiff soliloquy
a bus-ride brain-dead feeling
as I gazed into a translucent face
with blank fields in the background.
In the bathroom, tiled and spotless,
aborted gametes stung my nostrils
muskier than you but just as stagnant.
I watched some other girl undress in the mirror
while nursery rhymes ran round my skull;
flat-gutted flat-butted rigid and frigid
humourless rumours of sexless wrecks
she smiled at me and I looked away.
It never really hurt;
The Value of a SecondThe Value of a SecondThe Value of a Second9 years ago in Science Fiction More Like This
The Hyperectus malmadonus has a life span of 23 seconds.
What? Charlie turned to Eve. She was sitting across the rickety table from him, sipping her coffee slowly. He had been looking out the window, watching the endless stream of people walking by.
The malmadonus, a single-celled animal living in the intestines of the swamp cows of Zavijava IV. They are born, reproduce, and are eaten by their offspring, all within 23 seconds. Eve wound her finger around a long strand of her black hair.
Oh, Charlie replied, his attention already drifting back to the passersby again. All of them were different. Some short. Some tall. Black, white, brown. But they all seemed to merge together. Neo-metal punk hippies with staples in their eyelids somehow blended in with the goofy college kids donning white baseball
It's The PsychosisIt's the psychosis,It's The Psychosis8 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
that makes me say these
strange and wonderful
things to you, in the dark
or upon bridges,
to keep you from falling.
The rocks just don't
appear to be safe,
says he, can't you see him?
The little man on my shoulder?
But, it's the psychosis
that keeps afflicting me.
I'll use that as my crutch,
as my savior.
Trouble flees, and trouble
swarms in the same instance.
But, I'm rambling again.
The psychosis keeps the
and you don't hurt yourself
as much... the cuts aren't so
Hadn't a scar in two weeks.
I love you, love you...
I'm sorry, thats the
can't remember if it always was,
but thats the psychosis talking.
Can't understand if it'll go away.
Don't think so,
Don't think it'll go
Wild Flower Crimes When I crush the head of a clover bloom, the scent carries me to that far off field where my weed battered knees cut trails by the blackberry bush. Where the old man let us feast on his jam flavored crop of wild fruit, and told us tales of when his hair was crowned with dandelion fluff. Where the overhead hum of power lines cursing the heat of summer was the only thread we used to find our way back home. Where the king of the day was crowned based upon who found the biggest possum skull, or smashed the tallest crawdad hole; swearing he fought off its occupant, who was the size of Bobbys dog. Back then, the trash of ditches was pirate swag, or royal treasure. A baseball bat swollen with ditch water was a giants club. A thorny weed was the last proof of an ancient forest.Wild Flower Crimes8 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Time ran slow there, meandering with bees tha
How to Read Science Fiction"The science-fictional world is not only one different in time or place from our own, but one whose chief interest is precisely the difference that such difference makes."How to Read Science Fiction8 years ago in Academic Essays More Like This
Carl Freedman, Critical Theory and Science Fiction
At its heart, the central tenet of science fiction is the question: "What if?" Despite or perhaps due to its wide-ranging themes, the genre provides the perfect platform for exploring that most fundamental of ideas: the human condition.
The main difference between science fiction and related genres (such as fantasy) is that sci-fi deals with the possible if not always the plausible. But the basics of storytelling remain the same, regardless of category: the author must establish the status quo, introduce the characters, and provide a conflict to be resolved.
The freedom of science fiction is in broadening the author's options, often with the intended goal of highlighting a current social concern (e.g., controvers
Coat TailsThe boots are falling,Coat Tails9 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Just outside the door.
The clothes are packed,
Dont need much more.
The sunlight is bouncing back,
From the black street,
Leaving some behind but,
Got so many people to meet.
The signs dont say it,
The map dont show,
How many miles that,
I have left to go.
Ill head on south,
Drive by the dawn,
By they you wake up,
I will already be gone.
By the time I arrive,
Youll already have lost,
The shape of my face,
And a hold on the cost.
I have some money,
Some stolen none lent,
And Im leaving the car,
Where the repo men can be sent.
The Suns almost drowned,
But I got too far to go,
There are no clouds haunting me,
Ya know the stars are all different in Mexico.
So Ill head on South,
Drive by the dawn,
By the time you wake up,
Ill already be gone.
Ill already be gone.
Im already gone.
arborescent angstthe grass is depressedarborescent angst8 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
and scarred from
even the flowers are blue
hiding a deep dark
while the cool kids ignore
fat slow unwanted
and avoid the compost heap
since learning it's full
these are my roots
i wish i could
This Organized LifeWe are having dinner at a place I cant afford. Carl has gotten into middle age at some point, complete with good posture and brown loafers. Hoping he plans to pay but erring on the side of caution, I order soup.This Organized Life8 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
It is not awkward. We speak easily as ever, despite the pricey menu, Carls shoes, and the last time he and I stood yelling in a room together, each so loud the words became one great indistinguishable noise.
Im so glad we ran into each other, he says. The waiter pours more wine. I begin to assume he is going to pay; that is what a man his age does when he brings a woman to a restaurant like this. You always said it, and its still true: I rely on statistics to predict Carls behavior.
Carl takes another sip of his wine, and I think about you. You do not know where I am. I have avoided thinking of you precisely to avoid guilt, and now I arrive at the thought of you and find it filled instead with weary affection. You do not know where I am
ImaginagerieThe chickens are locked in the closet;Imaginagerie6 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
the dinosaur's under the bed.
The toad has just jumped from the windowsill
and landed on top of my head.
The ferrets are out planting flowers;
the peacock's new plumage is torn.
The unicorn used my last dishtowel
to polish its glimmering horn.
The reindeer have raided the pantry;
the dolphin won't fit in the tub.
The lemmings ate all of my lemon drops,
then played hide-and-seek with the cub.
The donkey's been braying all morning;
the cheetah's been chasing her tail.
The pony just peed on the welcome mat,
while the kangaroo chewed all my mail.
Oh, for a real-world puppy,
perhaps a kitten or two...
My daydreams are running all wildly,
just like my invisible zoo!
Letters Of LoveRegarding those love letters strewn on your bedLetters Of Love8 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
They were never meant for someone as beautiful as you
Falling hearts from the skies of time
Draped in ashen white
The writing's on the wall
Words get tossed around and jumbled
Weaving in and out of truth and lies
Regarding those love letters on your bed
I never meant the words in them at all
When I said I loved you, I lied
When I said I missed you, it wasn't what I meant
What I really meant to say
Was I love you and I miss you today
It was never in the past
Only in the present and the future
And I wipe this lip shaped kiss
From the seal of this last envelope
As I place it on your pillow
And a single tear makes a journey
From my eye, down my cheek
And into my heart
As I finally walk away
HomecomingComing back to an empty home,Homecoming8 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
No friendly cat or garden gnome,
No happy dog or loving spouse;
Just me and a lonely, empty house.
I heaved a sigh in the empty hall
And gazed at every empty wall,
The empty floors, the empty bed,
An empty heart and an empty head.
I'll find no pleasure or comfort there,
With the rooms unfurnished and cupboards bare,
A big empty nothing and nothing more;
I knew Id forgotten to lock the door.
BlankBlankBlank10 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
For so long I stared at this blank page.
Blank like the pages of my life.
I've accomplished nothing for my age,
Though I'm a mother and a wife.
Now as I look at my sweet, perfect creation
My stomach sickens and I desperately wonder
If I will do any better in this endeavor
Than I have done in any of my others.
Then suddenly the realization hits me
That I may not have failed as I thought.
My sister has informed me repeatedly
My mistakes have helped her do what she ought.
The talent I had that has faded
I may one day be able to restore
If I use my talent of endurance
To replenish my desolate core.
Now as I finish plaguing this page
With the anguish and regret of my strife
If you would leave with only one thing it would be
That you never give up on your life.
Dying Changes EverythingClouds and pearly gates,Dying Changes Everything7 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
I dream of sailing
into the west.
Milestones and Roadside DinersThere are no stars tonight;Milestones and Roadside Diners8 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
instead, we count the passing cars,
their headlights leaving trails
on the insides of our eyelids.
We try to memorise number plates,
to see if the same one passes us twice,
or write sonnets with the waspish letters;
we used to join the dots of constellations,
our names scrawled across midnight.
Plastic bags are crumpled wildflowers on the verge;
we pluck them from the view of cats eyes
and let them rustle secrets in the matted darkness.
When did the stars go out?
Did they flicker off, one by one,
like windows in a block of flats,
or did we smother them on that one night
when we thought the sky could wait?
We signed on the dotted
IncantationIncantationIncantation7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
In the second half of day,
while the sun is watching rice stems
climb into afternoon heat, eager
for their taste of the rain-hungry wind,
and the Longclaws yellow throat
is only just beginning to pause,
unable to find its song for the Ugali
thickening beside plates of evening stew,
the mud-slime will pull its hardest
at the blur of her feet even as she sees
she has no room to sprint
eyes wet as the new edge of bone,
her mother not following behind
but fighting to barricade the door
against men whove come
without their hearts
to hunt her daughter, to gouge
and saw at her snow skin,
wanting her most terribly
below the knees her albino legs
a prize to be torn and taken for luck
across the border into Kenya
where she will be shaped into charms
cast for wealth and good promise.
In the second half of day
I will hate the sun
more than anything
the sun that does not burn a path
behind a running girl, the sun
that does nothing more
This Is Suddenly AboutThis Is Suddenly AboutThis Is Suddenly About7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
more than a seatbelt will ever
be able to hold, straining as iron takes our tongue
and the glass begins its web and our skin gives up
a print to the reflections of the sky
and there is no time for a question
because we cannot begin in words,
because the days forget their names when a fast
comes to an end and the sobbing of the hungry
is for the hunger they must let go,
He Bought HimselfHe Bought HimselfHe Bought Himself7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
one of the mornings
he left early from
work he left work early
signed himself out of work
early with a reason
giving a plausible reason
one morning he did
he bought for himself
a new one within six blocks
of his house just
past the aisle with the light
fixtures and fifteen watt bulbs
ten one morning
after he left early just
across from the new appliances
they sell there he bought himself
wandering dizzy through
the crowded isles of the empty
sales floor of the store
wandering he leaned
himself against a washing machine
smelled the fungicide and bought
after he leaned there his
listening to nothing but
his fingers he bought
a new hose 100 foot
for his house not as silent
as it might otherwise
have seemed to seem
God is a GeniusGod is a geniusGod is a Genius7 years ago in Scraps More Like This
He has invented a machine
which turns grass into steaks, butter
and leather jackets
He has invented a machine
which grows its own solar panels and converts sunlight
into timber, fruit and blossoms
He has invented a machine
which eats all his other machines and
makes daisy-chains and rapes and
operas and oil conglomerates and
looks for others who are different to blame everything on.
He is the cleverest of all Gods machines
Speak1.Speak7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
You are singing the same song
you have always been singing.
The one where the words are all
did you do it, did you do it, did you
do it. I have not done it. Tomorrow
I will not have done it. The days pass,
and it has not been done. I only wish
you would sing a different song.
There are dishes in the sink.
There is dust in the house.
There is clutter on the table.
You do not do what should be done.
You never listen to me, you do not hear,
I am wide open and you are always shut.
Another question, any other question,
I had a lovely day at school they let me
hit something, today I ate a sandwich for lunch
made of horror and rye bread,
Im still afraid of cockroaches and abandonment.
My grades are picture-something.
You speak and you speak,
you want to leave me, you want me
all alone in this house, do your homework,
reminder to myselfwhile "the world ages":reminder to myself8 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
print ".uoy evol ot reh ecrof t'noD"[::-1]
Real ObjectsReal ObjectsReal Objects7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Spicer wrote to Lorca to say, I would like to make
poems out of real objects. The lemon to be a lemon
that the reader could cut or squeeze or taste a real lemon
like a newspaper in a collage is a real newspaper.
I read that Spicer wrote this, but not that Lorca wrote back
with his reply. I dont have such a letter; I have not seen that I do.
I have not looked to see that I do; not even today as I
give all thought to this. Is that as real as a lemon can be?
To go on without looking for a letter, simply because
the light is better here at the red edge of the table,
merely because there is no world beyond the chant of a fan
in a summer window to think nothing of a Spanish balcony
left open to a voice and some passing hours, but to know
that loving you is effortless as death, clear as carrion
coming bareheaded off the bone, tart as a lemon?
You should do as you like leave the balcony open
or closed, wait to the end of this line or well int
This PoemThis poemThis Poem7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
will be found
where you live,
somewhat short of breath,
missing an arm,
for the way
things used to be.
It will tell
the story of a dream
watching a dream.
Behind small jars
and bay leaf
you will catch
its scent, and,
as you move aside
a thing or two,
it will look up
with lips that move
like an eye
all the words for blue
(which might also
be all the names
for wind, weariness,
It will tell you
what kind you have been,
the shoes you wore
when you were.
will be found
where poems always are.