Friday, December 2, 2016

Chorus of Cells by Peggy Freydberg

Every morning,
even being very old,
(or perhaps because of it),
I like to make my bed.
In fact, the starting of each day
unhelplessly,
is the biggest thing I ever do.
I smooth away the dreams disclosed by tangled sheets,
I smack the dented pillow’s revelations to oblivion,
I finish with the pattern of the spread exactly centered.
The night is won.
And now the day can open.
All this I like to do,
mastering the making of my bed
with hands that trust beginnings.
All this I need to do,
directed by the silent message
of the luxury of my breathing.
And every night,
I like to fold the covers back,
and get in bed,
and live the dark, wise poetry of the night’s dreaming,
dreading the extent of its improbabilities,
but surrendering to the truth it knows and I do not;
even though its technicolor cruelties,
or the music of its myths,
feels like someone else’s experience,
not mine.
I know that I could no more cease
to want to make my bed each morning,
and fold the covers back at night,
than I could cease
to want to put one foot before the other.
Being very old and so because of it,
all this I am compelled to do,
day after day,
night after night,
directed by the silent message
of the constancy of my breathing,
that bears the news I am alive.

Wednesday, October 26, 2016

a boy and girl

There was a boy who was in love with a girl
She was not as beautiful as you think
But he thought she was the world, and the moon, and the stars

He hid his heart in his work
The kind that was drawn on walls and spelled out in cereal letters
She came and smeared the colors together and swallowed every last drop of milk

But he laughed and brushed her cheeks
And settled his little fingers in the crevices of her dimples
She grabbed his hand and bit it

He screamed out for mercy and cried and cried
She said "shh, shh," as she kissed the teeth marks
He smiled again


Sunday, July 17, 2016

This little forgotten number...Buzz Lightyear on MS Paint

Are they really coming out with a Toy Story 4? I have mixed feelings.

Adventure Time! on MS Paint


"You know what Finn?"
"Yes, Jake?"
"Have you ever wondered why the sky is so blue? Or why my coat is so yellow? Or why LSP won't play chess with me even though I've asked her a million times and even let her ride on my back one time?"
"Well, Jake. I don't know the answers to those questions."
"Aw.." :(
"But I do know that I love playing outside when the sky is blue! It feels the best cause when the sky is blue, the sun is out!"
"Me too!"
"And I love yellow, it's my favorite color! If I had a yellow shirt, I would always wear it because then it matches my hair color! And you know what else?"
"What, Finn?"
"The sun is yellow! And you know I love the sun!"
"Me too!"
"And don't mind LSP, Here's a secret, Jake. Don't tell anyone!"
"Ok, pinky promise!"
*Whispers* "LSP doesn't know how to play chess..."
*GASP!* "Really!? She told me she mastered it though. Aw.." :(
"You want to know another secret, Jake?"
"What?!"
*Whispers* "BP taught me how to play chess yesterday."
*Shrieks* "Play chess with me, Finn!!"
"Ok, but only if you let me ride on your back."
"Pinky promise!" :)

Monday, May 30, 2016

Pesky Parrot

The day the parrot bit my dad, we ran over the cat. Dad didn't mean to run her over but he was distracted by that pesky bird. Maybe it had plotted it all along. Maybe the cat was too dominating and she had to be finished off or maybe she killed one of the bird's wild friends. Whatever the case, she was dead. And we were all sorry about it. My little sister, Elisa, chose a nice place under the shaded oak tree to bury her. Of course we all shed a tear and said our prayers, the way that Elisa wanted us to because she said it was our fault and we should be sad. Elisa held that parrot close to her and comforted her with words, "It's ok, don't cry. Your friend is in a better place now. Shh..don't cry." She patted that bird's head and groomed its' feather methodically. Later that night, all I heard was that pesky bird laughing in its sleep, literally.

Monday, May 16, 2016

the Greens

Every summer the lake seemed to become fuller. Tova specifically remembered that last summer, the water only touched the root of the first oak tree to the left of the dock. Now, a good portion of the tree's bottom half was immersed in the glorious liquid. She dipped her fingers in it breaking the surface and creating a milky and shiny pattern that traveled to the tree. The Greens were particularly aware of their natural surroundings, quite literally. Grandpa Jed once spotted a black bear a mile away during a family camping trip, and it was nearly dark out! And Uncle Lukey often knew the right spot on any body of water where the fish would always bite. Tova loved it, the strange closeness her family had to this blue and green world. If her family name's sake didn't speak any louder, she didn't know what would. For three summer's straight during her elementary years, Tova learned to tend to and grow a sustainable garden and eventually taught the whole program to the next coming set of green thumbs. In fifth grade, she managed to memorize the scientific names and appearance of 78 types of trees, 56 types of flowers and just for fun, 40 types of birds. Loren Green was proud of her daughter's unprecedented achievements at such a tender age, however, less impressed at her daughter's overabundance of terrariums in the house. Though constantly tended to and organized, there wasn't enough space for the miniature Japanese gardens which Loren loved so much.



miss annie arch
was born in march
the month of change
that melt the heart

and in her hair
she doesn't care
the color of
the flower fair

she donned the rose
a daisy gold
although today
'twas orchid bold

her dress is blue
her blazer new
her nails pink
to match her shoes

she walked the street
in mild heat
to share the news
winter's defeat!

now out the door
the town galore
marched heel to toe
with songs they bore

to sing to spring
she's come again
now jump, now shout
welcome her in