Optical Allusionist

The deeper the pan the better.
Ahhhhh...
Never tried this before, but one spoonful's just not enough
I didn't think I'd like this stuff, but, wow...
Comfort food :)
Like none I've ever tried before.

But, ugh, I've eaten too much
And now my stomach hurts.
I wanna throw up.


Two thoughts:

I know when I don't feel nauseous anymore from eating the flan, I'll just want more flan

But mostly:

Was it really worth it?

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So, I wrote a couple poems/songs. Check them out. Tell me what you think... I'm working on one about the Harmon extended family. but that'll prolly take a while. :)

Anyway, for "Please, Hear My Prayer" and "How Will I Survive the Night"

Please, Hear My Prayer

I'm broken, Lord
Repair my flaws.
I look to you from Satan's jaws.
I know you died and suffered so,
I'd be with you again, I know
That you must love me dearly, Lord
So, please, please hear my prayer.

Lord, I've traveled on this path and I
Don't know the way back to On High
But I know that you love me, Lord
I know that if I follow, Lord
You will hold me in your arms,
And lovingly remind me harm's
Gone, now that I am in your arms.
So, Lord, please hear my prayer.

I look to you with last resort,
I know you're not my last support.
You've stuck with me, through sin and fault,
You were pained so I'd exalt,
And when I'd stuck it in your face,
I lost my soul, I lost my race,
And when I needed most the love
That only comes from God above,
You forgave, Lord. You forgave.
My soul, my soul you came to save!

My Lord, how can I ever thank thee.
My Lord, how can I ever thank thee?
My Lord, how can I ever love thee
With the love thou holdest for me?
My Lord, my Lord. Please hear my prayer.
Please rescue me from this despair!
I need thee, Lord; I love thee, Lord!

So, Lord, please hear my prayer.
Oh, Lord, please hear my prayer.




How Will I Survive the Night?

I'm sipping lyrics slowly so I don't throw up my heart.
I have sutures holding ribs together, so I'm not torn apart.
I used to have dreams where blood was up to my knees,
Where children played in battlefields, and
And no one used the magic words.
I'm swallowed up inside.
Inside this bloody soul.
The scars are splitting,
Marred, and quitting.
I'm submitting.
Unremitting

Anything to get me out of here!

I spit up gobs of bloody soul, sip a 7 up now
Stalin's speaking to my head, Hitler, Mussolini, Mao.
I dance in the streets, singing Regina Spektor and specters
Haunt the bedroom lamps and I
Once drank a druid under the table
On my way to Aceldama.
Where I'll be vacating.
Bare debating,
I'm negating
Infiltrating.

Where do I expect to go,
Traveling the broken road?
I knew that I would end up here,
So why didn't I stop from fear?

I'm spitting up my soul tonight,
How will I survive the night?

How will I survive the night?

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Hey, so I found these poems on the internet, and I wanted a second opinion. I think I like them, but I wanted to know what y'all thought. Thank you! PLEASE critique! Oh, and neither had titles. Sorry. Couldn't find them.




To walk in beauty,
to behold a raging sky-storm
To play upon a sailing plateau aboard a rusting land.

What is childhood?
To feel the wind, and let it take your soul.
To read the Ceiba tops.
And die atop the world.
What is the soul? And what is humanity?

To consume
every drop
of nature.

All around.

To see the Earth
fill your dreams-
and live always
and never deaden.

What is truth? What is true existence?

To run wild
Never ceasing
And always
Always
What is living?

Pray for life, for the Earth's death.
For breath.
Pray for air and sweeping dreams.
As long as you keep scheming,
you'll never slumber-sleep.







(the second poem...)


Cotton tufts of Heaven Downy
'Stuff my eyes with wonder'
Enthralling
More real than the reality we imagined-
How do we comprehend what we cannot create or predict?

Secret places, so it seems
Seen by only me
Reverence
Homage to my Mother Earth
Contained in this bursting vessel

All these wondrous things
Where do I put these little bits of delight?
Where do all the colors, dirt, smells, flow, rifts, spirits, trees, winds-
Go?

To respect their holiness
I search for a place to hold their wonder
As a light, as a strength
As a creation myself.


But what wonders can be held, and where?
Heart, mind, soul?
Blow, oh wind
Speak, oh trees
Grow in me.


And give me a place to keep you.

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On my way home from playing with a friend tonight, some song lyrics came to mind. "Someone told you forever, but forever it would not be." I thought maybe it was a Tim McGraw song I barely remembered hearing in 7th grade. I came home and looked up those lyrics on google, hoping to find the full song to play it on youtube. I searched google, checked on cmt.com, asked my brother-- Country Music Extroardinaire-- and checked again on google, with all kinds of variations.

I gave up and went to play on Facebook. Shortly into my game, I came to the realization-- and, yes, this is a little pathetic-- I had MY song stuck in my head. I had heard the song I was looking for, and, in an effort to create something similar, wrote the song "Scars." It's been so long (7 years) since I wrote it, that I'd pretty much forgotten about it. It's funny because, when I'd written it originally, I'd purposefully written the three verses to be three situations which I had no emotional relation to. And, though I'm not getting a divorce, which was the original premise of the first verse, my experience this week still matches it. Isn't it funny?

So, this is the song, "Scars". I'd sing it, but... that's obviously impossible.

Scars

Someone told you forever,
But forever it would not be.
They turned their back on you,
And said forever they could not see.

Scars, scars, scars,
Each and everyone has their scars.
They may hurt, but they will help;
If only we saw their part.

Mom had to have those cigarettes
Don't have any idea why.
Cancer seemed her one weakness.
Why did she have to die?

First day of tenth grade.
No one wanted to be his friend.
Was it that he had to change?
Did he really have to bend?

Scars can heal and help us
If we really work it out.
Don't blame it on the others.
Don't sit down and pout.

Scars, scars, scars.
Each and everyone has their scars.
They may hurt, but they will help.
We've just gotta see their part.



So, that's basically one of several songs I wrote in the beginning of junior high. Yes, I'm a genius. Lol, jk. Um, so I was engaged, and I'm not engaged anymore. That's why I was thinking of this.

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This is a poem I found on a folded scrap of paper while I cleaned out the drama room. I thought it was good enough to stick in my pocket, and, in memory of the lonely student, I've decided to publish it, per se. It needs help, but give the kid a break- they're in jh.


When I was at my old school
I was happy every day.
I was bright and young and joyful;
It should have stayed that way.

But now I'm at a new school-
I'm dismal, slow, and sad
I don't quite know why I'm like this,
But I do know that it's bad.

It could be that it's winter,
Or I'm not meeting ends,
But mostly, I think that it is
My total lack of friends.

I can't hold out much longer;
It's harming to my soul-
This overwhelming loneliness
Is taking its told.

I have no one to talk to,
No one to hold my hand. (the words "relief" and "belief" are written out to the side, and, quite honestly, i like the two words together with the kind of rhyme scheme this young author has in mind. Good going, ol' chap.)
I have no one to comfort me,
When I can hardly stand.

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Berlin

I run down these streets watching the planes fly over.
My friends laugh at them, pointing up into the sky,
But my father told me about these planes.
Bombs, he said-- to destroy the Fuehrer.
Of course, it was the first year in many
That we hadn't had to worry about food.

Why would Britain take that away from us?
I don't laugh and point with the others.

My father shakes me awake. "Wach auf!! Sie kommen! Sie kommen!"
They're coming. A great horn cuts the night,
As we scamper to the bomb shelter.
Great bombs shatter the peace of the night.

Why are they doing this?
I shake and cry with each new bang.
Closer and closer.


A tear stained pillow in the God-forsaken bunker
Welcomes the new day.
"Wo ist Vati?" Where is father?
My father, Mother says, went outside that morning.
There was no food in the bunker.
I jump to follow him, but my mother grabs me back.
No, she screams, I cannot lose you too.

But I leave soon enough anyways.
We can't stay cooped up in the bunker for forever.
The light from outside blinds us until...
I wish it would blind us again.



He went out for food? I ask mother.
There is no food. It looks like it did before Hitler.
There is no anything. This is what the Fuehrer had saved us from.
Rubble and debris clutter the streets.
Listless comrades trudge through the streets of our beloved city.
Berlin.

We search for Vati.
He must come back sometime.
For days we don't return home. There is no home now.
Only the bunker has been spared. No bed. No food.
No anything.

My mother is small.
She cowers. She does not eat enough.
But that may be only due to the fact that we don't find enough to eat.
Vati was never found.
Mutti doesn't seem to care anymore.
I can hear her chatter in her sleep.

I'm angry.
Hitler gave us food.
He gave us pride.
He gave us bravery.
He gave us self-respect.
He gave us protection.

And now they take it away.
They take it away like they did before.

I run to the enlistment office.
I will teach these British Schweinhuende.
But the men in their uniforms laugh.
We know you want to help, they say,
But come back in a few years when you're older.
Be a good German boy now.
We will teach them.

But I don't miss the terror in their eyes, and the creases in their brow.

I run down these streets again
The streets of a once- stunning city.
But now the only stunning thing about it is that it
Is no longer the wonder it once was.

Berlin.




This is a tank in the middle of Berlin's ruins. I'd show a picture of an incendiary bomb, but I'm not sure those were dropped on Berlin specifically. We need to remember that everyone has their own perspective, especially in tragedy. Not everyone was overjoyed that we were coming to "free" the Germans. Not many were saying "God bless America for burning my mother in the incendiary flames!" We need to remember this as we are in Iraq. One innocent Iraqi civilian dies, and it opens the way for his or her friends and family to be angry at a country that was never asked to come in. Hitler was an evil man, who did a lot of good as well as a lot of bad, no matter what his motives were. He helped a starving nation- Germany, while destroying many other nations. I wouldn't say he was a good man, but I would say he did do some good things.


This is the structure of an incendiary bomb. These were dropped into German cities (and British ones). They would drop, explode, and create fires that would reach immense temperatures and immense heights. Heat rises, and so drafts would be created from all the air rising with the air as it continued to get hotter. The drafts were so powerful that they would carry cars, animals, any debris on the street, and even human beings, right into the fires. Human beings were sucked into the flames we created-- and we knew they would be. If you weren't sucked in, you might be very likely to get hit by a rushing piece of debris, which, if it's big enough or hits in the right spot, can kill you as well. If you were in an underground bunker, the air in the bunker was likely to be sucked upwards with the rest of the air, which meant suffocation for all those hoping to survive. Very few people survived incendiary bombs. Who thought up something like this in the first place?


Who did Germany take over first? Sudentenland? Poland? Sure, whatever, but remember: Who did the Nazis take over first? Poland? No, sir. Germany. The German people were captives of their own. There was much they didn't know about Hitler's (or Goebbel's or Goerring's) orders. It wasn't until after the war that most discovered the truth of the concentration camps. People who were against the "Vaterland" were often taken away without a trace. No one knew where they went. Fear was replaced with fear. You no longer had to worry about your children starving. But you did have to worry about other things. Remember, the German people were victims just like the rest of Europe. Fear makes people do crazy things.

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Idealism Concerning the Occupation of a Janitor

For the school to be rid of its grime,
If the teachers would just give it time,
It'd take care of itself;
The students would help
To make their school shimmer and shine.


Shakespearean Sonnet

Across the burning bridge, I see the maiden fair.
Her every action pleading freedom from self- inflicted dragon.
Yon dismal dreaming maiden with the pallid face
Her eyes a piercing azure, hair: locks of teeming ebony
The bridge ablaze before me, neither she or I may cross.
Despite the cruel reality, I call for her to come.
She dare not move and neither I in case of callous peril.
With wings spread wide, the infernal beast swoops from yonder perch.
Bonfire extended from fortified jaws, directed at maiden fair.
Ideal visage strikes bitter tile. She ducks to avoid his flame.
And I limited to inspecting the dishonorable deed.
Ashes and smoke hide the falling bridge, but Clash! rings loudly in my ear.
I call for her to come once more, but all for my despair.
Due to the beast, I must depart. A knight I was, but now no more.


Berlin

I run down these streets watching the planes fly over.
My friends laugh at them, pointing up into the sky,
But my father told me about these planes.
Bombs, he said-- to destroy the Fuehrer.
Of course, it was the first year in many
That we hadn't had to worry about food.

Why would Britain take that away from us?
I don't laugh and point with the others.

My father shakes me awake. "Wach auf!! Sie kommen! Sie kommen!"
They're coming. A great horn cuts the night,
As we scamper to the bomb shelter.
Great bombs shatter the peace of the night.

Why are they doing this?
I shake and cry with each new bang.
Closer and closer.


A tear stained pillow in the God-forsaken bunker
Welcomes the new day.
"Wo ist Vati?" Where is father?
My father, Mother says, went outside that morning.
There was no food in the bunker.
I jump to follow him, but my mother grabs me back.
No, she screams, I cannot lose you too.

But I leave soon enough anyways.
We can't stay cooped up in the bunker for forever.
The light from outside blinds us until...
I wish it would blind us again.



He went out for food? I ask mother.
There is no food. It looks like it did before Hitler.
There is no anything. This is what the Fuehrer had saved us from.
Rubble and debris clutter the streets.
Listless comrades trudge through the streets of our beloved city.
Berlin.

We search for Vati.
He must come back sometime.
For days we don't return home. There is no home now.
Only the bunker has been spared. No bed. No food.
No anything.

My mother is small.
She cowers. She does not eat enough.
But that may be only due to the fact that we don't find enough to eat.
Vati was never found.
Mutti doesn't seem to care anymore.
I can hear her chatter in her sleep.

I'm angry.
Hitler gave us food.
He gave us pride.
He gave us bravery.
He gave us self-respect.
He gave us protection.

And now they take it away.
They take it away like they did before.

I run to the enlistment office.
I will teach these British Schweinhuende.
But the men in their uniforms laugh.
We know you want to help, they say,
But come back in a few years when you're older.
Be a good German boy now.
We will teach them.

But I don't miss the terror in their eyes, and the creases in their brow.

I run down these streets again
The streets of a once- stunning city.
But now the only stunning thing about it is that it
Is no longer the wonder it once was.

Berlin.


Doctor Jekyll and Mister Hyde

Fiddling around with test tube memories
Mixing chemicals of brain and time
Chemistry, a sudden strong point
My lab coat a wild blur.
Frantically combining a toxic solution
Of memory and attention span.
A decade of thought, to think in a moment.
A slip of hand, and a crash of glass bottles.
Fumes become a projector screen for the past.
Breathing sensations in, suffocating time.
A monster arises- leather hands and cat-like eyes.
Avoidance is the only answer in response to monstrosity
No question in the motive of it's flailing claws.
“Away!” It cries, “Away from here!” The roar deafens.
Until painful decibels, a train rumbling into the station.
A station of horror, pain etched in posture and visage.
The only sense of control left is to stay indoors
Windows barred, to hide the secret of a past.
Test tubes litter the floor.


Dramaturgy

Jeffrey's eyes looked everywhere
At people's clothes, at people's hair
His voice erupted in a yell
"Why do you insist in hell?!
Are you real?
Can you feel?
That there's no point in catching up
To everyone who's matching up!"
But no one heard his desperate plea,
And that's what brought about the deed.

They found him lying on his bed.
The cry rang out, "Jeff Hunter's dead!"
Anxious fingers read his note,
The lyrics to the song he wrote.
"Why can't we see?"
"Oh, why did he?"
His shaky words cut through the page,
The ending to another day.
Tears were shed, and silent songs
Stayed there where Jeff's pen had hung.

"Everybody's selling something;
Everyone is buying.
I'm sick of all this dramaturgy.
'Spent my whole life crying.
'Cause you won't show me who you are.
Why won't you tell me who you are?"

They bring his coffin down the aisle.
The pain they feel is nothing mild.
The choir sings a solemn hymn,
The feelings low, the lighting dim.
His mother cried;
His best friend lied.
His father stood and spoke about
How masks we wear leave room for doubt.
He read Jeff's song in memory.
All eyes were wet with reverie.

"We strut around.
We're in a play.
'Know what to do.
'Know what to say.
Tell me who you are.
Won't you tell me who you are?

"The Jocks the Freaks,
The Science Geeks.
We're giving you all labels.
The Mollys, Peters,
Cheerleaders,
The Marthas and the Mabels.

"Everybody's selling something;
Everyone is buying.
I'm sick of all this dramaturgy.
'Spent my whole life crying.
'Cause you won't show me who you are.
Why won't you tell me who you are?"


After Ward Prayer

I step into my Ford Taurus
And I sob.
But there's no true reason to sob.
I pass my singles ward friends,
Smile like Jennifer Anisten,
Wave and wipe my eyes,
Beaming "There's nothing wrong with me!"
I turn the corner, but pull over to the curb.
Something's wrong.
And I catch a blink of the horror.
Suddenly, I'm caught between a sob and a scream.
"Don't touch me!" A voice shrieks in my mind.
A little girl sobs in time with me.
And as soon as it came, it stops
I'm surrounded by my own muffled grasp for air.
But that's all.
"What do I do?" I speak aloud.
I turn the car around and park in the lot.
Again.
After sitting numbly in the seat,
I open the door,
Slam the door,
And walk to the crowd.
Caitlin looks confused, tired, and maybe a little worried.
"You came back."
"Yep," I reply. I'll explain later.
Wei notices that I'm shaking.
"Oh, are you cold?" Cameron hands me a jacket.
Minutes later, Wei takes my hand.
"You're warm, but you're still shaking."
I won't tell him why I'm shaking.
When I leave soon after,
I drive around some more
And get home after 10
To crash in my bed
And sleep.



Nocturnal Child

As bedtime nears, she awakens.
I feel her yawn and stretch inside me.
A child is here.
She blinks the sleep out of her eyes,
As I blink mine in a fitful lethargy.
Do you see her?
She is silent as she climbs out of bed,
Pausing to listen for a hidden commotion.
Frozen in fear.
I pace the room, not ready for sleep
And the nightmares that arise in the midst.
She is the nightmare.
Trembling hands and clammy skin.
She awaits for him to come to her.
This is her welfare.
I feel her shaking, shaking my heart.
I grab my knee and rub
I try to calm her.
She mouths her question silently.
Her eyes reflecting the same question.
"What now?"
I stare blankly back at her,
My mind as blank as my eyes.
"...and how?"
Gray matter constricts, and
A growing hurricane erupts.
I have no answer for her.
How can I help her be calm,
When I am terrified?
Have I broken my vow?
I promised to protect her.
I promised she'd be safe.
But she and I are haunted.

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