Sporadic winds swim over the
Sea of concrete,
Churning the life away,
Sweeping the warmth of day
Away with the time.
Into obscurity, day’s blue
Escapes over the rooftops,
Fading the dying sunlight amidst
Blackening heaven lightly kissed --
A mist of dusk sublime.
The ultimate ember smolders, solitaire
Into the horizon,
Abandoning the night’s array,
Dying as do people; pray
A ray of life returns.
This was written in Sevilla, Spain, 1996.
24 November 2009
16 November 2009
I'm Bored
This was an off-the-cuff example while my student teacher was trying to get the students to "show" rather than "tell" their stories. The class example was to reconstruct the sentence "I was bored."
There are exactly 2137 holes in the ceiling tile above my desk in algebra. Or maybe there are 2139. I counted that many once one Friday when I really had to pee. Twice there were 2136—both on Mondays after three-day weekends. How do I know? I’ve counted them each day since 7th grade started. All I know is that counting hasn’t improved my math grade any.
Lately I’ve thought about adding a couple of my own, just to round it off nice and even. No. That would be too obvious. Mr. Cisneros would definitely notice if I started using pencils as javelins. And my goal here at Brookside Middle School is to remain invisible. So far it’s worked.
So, any ideas where to go from here? All ideas are welcome.
There are exactly 2137 holes in the ceiling tile above my desk in algebra. Or maybe there are 2139. I counted that many once one Friday when I really had to pee. Twice there were 2136—both on Mondays after three-day weekends. How do I know? I’ve counted them each day since 7th grade started. All I know is that counting hasn’t improved my math grade any.
Lately I’ve thought about adding a couple of my own, just to round it off nice and even. No. That would be too obvious. Mr. Cisneros would definitely notice if I started using pencils as javelins. And my goal here at Brookside Middle School is to remain invisible. So far it’s worked.
So, any ideas where to go from here? All ideas are welcome.
10 November 2009
Something New...?
I think I might use this rough intro to begin a new short story about a kid who actually (for a time) learns through osmosis. I'd like some feedback on this. What works? Where do you have questions? Any suggestions?
I could smell her before I could see her. As I plowed my way through the jungle of jocks and jerks, goths and geeks, toward Mr. Pemberton’s chemistry class, the aroma of her Blushing Violet body spray grew stronger. I felt a lump of what felt like a grapefruit try to force its way down my throat as the crowds thinned. Rayna stood in front of her open locker, surrounded by a pack of jackals hoping she’d take notice, brushing out her long dark hair as she always did before fourth period.
My palms sweat and started to tremble. Forty pounds of books began to slide from my grasp as I fumbled for my inhaler. My glasses fogged. “Watch out, weirdo” was the last thing I heard before the bell broke my concentration and I went down in a cloudburst of algebra assignments.
Within seconds, the hallway became as lonely as a graveyard, the cold, gray lockers standing solemn as headstones. Apart from a few spooks haunting the bathrooms, I was alone. Gathering up my papers from the dusty tiles, I heard the distinct tapping of the hall monitor Mr. Buckton’s combat boots echoing as he patrolled the halls. I blew the hair from my eyes, wiped my lenses clean on my T-shirt, and scurried into class, late yet again.
I could smell her before I could see her. As I plowed my way through the jungle of jocks and jerks, goths and geeks, toward Mr. Pemberton’s chemistry class, the aroma of her Blushing Violet body spray grew stronger. I felt a lump of what felt like a grapefruit try to force its way down my throat as the crowds thinned. Rayna stood in front of her open locker, surrounded by a pack of jackals hoping she’d take notice, brushing out her long dark hair as she always did before fourth period.
My palms sweat and started to tremble. Forty pounds of books began to slide from my grasp as I fumbled for my inhaler. My glasses fogged. “Watch out, weirdo” was the last thing I heard before the bell broke my concentration and I went down in a cloudburst of algebra assignments.
Within seconds, the hallway became as lonely as a graveyard, the cold, gray lockers standing solemn as headstones. Apart from a few spooks haunting the bathrooms, I was alone. Gathering up my papers from the dusty tiles, I heard the distinct tapping of the hall monitor Mr. Buckton’s combat boots echoing as he patrolled the halls. I blew the hair from my eyes, wiped my lenses clean on my T-shirt, and scurried into class, late yet again.
06 November 2009
Zombie Haiku
While discussing my latest zombie haiku at lunch today, one teacher asked, "Aren't hakiu[s] supposed to be about nature and stuff?" Before I could finish chewing and swallowing, another piped up: "Zombies are nature; they're all about decomposing." Made me chuckle.
This was inspired after watching Michael Jackson videos at night, then going for a morning walk in the cemetery.
How unfortunate
to be cast as an "extra"
in MJ's "Thriller."
This was inspired after watching Michael Jackson videos at night, then going for a morning walk in the cemetery.
How unfortunate
to be cast as an "extra"
in MJ's "Thriller."
03 November 2009
Question for You
I'm wanting to write another professional article while I juggle and sift through a few fictional ventures. The topics somersaulting around currently are motivation, voice, flow, and risk-taking in the classroom. Any suggestions? I'm open to anything. I only have three weeks until I lose my student teacher.
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