3 am

It’s always three am when it hits her hardest. The depression, the loneliness, the uncertainty. It’s the time when she might once have prayed or cried, but she’s forgotten how to do both. Prayers and tears are reserved for special occasions. They don’t mean an awful lot anymore. Three am is almost a ritual by now. When she’s sleeping it’s not nearly as bad, but she’s hardly ever sleeping by then now.

She thinks while she waits for sleep. Tangled threads of shadowed half-thoughts. Rarely words, just feelings and cold. She knows she’s missing something, but she can’t think of what. She knows something’s wrong, but she can’t find the problem. Perhaps everything is problem, the forest hiding in the trees.

Sometimes she thinks of music, words floating though her head in a mismatched melody. Lyrics that tell a story until her heart threatens to stop and her thoughts run away from a note too close to home. She forgets what the words said. She always forgets.

Sometimes she thinks in words, disjointed phrases that lead her in dizzying circles of rational. Sometimes her words spill out in the dim glow of a monitor or whispered pleas for something, anything to change this. She thinks she prays sometimes, but the words feel all wrong and her thoughts run away from that as well. Praying makes her feel too empty, too alone. She doesn’t like the emptiness. It hurts more than numbness.

Sometimes she thinks about him. Her half-formed wish. Her thoughts turn to dreams and she smiles. But only on the good nights. Other nights she thinks of him and her hollow chest stabs her throat. She knows better than to believe in dreams. She wishes she could make that fluttering in her stomach when she sees him understand.

Once in a while a tear wets her eye lashes. It’s the most she cries at three am. She lets the moisture dry in the air. It makes her feel alive, human. She wishes she could remember how to sob. The cavity in her chest seems filled with oceans. But tears don’t fall for depression, or loneliness, or uncertainty. Tears fall when she thinks of her siblings. Tears fall for her family.

She cried at midnight on her nineteenth birthday. She sobbed for hours, away from home, in another’s room. She sobbed for her sister and her brothers, for her parents, and the home she couldn’t wait to escape. She sobbed for the years slipping away and the years yet remaining. Since then she spends more time at home. Since then she cares more about birthdays.

At three am she lies awake and tries to breathe evenly. She holds still despite the tumult of her mind. She tries not to wake the girl in the next bed. At three am she stares at the cold digits and waits for her mind to slow. For the tangled threads to twist into dreams. At three am she sits in the glow of the monitor and does not cry.

"Children's Play"

Prompt 18: Write a poem with an interaction of some sort.

Written: April 19

"Children's Play"

She sits quietly, enjoying her solitude
as she plays with her doll.
No interest is shown to the other children
who bustle around with
their voices raised in play.
She rocks her baby gently,
tender care bestowed upon the worn
plastic. Sweet melodies are whispered
into the doll's ear and it is clear
that the two are in a world of their own.

The girl is oblivious to the timid approach
of another child, a little boy, aware
that he is intruding on something
he was not invited to join.
He sits on the floor a few feet away
and watches silently. The girl is still locked
inside her imagination. Scooting carefully,
the boy edges closer until he is beside
the other child and can hear
her whispered song. He waits until
the melody is finished before he asks,
"Can I be the daddy?"

The little girl opens her eyes quickly and stares
at the little intruder beside her.
She examines him, a solemnness in her eyes.
Finally she asks, "Do you yell?"
The boy shakes his head earnestly.
"Do you hit people?" the girl asks again.
The boy shakes his head once more.
The girl studies him for a long moment,
then carefully hands over the little
doll. "Yes," she tells him. "you can be the daddy."

"Origin of Mistrust"

Prompt 1: Write an origin poem. It can be the origin of a word, person, plant, idea, etc. Have fun with it.

Written: April 17


"Origin of Mistrust"

She sits in her crib and listens
as he bellows and she screams
and their voices bring tears to
her tiny eyes, but she doesn't make
a sound.

She hides behind the couch and listens
as he rages and she cries out in pain
and the thud of her body brings tears to
her little eyes, but she doesn't make
a sound.

She huddles under the table and listens
as he throws the bottle across the room
and the shattering glass brings fear to
her young eyes, but she doesn't make
a sound.

She cowers against the wall and listens
as he screams that she's worthless
and the hateful words bring pain to
her too old eyes, but she doesn't make
a sound.

She lies broken on the floor and listens
as he stumbles off to find another beer
and blood on her face brings distance to
her guarded eyes, but she doesn't make
a sound.

"Black Panther"

Prompt 4: Pick an animal; make that animal the title of your poem; then, write a poem.

Written: April 17

"Black Panther"

Dark and slender like water
given form. Black water that speaks
of poison that can kill
in a heartbeat. He crawls through
my dreams and I know from his eyes
that there is no escape and I can never
outrun his shadowy form.
Sharp claws glint in
the moonlight and I feel a
shiver up my spine. Darkness is
his protection and there is none
for me.

"All I Want Is A Breath"

Prompt: Write a poem with the following title: "All I want is (blank)," where you fill in the blank with a word or phrase of your choosing.

April 17

"All I Want Is A Breath"

Gasping, twisting,
turning, squirming,
burning lungs constrict,
trying to inhale
in this crushing darkness
of the water.
Light fading out
far above my
head and I
know that my
hope is futile and
in moments I
will drown.
A prayer through
my lips, exhaled
on my final
breath.
And then I am
saved.

"Green"

Prompt: Pick a color, make that the title of your poem, and write a poem that is inspired by that color.

April 16


"Green"

Swelling and dancing out under
the open sky, the ocean
reflects the light
in rainbows.

Playing with the strands of my
hair, the gentle wind
caresses my soul
and soothes me.

Sweet melodies flowing from the
silver length, the flute
reminds me of what
it's like to rest.

Laying on my back in the grass and
watching the branches sway
above my head, which swims
with memories

of freedom.

"The Laundry Man"

"For today's prompt, I want you to take the title of a poem you especially like (by another poet) and change it. Then, with this new altered title, I want you to write a poem. An example would be to take William Carlos Williams' "The Red Wheelbarrow" and change it to "The Red Volkswagon." Or take Frank O'Hara's "Why I Am Not a Painter" and change it to "Why I Am Not a Penguin." You get the idea, right? (Note: Your altered poem does NOT have to follow the same style as the original poet, though you can try if you wish.)"

Chosen poem: The Highway Man by Alfred Noyes


"The Laundry Man"

The floor was a turmoil of fabric among the mussy beds,
The dressers overflowing their drawers with many dangling threads,
The sea was a jumble of colors upon the buried wood,
And the laundry man came collecting-
Collecting-collecting-
The laundry man came collecting just as I knew he would.

His bag was slung over his shoulder, a pant leg at his throat,
His clothes were worn and old, and he wore a dirty coat.
I wondered as I saw him how he got the clothing clean,
But he carried out the laundry,
The dirty, smelling laundry,
He carried out the laudry, so I knew not to be mean.

He climbed up on the stair; he scarce could reach the door,
But I handed out the basket and he took it in a blink,
As he dumped the stinking bundle in the bag 'long with the rest,
And he took the stinking pile,
(Oh, the dirty, stinking pile!)
Then he tossed the bag over his shoulder, and wandered away to the West.

And still of an early morn, they say, when the laundry's on the floor,
When the smell fills up the house till you can't take it anymore,
When the fabric fills the house so there's nowhere to escape,
The laundry man comes collecting-
Collecting- collecting-
The laundry man comes collecting, wearing a dirty cape.

"The Unaware"

I opened a book at random and jabbed my finger down on six different pages. The words I landed on are the words I used as the endings for my lines. The result was rather interesting...

Words used: Unaware, city, pages, fearful, father, unable.


"The Unaware"

I remember the days of innocence, unaware
that such places as this city
existed outside of the pages
of a book. Now I find myself fearful,
even of my own father,
and I know that despite my wish to help, I am unable.

It kills me inside that I am unable
to fix what was done while, unaware,
I took the word of my father
that we would be say in this city.
And now I lie awake fearful
of what I must write on these pages.

For upon these pages
I have decided to tell what I am unable
to undo. But I am fearful
of discovery, for it is better to be unaware
of the truth in this city
where one cannot trust their own father.

I remember the words of my father
and his reassuring smile as he signed the pages
that bound us forever to this city.
I recall how I tried to stop him, but was unable
to change his mind. Perhaps he was unaware
of the truth, but with so much betrayal, I’m fearful.

I despise the fact that I am so fearful,
but I will not give in. Not like my father.
Though when it began I was unaware,
I know now and my testimony is on these pages.
Even if I am forever unable,
I will never stop trying to leave this city.

I tremble now at what I know of the city.
For the lives of my family and friends I am fearful.
If it was found out what I know, I would be unable
to save myself or them, even my father
who is under their control. I wet these pages
with tears, knowing that all of this is because we were unaware.

But I am determined to escape the city and save my friends and my father.
However, I admit I am fearful of discovery of my plans on these pages,
For, if discovered, I will be unable to save any of those still unaware.

"So We Decided To Fly"

Prompt: Take the phrase "So we decided to (blank)" and fill in the blank.

April 12, 2009


"So We Decided To Fly"

They told us that we could never
be anything more than
what we are, but you never believed
what they said and you laughed.
So we decided to be more.

They told us that we could never
know as much as those with
better breeding; that we would always
be less. But I knew better and laughed.
So we decided to learn.

They told us that we could never
escape the trap we were in and that
we would always view the world
through a cage. But you saw a way out.
So we decided to run.

They told us we could never
run from the past; that it would always
haunt us. But we looked at each other and
knew that we could win.
So we decided to fly.

CP Squabble April 9-15

Challenge: Write a free verse poem, using this line: Sometimes laughter tastes like cranberries, as your opening OR ending line.

You may start with that line, or use it as the final line, but it MUST be in one of those two locations. Your poem must be free verse (click for info), and should be between 8 and 16 lines long.

Genre: Poetry
Line Count: 8-16 lines

********************

-Cranberry Kiss-

We wandered down the path and laughed as we
dreamed of our future together.
I watched as you popped the red berry
in your mouth and told me this was forever.
You kissed me then and the sour red juice trickled
down our chins. I remember when
you walked away and left me alone,
tears pouring down my cheeks,
and I swore I'd never be happy again.
Time passing and seasons changing
and the pain fading slowly, little by little,
and sometimes I'd find myself
smiling or laughing and it felt sour on my lips,
but underneath it was sweet. Like your kiss.
And I learned that there can be healing and that
sometimes laughter tastes like cranberries.

CP Squabble April 2-8

Write a sestina, using these rules.

The catch is that we are giving you your set of six ending words. You MUST use these six words as your ending words, but what order you choose for your first stanza is up to you (as you will see in the rules, the order for the rest of the stanzas is predetermined).

Here are your six ending words:
boat
Kathmandu
journal
lemon
cathedral
grass

Genre: Poetry

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`


Lemon of Regret

I sit in the shadow of the old cathedral
and sigh as I read through my childhood journal.
I sigh for those days when we lay on the grass,
building with dreams out splendid boat,
that would take us from home to Kathmandu.
Regret is on my lips like a sugarless lemon.

And I summon forth to me the lemon
as I sit before this cathedral
and remember those fantasies of Kathmandu.
I cry a small tear on the pages of my journal
as I recall how you built your own boat
and I was left with my dreams in the grass.

As I lay that day, alone in the grass,
pain was like a wound drenched in lemon.
I gave up on my dreams and my boat.
Until this day at the old cathedral,
flipping through the pages of my worn, old journal,
I'd forgotten my dreams of Kathmandu.

My mind drifts again to our Kathmandu.
I remember our stories, laughing in the grass,
and I caress your name in my journal.
My eyes burn with fire as if rubbed by a lemon,
then I weep in the shadow of the cathedral.
I weep for my shattered boat.

Blame in my heart rides waves of anger like a boat.
I realize I blame you for losing Kathmandu,
and in shame I cower from the judging cathedral,
justifying myself with abandonment in the grass.
Yet still my heart feels as if squeezed like a lemon
and guilt is increased by my journal.

I slam shut the pages of the accusing journal.
I try to forget the destruction of my boat.
Still, when the hate in my heart feel like a sour lemon,
then I know how to get to Kathmandu.
I wander in a daze to lie in the grass,
leaving behind the silent cathedral.

I open my childhood journal and begin my journey to Kathmandu,
beginning to rebuild my boat as I lie here in the grass.
I add sugar to the sting of lemon and write, "I forgave you at the cathedral."

A Short Story!

I wrote this for CP, and liked it a bit, so I decided to post it here. Hope you all enjoy!



Word Count: 985




Giggling.

The rustle of feathers and the soft cooing sound of city pigeons.

A little girl’s voice whispered sweet nothings to the creatures as she crouched in the middle of the ocean of grey. She held a handful of breadcrumbs out and the worn concrete of the plaza pulsed with little bodies, each fighting to get a bite of the food.

Blonde curls dancing in the wind and her cheeks dimpled with her delighted smile, the girl looked ethereal. Lost in her own world, she was unaware of the people passing back and forth beyond the sea of birds.

She did not note the entranced gaze of a teenager on a nearby bench.

Miriam stared at the girl, seemingly unable to look away. But it was not the scene before her that she beheld.

“Mommy! Look at me!”

Birds scattered as the childish voice called out. Swirling up, the little girl found herself in the middle of a whirlwind of feathers and beady eyes. The small animals swooped close, near enough that she could feel her hair tangling in their claws.

She laughed, throwing her arms out and spinning with their dance. Freedom filled her soul, though the word was yet unknown to her.

“Miriam! Miriam, be careful!” The woman’s voice held a sense of panic.

The girl stopped spinning and her eyes opened to peer through the fleeing birds in search of her mother. Spotting her, she bounced up and down and giggled.

“Come, mommy! Come and dance!” She waved her hand, then spun around.

She felt her finger catch on something, tugging at her throat before breaking loose with an audible snap and flying away.

“No!” Stopping mid-twirl, the little girl tossed her blonde hair out of her face and looked around frantically. At last, she spotted something glittering on the ground a few yards away and ran toward it.

A large dark shape suddenly swooped before her. Shrieking, she stumbled backwards, then watched in dismay as the ugly black bird scooped up the glittering object and flew off.

“My necklace! No! Come back!” Dismay and determination battling within her, the little girl took off running.

Focused solely on her goal to retrieve her necklace, she was unaware of her surroundings. She heard her mother’s cries as from a distance and ignored them. The bird would not steal from her and get away with it!

When she tripped over the curb and tumbled into the road, she still had no consciousness of where she was nor the increased urgency of her mothers screams. She only knew that the bird was up ahead. She could see him heading for a light post.

It was only the shrill blaring of a horn that jarred her loose from her determined chase.

And the sickening thud that ended her mother’s cries forever . . .

Miriam could feel the poorly healed wound in her heart begin to tear open once again. She closed her eyes tightly, digging her nails into her palm as she had so many times before.

[i]If only I had listened... If only I had let it go... My fault... all my fault...[/i]

She opened her eyes and found herself meeting the gaze of the little girl. Miriam looked into her twinkling blue orbs dully.

[i]If you only knew what pain exists...[/I]

The little girl’s mouth spread into an impish grin, her cheeks dimpling. Despite her mood, Miriam found the look irresistible and gave a small smile back. The grin widened and her little hand beckoned Miriam forth.

The older girl glanced about in confusion. Spotting no one else whom she could have been mistaken for, she rose and made her way through the birds.

“Hello,” she said as she approached. Looking down, she was startled by the child’s resemblance to her younger self. She crouched down so she could converse with the girl better. “I’m Miriam.”

Blue eyes sparkled and the impish smile peeked out of the corner of her mouth. “I know.”

Miriam blinked. [i]Do I know this girl? [/I] She looked around briefly to see if she recognized anyone in the crowd.

The little girl laughed and Miriam looked back to see a bird had landed on top of the crown of blonde curls. Miriam couldn’t help laughing as well.

The sound felt good coming from her throat, she hadn’t laughed in a long time.

Sparkling blue eyes met hers again and the look in them seemed far older than the girl. Little hands fitted themselves into Miriam’s larger ones.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

Miriam felt as if she had been hit in the stomach. Shock left her frozen.

“How... What...”

Just then a car horn blared. The birds let out a cry of surprise and, as one, lifted into the air. Miriam covered her face and hair and they swirled around. She could feel feathers against her skin. The sound of delighted laughter rang out through the panicked sound of the fleeing birds.

And then there was silence.

Miriam dropped her hands to look around. A few birds wandered lazily about. No sign remained of the flock there just moments before.

And the little girl was gone.

Miriam clambered to her feet and spun around searching frantically. The plaza was large, there was no place the girl could have gone so quickly.

No little girl.

Her heartbeat sounded loud in her ears. Miriam wandered back to her bench in a daze and sat down hard.

Only then did she realize that she was clutching something tightly in her hand.

Opening her fist, she gazed down at the small, child-sized locket she held.

With shaking fingers, she clicked it open.

A picture rested inside of a laughing blonde girl held close by a smiling young woman with loving eyes. An inscription faced it.

[I]To Miriam, Love Mom.[/I]

Miriam clutched the necklace to her chest as tears streamed down her cheeks.

[i]Not my fault?[/I]

Somewhere in the distance, a little girl laughed.

New Story!

I'm working on a new story and Liss suggested that I post a synopsis here. So I will.


TITLE: Jack's Tale (working title)
GENRE: Romance
THEME(S): No idea...
CHAPTERS: I should have around six when I'm done.
MAIN CHARACTER(S): Jack
BASIC PLOT: Jack is a thief. On a failed job one night, he meets a girl. She sticks in his mind despite the briefness of their contact and he regrets the lost chance to get to know her. Until she shows up again in the least likely of places.

So far I have about 2k done which is the first chapter. It's pretty fun. Jack is self-centered and arrogant and believes he can do no wrong. It's my first time writing a pompous jerk and it's rather entertaining.