<a name="#seventy nine">
Househunting </a>
Call after call,
house after house,
fill out this application,
come back tomorrow,
refrence checks, how much
do you make?
Nosey people wanting to know
who you are wanting to live
in their house.
It's either no children,
or no pets, we look too
young, or the landlord looks
too strict.
"NO DRINKING, NO DRUGS, NO PARTIES.
NO PEOPLE OVER LATE AT NIGHT!"
Even though I'm six and a half
months pregnant, I guess
to a 65 year old man who
grew up in this
very house I still
look like I could put
down a 12 pack of Bud-light
and knock out all these
brand new windows, because
I'm young. A youngun.
A youngun apparently up
to no good, when in reality all
we want is a place of our own
to raise our kids.
OH, well, we'll remain optimistic,
and continue the hunt.
The hunt for a place to rent.
I thought househunting would
be much easier than this.
That's what I get for thinking.
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__________________________________
<a name="#eighty">
Techno Turbulence </a>
Heavy beats, jungle,
trance, house,ambient.
Fast, slow, fast,slow.
The beats swirl around
my head like a great spiral.
This music takes me back.
Back to the days of
freedom, all-nighters
out on the town, just me,
and my girlfriends, out looking
for a good time.
Stereo blaring our favorite track
of beats, by our favorite dj's.
The days of techno have long since
past for me, but the music remains.
I can always turn on a techno tune
and go to a place outside of
the chaos of reality.
I can disapear for as long as my
mind will let me.
I can sit and close my eyes, and
bob my head to the beat, relax, and
enjoy.
Enjoy the turbluance the techno
provides for my reminiscing brain.
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________________________________
<a name="#eighty one">
Swerved </a>
Go ahead, leave, walk
out the door.
WAIT! Come back! I wasn't
finnished saying what
I was saying before.
Make-up my mind, I know, I know.
You can't read my signs,
for sure, too slow.
Yes, you are not a mind reader,
neither am I.
Just come back here and let
me talk, please for
my peace of mind.
I won't rest until this
deed is done, let me finnish
my schpeil, although
you have already won
this one-sided, silly argument,
I think I forgot why
I was mad!
Oh, well, just another meaningless
spat we've had.
It's over and done with now,
you can go back to bed.
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____________________________________
<a name="#eighty two">
The Wheels are Turnin' </a>
When my creative juices
get to flowin,
there's no way to tell
where they are goin',
Crazy ideas keep on growin',
so step inside my head for
a little neurological bowlin'.
The light's on and someone's
definatly at home,
I feel the wheel's a turnin',
the hamster of my psyche
constantly needs a feedin',
so these little rhymes
I can keep on excretin'.
So sit back and watch
what I'm showin',
enjoy my crazy mind bubbles
I will keep on blowin'.
The faster my little psyche
hamster is runnin',
The faster my mind is
poetically pumpin'.
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________________________________
<a name="#eighty three">
Pictures Capture a Million Words </a>
A paradise island torn
apart by war,
a soldier hugs his daughter
whom he hasn't seen in
months upon months,
Babe Ruth at his final
baseball game,
Jack Ruby seconds before
he shoots and kills
Lee Harvey Oswald,
families torn apart by
gunfighting,
young children running for
their lives as Napalm rains
down on their fragile little
burning bodies,
the birth of a baby,
the death of a loved one,
the horrors, the mascare,
the chaos, the joy,
the triumph, the fear,
the happiness,
the raw reality of life,
all captured with the opening
of a shutter and a snap and
a flash.
History is captured and
preserved for us now and
generations to come.
People used to think
photographs captured the soul,
keeping you from going
to heaven, left to walk
among the dead on earth,
but in reality they
capture emotions, expressions,
life and death.
Pictures make time stand still.
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_______________________________________
<a name="#eighty four">
Addicted to You </a>
You make me so angry,
you make me want to
strangle the life out
of you sometimes.
You whine,
you expect me to read
your mind after telling
me over and over
you can't read mine.
You have no sympathy
for me in the condition
I'm in and tell me
I have no reason to be
tired after a long day's work.
Your priorities are
totally in a jumbled mess,
and some times you make
me utterly miserable,
its all I can do to not
scream and yell at the
top of my lungs just
to get the feelings out.
But even after the fights,
which aren't that bad,
and even after the
lack of brain power fueling
your very existance,
and even after the hours
of agonizing over a petty
little problem you have
made into a mountain,
I can find it in me
to over look the bad,
over come it with the good,
and take each thing with
a grain of salt.
Why?
Because I am utterly and
totally addicted to you.
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______________________________________
<a name="#eighty five">
A Willie Wonka kind of world </a>
At some point in our
long but short lives,
we must all come to grips
with the fact that we are
no longer babies, children,
teenagers, young adults,
middle-aged,
and that one day we will
in fact be "elderly" and
probably senile, slowly
scooting around with our walkers
talking to walls, and things
and people that aren't there.
But on this prolonged yet
quickned journey through life,
lets not dwell on the fact that
we will be old one day.
Let's enjoy the time we are given,
the people we are blessed to share
this time with,
and the many triumphs and
tribulations we must endure
although try to avoid.
Rome wasn't built in a day,
and the sun will probably
rise tomorrow.
What's the use in feeling
sorry for ourselves because
we don't have fields of candy
to frolic through,
and everlasting gobstoppers
don't really last forever.
We will probably never have
some nice man who owns a huge
coorparation give us a golden ticket
to the easy life.
There just no way around it,
and there's no use in crying
over spilt milk...
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________________________________
<a name="#eighty six">
Controversy </a>
What do you do when
someone close to you
looses your trust?
No more words to a person
of hipocracy,
no kind words to the
one with the loose tounge.
Feelings are hurt
when fingers are pointed,
feelings get hurt
when assumptions are made.
Learn the facts,
don't go by the hearsay,
or flow with the drama
and play the wildcard.
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_________________________________
<a name="#eighty seven">
Cruel Intentions </a>
As I sit at my desk
blankly staring at the
computer screen, I can't help
but listen to your nasal
gut wrenching voice.
I think you are saying something
to me but I'm too busy
envisioning how I'm going
to rip out your vocal cords
so I no longer have
to hear you speak.
My phone rings and I answer it,
it rings again, and you
take it upon your self
to be my answering service.
"May I ask whose calling?"
As if its any of your business.
Each day that I have to look
at your face, I get less and less
exicted about working
and more concerned with how
to make my life less miserable.
Making a voodoo doll didn't seem
to work, but maybe you'll
come down with a mysterious plague.
Am I an evil, morbid person?
I don't think so.
I just really dont like you.
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_____________________________________
<a name="#eighty eight">
Hiding behind the mask </a>
When you see me walk by,
I look completly normal
and happy to you.
But don't let looks
deceive you,
inside this bubbly
blue-eyed girl,
there is much anger,
resientment, and pain.
There is a soul that has
been walked over
time and time again.
There is a girl who
has worked hard for nothing,
wanting nothing in return
other than a simple
"Thankyou".
I try to ingore the pain,
but when your all alone,
it's hard to concentrate on
anything else.
I try to look at the brighter
side of life,
I tell people all the time
that things aren't as bad
as they seem,
and tomorrow will be a better day,
when I don't even practice what
I preach.
I have paitently been waiting
for that day when I wake up
in the morning and get excited
about the day that lies ahead,
and I'm still waiting.
When I drive home everyday,
I'm not excited that I'm there
because there is somewhere else
I'd rather be.
Where?
I don't know, anywhere but
here.
I don't get excited to see
you because I know you have
better things to do rather
than spend time with me.
I make an attempt to
tell you how I feel since you
think that I keep my feelings
from you,
but would you want to talk
to someone who only puts you
down for the way they feel
even when you are making them
feel that way?
I feel as if I have no choice
but to hide my feelings behind
a mask,
since everyone only wants to
see the mask, and not the real
thing.
I don't think that I'm
sitting around feeling
sorry for myself,
I don't have time,
all I have time to do is
put all the worries,
frustrations, fears, and pitty
behind this mask,
so that I can be me to all of you,
and move on with life as it is,
and keep on keepin on with a
positive attitude,
but always knowing that I don't mean it.
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<a name="#eighty nine">
Southern Hospitality </a>
*I've still got horror movies on the brain!!!*
Come on in,
have a seat my friend.
Don't mind the noose
above your head.
Sit a spell,
stay a while,
these may be the last
minutes you're alive.
Don't you worry
about your friends.
Odds are they're
already dead.
Don't ask me what this
knife is for,
enjoy your dinner
before your head
hits the floor.
Maybe this will
teach you a lesson,
on who you trust,
or not to pick
up hitch-hikers,
who could have
taken the bus.
So welcome to my home,
as it is yours now too,
because you are
never going to leave
since I've cast my
spell on you!
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______________________________
<a name="#ninety">
The Evil in Me </a>
Just so you know, this is about clowns. Very bad evil clowns. Like Pennywise on the Stephen Kind movie IT. THOSE kinds of clowns.
If you see me walking
along the street,
you'd think I was a totally
average Joe.
But step into my
head and you'll see otherwise.
You'd see thoughts and
faces of death,
morbid sketches of the
unknown and unwanted along the
walls in my firey hell of a mind.
Evil, twisted limmericks,
to accompany the evil,
twisted soul I lack,
or sold to the devil
decades ago.
Don't underestimate the
power of a conformity mask.
Just as a piece of plastic,
it covers the scars,
the battle wounds of years
of tourment and torture,
inside and out.
I can be just like you
if I want to.
I can be just like Joe,
or Jack, or Bill.
But will you ever really know
who or what I am?
Would you ever really want to know?
Step inside...
if you dare.
But be forwarned...
my mind is not for the
weak.
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____________________________
<a name="#ninety one">
Stolen Innocence </a>
A young girl's lost
innocence stolen by
selfish greed of a
young man too warped to
see the harm he was doing.
Years are spent with
the memories, the nightmares,
the constant looking over
her shoulder to see who
was walking behind her.
She can never forget the smell
of his breath, the mixture of
beer and cigarettes,
the sound of his heavy panting
as he was shamlessly stealing
her youth.
The sounds of the laughter surrounding
her as on lookers stood and did
nothing, as if what was taking place
was perfectly fine.
The feel of his rough, dirty
hands incasing her fragile,
tiny, pure, unexplored body,
now desecrated by a force she
could not fend off.
She can close her eyes and remember
being told not to cry,
not to scream,
just lay and enjoy it baby,
it has to happen sometime
in your life.
But not now, why now,
she's not ready, she wasn't ready.
Now she'll never be ready.
When she sleeps, she wakes up
drenched in a cold sweat, screaming
from the nightmares.
He sleeps through the night as if
he never did anything wrong.
Now and years to come she will never
be ok, always wondering if every
person who walks by her is out to get her.
An innocence lost only for the gain of
a selfish young man trying to impress
his selfish young friends hungry for
young blood, not caring what the
reprecussions are.
A life spent hiding under a rock
is no kind of life for anyone.
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____________________________________
<a name="#ninety two">
The Words </a>
It's amazing to me how
fast these thoughts flow.
How they flow like
white water racing down a
stream to the waterfall
only to fall into a huge
resivior to be collected
put to good use.
These words, sentences,
ideas, numbers, formats,
rhymes, rhythms, thoughts,
all falling steadily into
my resivior constantly being
collected and put into use.
It amazes me at how much
my mind concentrates on
what I'm going to create next
when I look back at all I have
given birth to and wonder
in awe how can I possibly
create more,
but that never stops me,
and the process never slows down,
and the creations never end.
The day the words stop flowing
will be the end of me,
for I am not myself
with out words...
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<a name="#ninety three">
Impatience, Reluctance, Excitement </a>
The time is comming,
yes it's drawing near.
Mixed emotions consist
of joy, tension and
great fear.
Looking forward to being
rid of heartburn, indegestion,
and that embarrasing
flatulence,
I hope my overwhelming
fear of poppin out this
kid soon will pass.
I'm sure when it's all
said and done,
I'll be just fine,
with a teeny weenie
little baby to call
all mine.
YIPPIE!!!
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____________________________
<a name="#ninety four">
Poetry to Me </a>
Early morning,
sun shining through the
cracks in the blinds.
The kitten is running
through the house as if
it's on fire,
cries are heard from the other
room of a little boy who
doesn't want to get out
of bed.
I roll over and turn off the
alarm clock, then roll back
over and wake up the
snoring machine.
Daily morning routine,
shower, dress, sit
and gather myself.
Driving to work,
I already have words on
the brain.
Words that rhyme,
words that slam,
words that love,
words that hate.
Thoughts, meanings,
what does this mean and
what does that?
I can't wait to get to work,
so I can let these words
spill out to form a piece
of wonder,
humor,
spirit,
erotica,
or just a thought I want on paper.
Just a thought to share with
my friends who are just like me,
constantly laying out their next
piece, story, tribute, haiku.
People just like me who love
poetry, and who write for themselves,
but love to share the wonders
that their minds create.
Isin't that why we are all here?
Poetry isin't a game, it's an art,
and we are all artists,
splattering our canvas's with
words.
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________________________________
<a name="#ninety five">
Afternoon Delight </a>
It's a cool spring afternoon.
Easter Sunday to be exact.
Young lovers strolling
downtown taking in nature
in all her beauty.
As we're walking, and I'm
taking all of this
spring day in, you lean
down and whisper in my ear,
"I love you just as much,
if not more, than I did
when we first met."
I look up at you, and
reply,
"This time last year I didn't
think I'd be here, but I'm
glad I'm here with you. I love
you just as much, if not more,
than I did when we first met."
As we stroll along the sidewalk
with all the other happy couples
soaking up this wonderful afternoon,
I realize right there and then,
I couldn't be happier, than
I was at that moment.
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<a name="#ninety six">
Innersolitude </a>
You turn your back,
you shut those doors,
to let me in
to view your soul.
You lock me out
and hide the key,
I can see you scream,
but you act as if
you don't need me.
How can I help,
if you won't let me in?
You remain speechless,
from morning till
nights end,
wanting to talk
but afaid of what
message you'll send.
We are a team
in which there is
no solitary "I".
It's all or nothing
till the day we die.
So when greif and pitty
creep onto your front door,
Know that I'll at least listen
to your sorrows
from now till the end
forevermore.
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________________________________
<a name="#ninety seven">
One Year </a>
In a couple of days,
We will have been together
for one whole year.
I don't want any flowers,
or candy, or teddy bears.
You don't have to take me
out to dinner, or buy
me a expensive jewelry.
Just knowing I still
have you is all I need.
Knowing I will wake up
to your face, day after day,
is all the re-assurance I
have to have to be happy.
Our road traveled has been
full of gravel and bumps,
but has had it's share of
smooth surfaces.
When I'm driving home from
work, I sometimes still
get butterflies in my
stomach, just to the thought
that I will get to see
you, just like I did
one year ago.
I look back, and some of
it is hard to take in.
Hard to take in the fact
that a year has flown
by us this quickly.
But it's not hard to take in
the fact that I am still as
madly in love with you
as the day we met,
one year ago,
in a couple of days.
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______________________________
In Tribute
<a name="#ninety eight">
Abigail </a>
So tiny and innocent,
already with a personallity of
your own,
so loved and captivating,
a greater love than I have ever known.
To think daddy and I could produce
such a beautiful sight,
I'll guard and protect you
with all my strength and might.
Such beautiful blue eyes
and sweet baby smell,
you definatly belong to us,
everyone can tell.
Your eyes, your smile,
your gurgles and coo's light
up my soul,
when others want to be ice cold.
Your growing so fast,
I wish I could freeze time
and watch,
but you need to grow,
and learn and be a kid
and play games like jump rope
and hop scotch.
I'm sure you'll grow into a
beautiful young woman
but till then, right now,
I'll treasure these moments,
and never look back with a frown.
Originally posted at: Abigail
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_________________________
Senior Moments
<a name="#ninety nine">
Wanna Laugh? Laugh at me! </a>
This morning hasn't been bad,
no, actually it's been quite well.
My favorite co-worker got her
panties all in a twist over
nothing and two,
count em two drinks did I ever spill.
One after the other, they just
jumped out of my hand only for that
delicious water to spill out over
the spacious carpet land.
The cheery idiot at the McDonald's
drive thru got my order wrong,
then told me she was offended by
my stero's loud, blaring song,
because in it it contained the word f***
and she just didn't seem to find it
amusing, that's just my kind of luck.
So two spills, a lecture from Mickey D's,
and one pissed off co-worker who is ever
so easy to please.
But I'm not in a bad mood today,
Because all I can do is sit back and laugh,
laugh at the mishaps of me,
laugh with a hardy-har-har and a
jolly slap on the back.
Originally posted at: Wanna Laugh? Laugh at me!
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__________________________
Prose and short stories
<a name="#one hundred">
Bada-bing </a>
Bada-bing
<a name="#one hundred one">
Jack and Phil </a>
Jack and Phil
<a name="#one hundred two">
Stone Cold </a>
Stone Cold
<a name="#one hundred three">
The Adventures of Julianna and Gizmo </a>
The Adventures of Julianna and Gizmo
<a name="#one hundred four">
The Adventures of Julianna and Gizmo cont. </a>
The Adventures of Julianna and Gizmo cont.
<a name="#one hundred five">
The Adventures of Julianna and Gizmo chap 2 </a>
The Adventures of Julianna and Gizmo chap 2
<a name="#one hundred six">
The life of a pregnant woman </a>
The life of a pregnant woman
<a name="#one hundred seven">
Tuesday Morning </a>
Tuesday Morning
<a name="#one hundred eight">
My life as someone's mother </a>
My life as someone's mother
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__________________________
"The only difference between the saint and the sinner is that every saint has a past, and every sinner has a future."
Oscar Wilde
