Poetry Corner & ¡En Español! – “Fresas suculentas”

«Fresas suculentas»

En el jardin

el color de rojo
como barra de labios
como rosas an la floracion primera

yo quiero mis fresas
en una pieza de pastel
por la día de la Independencia

estallan como fuegos artificiales
debajo de la gallina de crema
en un mar de relleno

y si fresas están en chocolate
un placer decadente
pues…no las resisto

mi hermanito me da una sonrisa
cuando las come
¿Cómo comes tú tus fresas?

Inner Bitch Moment – “I Am Not the One You Want”

Sigh. It’s been too long.

I know! It’s the holidays! This is sooo bad. But I need an Inner Bitch Moment. Comin’ up, amigos!

It’s June 2011. I had just gotten home from the first (and only) date I had with a  guy I had met online. (I can feel you all rolling your eyes. I hardly blame you.) He happened to matriculate at my alma mater, which was kind of known as a party school. So he thought I was of a certain caliber. Being a rather diligent student in undergrad, I ended up disappointing him. Poor baby.

I went home, channeled my inner Maggie Mallone, and here we are!

If I had any musical talent, I would record this (and “What I Want”–what? Soon, promise). But oh well.


“I Am Not the One You Want”

Wanna give you this PSA
It’s just better before

I wear too many layers
When the temperature starts to soar
In the middle of the party
I want a corner where I can snore
Oh surprise, you find yourself
Talking me into acting like a whore (Spoken: It’s been a while, damn!)
But when it gets
To the sticking point I’m just a bore

Here’s the news flash
You’ll get it when your head’s out of your ass
I am not the one you want

I can use
Twenty-dollar words I learned in school
But if you wanna get ahead
You’re not gonna use me as a tool
Try and get me mad
I’ve got a handle on this glacier cool (Spoken: You done lost your mind)
Mama taught me well
So I won’t stoop to act a damn fool

Here’s the real —-
Maybe if you open your eyes it would transmit
I am not the one you want

So walk on
I’m looking for an actual man
You’re mistaken
‘Cause you’re really less than
Anything I want
Is gonna do more than entertain (Spoken: Aw, that’s really cute)
And I don’t have the time
To sit through anything you’re gonna feign

Here’s the deal, love
I’m getting zilch in the sec it takes you to come
You are not the one I want

Don’t be upset
With this verisimilitude
It’s constructed
From the stink of your attitude
So excuse me
If I possess this sudden latitude (Spoken: On my level–please!)
If you left right now
We could end on an air of gratitude

One more time, just to make it done
You are not the one
I am not the one you want

I am not the one you want

Poetry Corner – “…Nothing But”

“…Nothing But”

Watching from the shadows an injustice so brutal—
It cleaves the heart from atrium to ventricle.
Everyday something new bursts the breath
From that internal balloon, leaving flatness in its wake.
Brief moments of refuge are taken clandestine
For now nothing is quite sacred or private—
Sleep is even elusive, and there are no dreams
To provide a vibrant escape from consciousness.

However there is a place, happily and blithely kept,
That provides a space for open hearts and minds
That are ingeniously crafted of a particular mettle.
Affection and Caring gush from every crevice—
There is no one person in the world who more deserves
The sense of tender welcome that never wears thin,
For it provides the sustenance to surge ahead
And break oneself from insidious imprisonment.

The foundation has been forged, 608 days strong,
And day after laborious day the building blocks are
Gently added by hand, a careful work of camaraderie
That is accommodating for every sort of emotion
And permutation of liking in human existence,
Standing discreetly in the distance, out of the way,
Able to easily be reached by a leisurely walk down
A path filled with beauty anywhere else unimaginable.

For the valiant heart, the soldier who has not lost
The deadly weapons he has in a forgotten arsenal,
For the artistic mind, the poet who has not mislaid
The intrinsic words he has in a secret place,
For the attentive soul, the gentleman who has not squandered
The amiable ways he lavishes on those around him,
This is the truth from my heart.

Sunday Snippet – Superhero, Mark and Abby II

The story of Mark and Abby is probably one I will tell someday, and probably because of this scene. In my head, I can see Michael Vartan and Trini Alvarado all dolled up for this exchange. (Yeah, I know–a pipe dream for sure!) I think Mark Perry might make an appearance in Midnight Moon; I haven’t decided yet. But this scene chokes me up a little, knowing what is going to happen, with “Everytime” playing in the background.


Notice me
Take my hand
Why are we strangers when
Our love is strong?
Why carry on without me?

in the dark of night

The light of the world was dim that night. The aforementioned world around was drenched in the wet darkness, and while the streetlights lighted their way as they returned home in stony silence, the blackness prevailed on the edges where the shadows lurked.

The sound of the engine working was the only sound between them. The volume on the radio was turned down to an indecipherable jumble; the silence that filled the car was the outcome of many nights of neglect, miscommunication, and senseless shouting. He could sense her frustration radiating from her like body heat, mingling with the bittersweet scent of her perfume. Memories clouded his head like a shroud; he wanted nothing more than to be back in the past where acrimony was a dim, fuzzy iceberg in the far, far away future that could not hurt them.

She on the other hand felt the pressing weight of responsibility on her shoulders. She was more practical about some things than her overwrought and slightly romantic husband. She had felt the end of things coming on for so long but for different reasons. As she stared at the road passing beneath them, she only felt sorrow she could not pinpoint the cause of. The frustration he’d felt coming off of her had faded away.

With a flustered sigh, he spoke first. Even though he had a reputation for waiting out even the most stubborn criminals, he could not do the same with his wife.

“I’m sorry for being late, Abby,” he said in a voice that belied his statement slightly. “The interrogation ran late and–”

In an even tone that hinted at years of upper-class training, Abby merely said, “You don’t have to apologize. After all, it is your job, right? And lord forbid I resent you for doing your job, Mark.”

Mark sighed and resisted the urge to rip the steering wheel from the console. All of their conversations on the subject of Mark’s demanding workload started off this way, with him apologizing (but not really) and her telling him not to apologize (but again not really). And it was even worse on nights like this when Mark unwittingly embarrassed his wife with his tardiness, where duty for occupation or spouse fought for precedence inside of him.

“Every time,” Mark found himself saying. “Every time I apologize you talk to me in that tone–”

“What tone, Mark?” Abby demanded. “I’m sorry that my frustration over the fact that it is apparent that care about serving justice more than you care about me bleeds through whenever you offer up some half-assed apology. I really am.”

“That was not a half-assed apology.” Soft fabric rustled as Abby shifted under the seatbelt right next to him. She didn’t seem convinced. Mark exhaled and forced the anger that was threatening to take him over to a safe distance. As the light over them turned red, Mark tapped the brakes. He placed a hand on his wife’s, and their eyes locked involuntarily.

“Abigail,” Mark began, as his anger had dispersed and affection surfaced. Abby’s green eyes softened and her hand shifted to be palm to palm with his.

Her mouth parted, but he would never know what she intended to say. Right at the moment, the light turned green–and the car behind them, overzealous, smashed into their rear bumper. The force propelled them forward into the intersection. Inside the car, Mark cursed inwardly but turned to his wife.

“Are you okay?” Mark inquired. Abby dazedly blinked at him. “It’s going to be–”

Headlights from Abby’s side flashed toward them. Her panicked scream would torment him for the rest of his days.

Poetry Corner – “Heart”


Oh, Heart–why is it that you can never lie still
When he lifts his eyes to mine and flashes a smile?
Intellect ardently yells its disapproval from above
And warns you smartly of a painful demise.
But you tremble on, relishing the warmth and light
That chases the chill and gloom inside you away.

Oh, Heart–why is it that you can never resist that tug of gravity
When he opens his arms and wraps them around me?
Sense fervently tells you not to fall for the pretense
That traps unsuspecting young women against temptation.
Yet you tumble down, loving the sensation of
Being Heart to his Heart.

Oh, Heart–why is it that you can never let me sleep peacefully
While of plaguing me with thoughts I cannot cease?
I am too old for romantic daydreams and flights of fancy
But the girl in me surfaces in the twilight and wishes
That once, just this once, his Heart felt the same as you.

And Heart–I honestly cannot blame you for sighing
When his lips touch mine in goodbye.
Sense even understands the affection in the gesture.
But Heart, you take it upon yourself to intensify its meaning
Until he and I are almost betrothed, offering up I-love-yous
Over matching his and hers bath towels.
Seriously? Not a chance, Heart.

Yes, I know Sense and Intellect are aligned with Pessimism and Doubt
And you’d rather not heed their constant warnings
Coupled with their good intentions. You’d rather ignore
Their reasoning and barrel on blindly, believing that
Perhaps things are better your way. The possible truth is
Too hard to reconcile, to hard to accept.

I have grown up in a world where Sense and Intellect
Are supposed to better dictate my actions (for the most part, anyway)
And there has not been much room for you, Heart.
But you are too stubborn to be ignored, too insistent to be
Concealed, and before I know it, I am floored
By the tenderness in his embrace–dammit, I feel you–and I sigh. Well.

I think you’ve gotten me in trouble.
Because I have with the slightest fear
That despite all of my Sense and Intellect and Pessimism and Doubt
I have much, much more Heart than I need.


¡En Español! – “Santa Daniella” Act One, Scene Two

Santa Daniella
La Historia de Danie Thomas (Tomas)

El personaje principal, Daniella
Sus hermanasJessicaClaudiaMoira, y Gretchen
Las amigas de Gretchen, MegamiMelanie, y Cristiane (Christine)
Sus padres quienes son divorciados, Irene y Roberto (Robert)
Sus tías, Elisa (Elizabeth) y Rebeca (Rebecca)
Sus primas, Casandra (Cassandra), Samantha, y Jennifer
El fotógrafo de LibreAidan Bloom

La editora de LibreMelissa Buckley
Su hermanoEric
Su mejor amigaCharlene
La amiga nueva, Miranda
La esposa nueva de Roberto, Maria (Mary)
Las hijas de Daniella quienes son gemelas, Shannon y Abigail
Los padres nuevos de las gemelas, Victoria y Harlan Taylor


(En la cocina, Irene, la madre de Danie, está hablando con sus hermanas. El pastel de cumpleaños está encima de la mesa. Dice, “¡Feliz cumpleaños a Claudia, Moira, Danie, y Gretchen!”)

Rebeca: Este pastel me parece muy bien, Irene. Las chicas van a enamorarlo.

Irene: Eso fue mi intención. (Suspirando) Mis hijas necesitan un buen cumpleaños. Espero que este pastel nos ayude.

Elisa: Estoy de acuerdo, hermanita. Honestamente, Irene, yo creo que debiste abandonar ese…ese hombre hace mucho tiempo.

Irene: Yo sé eso, hermana. ¿Pensaste que nunca lo pensé? Yo espero que no. Soy una mamá más mejor que eso.

Elisa: Hermanita, no pienso que tú eres una mamá mala. Nunca pensé que tú eras una mamá mala. Tus hijas te quieren por siempre. Lo sé.

(Irene la da una sonrisa pequeña y empieza a preparar el desayuno.)

Elisa: Por supuesto, el hecho que Jessica te había defendido es prueba que tus hijas caminarían encima del océano para tú.

Rebeca: O darían su padre un puñetazo a la nariz…

(Irene se ríe.)

Irene: ¿Qué hora será?

Elisa: Serán siete y media, yo supongo.

Irene: Ay, tengo que despertarse a mis hijas—

(Un grito viene de arriba. Las risas tontas vienen después. Irene deja caer su cuchillo.)

Rebeca: ¿Qué fue eso?

Irene: No sé, pero—

(Danie anda en la cocina con una cara roja. Está muy enojada.)

Irene: ¿Daniella, qué pasó?

Danie: ¡Esas mocosas destruyeron mi dormida! ¡Pu…pu…pusieron una serpiente de un jardín en mi cama!

(Unos momentos luego, tres chicas andan en la cocina. Dos de las chicas tienen pelo negro y la otra tiene pelo castaño rojizo. La chica con el pelo castaño rojizo la mira con ira a Danie.)

Moira: ¿Qué está pasando aquí?

Claudia: Oímos algo que nos despertamos. ¿Todas están bien?

Irene: Pues…tu hermana… Tu hermana está teniendo dificultades con las amigas de tu hermanita.

Danie: (Más enojada) ¡Esas mocosas!

Jessica: (La chica con el pelo castaño rojizo) Hermanita, ¡¿está loca?! Son las siete en la mañana. ¡Tú puedes despertarse los muertos!

Danie: (Mirando con ira a Jessica) ¡Tu hermana menor y sus amigas pusieron una serpiente de un jardín en mi cama!

Jessica: (Suspirando) Daniella. Tranquilízate. O te estrangularé.

Danie: (Gritando) Tú no me estrangularías. (A Irene) Mamá, ¡haz algo!

Jessica: ¿Qué yo dije? Mira, hermanita, tú necesitas tranquilizar.

Irene: ¡Gretchen! ¡Ven aquí ahora!

(Silencio. Gretchen viene en la cocina con Megami, Melanie, y Cristiane.)

Irene: Chicas, ¿pusieron una serpiente en la cama de Danie?

(Más silencio.)

Irene: (Severamente) Gretchen—

Gretchen: (Tranquilamente) Si, Mama. Pusimos una serpiente en la cama de Danie.

Danie: Yo voy a morirte—

Jessica: Daniella Elizabeth—

Danie: ¡No me digas lo que hacer!

Jessica: ¡Yo puedo decirte lo que hacer si yo quiera!

Claudia: ¡SILENCIO!

(Todas no hablan.)

Claudia: Gretchen, pide perdón a Danie. Danie, acepta su disculpa. Y Jessica, no la digas lo que debe hacer por una vez en tu vida. Para el amor del Dios, ¿podemos tener un cumpleaños decente?

Moira: Claudia tiene un punto.


Gretchen: Lo siento, Danie.

Danie: Acepto.

Irene: Bueno. (Pone su brazo en torno a los hombros de Danie y Gretchen.) Yo espero que podamos divertirnos.

Jessica: Ellas habrán divertirse.

Claudia: Jessica…

Poetry Corner – “Little Woman”

“Little Woman”

Little woman, never on the mend.
Little woman, always pretend.
Little woman, heart of stone.
Little woman driving in the cones.

Little woman, instant rebel.
Little woman, crafty devil.
Little woman, sweet enamoress.
Little woman with the wounds you wouldn’t guess.

Little woman, crying inside.
Little woman, living and having died.
Little woman, begging truth.
Little woman, wanting to be with you.