Sunday, November 27

this is the way it is- fool
sit yo ass down
nobody told you to run off
nobody told you to go no where!
you gotta take it all in
take it, sitting on this street
listen to that train rumbling up top
look at those chips and cracks everywhere
this yo city- fool
Come on.
Why you crying?
It ain't so bad yet.
There ain't no ganstas
claiming their turf
with their o-zone killing bottles
pick yo chin up
have some pride
this is yo town
and you gotta keep living it

Sunday, November 20

Mr. & Mrs. White

The man called Mr. White
get's in his steel grey lexus
and drives away
every morning
at 7:15
7:20 am
Mrs. White
departs the house
in her starched and ironed pant suit
The Whites are seperate all day long
Typing, meeting, drinking coffee
doing those important things
that make the world
go round about
but at 9pm
both arrive
Mr. White and Mrs. White
Throw themselves on their bed
without removing their shoes! Imagine that
They jump on their bed with their
dirty, shiny, important shoes
until they collapse
and then
give eachother a kiss goodnight...................................................................

Tuesday, November 15

The witch's wedding

They say that when it rains with sun, the witches are getting married. But I know better. Three years ago on a sad October morning, I was doomed enough to be invited to a fall wedding. I knew not the bride nor groom, but I was the friend of a friend of the bride.

It was an outdoor wedding. All was set on a free lying field. The blood-red chairs were primly set in rows amongst the prickly brown weeds. Most guests were dressed in drab black clothing, but others sported ebony dresses or raven colored clothes. The witch-bride wore a bone-white dress.

When the ceremony was about to begin, all were called to order with the sound of a mournful howl let out by a mangly wolf that had been caged and tethered for the occasion.

"We are gathered here today, to witness the amalgamation of Miss Grendaline Wales and Mr. Atanacio Menacioso," proclaimed a pallid and starved looking man of enormous stature.

The groom, Mr. Menacioso barred a grin towards his soon-to-be witch wife. Miss Wales shot back a bleary stare.

"Do you, Miss Gredaline Wales, not dare to repudiate the advances of Mr. Atanacio Menacioso?"

"I certainly do not," Miss Wales breathlessly whispered.

"Do you, Mr. Atanacio Menacioso, agree upon suffering the burden of a conjugal relationship with Miss Grendaline Wales?"

"Every organ in my body consents to this union." Mr. Menacioso declared.

"It is then my obligation to pronounce you Man and strife-- uh, I mean, Man and Wife."

Upon that definitive statement made by the wedding officiant, the wind began to blow. It blew in huge billowy gusts that came in from from the warm south. It blew and made the prairie dust rise along with it. Soon the wedding party was enveloped in a cloud of grey dust. The guests began to scatter and the wedding was disbanded.

Only the witch remained, Mrs. Menacioso. She ruefully glanced about at the remains of her festivities, then went to join her husband in private celebration.

Tuesday, November 8

Educational Philosophy Parody on “Theme for English B”

The instructor said,

Go home and write
a page tonight.
And let that page come out of you--
Then, it will be true.

I wonder if it’s that simple?
I am twenty, an average girl, born in Chicago.
I went to school there, then here, Florida.
Fifteen years, I’ve been to school
Two more, I still got
Before I’m done and in school again
But by that time, I’ll be the teacher

It’s not easy to know what is true for you or me
There are so many theories
So many philosophies
Well, just five
But that’s enough when you’ve got to prescribe to one
 or two
 or three
 or four
or all five

At twenty, my age, I’ve suffered them all
Teacher-centered essentialist classrooms
Rows of students paralyzed in fear at no kitten but rather
Of a rather fat cat dressed up in a test booklet
I’ve been a victim of perennialists 
Holding within a “great book” a great book.
For all the eyes behind her head,
Teacher couldn’t see my copy
Of Angus, Thongs, and Full-Frontal Snogging inside of my copy of The Iliad
One day I walked into a progressive classroom
The teacher put us all in groups
We built a robot and learned
About torque, levers, and voltage
I’ve been privy to social reconstruction
Now that is motivation
To seek and find a problem
Then to seek and find an answer
My mind was never idle in that class
In the class of an existentialist
I drank cool water
She let us be
And was our friend

Being me, I can never be you
Or Ms. Wild
Or Ms. Green
Or Mr. Melvin
Or Ms. Kilic
Or Ms. Miller
I can only be me
And with being me, I will carry every philosophy
I am product of them all
Of the tests
And old books
Of the group work
And activism
Of the simple, free classroom that played my kind of music and turned me into Da Vinci
For an hour

I’ve learned from all of them
I guess they all learned from me
And now we’ve both got something true
A living, flowing, breathing philosophy
This is my page for Special Topics

Saturday, November 5


'give me liberty or give me death'
she cried with all her strength
then with one swift flick
she threw the knife
that took away his breath

the crowds began to roar
and slither like a snake
soon they swallowed up the girl
and all evidence of her mistake

But still, she took off running
leaving spectators in her wake
her feet flit on the concrete
as she tried to make her break

umbrage in the park
promises of freedom
the sky turned light to dark
and the drums beat to a rhythm

Boom, boom, boom
ra-ta-tap, tap, tap
Boom, boom, boom
ra-ta-tap, tap, tap

Now the mothers are wailing
and the babes cling to their chests
the fathers are all dying
doubling over from duress

The girl? She is no more
no more a girl she is
the good season has come and passed
and exposed all that was amiss

Shared at

Wednesday, November 2


Walking up to the circulation desk,
books in one hand
library card in the other
Sliding books across the shiny, marble counter top
to the woman, who stands tall on the other side
with her mother-of-pearl rimmed glasses
nestled in the crevice of her full bosom
the glasses hang from her neck
on a glass beaded chain
She asks for my card
and without a word I place it in her open palm
I'm holding my breath as 
She slides the card smoothly, then frowns
Her lips part and she begins to speak-
But my body's turning
I'm running
I'm running before she gets me
Before she grabs my collar and shakes me
Before I'm locked up for being such a bad bibliophile 
There's a hold on my account
I'm banned 
I'm black-listed
I'm prohibited
There's a hold on my account
and I can't check out any more books