Slice of Life #2

Tropical New Year

     I pull the old hotel sheets over my legs and try to get comfortable, because it is, after all, past my bed-time. My family and I sit watching the television in silence, still trying to get used to the tropical air. We flew into Hawaii a couple of days ago, and checked into the Grand Wilea, constantly accepting the "Aloha"'s and the "Welcome to Hawaii"'s. We are watching the best and worst of 2011 on NBC, waiting and staying up for the ball to drop.
      This is our first New Years in Hawaii, we were trying to create new memories in a new place. I look at the digital clock like I have been every couple of minutes. Its going to be a new year in eight minutes. A new year. The world might end. This might be our last new years. I doubt it. but you never know. We have to savor the moment.   

Slice of Life

Saturday Night Drive

  

        I press my knees together as a kid from upper primary squishes me up against the window. We're at my friend James' Birthday Party, and we are just coming back from seeing the new movie Catching Fire. James' little brother William invited the kid-I-don't-know-his-name to play with while all of James' friends watched the movie, which ended, so we are driving back to his house to watch more movies and stay up until 1:00am.

        I decide to ignore the other kids in the backseat with me (who are obviously ignoring me) and look out the window at the bright lights reflecting on the street. The window fogs up and evaporates with the pulse of my breath, and a lean my head back and start to feel comfortable. Though I'm not in the car with all of the other boys my age, i bet they are having a good time, and I can't wait to get to James' house and open presents. 

Limericks

  Anything:
There once was a teacher named Max,
whose puns surely came with a tax.
some became dirty-
before nine-thirty.
Some kids came at him with an axe.

  Logan:
There once was a child at Logan,
who had a project on Hoboken.
 He forgot it at home,
went to the uncurrent dome,
and overdosed on pills names hemoglobin.

  Winter Break:
There once was a present not wrapped.
the giver did nothing but nap.
the child came in,
the giver a sin,
and the giver will surely be slapped.

Occasional Poetry

           The Vietnam War Moratorium

       Explosions in the jungle.

Propellers slicing through the air, keeping machine guns

and their operators afloat,

spraying bullets into the canopy.

These same propellers save lives as well, transporting wounded

warriors to a safe place,

away for the bloody hell of the jungle.

      The make-shift signs are thrusted up and down,

moving with the crowd.

Echos of voices amplified throughout the center of America's 

capitol.

Young, dirty men and women chant,

scolding their own government.

The large lawn of the National Mall

which is supposed to display our country,

does exactly that on this day.

The air is humid and hostile, 

almost like the jungle.

  

Stream of Consiosness

Note: This is not my whole poem

        The 'No Parking' Sign, red on white or white on red. I wonder what color was painted on the metal first. It could have been painted white and then have red spray painted on top of, or the other way around.All I know is the sign is white and the letters are red. 

Irish Curse Poetry

               Curse the Sibling:
May the devil mend you and your godforsakeness!
May you find your room falling to the depths of hell,
and may your ears be constantly ringing like a bell.
Let the sickness of your nasal area never leave you!
Let your blessed attitude go across itself,
and may your days be haunted by a creepy little elf.
May your make up be made from cat bowels and donkey pee!
Let your legs be burned by hell-fire 'till they fall off,
while you are kicked in the head by a pig eating from a trough.
Leave this earth and don't return, before you make everyone so stupid it impossible to learn.

Free Verse Poem

       Crack of Thunder and Martin Luther King Jr.

The young man leaned against the rail with both hands, a cigarette between his pointer and middle finger. I wonder how long he was planing to stay at the dinky two-story hotel. His eyes squinted and lips pursed as he pondered the future of his people. I wonder if he was preparing his next speech. An advocate and a leader. I wonder if he thought so. He lifts the cigarette to his mouth, and breaths the tobacco and smoke into his lungs, blows out, and watches the smoke curl around itself in the air. I wonder when he started smoking. He strokes his black mustache with his hand, his eyes still squinted. I wonder if he knows. A crack of thunder rings out on a sunny day. He surly knows now. Hundreds of lives drastically changed by a simple crack of thunder. Despite anything, he will always have a dream. 

Well, I could say, that I have a dream, that one day you will wonder too.