Pretense (Please Stop)

I found this old lyrical poem in my notes.  It’s probably going to go into my poetry album project (which I’ll discuss eventually on here in more detail), depending on how well it reads.  For an early attempt at verse, this one isn’t half bad.

We haven’t spoken for a year.

I’ve tried and tried to make it clear.

But here you are again,

Using that same old line.

You’re looking for a pretense.

Please stop.

 

You follow after me all the time,

To talk about your dirt and grime.

Trying to leave, making excuses.

Using that same old line.

I don’t want your pretense.

Please stop.

 

Pretexts, pretenses that a lie enhances.

Saying things that aren’t true.

Making the words feel true to you.

Using your words to get to me.

I don’t think you truly see.

 

You’re holding on too hard to me,

Thinking that I won’t break free.

You tie me up with promises

Using your rusted twine.

I don’t want your “friendship.”

Please stop.

 

Pretexts, pretenses that there’s dependence.

Saying things that aren’t true.

Making the words feel true to you.

Using your words to get to me.

I don’t think you truly see

 

You held on too hard to me,

Like a rusty hinge.

You thought I needed your venom

For oil and polish.

This door’s been locked for ages,

Shutting you out like a princess disgraced.

‘Cause guess what–

I’m free!

 

Pretexts, pretenses that a lie enhances.

Saying things that aren’t true.

Making the words feel true to you.

Using your words to get to me.

I don’t think you truly see….

….That now, I’m free.

“When the Cool Kids Come Knocking at My Door” – a poem from my new audio collection

I just released a small audio collection of original poems and sound art, written and read aloud by yours truly.  “Cool Kids” is the first track in that collection.  If you’d like to hear me read it along with you, just press play!

 

Hello there, this is a courtesy visit to you

I wanna tell you what all the cool kids do

Because I wanna make a cool kid out of you

I’ll tell you the things I believe to be true

 

Hello there, kind sir, can I make you see

What other kids do doesn’t matter to me

There are so many things a person can be

Go swim in your oasis; I’ll stay in this tree

 

But ma’am, you really should show some respect

The things I can show, you might not expect

On all that I stand for my actions reflect

A grave, grave sin it would be to reject

 

But sir, I hope you’ll try to understand

Diversity is worth trying to comprehend

Please, sir, don’t cross my line in the sand

From across this line, I still shake your hand

 

So you really won’t try what the cool kids do

And try to enjoy all these things I hold true

I hope you get it, my favorite color’s blue

So if you join us, it can still be yours too

 

But I like my rainbow of my own choice

I prefer to tune out the background noise

As I try to figure out my own equipoise

I’m so sorry to disappoint you, boys

 

But please ma’am, if you simply believe

All of this goodness you soon shall receive

That’s all you need to do, then you can leave

To come back with joy, bearing your sheaves

 

Aha, I see what you’re doing there

Think you can use my words anywhere

Twist ’em and turn ’em, think I care?

‘Coz I know what works for me, so there!

 

But ma’am–

 

Have a nice day.

Oh, Winter

I find myself writing about the weather once more.  This was written in the midst of an unexpected winter blizzard.  Here’s hoping the weather’s a bit more springlike by the time this post comes out!

 

My goodness, Winter

You said you’d never come back

After our last fight

After that last flight

You ran away that night

 

Yet here you are, Winter

Hurling daggers from the clouds

At my smug smiling face

At this maddening pace

A swirl of white, icy lace

 

Oh, Winter…

 

Please learn to share, Winter

With your seasonal sisters

Fall’s mournful cinders

Springtime’s hush

Fair, beautiful Summer’s blush

 

I’m glad you’re back, Winter

In honesty, I enjoy your company

But time’s passed along

I’m afraid I’ve moved on

Find someplace else to snow upon

 

Why I Stand for You

Standing for you puts me in a box

In which I don’t, won’t ever belong

It suggests I endorse bold, brash stupidity

Eye to eye, you and I rarely ever see

But I stand for you anyway

Because no one else will

 

I stand for you because you’re family

Even though we don’t always agree

You’re my spirited sister, going alone

My wayward brother, off on his own

My love for you is as thick as blood

Blood others tried (and failed) to spill

 

I don’t stand when your goddesses sing

I sit in protest of our misunderstanding

You’ve hurt me greatly

You’ve broken my faith

But I still stand for you

When no one else will

Another Excerpt from ‘Elite Falcons: The Hunted’ feat. Tatiana

Late last year, I dug Elite Falcons out from the bottom of the “Unfinished WIPs” pile.  To borrow a NaNoWriMo term of art, I “pantsed” my way through the planning process, didn’t take any notes, and thus have long since forgotten how the plot was supposed to go.  Judging by what I’ve written so far, most of the young leads get kidnapped except Max and another kid named Elliot.  How they were to get from this point to being recruited into a top-secret spy agency for teenagers remains a mystery I hope to crack this year.

Other themes I was trying to cover, judging by what past-Allison had written, included racism, anti-bullying, and dispelling ethnic stereotypes.  I don’t think I was too effective and I need to rethink how I’d written some things so my past self’s good intentions carry through.

At the moment, I’m writing a scene which picks up where Max left off.  Some time has passed since he got into that car with the awkward social worker lady (although nowhere near as much time has passed in the real world).  But it’s not done.  In the meantime, here’s a decent (albeit melodramatic) scene I’d written two years ago about another character, Tatiana.

<> <> <>

 From her bedroom, twelve year old Tatiana Dean watched the people stop underneath the brightly-striped awning just below, peer through the front window expectantly, and ultimately walk away looking dismayed.  She, too, wondered why the bakery her parents ran so attentively was still closed at ten o’clock on a Saturday morning.

They’re probably sleeping in, Tatiana reasoned, stepping out of her room and eyeing the closed door across the hall.  It happens to the best of us.

Death by Peanut Butter – a short story (finally!!!)

I wrote this short story for school, based on the writings of Canadian humorist Stephen Leacock.  Leacock wrote a hilarious piece outlining the essential cliches of 19th-20th century serialized detective fiction.  It’s available online under the name “The Great Detective.”  (An even funnier version of the discourse exists under the name “Frenzied Fiction,” which I found in my grandpa’s well-worn copy of Leacock’s Laugh Parade.)  The punchline of my story is that, once again, the butler has “done it.”  This time, however, he has done it is to himself.

On the subject of Canada, I’d also like to thank my aunt for bringing three huge jars of Canadian peanut butter when she visited the week I received this assignment, as they served as my inspiration to write this. 😀

<>

The Great Detective and I were sitting down to a hearty breakfast when we heard the frenetic pattering of footsteps in the stairwell.

“A visitor, I presume,” my ingenious flatmate remarked as he spread a generous amount of peanut butter on his crumpet.  “It must be – and surely, he must be distressed, for the way he mounts our staircase is uneven and heavy.  Either that, or he is a drunken lout who has read too many of your stories, seeking my autograph.”

“Perhaps,” said I, fondly recalling the last case I’d dutifully chronicled for The Brand.  (You ought to read it after this one!)

Sinking Ships – a poem/song/thingie

Honestly, I’m not sure what to call this piece.  I think it’s a poem, but the words to a chorus popped into my head as I was putting in the finishing touches.  If I had a tune to go with it, I suppose this could be a song.  I don’t know. 😛

 

A late night phone call, beating the time zone at its game

A late night conversation about valuing one’s life

A late night post about what’s on your mind at two AM

A late night mistake you can’t remember by day

I must’ve said something wrong

Done something wrong because

All the ships are sinking now

And I know I’m to blame

 

An early morning browse through the Web

An early morning feeling, everything has changed

An early morning shock kills the whole entire day

An early morning text saying it’s over now

Somebody’s not speaking to me

Somebody must hate me because

All my ships are sinking now

And I know I’m to blame

 

Sinking ships bring me down below the sea

Sinking ships, ships are sinking all because of me

Sinking ships are sunk by simple little words

Ships are sinking, life preservers don’t come free

 

A late night message beating fate at its cruel game

A late night resolution about implementing change

A late night aspiration to sleep long before two AM

A late night apology, hopefully not in vain