Creative Catastrophes

Everyone has to start somewhere right?

So…here for the first time on the World Wide Web, is a careful selection of my most hideous and most beloved creative concoctions. Some are terrible, some might possibly be good, but most of them are simply dramatic. So be forewarned, many of these date back to a time when I kept my most cherished pieces in a shoe box labeled “Creative Wrighting” and I have left most of the errors (spelling, grammatical, historical…) intact for your enjoyment.

I also must apologize to several groups for some clueless insensitivity, namely: hippies, nerds, librarians, men, mayors, criminals, and kamikaze pilots. Please forgive any non-PC moments.

These pieces were heartfelt at the time, and are quite precious to me and of course my closest kin. But with fingers crossed and eyes pressed shut in supplication, I pray that I have improved…greatly….

Just Another Boring Day at the Library—(I was thirteen and that should explain everything)

Shazata—(I was thirteen)

A Rose—(I was ten)

The Return of the Hippie—(I was thirteen)

Sophomore Geometry—(I was sixteen)

Beatrice and the Killer Hippies—(I was thirteen)

I Miss You—(I was seventeen)

An Ode to Transcendentalism—(I was seventeen)

Buff and Beatrice and The Home EC Incident—(I was thirteen)

The Paper—(I was seventeen)

The Soapy Sudsy Sewer Search—(I was thirteen)

I Wait—(I was about eighteen)

Night—(a high school attempt at a Shakespearian Sonnet)

The male brain Damaged Merchandise—(I was about twenty)

You—8-25-97 (I was nineteen and in love)

Baby Mine—7-24-04

Little Brother—10-03-07

Fierce and Fragile–2-12-10

       

Just Another Boring Day At The Library—(I was thirteen and that should explain everything)

It was a dark and stormy mid-day tea. We had just started eating our tea and crumpets. The only thing not luscious about them was that my cousin had lost her tooth and had conveniently placed it on my crumpet.

You might think we live in England but we live in Wenatchee, we just follow all the old English customs. We are descended from the English Emperor who wore no clothes. He is featured in the Fairy Tale The Emperors New Clothes.

After we had finished our tea and crumpets we decided to go to the library. We proceeded with the utmost caution because we had not worn our rain boots. I had just began investigating a shelf of quality science fiction books, when my eyes rested on a person that had just entered through the front door. He had a multi-colored Mohawk and in his right hand he held a Bazooka gun and in his left hand a rather sticky ice cream cone. He walked up to the counter and said “Everybody out of the library or I will blow you brains out!”

My mind started working at an amazing pace. I then decided to hide in the ladies room, for I knew that even though they were criminals they obeyed the common laws. As I was running to the bathroom I noticed a handful of his friends had brought a army tank up to the library and its gun was pointed right at the “house of knowledge”. Suddenly I had a sickening feeling in the pit of my stomach. I realized that they must have been from the jail next door.

I ran into the bathroom. When I looked around I saw that the only place to hide was in the garbage can, so I proceeded to scoop all the nonsense out of it.

When I had been in the garbage for about eight hours I began getting cramped, also someone had left an old lunch in it and it was oozing all over me.

Suddenly a man fell through the ceiling! He had long, shaggy, oily, flaky hair. After getting acquainted with this strange person I discovered that his name was Spirit Hoof of the Buffalo Stampede. He told me that he had been a hippy in the 60s, and that he had lived in the attic of this library since Woodstock. So Buff (that was his nickname) and I decided to get back the library.

We hid behind a big potted plant and looked around it and saw that the criminals had moved the tank into the library. Suddenly I remembered a not-so-old-legend about libraries. I remembered that they had recently installed into all science fiction books small hand grenades. So Buff and I ran up to the children’s section which was directly above the army tank. Luckily Buff had a pack of old matches in his pockets. So I lit the fuse and throw the book bombs at the criminals. The exploding library could be seen all the way from Spokane. We had saved the library but it was a little worse for wear. Buff and I became heroes. We even got our pictures in the newspaper. Buff washed his hair and got a haircut. He then started a barber shop. And everyone except the criminals lived happily ever-after.

The End

Credit is due my bosom buddy of seventh grade Emrys Miller, who read something about a guy living in an attic and suggested this story. She faithfully typed all of the Buff and Beatrice stories as I paced the room dictating them. She also made many helpful changes. I love you Emrys, wherever you are.

 

 

Shazata—(I was thirteen)

He acts like a prince of noble birth

In prancing around he finds great mirth

His beautiful coat shimmers like white gold

He acts like a colt when he should act old

He runs like the wind

His speed he will lend

To his friend who is trapped on the ground

His mane whips in the wind like ringlets of silk

His banner like tail looks like creamy white milk

His step is firm not changed with age

He runs free not trapped in a cage

His whinny is gallant it rings out sweet and clear

It’s meant as a signal telling you he is near

He feeds on clover and grass, both lusciously green

Its affect on his beauty can clearly be seen

He is my horse and I love him so dear

He loves me back that is perfectly clear

  

 

 

A Rose—(I was ten)

A rose, a rose for my sweet one

A rose, a rose for a friend

A rose, a rose to my true love

Our happiness will not come to an end

 

 

 

The Return of the Hippie—(I was thirteen)

If you have read Just Another Boring Day at the Library you would have heard about Buff the hippie. As you know Buff started a barber shop, but because of extraordinary business he turned it into Buff’s Bufficiously Beautiful and Bodacious Beauty Salon. He did great bossiness in the salon so he decided to make it a world-wide corporation.

Buff went to the city hall to get his world-wide corporation license. But on the way there something happened! As he was walking down a lonely alley a man with a were-wolf mask and fluorescent green sweets on jumped out and clobbered him on the head.

When he came to he found himself in a body-bag laying beside another corpse. The other corpse happened to be Beatrice the girl from the library. She had broken her toe while ice skating, but for some reason the doctors had placed her in a body-bag. They proceeded to remove themselves from the body-bags. Then they started up a stimulating conversation about why they had been mistaken for corpses. They finally concurred that someone was trying to prevent Buff from establishing his worldwide salon services.

They decided that they should escape from the autopsy room in Wenatchee’s un-hospitable hospital. Suddenly they heard the door to the autopsy room creak and groan as it recklessly opened. Out of the door came the tallest, nerdiest nerd I had ever seen. He must have been 6 foot 11 ½ . He had bright red hair that was slicked back hair and plastered to his scalp. He was wearing florescent pink spadex with a sweatshirt with a mixture of bright red and orange flowers. He also had florescent tan hornrimmed glasses that were about 5 ¼ inches thick. He also was maliciously holding a scapel.

He walked over to where Buff and I were standing. He said “Would you please seat your selves on the autopsy table because I am going to perform an autopsy on you.” Then Buff and I quickly explained that we were not dead. The nerd replied “I can fix that quite easily, because I have been taking wreseling lessons at the YMCA.” Buff grabbed a cross-bow that just happened to be laying in the corner. He declared, “I have been taking archery lessons at the Monroe Mental Institution.

Suddenly the giant nerd said “Holy Platapuses I have cross-bowic-fobia.” Then he sloppily fainted to the floor. We quickly vacated the autopsy room wondering how such a big nerd could be such a big whimp.

We decided to go to the City Hall as quickly as we could to get Buff’s world-wide corporation license before someone else tried to kill us.

Everything eventually turned out fine. The man in the were-wolf mask turned out to be the mayor’s son who didn’t want competition for his Crazy Crinkle Crimp Salon’s. But he was punished severely by having his allowance removed which happened to be 2,000,000 a month. We never found out who that nerd was but we hope we never see him again. Buff’s salon became a booming business so I returned to the boring Wenatchee library.

The End

 

 

 

 

Sophomore Geometry—(I was sixteen)

I see people. So close I can hear them breath. I hear them laughing and talking to each other. So close I could reach out and touch them. But if I did heads would snap, eyes would glare, lips would move in jagged harsh shapes and utter quick commands and rebuke. The shields go up, hard cold metal keeping me away. I can touch the fortress, but I will never touch the soul it guards. I know them. Every day I sit here and their voices and feelings bounce back and forth, over and under, and right through me, as they talk to one another. I sit, I hear, I see, I am ignored. I hear each day’s joy and grief. I see their souls dancing behind their eyes, for just a second, beckoning, laughing, teasing, whispering: “You will never catch me.” They dance in eyes that look everywhere except into mine. To their eyes I am invisible. They will not focus long enough to see my soul reaching toward them from my eyes with glistening, trembling hands that fall unnoticed to the cold hard desk as puddles of used up salt water, used up soul, used up me. I see them, I hear them, I know them, but they will never know me. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Beatrice and the Killer Hippies—(I was thirteen)

My friend had recently installed ice cream parlors in the back of all of his beauty salons. Now the name was Buff’s Bufficiously Beautiful and Bodatious Beauty Salon (With Ice Cream Taboot). I was having a vanilla and anchovee swirly shake to celebrate the grand opening. Suddenly someone slipped sinister Mickey-mouse ears atop my head. Then radio active waves from the Mickey-mouse ears penetrated my skull and quickly rendered me unconscious.

When I came to I was startled to find myself on a very dirty and uncomfortable cement floor. Then I saw a man coming through a large sewer pipe to my left. We was a hippie, but he was not like Buff. HE WAS A KILLER HIPPIE! I knew this interesting but horrific-fact because his tee shirt said so.

The killer hippies were associated with the comocozy pilots of Japan in World War II. These were a earlier and much more ferocious version of the 60s hippies. They looked a lot like the hippies of the 60s except for the fact that most of them were bald or going gray.

The killer hippie said. “So I see that you are awake, Buff didn’t know that you are such a valuable person.” “Do you know that we are going to get 30,000,000 buckaroosys for your ransom.” Then he said “HA HA HA HA !!!!!”

Then I said “you are the dorkiest killer hippie I have ever seen” Then he left in a hurry because he was insulted. Then I realized that I was in the Chicago Sewer System!

Buff was frantic with anxiety, for his young friend Beatrice had been kidnapped. Now he was holding in his hands the ransom note. It was from one of his former hippie friends. Named Snagelpus. Buff then sent out a homing rat to engage in a slightlydangerous but profitable journey in search for Beatrice.

The homing rat didn’t have a very big IQ and soon got lost in the treacherous sewers of Chicago. When the homing rat arrived Snaglepus was greatly distraut and moved Beatrice to some mutch scarier and larger sewers that happened to be called the Catacombs. Since the homingrat was very dumb he thought it would not be able to maneuver throught the Catacombs.

The rat quickly hiched a ride on a Girocopter and flew to Rome. The rat wasn’t sure how he would find the hippies after he got to Rome but that was soon solved. The lady who was driving the Girocopter kicked the homing rat of the Girocopter and into a banana basket thousands of feet below. The rat was at his wit’s end trining to get out of this deadly banana basket.

Suddenly the banana basket started moving. It trucked caross the Roman streets and soon descended into a dark, creepy, oowy, hole. When the basket finally slowed to a halt the homing rat saw Snagelpus’s face looming over him. He though this would be his last sight he would die looking at an ugly, bald, old hippie. Suddenly the homing rat heard the sound of large military equipment. The military men arrested all of the killer hippies for associating with the comccozy pilots of Japan. Beatrice was rescued in one piece thank-goodness. And Homer-the-homing-rat became Beatrices special pet.

It was discovered that Snagelpus had a grudge opon Buff Because he was not bald. So Beatrice returned to the boring Wenatchee library Miss Punkerniclel even let Beatrice bring Homer in too because Homer was a hero.

The End

 

 

I Miss You—(I was seventeen)

I Miss You: The slow mournful dance of a puppy’s soul, hidden behind deep brown eyes as he sits by the window awaiting a beloved master.

I Miss You: A solitary raindrop caught in the crevasse of a rock and unable to reach a dying flower.

I Miss You: A small girl peeking through a picket fence with her soft fingers clutching the rough wood as she longs for her daddy.

I Miss You: A musician playing once, before he forgets, the most beautiful song the earth has ever heard, in an empty church.

I Miss You: The cry of a kitten in a knotted bag floating down a river.

I Miss You: a single teardrop fallen from the eye of a friend as your face flickers before her mind.

I Miss You

 

 

An Ode to Transcendentalism—(I was seventeen)

It is autumn. A warm breeze blows gentle kisses through a rolling sea of grass, attempting to heal their jagged sawed off tops with her useless caress. They are emerald green color crayons melting with the intensity of the sun’s gaze. Slowly the color seeps from their stocks into the dusty soil as it consumes the beauty around it, longing to color its own empty soul. It is autumn, and we are dying.

 

 

Buff and Beatrice and The Home EC Incident—(I was thirteen)

Buff decided that he needed to increase his knowledge. So he contemplated the thought of taking a Home Ec Class with Beatrice. All the other millianares laughed at him but he insisted that he should take the class.

After a few weeks of Home Ec he endeavored to make a project for Buff’s Bufficiously Beautiful and Bodatious Beauty Salon (With ice cream Taboot.) His project was a cement hold hair mousse. The mousse was made especially for bald people and guaranteed instant hair growth.

Soon Buff’s cement mousse went on the market and that’s when disaster struck. The mayor of Wenatchee (who happened to be bald) tried Buff’s cement hair mousse. As Buff predicted his hair started growing instantly. Because of it’s success everyone in the town started using Buff’s cement hair mousse.

But over night something strange happened. The mayor’s hair kept growing and growing and growing through out the night. When he awoke he could not move for his hair pined him to the bed. Not only was there amazing quantities of hair but it was floresent green, and when ever he stepped on it to try to evacuate the room it emitted small explosions.

Buff was promply sued and put in the local jail with his Home Ec utencils he was ordered to find a cure for the hazardous hair mousse. They even threatened to hang him up-side down by his eye brows if he did not comply.

Mean while Beatrice was working on a cure of her own in the Home Ec room. The ingredients were pickled garlic, pickled herring, pickled hang nails, smoked oysters, rotten toothpaste, rusty thumbtacs, a salted slug, and a dicobooberated computer chip about the digestive system.

The cure worked miraclelesly the only side effect was a bad case of terminal baldness. Soon Buff was out of prison with only slightly stretched eye brows. And everyone in Wenatchee was content. So I returned to the boring Wenatchee Library.

The End

 

 

The Paper—(I was seventeen)

It is white. Pale and colorless as sun bleached bone. It is a heavily starched rectangle, unchanging, a clone of its playmates. It calls out in soft demanding whispers, that evolve into desperate screams of the void. It is empty, without purpose, and useless. Its pain forms a magnet pulling at my mind. Demanding that I give it my every thought, feeling, and heartbeat. Blue lines await my words, and red lines demand they halt. Quickly I scrawl out my soul on its emptiness. And it rests, fulfilled. And I am no longer tormented by the shrieks of its keening.

Until I turn the page. 

 

The Soapy Sudsy Sewer Search—(I was thirteen)

National cleanliness day donned bright and sunny in Wenetchee. Buff was pronounced president of this historic event because his world-wide corporation now sold face-soap. It was now called Buff’s Bufficiously Beautiful and Bodatious Beauty Salon Featuring Phony Foaming Face Wash (With Ice Cream Taboot).

Buff rode down Main Street in his floresent barf green convertible, flashing his straight white teeth at the spectators. He sauntered up on to the super clean stage that smelled of Pinesol. There he gave a long and very boring speech that took the whole afternoon. By the time it was over everyone in the crowd was snoring contently. The Mayor produced a shiny key to the city of Wentechee from a humungo safe that was seated beside him. Just as Buff reached out to take the key that was sparkling dramatically in the bright sun, he felt the floor of the stage start to waver, quickly his feet disappeared through the floor, he could do nothing to stop himself but he tried valiantly. The tippes of his fingers caught on the edge of the trap door, he groaned as he attempted to hoist himself out of the yawning pit that had so suddenly appeared beneath him, but a delinquent construction worker dropped the Mayor’s safe that he had been removing from the stage, on Buff’s fingers. So obviously the only outcome was for Buff to let go and drop into that dark, deep, and, might I add scary pit.

The sleeping crowd was rudely awakened when they heard the mayor scream, and all of them started screaming also because they though the mayor was exhibiting a new cleanliness cheer. As you might have guessed the police were notified, and they came charging down the streets of Wenatchee with their sirens screeching in a wild attempt to find out what all of the hulabalo was about.

That was a harder task than it appeared, because the mayor had a heart-attack while he was screaming, and all the spectators had been asleep during the incident. So the police had to wait until the mayor regained consciousness before they could begin their investigation.

Meanwhile Buff regained consciousness before Mr. Snogglehoff the mayor (all hiss friends called him Snogg). As Buff slowly regained consciousness, a soprano cockroach who was practicing for the next presentation of The Phantom of the Opera (by the way was next Friday), increased the velocity of his thundering headache, this abruptly woke him up, and I mean up. He jumped 6 feet in the air because the cockroach had no talent whatsoever. After recovering from his unnecessary exposure to toxic sound waves Buff began to explore his prison. Buff froze when he heard the stumbling foot steps of someone walking towards the gargancious rock door that separated him from the rest of humanity.

The door creaked open and there stood Egor Snizzilpop, the nerd that had a participating role in The Return of the Hippie. He sloppily stepped into the room. This time he wore plaque yellow plaid bellbottom spandex, consisting of normal spandex coming down to the knee with a frill of bell-shaped corduroy flaring from the bottom of the spandex. He also wore puke brown motorcycle gloves with small razers coming out of the knuckles, he wore a tight fitting tank that framed his beer-belly and a imitation cheese cap worn backwards (he was imitation cheese’s biggest fan), he had bright purple tap dancing shoes on so that he could make what he called music wherever he went, his bright red hair was in a Mohawk that was very stiff on the top but it tapered down into a rat tail that ran down his back to his ankles.

After he got up from the ground (because he had tripped over his tap-dancing shoes) he spoke to Buff saying, “I lost you once before but this time I will perform that long awaited autopsy.’ Then his shoulder’s heaved in wickedly nerdy laughter.

Beatrice was frantic, somehow Buff had been hippie-napped and the mayor of Wenatchee (the only witness) had just died. The only words he spoke on his death-bed were, “My safe, my safe.” This was her only clue so she decided to use this clue to its full potential. She concluded that someone had hired a assassin to drop the safe on Buff, but she could not prove this because try as she might she could not find a corpse. So after much mental debate she concluded that Buff was alive, and of course she started her search immediately.

Now of course Buff did not want to be haked in tow by this nerdy cycopath. Buff remembered how he had made Egor swoon in his former adventure, he figured because Egor was not a smart nerd he might be able to scare him with a cross-bow again. The only problem was that he did not have a cross-bow so he decided to improvise. He jumped up from the floor holding an imaginary cross-bow, Egor started trembling and asked, “what is that?” Buff replied, “This is my handy-dandy invisible cross-bow.” “I do not believe you, wailed Egor, his voice quivering. “Well I do not care if you do not believe me, I will just shoot you anyways.” Egor stood there wimpering pitifully saying, “No, please not again.” Then Egor started to topple to the floor but caught himself just in time to stumble out of the room slamming the door tearfully.

Buff was disappointed that Egor had shut the door, but at lest he had bought himself some time. He started to examine the door, after four hours of examining the hinges and wood-work he dicided to try the door-nob. It opened easily and he decided that his four hours of work were not wasted (little did he knew that it had been open the whole time).

Beatrice was looking through the records of their former adventures to try to find out who had a grudge against Buff. She came upon the files regarding the adventure of The Return of the Hippie. Suddenly she realized that the giant nerd Egor Snizzlepop had not been seen for three years, and was probably at large.

Beatrice contemplated the thought of rescuing Buff with an army tank, but Egor had driven a flying army tank in the Air Force and would not be afraid of it. Beatrice realized that she would have to use extreme measures to get Buff back. So she called up the Army, Navy, Air Force, Marines, and the Coast Guard. Everyone has glad to help because all of them had gotten perms from the Buff’s Bufficiously Beautiful and Bodatious Beauty Salon Featuring Phony Foaming Face Wash (With Ice Cream Taboot), that was located at their head quarters.

Buff wandered aimlessly through the sewers searching for the surface he kept looking behind him because he thought he heard the stumbling foot steps of Egor behind his. Slimy sewer rats scuttled around his feet as he journied through the sewers. Suddenly there was a crash behind him and he heard the frightful sound of tap-dancing shoes clanking on the slimy stones of the sewer.

Meanwhile Beatrice had the Army, Navy, Air Force, Marines, and the Coast Guard in position outside the entrance to the Wenatchee sewer system. She had looked over the personal files of Egor Snizzlepop and decided that the most probable thing for him to do was to take Buff to the sewers.

The stumbling and crashing came closer and closer, Buff started running a little to sloppily because he tripped and fell injuring his nose. Egor zoomed around the corner and tripped over Buff, he quicly injected Buff with a sleeping drug, then he dragged Buff to his autopsy room giggling maliciously.

Beatrice and the Armed Forces stopped by Alfreds Archery Unlimited to borrow some cross-bows. Then they entered the sewers armed and dangerous. After they had investigated 347 unlicensed rooms beneath the surface of Wenatchee, they heard the sound that they had longed to hear throughout their tiring trek, the sound of nerdy snorting. (Egor had a habit of snorting)

Buff awoke to the horrid sight of Egor leaning over him, he had a shiny scalpel in his hand and looked very Egor to use it. Buff attempted to trick Egor again with the invisible crossbow trick, but Egor informed him that he had put him through his handy, dandy, cross-bow disarming machine. Then Buff disappered of all hope. Suddenly he heard the tromping of many feet, and the room was jam-packed with men armed with cross-bows. One look at this alarming sight and Egor swiftly fainted to the floor.

It all turned out fine, and Buff invited everyone to his salon for a ice cream cone, then afterwards they all went up to the boring Wenatchee library to have a normal day without incident.

The End

 

 

I Wait—(I was about eighteen)

While some are begging on their knees

for love that runs from earnest pleas

I Wait

While some throw reason, poems, and tears

at uncertain eyes that shine with fears

I wait

For eyes that when they gaze into mine

dance with a love that will last for all time

I Wait

For a hand to reach for my own

instead of long to be alone

I Wait

For a heart that starts running a race

when I enter a room and my eyes touch his face

I Wait

Till waves of love flow through his veins

and need not be captured with locks or with chains

I Wait

Till he seeks me out on his own

and before all our friends and God’s holy throne,

he says two sweet words and makes me his own.

I Wait 

 

Night—(a high school attempt at a Shakespearian Sonnet)

The light, bright daytime’s glory grows distant

And shadows cluster at the forest’s feet

Fingers of light grasp at earth like claws bent

While snarling creatures venture out to eat

Lonely howls echo cross the frigid night

Seeking the sweet sticky warmth of fresh blood

Gliding through brown crackling leaves without sight

Fangs silence its speeding pulse, crimson flood

Slashing jaws rend the soft flesh as they dine

Quiet creatures scramble into the caves

Death runs through frozen veins flowing like wine

And under the moon the restless pack raves

Morning crawls up the horizon to free

Earth’s gasping death chased residents that flee

 

 

The male brain Damaged Merchandise—(I was about twenty) and as you may have guessed I was dating that particular male who would later become my husband.

At one point in his life every man is nestled safely in his mother’s womb; all that is expected of him is to eat, grow, and kick. One day the seemingly safe womb is bombarded by a flood of testosterone that washes over the baby, changing his life forever. This chemical attacks his brain eating away at the corpus callosum that connects the two hemispheres together. After the attack has subsided the child is left with just a few measly connections between the two halves of his brain. His journey toward manhood has begun.

The tiny child has grown and become a strapping man of twenty-seven. He is not bothered in the least by the brain damage received in his infancy. Yet the effects hang over his activities like a cloud of mosquitoes, buzzing and nipping at everyone he encounters.

Take a look at his girlfriend. Her stay in the womb was pleasant and free from violence and chemical warfare. The connections between the halves of her brain are numerous and healthy. The right side of her brain which daydreams, writes a poem, and appreciates the gorgeous yellow rose blooming by her neighbor’s fence, is busily conversing with the left side of her brain which solves equations, speaks in debate class, and finds her way home from Tacoma.

The afore mentioned man has limitations that his girlfriend can only imagine. He regularly over loads the few minute connections that make up his emaciated corpus callosum. Imagine he is calling up his girlfriend on the phone. This he can do wonderfully because he is only using one half of his brain. As he speaks with her he wanders towards the kitchen to get some lunch. Someone has left the TV on, as a result his conversation stops as his attention is locked on to the screen. He cannot continue the conversation, try as he may he cannot coax the other half of his brain to kick in. His girlfriend is screaming out his name but he cannot hear her for his corpus callosum is overloaded with data and he cannot compute anything more. Finally he tears his attention from the TV and begins the construction of his sandwich. However, his mind is thoroughly captured by his girl’s stimulating conversation and he puts chocolate syrup on a bologna sandwich and throws away the kitchen knife instead of the cheese wrapper.

The girl, on the other hand, is sitting on her couch doing homework from Bio 232 while watching Unsolved Mysteries as she talks with him. The strange thing is he cannot tell when she is engaged in other activities, while she knows instantly when he has just walked by the television.

There are disadvantages to having a fully functional corpus callosum. The girlfriend’s life is much more complicated then the man’s. When he goes shopping he may ask a buddy if the pants look dumb, and if not he buys them. His girlfriend on the on the other hand must see every angle that a person could possibly observe the pants from. She must decide how the color of the pants would affect a person’s mood who was standing on her left, opposed to how it would affect the person’s mood who was standing 12 degrees to the right of directly in front of her. Also she must know if the pants would be more appropriate to wear on weekends, weekdays, holidays, in the morning, evening, right before lunch, for shopping, or for being a tourist. If they are more appropriate for shopping in the afternoons on weekdays during Christmas vacation, she still must find out if the pants would be suitable for window shopping, casual shopping, or serious last minute shopping. Finally she has been told by a friend that the jeans are simply too seductive for last minute shopping, but will do nicely for window shopping, and she realizes that she already has jeans for window shopping in the afternoon on weekdays during Christmas vacation that make the person standing 12 degrees to the right of right in front of her feel relaxed and at ease, so she must try on another pair!

Although a man’s brain will not allow him to perform the dizzying intellectual stunts of the female mind, there is a great need for his simplicity and focus. A man, due to his childhood brain damage, is able to ignore the details of a subject and just concentrate on the heart of the matter. He is able to get a job done without getting bogged down with the details in the process. It is the man’s focus that creates something such as a computer program, it is a woman’s attention to detail that thinks of the spell check, screen saver, mouse, the light that comes on when the num. lock button is on, and an electrical outlet close enough so that the thing can actually be used.

 

 

You—8-25-97 (I was nineteen and in love and yes I’m afraid this poem is held dear regardless of any faults)

You drink my eyes

Savoring my lashes on your tongue

You hold my gaze in your mouth

And the taste makes you smile

You hold my hand

Skin raw with use

So gentle against my fingertips

Strength, held back and trembling

You lure my heart

A hook in your chest

Snagging through heart, lungs, and soul

I take you; hook, line, and sinker

 

Baby Mine—7-24-04–This was written for my firstborn son.

In the rocking chair

Sagging against my chest

Sweet round cheek squished close

Over my heart

His long lashes lay like silken feathers

Guarding drifting lids

Soft baby breath raises his tiny back in peaceful rhythm

Puffy pink wrists encircle my waist

Want to stay close

Comfort him

Love

Tears

Baby mine

 

Little Brother—10-03-07

Written for my Precious second born boy.

Joylight and curls

Fast, bright, and blue

Chubby legs pounding

Wild, wrestling, wonderful

Dimpled knuckles, scraped knee

Climbing, launching, tumbling

Shouts and snuggles

Bubbles and tractors

Crashing trains and baby kitties

Golden head, flashing glare

So sweet, so strong

Impossible

Perfect

All God’s Blessing rolled up and running

Into my arms

 

Fierce and Fragile–2-12-2010

written for my marvelous third born baby boy

Red Head

Not in bed

Blankets mussed

Jello dust

Toothpaste smeared

Biting feared

Drama flare

Snuggle Chair

“Angels” sing

Dreams on wing

Sweet repose

Eyes slowly close

Back to bed

My sleepy head

Sweet child

So Fierce and Fragile