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Monday, June 22, 2015

Mother's Doctrine

Mother’s Doctrine
                From the dinner table Lemon looked at her mother washing the plates.  Lemon thought about how hard her mother was working today and she didn’t like to watch her work hard.  Every time Lemon offered to help, her mother would tell her to get out of the way.  But she wanted to help her in any way even if her mother rejected it.  Her mother was different during Sunday, especially as the time for going to church neared.  But during the weekdays, she was normal and lazy, procrastinating whenever she received orders from Lemon’s dad.  Sunday was the height of her days.  It was a family day.   
            Lemon then looked at her brother, Camache.  Camache was two years younger than Lemon.  He was having a hard time losing weight.  While they ate, Lemon told Camache to not eat so much. 
“You’ll get fat,” she said. “And the doctor said it wasn’t good for you.”  She memorized her mother’s every word.  Camache was eating a greasy pizza.
“But I’m hungry.”  He grabbed more hot Cheetos.  Lemon ate some too.  They were the chips that held them together in a bonding moment for a small while even during their sibling wars, until Camache takes the bag of Cheetos to his room and refuses to share them with Lemon, or when Lemon tells him that he has had enough and was not allowed to eat any more or else she was going to tell mom.  A battle would erupt with the mother taking the Cheetos away from Camache or Lemon getting slapped and pushed to the wall, and if Lemon ended up crying then Camache would win the battle because Lemon was too afraid to go up to her mother with tears in her eyes; she was afraid to get into more trouble because crying would make her mother erupt and they would both end up being punished.   
“Hurry up,” their mother said.  “We need to get ready for church later.”
            Camache’s friend was seated at the dinner table.  They were all sharing a box of pizza, and Camache’s hand hovered near the pizza box, looking to see if his mother was noticing.  Lemon stared at him, which caused Camache to retreat his hand.  Nobody said anything as they ate their pizza.  Lemon continued to stare at her mother, neglecting her food.  Lemon’s mother was still washing the plates, not bothering to dry them.  She put them on the sink while muttering something to herself.  Lemon hoped for the day that she would wash the plates and mutter alongside her.        
Camache’s friend ate his pizza, his gaze landing on the boredom of the wall paper design.  Camache looked at the pizza box, and sighted.  Lemon looked at the floor, and then at her mother, and later down at the floor again.  The only sound that could be heard were dishes clashing against other dishes, with Lemon’s mother continuing to mutter to herself more loudly this time.  Camache’s worried humming started until he broke the silence with a question.
“So,” Camache faced his friend, “Do you know who Lime is?”
            Lemon looked at Camache as if he were insane.  She wanted to kick him from under the table, but Camache was far away from her.  Lemon knew who Lime was, and Camache had a faint idea about her.  Between Lemon and her mother, Camache should know as little as possible about anything.  Lime was a girl they weren’t allowed to talk or think about.  That was all they needed to know.  And if Lime ever came near Lemon’s family, everything would be ruined and their lives would be shattered.  Their dad would go back to being a violent drunk.  Lemon despised Lime and would hope that they never met in this lifetime.  Her mother’s warnings are never wrong.  When Lemon’s mother heard Camache, she dropped the dishes and rushed towards Camache.  She grabbed his arm and pulled him up quickly.
“Let’s go Camache. It’s time for your bath,” she said. 
“But mama, I’m not finished eating,” Camache whined while looking at his half eaten pizza. 
“You have already eaten enough,” she said.  She yanked his arm and forced him upstairs.  “And the doctor said it wasn’t good for you.”
            Camache’s friend was confused.  He turned to see Lemon who was wolfing down her food now.  Lemon told Camache’s friend to hurry and finish so they can play outside.  She told him that Camache would meet them outside.  They heard the water from the bath running. 
When Lemon was about to take her plate to the sink, they both heard Camache screaming upstairs.  His wails caused both his friend and Lemon to stay frozen at the dinner table.  Camache’s friend looked at Lemon with a raised eyebrow.
“He cries when-“ Lemon was interrupted by more of Camache’s wails. “He gets scared and cries when you are not around.”  She gave a smile that slumped back into a serious line in her face; her eyes kept staring in the ground.
“Ok.”
“Let’s go outside.”

“Ok.” They didn’t say anything after that nor did they go outside.  They continued to hear Camache’s wails for a while longer.  They heard the water shut and the house came back to silence.  Lemon stared at the carpet.  She must have dropped food because she saw a piece of sausage on the carpet floor.  Cheese surrounded the sausage ball, with the red sauce giving it color and spreading around the mess.  

Friday, August 1, 2014

Cat Poem #3

I wrote this in trochaic trimeter.  3 is a special number here.  Can you hear the cat's footsteps? 


He climbed the high top heights
It was his royal rights
Instinct, no inner fights

He landed without heed 
His alignment was creed
Measured with lightning speed

He slept under a rut
Protruding a fat gut
Too lazy now to hunt

Monday, July 28, 2014

The Fall of Sanchez

Parody poems are my favorites.  You can poke fun of the poem, surpass the greats in your own way...need I go on?  It also offers the opportunity to look at the poem in a different light by looking at what the parody draws on the poem; its like looking at the original poem but from a different point of view on the subject.

My poem is a parody of The Destruction of Sennacherib by Lord Bryon.  Written in an anapestic tetrameter that resemble a horses’ hooves.  The results: 

The Fall of Sanchez
Sanchez and his steed paraded across the town
The people greeted him, but he did not come down
His belt buckle and gold rings reflected the sun
From widows to wives wanted to have his son

Like the first finely fresh flowers that flock in spring              
His tall sombrero from a distance could be seen       
Like the white snow that finely decorates winter
His leather jacket helped against any hinder

He jerked with pain when projectiles hit his presence
Causing his loyal steed to fall from the grand heavens
And for the first time in his life he now looked down
With both him and his steed entering the dirt ground

The steed’s life was desperately running astray
Remnants of its radiant white hide fading away  
His nostrils breathe its last breath like a hurricane
Then his large eyes fell, now being part of the terrain  

Sanchez was struggling towards the eternal plain
A sharp rock was piercing close to his shoulder blade  
And when his ruby blood turned a crispy crimson 
His body was mourned by damsels and mistresses              

He was buried on a lonely humble hill grave
And nobody visited it, prayed, or came        
It is forgotten and unnoticed by many          
But few remember him; death met him at twenty.       


Saturday, December 21, 2013

Short Story- A Beautiful Landscape

 An American Landscape
            Once the string was pulled, the engine roared with life.  The huge lawn mower lurched forward like a raging bull when the brakes were lifted.  From the house window, some residents could see an employee wrestle with the machine for control.  Most closed the curtains.  The older people always kept a watchful eye on them though.   
Antonio was yelling orders to Julio about which houses to mow.  Julio was automatically nodding, half confused already.  Antonio’s speech was always quick and confusing.  The workers often had to guess what their job was.  It was Julio’s first day on the job.
“I want you to finish these houses when I come back.  Hurry up because we have to move out to the next suburb before it gets dark,” Antonio said to Julio.  He started the leaf blower and began to blow the heavy leaves.  Dogs would always start to bark when the loud noise began. 
Antonio’s knees started to hurt; both were jolting with pain.  He had been working for as long as he could remember.  Even though an owner of his own business, he never could stop working.  He was approaching his retirement years, but couldn’t see a future where he would just retire.  He had to continue to work.  He still had a family to look after.  He still had bills to pay.  He still had loans and debts that continued to rise.  When he was done with what he had to do, he limped his way back to the trailer to put his equipment back.  One of his clients approached him.
“Anthony!  How are you?  Haven’t seen you in a while.  Listen, I have something to tell you.  See that huge pile of wood.  I want you to take it away,” the client said.  He pointed at the whole mess of wood.  He signaled with his thumb, guessing that Antonio’s English was somewhat limited.  
“Sure, I pick it up.”
“And another thing.  Don’t come back for the rest of the year.  Our son will be doing our yard work from now on.  Ok.” 
“Ok.  No problem with me.”  After the client left, Antonio let out a cry from the jolts of pain that came from his knees. 
           
            When Julio saw Antonio leave to check on the other employee, he began to relax more.  He took longer periods of break time.  Once he finished mowing a house, he went inside the equipment trailer and began to dig around his pockets for a smoke he was saving.  He looked around him.  Nobody was watching him.  He lit it up real quickly and surfaced into a new happier world.
           
Mira!  I told you to do the blue house as well.  What the hell’s wrong with you?” Antonio said to Manolo. 
“But patron, I don’t remember you telling me,” Manolo said.
“Yes I did!” Antonio said. “Remember!  I don’t know where your mind is right now, but you have to clear it out and focus next time I’m talking you.  Now go back and finish those houses.  You didn’t mow them right.  I’m paying you so that you can get the job done right!”  He made it a habit to micromanage, so he spends half the day as a supervisor. 
            Manolo went back to work.  An old lady, another one of Antonio’s clients, approached him.   
“Anthony, I need to have a word with you right now.  Remember those bushes you planted for me in the spring.  Well they’re all dead,” she said.
“Did you water them?” Antonio said.
“I believe so…or at least I think I did.  I’m not sure.  Look, I’m going to discount it off the next bill you send me.  Call it credit,” the old lady said.
“Sure.  Do what you have to do,” Antonio said.  He knew she forgot to water them.  He thought of setting up a laundry mat or maybe a restaurant business, a business where he didn’t have to deal with customers or work.    

            Glenville was a very nice neighborhood.  It was clean year round, no junk food joints in sight, and the houses looked like old English manors.  It was Antonio’s next route.  Police patrols increased in frequency when the landscapers arrived.  They always watched them from a distance.  They never hesitated in giving them a ticket when the smallest of violations were committed.  The community had zero tolerance for them.  
“Alright, you know what to do here.  Don’t take too long on each house.  Andales!” Antonio said.
“We’ll never finish them,” Julio said, waving his arms in frustration.
“Have a more positive attitude, Julio.  If you don’t want to work, then you can go walk home.  I’ll find another,” Antonio said. 
“You don’t tell me what to do!” Julio said.  Manolo chuckled.
“Who else pays you then?” Antonio said.  Antonio began to walk towards the trailer to get the equipment out when his knee pain began to attack viciously again.  He limped back to the truck.  Julio saw this while walking past him.
“Have a more positive attitude.  Have a more positive attitude,” Julio mimicked, laughing now.            
A client approached the landscaping proprietor.
“Antonio, Antonio.  Where have you been?  I haven’t seen you in a while,” the client said.  He was an old man who claims to be Italian or Greek.  He didn’t like going outside and could only stay outdoors for a couple of minutes, which after that would start to get tired from the wind and the sun. 
“I’ve been working all day like a horse,” Antonio said.
“You let them work.  I have a job for you.  See those-“ the client started to walk towards the chores he had in mind.  Antonio knew that the old man wasn’t going to pay a fair price for the labor.  The old man never pays fair.
            Julio was inside the trailer again, getting out his smoke.  He was taking a huge risk since his boss was still there.  A car stopped near the trailer.  The driver’s window rolled down and called to Julio.
“What are you doing?” a voice said. 
“Mind your own business, lady,” Julio said.  He put out his smoke as quickly as he could, waving his hands to get the smell out.
“Aren’t you too young to be working?  It’s a school day,” she said.  She put the parking breaks on.  Julio told Antonio that he was 18 years old and was able to work.  He looked 12. 
“I don’t care about that.  Teachers don’t care either.”
“Well, yeah.  I guess not all of us are made for school.”
“If you don’t mind, I need to get back to work.  Why don’t you go back to your rich parents,” Julio said, pretending to look for something.  She was looking at the cigarette that he stuffed in his pants in a hurry.
“You have any left on you?” she said.
“It’s going to cost you.”
“You think cost is an issue here?”
“As in double”
“Maybe if you go back to school you could learn how to charge people triple!”  She furiously put it on drive and pressed on the gas pedal and left.
           
            “And that’s how I met Al Capone.  I really met him.  You think I’m kidding.  I have his famous guns on my cabinet.  I would invite you to come in, but well, you know,” the client told Antonio.  Antonio really needed to get back to work.  He felt as if he were falling behind.
“Okay, I’ll do all those things next time I come,” Antonio said.
“What things?”
“I’ll come back next week.”  The old man nodded in agreement. 
“One other thing.  I really like your white trailer.  White looks really nice on everything; just look at my house.” 
           
            It was now noon.  Both Julio and Manolo were having their lunch on a client’s front lawn close to the pickup trucks.  Both got their food at a gas station.  They looked at the sky and saw the clouds darken.  It was going to rain soon, which raised their spirits with the thought of leaving early.  Manolo’s favorite part of his lunch, besides his cigarette, was the lottery scratch tickets.  Every day he played it he knew he was getting closer towards his luck.  Julio was constantly on his cell phone, being on several different websites at once.
“You know, I’m getting tired of this job,” Julio said.
Vato, it’s your first day.  How are you already tired?” Manolo said.
“I can’t stand the boss.  He’s always yelling at me.  It’s my first day and already he expects me to know everything.”
“Maybe you got on his bad side.  Never get on his bad side.  He’s the type of person who doesn’t forget things.”
“I got something for him he’ll never forget.”  Manolo chuckled at this.
“Where are you from anyways?”           
“I was born here,” Julio said.  Manolo laughed. 
“That explains your crooked Spanish.”  Antonio came back.  The workers immediately got up and started to get ready.
Vaya vaya.  I was gone for an hour and you guys are still here.  If I’m not here, nothing gets done,” Antonio said.  He climbed painfully into the back of the truck to get a couple of trash cans down.
“Why don’t you get a good long look then, so you won’t keep coming back,” Julio said, grabbing himself in front of Antonio. 
Mira Julio, I’m not liking your attitude.  Keep it up and you won’t have a job,” Antonio said.
“I don’t care.  I don’t even want this job anyways.”
“Keep it up.  Keep it up.  We’ll see who comes out of this winning.”          
“Yeah, me.”
“You might not be related to your father-in-law, but you’re going to end up like him one of these day: a worthless mechanic, and a drunk and a thief who sneaks off with my tools.  Don’t think I don’t know, and I also want you to know that it’s coming straight from your payroll,” Antonio said. 
“What?  I’m not even related to him!” Julio said, throwing his rake to the floor.
“Yeah, but he sure does pay that roof over your head.  I’m going to start calling you Jr. from now on,” Antonio said, now laughing.  He started to cough violently after laughing so hard.  The weather was becoming unbearably cold now, and the pain in his knees started to surface again.  Thunder could be heard rolling in the distance.  His cell phone ringed.  On the other line, a slurred voice can be heard.  The client had a stroke recently.
“Is this Maldecimo’s Landscape?” She didn’t wait for a response. “Antonio, what is going on?  I told you to be careful with the roses, and one of your men cut them down.  I am going to have to deduct them from your next bill.  I also want to tell you that I am very dissatisfied with the service.”  She began to cry over the phone.  “Those roses were very special.”
“Okay okay.  I’ll replant them-“
“I do not want you to come back.  Not ever!  Goodbye.”  She hung up. 
            Antonio for the first time in his life started to accept he was old.  Every part of his body started to hurt as he climbed down from the truck.  He was uncertain if he was going to continue for the next year.  Everything was falling apart.  The first drops of rain started to hit his right shoulder and the back of his neck.   
Antonio got the trash cans down from the truck.  Rain started to pour, but it seemed as if it wasn’t going to last that long since he could only feel small amounts of rain hitting him.  He started to climb down from the truck when all of a sudden he could hear someone’s screams from behind a house.  Out of the back of that house, Julio came running like a madman to Antonio.  Julio’s left hand was completely covered in blood.  One of his fingers was gone.   

At the hospital, the doctor asked him where the finger was, but Julio couldn’t remember.  Julio’s family threatened to sue Antonio, but was held back once they discovered some contents in Julio’s blood.  They couldn’t afford a lawyer anyways.   
Antonio’s shirt was covered in Julio’s blood, and he still had a full day ahead of him.  He left the emergency room in disbelief.  Manolo was waiting for him at the waiting room.  He was impressed by the luxury of the hospital.  It was a private one, and its waiting room was finely decorated.  Its lights were dimmed low, giving the room a calm atmosphere.  Manolo almost fell asleep. 
“He put his hand on the blades for some reason,” Manolo said.  Antonio gave a weak chuckle. 
Pos for not being careful, he got what he was looking for,” Antonio said, shaking his head at the whole idea.  They left the hospital.  Outside they could see other landscapers tending the hospital’s beautiful gardens. 
“I wonder who’s paying for the hospital.”
“The government,” Antonio said.  “The government always helps.  They have to.  No, they had to.  If Julio didn’t have his papers, they would fix him up and then send him back immediately.”  Manolo spat in the ground. 
“We still going back to work?”
“Yeah.  That’s exactly what we’re going to do.  Clients don’t want excuses.  Better move on and keep working,” Antonio said.  They were heading towards the truck.  The sky was blue, with a faint rainbow in the distance, and the sun shined brightly now.      
“You’re bad luck.  You lost a lot of time today, and a worker,” Manolo said. 
“I lost a long time ago,” Antonio said, limping his way to the truck.

Monday, October 21, 2013

Haiku (4 point of views)

I wrote 4 Haiku poems using 4 different perspectives in a waiting room.     

Swirls of light move on
Clock ticks, no hesitation
Linoleum floor, clean

Flashy magazines
Stack up, wanting attention
Competing for reads

Pressed against cool surface
Windows rattle violently 
Shaking me from sleep

Door never opens
It stands proud like an oak tree

Victoriously 

Sunday, October 13, 2013

My Doggy's Walk

One can be at a disadvantage when having rules to constructing a poem, but it can be another way of making poetry.  Fixed form is basically like following instructions to making a poem.  The outline is already done for you, all you need to do is fill it with words.  An example of fixed form can be the Haiku.  It can be a restricting process, but the end result is a glimpse of the poet's observation which leaves an imprint of that image in the reader.  

 I made an Iambic trimeter poem here, more of a parody of My Papa’s Waltz with an A,B,A rhyme scheme.  It is not fixed formed nor is it perfect iambic trimeter, but I tweaked the rules in order to make it more appropriate for my poem.  First rule for fixed forms: don't let the rules bully you, but instead use and change them to your advantage until you get the desired message (if you wan't).  The results:    

My Doggy’s Walk
He walks, head held proudly
Royalty in his blood
Flowing with  dignity  
Gallops, avoiding sod

Putting paw down seriously   
Making sure he is heard
Barks with great authority
Being the king of the herd 

Made with the smallest paws
Eyes look ready to pop
Tail curls with grace, no flaws
Perfection does not stop

Hearing other dogs bark
He pulls and yanks angrily
Finding nothing too dark
Finest of ingenuity  

Friday, October 4, 2013

How to Make a Fiction Bestseller RIGHT NOW

Make is the magic word.  Writing…never heard of it.  It’s still in your mind, get rid of it right now because you won’t need it to write a bestseller!  How is that possible you say?  Just by following these three simple steps:    

Step 1. Writing: Now when I mean make a bestseller, I mean think of it as a pure writing experience.   Don’t think about the words; just write down your story.  Write like you talk.  Never use “big words”.  Use words that everyone can understand.  Speak English (fifth grade level maximum).  People don’t want to read a book just for thinking; they want to read it just for the hell of it.  It’s like watching mindless TV, but you’re reading instead and it’s sort of good for you.  Call it mindless reading.  But don’t let your reader know that.  And if you think that by using elementary words won’t fly among your adult audience, then format the novel so that it’s 500-1,000 pages long.  That will keep them busy for a while.  And if someone bad mouths your book for its “simplicity” well then you can introduce them to everyone’s best friend named “Sue”.

Step 2. Plot and characters: I’m going to kill two birds with one stone here.  First, make your plot as simple as possible.  Watch a couple of movies that were not books once, and “borrow” their plot.  Shape it however you want and you got a bestseller idea there.  People don’t want to read about difficult stuff.  They want to read about stuff that is interesting and happening right now.  And they want action.  They want romance, erotica style.  Americana stuff.  So make sure that your book has 1% thinking, 49% romance, and 50& Hollywood action.  As for the characters, make your protagonist the center of attention.  As for the supporting characters: who cares about them?  Actually, make everyone more interesting than your protagonist.  That way, readers won’t get sick and tired of always having to read about the protagonist.  And your protagonist must always fall in love, even if it doesn’t make sense in the novel.  Trust me on this one; this is where the Benjamins will come rolling in.  Your ending should be happy as possible.  Your reader just spent a day reading your whole novel; reward them with a happy ending.

Step 3.  Genre: Pick any genre you want, just follow the 2 steps above.  I recommend a combination of romance, erotica, a dash of sci fi, and some good old fiction.  Throw in the magical letters “YA” if you’re going up against a literary agent.  

I know you will face a lot of “haters” when you do publish this book.  Just remember this: when your book goes numero uno on those shiny charts, get a copy of your book and shove it in their faces.  And if they are still looking down on you for writing “generic garbage” throw some single hundred dollar bills on the floor and tell them you have so much money you don’t even know what to do with it.  Or get your best friend called “Sue” and tell the judge your suffering from psychological problems.  Money won’t be a problem when you have a bestseller on your side.

Still not convinced?  Just look at other bestsellers.  They have used the same similar concepts.  The only difference between them and you is that they knew the publishing business (which is a whole different department).  Besides that, they are normal breathing good people just like the rest of us.    

Now that you have the right tools to succeed, go out there and make a bestseller.  Actually go out there and make 3 bestsellers, self publish them, and edit them later as you make another set of 3 bestsellers.  Remember, this is all about you and only you.  So stop reading and get out there and make the big bucks already.   

                                                                                                                                   (How not to write)