The Long Walk

I’m taking a quick break from the Memory Poems of my characters to post one of my own this week.  This was written during Poets at Play.

The Long Walk

She remembered hopping off the bus
some sixteen years ago
carrying her baby blue Jansport backpack
filled to the rim with binders and books,
something she bore on her shoulders
5 days a week, even in the rain.

It was raining then, water drops
came crashing down.  The wind
pushed her left and right.
It was as if Mother Storm
slapped her in the face with spit.

She opened her portable umbrella,
The useless flimsy thing
was no match for the wind,
being pulled inside out
this way and that way,
a broken fragile puppet of the wind.

She struggled to maintain control,
so it wouldn’t fly away,
while crossing the street
looking like a helpless mess,
as onlookers watched
from the safety of their cars.

Raindrops streamed down her face.
Rain pelted her clothes
from slanted angles.
Little drops of water
on her jeans 
were like dark blue dots
that grew into patches
that eventually covered the leg.

Her once dried socks
were wet and squishy.
Her once bright mood
became cloudy like the storm.
She made it home, soaking wet.

It was one of the longest

10 minute walks she’s ever taken
alone
with her friend, El Nino
during high school
in the early millennium.

Flash forward – 2016/2017,
the storm is coming,
school is closed.
Children deprived
of experiencing
these memories.

a-girlwalkinginrain
image from angelgran’s photobucket

The Encounter

Last month, I attended Poets at Play for the first time at the Markham House in History Park, San Jose.  It was nice to meet a small group of poets and spend a nice afternoon writing and discussing poetry.  The theme for the month was “memory.”  I was able to write two poems that afternoon and I will share one with you today, the one I didn’t read out loud.  A poet suggested writing memory from someone else’s perspective, so I decided to write this.  I hope you enjoy it.

The Encounter

Coming out of the trashcan,
I felt my fur on end…
a pair of eyes watching me.
She was there, the human,
looking at me, watching…
my every move.

I jumped back in,
I jumped back out.
I poked my head
around.
She was still there
watching me.

I scurried down the trashcan.
I scurried up a tree,
found a little nook
that was comforting to me.

I lost sight of her.
She lost sight of me,
or so I thought,
until I felt her eyes
once again, watching me.

I pretended not to see.
She pretended to let me be,
walking away,
so I could enjoy my day.

Maybe a squirrel and a girl
could be friends.

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Frienemy

I haven’t been writing much these days, so in order to inspire myself to pick up a pen and write, I have decided to spend some time with The Poet’s Companion.  If you haven’t heard of this book, I highly recommend that you check it out.  It was a book that I bought for a college poetry class and it teaches you different writing techniques, and at the end of each chapter, it provides you with a list of writing exercises.  Every time you revisit the book, you are bound to write something new, as your thoughts, experiences and perspectives will change over time 🙂

I read the first chapter yesterday and did the first exercise, which was to list out memorable events from your life (big or small) and write a poem about it.  I ended up with this poem.

Frienemy

They run in a frenzy
from the cement to the grass,
from the grass to the cement.

A blur of black and white rushes
past you as fur brushes
against your leg.

Paw scrapes against cement.
You see a tuft of cotton
in his canine mouth.
Your heart skips
a beat.

Snow white fur,
no signs of blood,
but could he?
Would he…
take a life?

The chase continues –
Happy inches away,
just inches away,
from Hopper.

Exhausted,
Hopper collapses
in the wet grass.

Happy pounces…
his two front paws,
a mix of brown and black
over Hopper’s white body.

Content at his victory,
he simply lies there,
listening to the bird’s chirp.

The wind rustles their hair.
What a beautiful day…
with a frienemy.

Bridal Memories

You open your eyes
and awake to a sunlit room
with birds chirping in the sky
and your sweetie sleeping
next to you.

Lying on clean sheets
with double happiness
signs above you.

Listening to his breathing
puts you at ease.
Last night’s memories
feels like a dream.

Your light blue veil
billows in the wind,
your dress train cascades
on the lush green grass
as you walk down the aisle,
arm and arm with Dad.

Sparkling smile,
sparkling dress.
He takes your hand,
you look into his eyes.
You exchange vows
over the beautiful reservoir
under the bright blue sky.

Kissing under the gazebo,
hand in hand, man and wife
walk down the aisle,
greeted by family and friends.

Laughter, chatter,
photos galore…
bits and pieces
come back to you…

The promises he made
while he held your hand.
The promises you made
while looking into his eyes.
The toast your best friend gave
that made you want to cry.

The first dance
in your wedding dress.
The first bite of cake
you tasted together.
The little girl
that caught your bouquet.
All the little things
that he said,
that she said,
that they said
were cool.

Your hair feeling
like a bird’s nest.
You can barely walk,
but everyone says
you’re beautiful.
You have 51 bobby pins
in your hair,
and you just don’t care,
dancing to the music.

It’s all so surreal,
but it’ll definitely be captured
on the highlight reel,
as you look back on yesterday
and smile,
lying next to your sweetie,
today, tomorrow, and for the rest
of your life.

bridal-memories
photo by Michael Keel

Motherhood

I rediscovered this endearing poem that I wrote for my colleague back in 2009.  I hope you enjoy it.

Motherhood

I sat there for a while
thinking of your crooked
little smile,
dreaming of the day
you’d be in my arms,
sleeping throughout the night,
as the crickets sing
and the stars shine bright.

I’d hear  you breathe,
a comforting sound
as your little heart
lightly pounds.
Skin – silky smooth,
hair – wavy soft,
I’d whisper
in your ear,
“I love you.”

pregnant
– image from Google

THE BAKER’S DAUGHTER

A fun duet poem that I wrote with Hastywords =)

HASTYWORDS

Sorry this took me so long Jenny. Thank you for writing with me!

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Written by Jenny Katherine Luu and Hastywords

Her slippers weren’t made of glass
They were faded with stringy holes
Her dresses were made and simply sewn
From the remnants of old flour sacks
With much love and motherly care
Two things her life never did lack

Poor, loved and protected,
She was the sweetest of gullible
And with the voice of an angel
She sang throughout the town
Skipping from shop to shop,
Dancing in her patch-work gown.
Her life wasn’t full of glittery flair

But her eyes sparkled more than most
And though her hair wasn’t shiny gold
All the other girls envied her tresses
Her mother’s brush made doubly sure
It never tangled up into messes

‘Tis the story of a normal girl
Who could dance like no other.
Floating and fluttering; to and fro

View original post 60 more words

The Bad Little Angel

In honor of Halloween, here’s a fun poem.

The Bad Little Angel

Dear Dracula,” wrote the little girl,
More than anything in the world,
I wish to meet you.
You don’t believe me, but it’s true.
The darkness within me
longs for your embrace.
I want to surrender to you,
body and soul.
I want to lose my mind
and lose control.
My heart aches for your touch.
I want to feel the power,
the adrenaline, and the rush.

I want to kiss
your luscious red lips.
I long to touch
your smooth, cold skin.
My body tingles
at your touch,
and I love
that very much.

I am hypnotized and mesmerized
by your fiery, red eyes.
I want to feel
your sharp, canine teeth
pierce through my skin.
I want to feel
the pain and power
from within.
I am thirsty for you unholy blood
being poured into my mouth.
I long to be
in complete ecstasy and oblivion…

The girl looked up, startled,
and said, “Oh, my God.”
For there he was.
“What are you writing?” asked God.
“Nothing,” muttered the girl.
“You better not write anything indecent,
or else you’ll lose your wings,” He warned.
The little angel looked around,
crumpled up the paper
and threw it away.
She started another letter
and wrote, “Dear Lucifer.”