I have written a picture of me
In ballpoint black and blue
I have typed it in Calibri
And shown the world and you
These are things I will not say
Things I know are true
That I will deny every day

Thou shall not lie, I think
But I am not strong enough to do
I will make confessions in ink
On pages white and new
Reflections clearer than glass
Forgiveness, God, I ask of you
Please hear my silent mass

The shame isn’t mine alone
Or the nakedness I might bare
A better, could silence hone
My weakness makes me share
Though strength lets me hide
I beg, appease the guilt I fear
In no one else can I confide

Excuses are not cared for
But I’m broken as you know
Healed by your blood and more
Not whole, I still must grow
I’m a ways from perfect ten
A writer, waiting for the Word to show
In Jesus’ name, Amen

Role Reversal

I don’t want to hear your secret thoughts,
And I do.

Every piece of you,
Will cost a piece of me.

I have enough to spare,
But then no more.

Just seeing you,
Is taking more than that.

You must understand,
We never can go back.

It should be my decision,
I have more to lose.

You can’t see it,
But I’ve given you the choice.

You don’t know it,
Or you never would have asked.

It’s better,
If I know you didn’t know.

I can still love you,
If I can feel it this way.

Silly, I will always love you,
Even if you knew.

You have always loved me,
When I was you.

Tops

spin
spinning
spun
the top keeps its rotation
not of its own volition
poor top,
somebody set it in motion
and has yet to say stop
gravity will intervene
the top will careen
up or down
into the nearest object
scraping it brightly painted sides.
that somebody,
who began its circulation,
will put it away,
a chipped and damaged toy
better left on the shelf--
collected
than on the ground rejected
spin
spinning
spun

The Conclusion

They were talking, not understanding

Going through motions long rehearsed

The words had lost their meaning

But not their function

Love is a thousand actions

But a thousand actions are not love

She said she was just tired

And he said they had seen better days

But all the days led to this one

And this one came a hundred times

Duty-bound--

The last three decades had been slow

Slow enough for her to see

Slow enough for him to know

He was not the man she chose

And she was not the woman—

Who chose him

Details, easy to ignore

Between driving children to school

And picking them up after sports

Gone now and only the sound,

The necessity of conversation left

Her kisses cold with irrelevance

His-- hot with remembrance

Together lukewarm--

From bliss born of ignorance

I Am Mixed

Multicultural, biracial, mixed, mestiza
Ethnicity, ethnocentric, anomaly
Race, culture, identity
Your blood mixed with mine
The historiography of my parents' sexuality
The power play between two shades of brown
Descriptions, constructions, definitions—

I am not a conglomeration of labels
Races put on like cloaks
Stripped down into stereotypes
Condensed for people who are not me.
Not just two halves of what you can’t see
You want to know me?
Then ask.

I am the only one with eyes that see this view
You don’t know what my hands can do
Your heart has never loved who I loved
Your brain never thought the thoughts I think
Your feet don’t plod the path I trod.

I am multidimensional, multi-intentional, multi-generational
So much more than multiracial
Yes, my blood is multinational
It may be rich but it’s still red
So much more than a statistic
Of colored people who shared a bed.

Eyes on the Sparrow-Savanna Nolan

Another new poem by Guest Poet Savanna Nolan

Cary Grant once said something like
“I faked it until it was true.”
And so, feeling like a small, french-fry-driven sparrow
I tried to enter the room with the swagger of a dragon, an impenetrable hide.
One small stumble—a spill, a botched job, wrong name—
Is all it takes to spoil the masquerade
And in the blaze of a blush the dragon is gone
And only the small sparrow remains,
Drenched by rain and mistakes,
Frantically searching for french fries.

Tracheotomy-Savanna Nolan

New poem by Guest Poet Savanna Nolan

Sir, I am more than just my chart.
I am a person, not a med student’s treat,
and though I don’t speak and my flesh is char-
ed, I am more than a puzzle of meat
that you talk to in search of a trace
of life. You don’t talk about yourself, but I cheat
and know enough of life to see through your chat.
I see the ring you wear—your favorite charm—
from the sweetheart asleep in a bed you long to race
home to. Finish with me and she’s just a tram
ride away—the cure to your heart’s ache.

To John, Over the Years

Hello,

Frances remembers when you left
the tears dropped in her oatmeal.

Frances wanted to follow the tracks you made
she was angry when i wouldn't let her.

Frances slept with your shirt tonight
she thought that she could smell you.

You should call Frances
she needs to hear your voice.

Frances took down all your pictures
she put them in a box.

Frances didn't want to go to school today
she hoped that you would take her.

Frances tried to call you
the number didn't work.

Yesterday, Frances was in a play
I saw her check the crowd for you.

Frances got her ears pierced
she didn't mention you.

it was Frances' birthday
she kept checking the mail.

Frances kissed a boy today
i don't think she wanted you to know.

Frances fell in love
she wanted to ask you a question.

the boy Frances was with left
she said he was just like you.

Frances graduated today
i thought you'd like this picture.

Frances moved into her dorm
you were nowhere on her mind.

Frances has been thinking a lot
she wondered where you were.

Frances bought a car
she asked some guy to help her.

Frances got her masters
she went somewhere for a job.

Frances moved back in
she wanted to be close.

Frances saw me writing this
she said that i should stop.

Frances met a boy
she said he's not like you.

Frances got a ring tonight
she's planning her new life.

Frances didn't want to go down the aisle
she thought that you would call.

Frances' husband bought a house
they want to start a family.

Frances said you're not invited...

i guess that's all,
um, you can write if you want.

Series Review: Harry Potter and the Author Who Didn’t Know When to Stop

You're going to hate me now...

click on images for sources

For more than 10 years the world has been suffering from Harry Potter mania. In 1997, J.K. Rowling released the first Potter book. Today, with books, movies, video games and other merchandise, the Harry Potter brand is now worth $15 million (exchange4media). Rowling’s seven books have been translated into 64 languages and sold over 375 million copies (Glovin). She is now the highest earning novelist in history, a history that has included the likes of Charles Dickens, Oscar Wilde and C.S. Lewis and for that I have to respect her. But 4,126 long pages after I opened the first installment of Harry Potter to when I closed the last book, I still have no idea why the series has became a worldwide phenomena. It’s just not that good.

True, the books are an easy read with a fairly entertaining plotline but they’re not much more than that. Readers around the world have been arguing about whether or not the books contain any social implications, but after reading them all you can find is the classic good versus evil conflict (Bristow). Compared with books like The Chronicles of Narnia in which messages about religion and humanity were cleverly tucked inside enthralling children’s stories about a secret world, Harry Potter seems flat.

The characters themselves are one dimensional, Hermione is the brains, Ron is the comic relief, and Harry is the Average Joe who succeeds with a lot of help from his friends and more than a little bit of luck. Rowling claimed that the latter half of the series was more mature, but all that happened was a few characters were killed off in some deus ex machina plot twists and Harry became an angst ridden adolescent over his obviously doomed to fail relationship with the older, stereotypically named, Cho Chang.

Yet, even with all of these shortcomings the entire plotline of all seven books isn’t bad at all. It’s entertaining and simplistic, you can enjoy it without having to put very much thought into it, it’s literary fast food. The problem with fast food is that too much makes you sick and Rowling doesn’t seem to understand this. Several hundred of her 4,126 pages are not only pointless but also boring. She could have told the same story much more effectively in half that number pages.

Rowling not only violates the less-is-more guideline of writing by also the show-don’t-tell rule. After the release of the final Potter book, Rowling made an announcement that came as a surprise to many fans- Harry’s mentor and one of the main characters, Dumbledore was gay and had a love affair (Siegel). Once a book is published a writer shouldn’t be able to announce parts that she neglected to actually write in the books. A series like Harry Potter needs to be a complete world on its own, just as The Chronicles of Narnia and The Lord of Rings are. If anyone can read more than four thousand pages of a seven book series and not know that one of the main characters is gay and lived a full, but secret, life then the writer of those pages has not done her job.

Oh, and just in case this essay isn’t clear, it was supposed to be about how Harry Potter is actually a great literary work, I just neglected to mention that.


Works Cited

1. Exchange4media.com. International: Harry Potter, the $15 Billion Man. 5-26-08.
http://www.exchange4media.com/kids/KidsFullStory.asp?news_id=26820&tag=21718. 7-16-07

2. Glovin, David. Rowling Warns of Potter Plagiarism in Trial Testimony (Update4). 5-26-08. http://www.bloomberg.com/apps/news?pid=20601102&sid=aR2uXKyRcjAQ. 4-14-08.

3. Bristow, Jennie. Harry Potter and the Meaning of Life. 5-26-08. http://www.spiked-online.com/Articles/00000006DE0C.htm. 6-19-03

4. Siegel, Hanna. Rowling Lets Dumbledore Out of the Closet. 5-26-08. http://abcnews.go.com/Entertainment/story?id=3755544. 10-20-07

A Community in Harmony

“Don’t interrupt Mommy while she’s on the phone…Leave the kitchen please…Excuse me, my kids just left the house,” Jackie Shannon, adjunct professor at the California State University, Dominguez Hills, said as she put down the telephone to round up her two sons, ages 3 and 5.

Besides teaching music at the university and keeping an eye on her boys, Shannon still finds time to practice her skill on the French horn for up to three hours everyday and play in several community orchestras including the Carson-Dominguez Hill Symphony Orchestra.

photo from the City of Carson

Since 1972, musicians of all ages and from all walks of life have been joining together to form the Carson-Dominguez Hills Symphony Orchestra.

Even though Carson is most famous for having its politicians arrested and its council meetings broadcasted on YouTube, the semiprofessional community orchestra has also made a name for itself by winning the National Recreation and Park Association Arts and Humanities Award.

The orchestra has come a long way in its 35 years.

Les Woodson, a tuba player who has been with the orchestra from day one, said when they played their first concert, in October of 1972, they weren’t very good at all.

“There was a guy who wanted to start an orchestra…He had a big ego,” Woodson said of the orchestra’s first director, whose name he couldn’t even remember.

It wasn’t until 1975, when Frances Steiner, professional cellist, conductor, and adjunct professor at the California State University, Dominguez Hills took over as director that the orchestra started to improve, Woodson said. “(The orchestra) would not have survived,” he said.

It was under Steiner’s direction that the initially city-funded orchestra combined with the California State University, Dominguez Hills to become the Carson-Dominguez Hills Symphony Orchestra. The 50 to 60 members of the orchestra get paid a stipend ranging from $150-$200 per show.

Through the partnership, the orchestra gives university music students the opportunity to perform with seasoned professional and semiprofessional musicians, Hector Salazar, trombone player and assistant conductor for the orchestra said.

Salazar has been in the Carson-Dominguez Hills Symphony Orchestra for 20 years. He has been playing the trombone since middle school and he now teaches music and conducts professionally.

“Community regional orchestra is really important…They offer concerts to people who can’t afford to go to the philharmonic,” Salazar said.

Every year the orchestra puts on at least five concerts for the Carson-Dominguez Hills community, which include two evening concerts and three children’s concerts. They rehearse only five times before each show. Both students and community members are glad to have an outlet for their musical talent.

Shannon, a former professional musician, who now teaches music at the California State University, Dominguez Hills, and gives private lessons, said performing with her students helps her connect with them and reach out to the community through her music.

Shannon has been playing the French horn ever since elementary school, when she said she literally heard the instrument calling to her.

She said she remembers going to the school gym to hear a sampling of all of the instruments available at the school. It was the day when she was supposed to pick what instrument she was going to play for the school band. Before she even saw the instruments, she had already chosen.

“I heard this beautiful sound and I said I want to play that instrument,” Shannon said.

Shannon, whose husband plays trombone for the Beach City Sling Band, is already preparing her children to follow in their parents musical footsteps. Since her sons were 6-months-old, they have been taking piano and Orff music lessons. In Orff lessons, young children are introduced to music, especially percussion instruments.

Even though Shannon said Orff is basically a parent tapping rhythms on their baby’s back, she said she it gave her kids a goods sense of rhythm.

Meanwhile, Steiner, whose mother was a professional violinist and father a professional cellist, said it was never important to either marry a musician or push her daughter into music.

Since she was 15-years-old Steiner has been performing professionally; she started taking lesson at age 5. By age 21, she was a fulltime professional cellist. She has performed with orchestras on both the East and West coasts including at the Kennedy Center and the Los Angeles Art Museum. However, she decided that the life of a professional musician wasn’t for her and instead went on to study at the University of Southern California, Harvard University, Temple University, and several music schools in France, New York and Vermont.

“It was a competitive lifestyle…somewhat political,” she said of her life as a professional musician.

“I opted very early to teach and play,” said Steiner who, besides teaching at the university, also directs the Chamber Orchestra of South Bay and the Southwest Youth Music Festival Orchestra along with the Carson-Dominguez orchestra. She still finds time to practice the cello.

For many, being part of the Carson-Dominguez Hills Symphony Orchestra meant finding a place where they could keep their musical skills in tune.

“I always looked for opportunities to perform. I was determined when I got out of college to not forget my music like so many other people I knew,” Tuba player Les Woodson said.

Woodson, who is a financial advisor, started playing the tuba in high school.

His father was also a musician who played the violin and the piano and finished fourth in an international competition for barbershop quartets. His mother played the piano and his siblings sang in a choir. When Woodson was a child, his parents made him take piano lessons but he never enjoyed playing music until he found the tuba.

After high school, during the first years of the Vietnam War, he joined the National Guard Band. Woodson thanks the tuba for keeping him out of Vietnam.

“Tuba saved my life,” he said repeatedly. Woodson, who doesn’t live in Carson, drives 85 miles from his home in Crestline just to perform with the orchestra.

Woodson isn’t the only musician who goes out of his way to be a part of the orchestra. Joe Jackson, a tuba player for the Carson-Dominguez Hills Symphony Orchestra as well as a professional musician, music teacher, and steam train engineer for Disneyland also makes an effort to play with the group, which he’s been with since 1996.

“It’s really hard to juggle and sometimes I don’t juggle as well as I should. It really comes down to picking and choosing,” Jackson said.

Even with his multiple jobs and his wedding coming up in February, Jackson
makes time to practice from one to four hours a day.

He’s been playing tuba since middle school.

“I always liked things that were big. I saw the tuba and I was really impressed by its size,”

Jackson said. He went on to major in tuba performance at the University of Southern California.

Now, however, he said it’s the tuba’s sound rather than its size which keeps him interested. He often performs tuba solos for the Carson-Dominguez orchestra and freelances for other orchestras.

“I really enjoy solos, that’s really when I’m the happiest,” Jackson said.

Even if they have little else in common, for Jackson and the other members of the orchestra, it’s the love of music and the happiness they get out of it that bonds them together.

“I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t love it,” Shannon said.

Whatever they are in the rest of their lives-students, teachers, theme park steam train conductors, financial advisors, computer technicians, mother, fathers, sons and daughters, when they come together as the Carson-Dominguez Hills Symphony Orchestra, they’re all musicians.

“Orchestra is like a sense of family,” Salazar said.

Gilbert Smith

click on photo to see its source

For the last 45 years, Gilbert Smith’s life has been intertwined with the city of Carson as it transformed from a barren industrial area into one of the most diverse cities in California.


In 1968, Smith was the city’s first councilman, then its third mayor from 1970-71 and again from 1974-75. He was later councilman until 1980 and city manager in 1998. Smith is also one of the founders of California State University, Dominguez Hills, from which he received an honorary doctorate last May.

“If you compare the Carson of 1968 with the Carson of today, it’s like night and day,” said Smith who, as a child, used to pay fifty cents for horse rides in the undeveloped Carson land.

Back in 1963, he and his first wife, Glenda, were living in a 40-year-old, house in Los Angeles. They wanted a bigger house to raise their three sons.

It was a hard search.

Smith, an African American, said that at almost every housing sales office, the salespeople would say they were closed or sold out. Sometimes they would say they couldn’t sell them a house.

“‘There is a problem with the color of your skin,’ literally those were the words,” Smith said, “It was the general climate at that time in the state of California.”

Once, a salesman told him that he didn’t believe in discrimination but it was company policy, Smith said. With “tears running down his face” the salesman tried to offer him a house that was in a location he wasn’t interested in.

The Smiths were finally able to buy a home in the area that would be Carson. The four-bedroom, two-bathroom, house cost $25,000, it wasn’t even built yet.

The first time they drove up to their new home, it was surrounded by a group of mixed-race picketers calling for a boycott of the racist housing companies.

The family soon realized that the area needed a lot of work. There were 23 dumping sites, more than 100 wrecking yards, no sidewalks, no shopping center, five oil refineries, and three chemical companies around the developing residential area, Smith said.

The community had been pushing for incorporation since the 1950s, the goal was accomplished in 1968, under Smith.

As president of his homeowners association, Smith was elected the first chairman of the citizen’s organization for the incorporation of Dominguez-Carson, later named Carson.

“I didn’t know they were going to elect me, I guess I had the biggest mouth,” Smith said.

The city began with only 63,000 residents, today it has almost 100,000. Smith said they were proud to be a diverse community from the very beginning.

In the first two years after incorporation, they planted more than 5,000 trees in the once barren land. Smith’s first $25,000 home recently sold for almost $600,000.

“It’s truly a blessed city,” Smith said.

Now, 40 years later, Smith is still involved with Carson’s politics,

“It should have been part of this city 40 years ago,” he said about the proposed annexation of the Rancho Dominguez area. It was included in the proposed 1968 boundaries, but political problems prevented it from being annexed. Smith said he thinks, if city can afford it, the proposal should be accepted.

Recently, the group supporting the recall of Mayor Dear asked Smith, who ran against Dear in 2005 to run for mayor again. Smith said, if the recall goes through, he will run again.

“This is my city, I live here,” Smith said.

Babe’s and Ricky’s Inn

from Babe's and Ricky's Inn website

It’s almost 10 O’clock, on a Monday night, and the street outside is quiet. But inside the door, which is just a little hole in the wall, life is teeming.

Like some kind of forgotten anthill or left over from the golden age of the Big Easy the legendary blues club, Babe’s and Ricky’s Inn, on Leimert Boulevard, still flourishes underground.

from Babe's and Ricky's Inn website

Like a queen with a bright purple beret of a crown, founder Laura Gross, 88, sits just inside the door adjusting the cover charge from $8 to $10 as she runs out of change. For 44 years, and two locations and the threat of bankruptcy, Gross has reigned over Babe’s and Ricky’s with an iron rule.

The mirrors along the back wall make the room seem bigger and fuller than it really is. Not that it isn’t full, people are lined up against the bar and almost every seat is taken. The crowd is a mix of college students looking for an old-school experience and middle aged patrons for whom this is probably a regular hangout.

The big red pleather booths are occupied by people just starting to feel the effects of their alcoholic beverages.

On stage, several bands play in succession. They’re good, but not what you’d expect for a blues club where legends like B.B King used to perform. Amateurs and greats alike still play here.

The musicians tonight are mostly young white males, but they’ve got soul. Some are eccentric, following in the modern “emo” style of young bands they are dressed in black, or skinny jeans, with hair just covering their eyes having perfectly mastered the look of socially competent “geek“, meanwhile one older artist expresses himself in a bright red sequined scarf.

There is a list by the door where musically talented club-goers can sign up to play the instrument of their choice.

A college student in a black and white striped shirt steps onto the stage for a turn on the drums. He is announced as a recently freed jailbird, the announcer enjoys the joke more than the crowd.

The drummer plays with the attitude of an entertainer, pulling faces, bopping to the music. It’s clear he’s played for crowds before and enjoys it. Every time he hits the drum the light reflected in it jumps to the rhythm of the music.

The other college students are cheering for him, whistling. Some are his friends, some are feeling their drinks. He’s good though, the job offers he gets when he steps down are proof of that.

Around 11p.m. dinner is served. From the back of the club, no announcement can be heard but word spreads and a lazy S-shaped line is formed from the front to the back.

You can serve yourself from dishes of collard greens, black-eyed peas, and potato salad, but two strict looking women, one of them Laura Gross, serve only one slice of hot link sausage, one piece of fried chicken, and one fried corn biscuit per person. It’s Jam Night so the meal comes with your cover charge. The regular menu has only three options, chicken wings, hot links, and fried fish.

You can order drinks all night, you may not get exactly what you ordered, but you’ll drink it anyway. The food is taken back to tables decorated with plastic white doilies and red, white and blue flowers.

The flowers match the dark red walls, covered with old photos and posters, and the blue Christmas lights, and the partly deflated red, white and blue, balloons that look like they’ve been left behind from some 4^th of July celebration a decade ago. Somehow, it just escapes being tacky.

From the corner of the middle wall, an old Central Avenue street sign juts out, reminding customers of the club’s first location. You know this place has history, even if you don’t know it.

As people finish eating they slowly trickle out. They come as much for the food as the atmosphere and music. Gross has something to say to everyone. She tells some college girls not to get fat and she tells the jailbird drummer to put on some weight.

It’s just about midnight and Babe’s and Ricky’s Inn is dying down, strange for a Los Angeles night club, but maybe not so strange for a bustling blues club left over from the 60s.

WRESTLING AND SHAKESPEARE AN INTERVIEW WITH SEAN LEWIS -one of the very first interviews I ever did (summer 2005)

A Lucentio of sorts, Sean Lewis may or may not have a romantic love interest but he is definitely in love with theater. You can hear the passion in his voice as he describes his journey from wrestling to becoming a successful actor, playwright, and producer of his own one man show.

Lewis, at age 26, has been acting for four or five years, he’s not sure. Originally from Pine Bush, New York he went to college at the State University of New York in Binghamton, New York. He had a wrestling scholarship until an injury ended his athletic career. In an attempt to get back in shape for wrestling, Lewis attended a movement class taught by an acting teacher. His teacher encouraged him to try out for Romeo and Juliet, where he scored the part of Lord Capulet. Before the part he had had no history in theater. Lewis says he “felt really lucky” and ever since then, theater has been the love of his life.

Initially Lewis says “Most of my family was like, ‘What the hell is wrong with you?’” and ‘Stop messing around and get a job!’” but eventually they came around. To Lewis, it never really mattered what others thought: “I’ve always been the guy who did what I wanted and the rest of the family was left scratching their head.” Well, Lewis’ life proves that he knows what he’s doing.

Recently Lewis has begun sending out his play Forrestry, to theaters who might be interested in producing it. The play is the story of Edwin Forrestry, who is said to be America’s first celebrity. It is the story of Forrestry’s life as an actor in the 1800’s. One of the interesting events of the play is a riot brought on by a competition between Forrestry and competing English actor Maccready that became so crazy that the National Guard was called in to put it down. Lewis found the inspiration for this play while sitting in a fellow playwright’s house and flipping through a text book. The text book featured a picture of Forrestry whom Lewis thought “looked like a wolf man”, he became so fascinated by this actor and his acting style and life that it prompted him to write a play.

Another high point of Lewis’ life is his one man show based on character Sean Boogie, a name that originated from Lewis’ own nickname “Boogie”. The show is about a young white male who enjoys rap music and hip-hop and his encounters with a well- educated black professor. The play, which contains 15-20 characters all played by Lewis, deals with society’s portrayal of what it means to be “black”, and jokes about the idea of putting labels on race. For a long time before he actually wrote the play, Lewis had been toying with the idea of a one man show until one day a theater called him up and asked him to perform it. Even though Lewis had nothing prepared he said yes. The actual idea for the show came from a series of connections Lewis found while going threw his own slam poetry; before that he had no “blueprint” of what he would do. He will be doing a show this coming March from the 2nd-4th at the riverside theater, where he is also in the productions of Taming of the Shrew as “Lucentio, the young lover” and Moliere’s The Imaginary Invalid playing from June 17th-July 10th. While looking in his backpack for the dates, Lewis comments that he is always scatterbrained and just found out about this night’s rehearsal this morning as he pulls random articles and papers out of his bag.

Throughout the whole interview his love for theater broadcasted loud and clear and I’m sure that Sean Lewis is destined to make his mark on the world of stage. During the end of the interview however, Lewis gave me his outlook on the ups and downs of acting. He says it’s like “making an agreement with the audience” “I’m asking them to believe.” He also says that it’s “such a joy for me.” He only wishes that more young people today would be interested in theater. I also asked him about his pre-show routine and he answered that it involved some stretching, vocal exercises, and running around, but that he doesn’t think about the show itself “some actors need to think about it, I need to not.” He says he’s been in a lot of good productions as well as some bad ones, and when you’re in a bad one it’s like “I just don’t want to be on the stage right now…(but) I might as well try and entertain someone.” Lewis also mentions that the rejection of not getting a part can be hard “and not getting it (the part), it’s like...you’re killing me, you’re killing me slowly,” and that there is a lot of competition involved “the acting profession can be like high school...Catty.” Another thing that he made clear is that the moving and traveling with the cast can be rough also, “If you have a really cool cast and you’re in a really cool city it can be great…But when you’re surrounded by bad people it’s like, enough of this I want to go home.”

untitled 2 (from several years ago)

Funny all the people we meet
On a crowded street
They all have places to go
They don’t even know
They just bumped into an old pal
Slipped into their old gal
Knocked down the teacher that taught them 1, 2, 3.
Tripped over the hero
That they used to want to be.

Funny we don’t see the faces or use those simple graces
Like hi, hello, and please, thank you
You don’t even remember what or when or who
All those memories of the past
‘Cause you’re moving just too fast
Maybe if you slowed down
And took a look around
You’d notice all the old friends that you forgot to see
And all the old dreams that you forgot to be.

untitled 1

We are all ugly at birth
Crumpled faces, dirty
Mothers make us beautiful
Fathers reinforce it
Little nobodies
Future some bodies
Some will grow to greatness
Some will fall obscure
We will die beautiful
We will die ugly
They will cry
They will laugh
Maybe…
They won’t know
Thrust and heat of life
Cold and static death
Climax, rest, relax, repeat
Sound familiar?

Washed Away (early teens)

A hunk of clay raw and uneven
I take it with my hands.
It’s soft and pliable.
Into it I pour my dreams, hopes
My time, my soul, my life.
It begins to form a face
Strong and wise
With piercing eyes.
A body firm and flowing
It’s the picture of perfection.
My life’s work
It’s everything I aspired for
Desired for.

I put it in the sun to dry
To harden forever the likeness of my mind.
Alas! The weather is unpredictable.
A storm refuses not to blow
The wind howls, the rain blasts
My perfect statue, my Mona Lisa, my David.
Gone! All washed away
A trickle in the mud of alabaster clay.

I gather what’s left, I cry
For what was there, now gone.

A hunk of clay raw and uneven
I take it with my hands.
It’s soft and pliable.
In to it I pour my dreams, my hopes.......

The End (early teens)

The sun has set it’s true
The earth awaits the morning dew.
The birds are gone
They wait for morn
It’s time to bow our heads and sleep.
Though some may weep
For what had begun
Is done.
As for me, I get ready
To face another day
In this cycle we call life.

Sand Castles (early teens)

Why do we build sand castles in the sand,
Right on the waters’ band?
We know they’ll fall
Before they’er ever built up tall.
But always we try
Then foolishly cry
When fate is carried out
And the sand’s all washed about.
Just the same I ask
Why do we set about the task
Of hoping for things that never will be?
But as I look around I see
That we always must
Just trust.
In things we know
never will come true.
I guess it helps us go
And gives our hearts something to do.

On and On (early teens)

Through bad weather
Rain, hail , or snow
I’ll tread on and on and on.....

Through tragedy
Death and sorrow
I’ll trod on and on and on.....

With one
Or none
I’ll walk on and on and on.....

Through meadows
Paved streets and paths
I’ll run on and on and on.....

Whatever life throws
I’ll catch or drop
And travel on and on and on....

And I’ll not stop
Till I reach
The plateau of my Existence.

A Timeline of Father's Day (pre-preteen years)

1988 was really a great date
For then it became true
That Father’s Day meant you.
In 1993 there was now a he and she
And Farthers’Day for you
Was multiplied by two.
And if it had been four
I could have written more,
But that is irrelevant
In this month past May
For what I meant to say
Was happy Father’s Day.

Fantasy Plays (pre-preteen years)

Cynthia Rivvairo had just auditioned for the play Alone in the Night, and she got the lead role. She was going to be a lady, who’s horse runs away with her and takes her to an unknown forest. She was very excited because this was to be her first play since the birth of her daughter Emerald.
The next few weeks were exciting because baby Emerald was going to be in the play Sleeping Beauty, she was going to be Sleeping Beauty when she was a baby. Her play was the day before her mother’s.
Then next day Emerald spent the day with her grandparents while her parents took care of some business. Antonio Cynthia’s husband and agent insisted that TaTa Emerald’s kitten go with her to her grandparents house because when the cat was left alone it kept playing with the drapes and ripping them. At the end of the day when Cynthia picked up her child, Emerald and TaTa were both sound asleep from the fun they had had at Grandma’s. Cynthia took TaTa home and got Emerald ready for her play. Since she was already sleeping she didn’t have to pretend, so every one thought she was a good actor when she wasn’t even acting.
All the next day every one talked about Cynthia’s play. At the time of the play Cynthia’s whole family escorted her to her dressing room. When they left she started to dress, when she was done she drank the water that was left for her on the table. Cynthia was about to leave the room, but she started to feel dizzy so she went to sit in the chair but she never made it, instead she passed out and fell to the ground.
In a little while her attendant came to to tell her it was time to go on stage. She found Cynthia on the floor and thought she was dead and began to scream. The director came to see what was going on he called the hospital and the play was postponed.
The next day the play was tried again, Cynthia’s family was a little scared but the play went smoothly. Cynthia had learned to be the part and not herself so even though she was scared it did not affect her acting.
The day after the play Antonio hired a detective and a lawyer. The detective thought Cynthia’s attendant was to blame, that afternoon he was found dead along with the lawyer. Because of that, the attendant was put under surveillance until the solving of the crimes. Antonio then hired an undercover detective who took two weeks to find that the attendant was not to blame because the understudy was the real criminal. She was second best actor after Cynthia and would have been the best if she had gotten the lead role in that play. The detective also found out that she had become second best through the mysterious death of Cynthia’s older sister Emma Fairfax which she had caused. The convict was sentenced life in prison with no chance of parole.

The Cowgirl (preteen years)

On yonder mountain in the West
The cowboy used to rule the land,
But now the cowgirl holds half
The West in her hand

The West is like the cowgirls kingdom,
The livestock are her servants and people,
The dogs are like her soldiers,
The horses her carriage,
The barn is her castle
And
Instead of jousts she goes
To rodeos
and for fun she joins them

In other words the cowgirl is,
The main man
On the Western lan’.

Coming Home (pre-preteen years)

He comes home a child no longer
But surely much stronger.
Everything is changed
Familiar haunts now strange.

The summer fair
Is here
The rides are still the same
Even their very name.
The food is just as fun
Especially the hot dog and it’s bun.
It’s as if the years had never passed
For time has not, the fair harassed.

When night was near
And the returned left there
He could only say
As his head he did lay
And he prayed
Thank God for the Southwest Washington Fair
Where memories are made.

Call of the Fair (pre-teen years)

Blue ribbons and show rings
Call to the horse
Clip clopping
He goes to the fair.

Card board and paper
Beckon to the goat
Hungrily he goes to the fair.

The thrilling rides and yummy snacks
Appeal to the kids
Excited they go to the fair.

The strange array
Of sights and sounds
Draw in the passers by
Curiously they go to the fair.

Each hearts desire
Each minds inquire
Finds their fill
As each body’s feet
“Make tracks to the Southwest Washington Fair”.

Bucky Boy (pre-preteen years)

Bucky boy’ Bucky boy
He used to stay inside
But he got stinky
And mom’s face got pinky
So she said
“Take his bed
And out with it he goes”
Now that he is out side he goes
like a hose
And roams around
As free as a bee

We’ve had him for years
But now we shed tears
For the dog we had is no more
He was happy
and so were we
But now he is gone forever more
And always in our hearts we’ll hold
The memory of Bucky boy.

Anniversary (Miffed) (pre-preteen years)

I haven’t bought a gift
For I really am quite miffed.
It was 19 years ago
But I would have made a show.
You could have mentioned the wedding was in June
I’d have taken the first stork and been there real soon.
Instead of waiting more
I’d have come in ‘84.
A big deal I wouldn’t make
If you had at least saved some cake.
But I would have liked to see the bride all dressed
I’d have liked to see the groom all pressed.
And I really found it rude
For you your own daughter to exclude
But at least I’m here right now, to say
Happy anniversary day.

Mother (from the pre-preteen years)

The world is big, the world is round
Lots of mothers in every town
I search up, I search down
I search all around,
But I can’t find a mother
That’s just like you

With that sweet voice and heeling kiss
With that gentle touch that can stop a crying child
No I can’t find a mother
That understands,
That sings,
That feels,
That teaches just like you.

My 11th Year (from when I was 11)

My eleventh year
I swear
Was the changingest yet
I fought all the troubles I met

I concurred my fears
And cried less tears
I matured
I endured

Mom went to work
We didn’t go berserk
Dad took over

The millennium changed
Technology grew
I fought to be twelve
And now that I am
I kinda sorta
Miss being eleven.

Long Founded Truth (from the preteen years)

When the angels told me long ago
Where I was to live
I asked them who my mother was
For in her arms I’d lie.
Then I asked them who my father was
For in his steps I’d follow.

They showed me someone brave and strong
With high ideas of right and wrong.
They said that we would clash in thought
But I’d being stronger for having fought.
They whispered of your integrity, faith, love…
Words I barely knew.

They told me secrets-
They’d never told
An unborn babe before.
With dark wide eyes
I wondered why
These angels chose to speak.

The answered back,
So that I’d know
The gift
They’d given me
Of a father who would make me sound
And who would never let me down.

A father who
So very few
Could have an equal to.
Then they marked me
“Daddy’s Girl”
And sent me down to you.

But in the fall from Heaven
All their words were lost
And in the years to come
I had to learn them all again
So I could give the thanks I owe
For your being all you are.

Sindy Harper #2: Case of the Mysterious Ghost (from the preteen years)

“Oh, I just can’t wait to get to the warehouse.” Said ten year old Sindy Harper. Sindy and her friends Beth Johnson. Talia Cooper, Tom Husk, Brad Ford, and Jason Fisher were going to an old Sacramento warehouse said to be haunted because several people reported ghost sightings there.
Sindy and her friends arrived at the warehouse and began to look around when all of a sudden there sounded a long howl that sent every body but Tom flying out of the building. Every one thought it was Tom so they went back inside. A little later every body went home sad because they had found nothing. But they decided to to keep investigating the town, the people and the warehouse.
The next day they all went back to the warehouse. What could be lurking in an old warehouse they thought as they entered one of it’s dark empty rooms. The next thing they new they heard a a door slam and the room became pitch black, Sindy and Jason quickly ran to open the door but it wouldn’t budge. They all wondered who locked the door, was it a human or a ghost!?
Meanwhile their moms walked the floor while their dads tried to form search parties.
Back at the warehouse sindy and her friends were having a scary encounter with the so called ghost. The ghost walked up to Sindy and said “Say your prayers, because this is the last breath you’ll ever breathe again!”
Then he pulled off the mask and sheets that made him look like a ghost to reveal nobody but Marcus Flench an escaped convict from the Sacramento prison. He had been put away for life for murder, theft, and a whole bunch of other sick crimes. He held up a gun and was just about to shoot them when.....Their parents with some police and police dogs barged in and apprehended Marcus Flench So Called Ghost, AKA: felon!
Later that day Marcus Flench was a jailbird once again, and we were safe at home. I think we’ve had enough danger for a few years or longer, so don’t expect to hear about us for a long time. Case closed. This is Sindy Harper over and out

Sindy Harper #1: Case of the Strange Writing (from the preteen years when I didn't know how to spell "cindy")

It was a normal day, Dad had just finished jury duty. Mom and Dad left me and my brother Jake, home alone, so they could pick up the car from the shop. When they came back everything was still normal. Or was it?
Dad had to go to San Francisco on a job meeting, just as he was driving out of the garage he noticed some drawing on the garage door, but he only had time to tell Mom to call the police. When Dad left no one was around, or was there? Behind the bushes a gang member hid watching, waiting, and listening but he ran away when he heard the police were coming.
The policeman arrived and read the writing, he said “Crip Cuzz” ment friend of a gang. He said he couldn’t read the other words but would send some one over who could.
Later that day Mom called the police to see if they had sent any one over, they said they did. They also said the person the sent could not decipher the writing. But had he ever come to the house?
I asked if Beth, Talia, Brad, Tom, and Jason and I could investigate in the park across the street. Mom said we could but if we saw any one we were to come right back, we said we would. That night we went to the park at dusk, we looked around no one was there, we were about to leave when we saw a small light flicker. We were just about to decide whether or not we should leave. I said “ We didn’t really see any one, did we?” but Beth said “ A person had to be making the light.” When some thing hit us all on the head. The next thing we knew we were tied to a tree and gagged! ‘Will any one find us before dark?’ were our exact thoughts.
Fortunately My west highland terrier, Pup had secretly followed us and now had run home to get my parents. Once at home Pup made himself a pest jumping, and licking and pulling people’s pants legs. Mom and Dad knew he didn’t usually act like that, that and he had followed us to the park, and would whenever leave by himself followed him back to the park.
When they found us they quickly untied the ropes and asked us what happened. We told them all we new ending with at least we saw their faces while they were tying us up.
Later that day we all went to the police station and found up that the police who was supposed to have come to our house was a gang member. He had gotten a job with the police because he lied and used a fake identity. The police also found out that his gang made some of their members get job in the law so that they could pull strings and get the other members out of trouble. Oh yeah, he and the rest of his gang are behind bars! Or are they?