best08-09

The world was grey
the day he left.
The day he "up and floated away"
like those old southern belles turned housewives would say,
pouring iced tea for their youngsters.

It looked like rain,
and the world was grey,
and the Earth couldn't feel him
any longer.

Perhaps he was caught off guard,
perhaps he screamed like a madman,
clung for dear life to this Earth he loved so. Read more »

Did you know that ordering your martini
shaken instead of stirred is considered
a faux pas because shaking bruises the gin?
But who the hell wants to question
Bond, James Bond?

007 is the iPhone of being a proper man:
When you can’t decide between
the Dom Perignon ’53 or ’55,
there’s an app for that!
(James prefers the ’53).

So, you suspect your girlfriend is an evil femme fatale
who might crush you between her toned thighs?
Undress her now and ask questions later;
if the situation get out of hand, don’t panic, Read more »

1992 Plymouth Grand Voyager
Luxury edition, like that makes a difference
at this point. Boxy and white,
with tinted windows.
People look scared as I drive past.
The brakes are always locking up,
my headlights sometimes flicker,
and the panel door on the side
just doesn’t open. Fantastic.
And there’s no air conditioning.

People give it different nicknames.
Creeper Van, Kidnapper-mobile,
and so on. Sitting in the parking lot,
It falls victim to lots of vandalism.
Written in the permanent layer of dust
are things like, “Free candy,”
“Warning: creeper inside” Read more »

WEBSITE_CHANNEL_28402_16060.mp3

This one is for the all the kids
who fell asleep in Latin class freshman year
because you were up too late on AIM
because that was the cool thing to do.
This one is for all the times we
punched in our lunch account numbers
and Betsy, with a sad face and soft expression
said: “You’re negative thirteen, honey”
-but still let you get the cookie.

This one is for the winter flip flop wear-ers
the midnight tire to road tear-ers
and every single gangsta rap blare-er
Nothing is set in stone.

This one is for the new tattoos
the broken glasses, and Read more »

Memories at BVS

I remember a time
When I loved coming to school
To talk to all my friends
Or go outside and play
And we never stopped laughing
I remember
Back when wearing crocs
Was cool
Being able to tie
Your own shoes
Being the line leader
Or the caboose
Or even sitting
Near the back of the bus
Saying you could read
A whole book
If you had a pair of overalls
You were pretty cool
Even saying
“That’s my big brother,
He’s an 8th grader.”
Was cool
Being able to do all these things were cool
Time flies by
All that has changed
Benson is getting old
I am ready Read more »

Deep breath.
I take a step
my arm swings around
"Slap!"
The ball hits the catcher's glove.
"Strike One!" Yells the Umpire.
The ball comes sailing back to me.
I rest it in my glove,
and gaze the batter in the eyes.
The hot sin,
shining across her face.
The harsh breeze,
nipping at my bare arms.
I take a step
my arm swings around
"Slap!"
She catches the ball.
"Strike Two!" The Umpire hollers.
The ball is thrown back
into the leather pocket of my glove.
I look down at my feet,
one firmly planted on the
pitcher's mound,
the other bent a step behind.
I inhale slowly Read more »

Every so often,
I'm standing on a table
High in the air
The top of a pile of tables
I'm shaking
Looking down upon a pool and green grass
Perfect People waving
Losing my balance
Can't get down
No way out
“HELP!” I'll scream
But no one will hear
The table is swaying
Like a game seeing how long I can last
I'll hold on but the table will shake
I'm thrown off
Shooting in the air
Screaming for dear life
Going into a rock that came out of no where
Spat!
I wake up looking around breathing heavily
I'm in bed holding the sheets tight Read more »

Locked Out
By Willy Noyes

Out in my PJ’s.

Locked outside the house again.

This time in the rain.

Late
In the delayed car
Rain pounding on the car roof
Late for basketball

You can watch the green grass grow,
Or watch the sky as it sends down snow.

Listen to the hummingbirds wings.
Listen as a cricket sings.

Watch the sky fill up with stars,
Or catch fireflies to keep in jars.

New Hampshire, they say, is the Granite state.
Some think it's boring, but I think it's great!

I've never been anywhere as quiet and sweet;
Without New Hampshire I'm not complete.

With everything that's here, it's hard to not be pleased
Laying in the sun your troubles become eased.

The pink and orange sunsets, the different colored leaves Read more »

Days pass
Slowly
Time creeps,
Inches,
Softly along
Unknown
On deathly
Feet
It slides
Through
The door
Of
My open heart.
And
Before I
Can
Even blink,
I’m
Caught fast
In
Razor claws.
Hostage,
I squirm,
Try
To break
Free
Of the trap
I have
Led
Myself into
Unwillingly.
But once
Done
There's no
Going back.
I'm stuck
Fast Read more »

The room is too small, I am too big
We do not fit each other
The walls were definitely farther back before
I can tell they’re coming closer
There’s not enough space for my lungs to expand
But my heart’s beating faster than ever
I can’t draw a breath, I’m seeing back dots
Could this be the end?

I was from the bad parts of Burlington.

I was from all the times my mother left me all alone to go out and get her fixing.

I was from the waking up in the morning and finding out that everyone was gone.

I was from all the random men coming into my home stealing my stuff, eating my food, and sleeping with my mother.

I was from getting smacked around, getting slapped in the bath tub and cracking my head open on the floor.

I was from the child services lady walking into my house and threating to take me away. Read more »

There it is.

Your
big brown armchair.

Tranquil and
undisturbed
since you left.

You often liked to
just sit there
and peer at me
over your glasses
and make me feel awkward
the way you did.

Your newspaper
still sits,
encompassed in its
great chocolate cushions,
only
half read.

The pillow is still sitting,
exactly in the place
you left it. Read more »

She sits,
pixel legs crossed
on the diner seat,
her eyebrows plucked
into submission;
she maintains the façade
of startled innocence.

But we know that life
has not been kind to this woman.
Smoke peels from the ashy remains
of a cigarette in her pale hands,
and her hair is dyed
an unpleasant and grating
shade of burgundy.
The demons in her eyes are not
beautiful,
but she has the delicate and
fragile attraction of a spider web;
a woman worn thin, but
strong enough to maybe

Please. Listen.

Do you hear?

No?

Press your ear to the paper
to the wind
to the world.

How about now?

Ah.
Yes.
There you go.

Do you hear the sound of
last breaths
unfair trials
unjust killings
truthless criminals
predjudiced governments
people crying for their losses
money spent for the wrong reasons
people contributing to disaster while trying to heal it all.

Do you hear all of these
ends? Read more »

She was becoming accustomed to the soft whistle of wind that echoed through the room on those rare occasions when the door opened. It was habit; a light turn of the head, indifferent eyes and the clutch of jacket against skin.

Skin that used to ache with softness, with pale beauty. I used to be so stunning And now her world was the scent of nicotine and charred coffee, of rings on wooden tables from sweating glasses. Of almost-silence.

Afraid of what's going to happen next.
Looking all around. Trying not to show you're scared.
Thinking,
"Why did I sign up for this?
But then the memories of Home -
your family
and friends.
Saying to yourself
"I have to make it back for them."
So you keep thinking about them
and trying to find a way to picture them
in your mind.
But then you hear gun shots and you have to go -
leaving your thoughts
behind.

It was an astonishing feat that I hadn’t wet my pants yet. His nose hovered inches from mine, a fire-breathing dragon shooting garlic-scented breath straight up my nostrils. He had that look in his eyes, that I’m-going-to-murder-you-with-an-axe-and-dig-you-a-shallow-grave-or-better-yet-I’ll-punch-you-until-I-get-bored-then-bite-your-ear-off-like-Mike-Tyson-then-feed-you-to-my-pack-of-wolves-or-perhaps-my-bear-Linda look. He yanked malevolently on my collar. Read more »

I ran down the stairs in the dark, quiet house, each step threatening to wake my mom. Dad followed behind me. Though sleepy, I couldn’t wait to see the amazing sight that lay ahead outside. “I’ll get the sleeping bags.” Dad said as I tiptoed to the back door, the one with the spring-back screen door that bangs shut. My head was racing – now I was alert and I just couldn’t wait. Read more »

I once saw a picture,
A woman with henna-laced palms and bangle-weighted wrists
funneling clean water from a flooding spigot
down into her son’s waiting mouth.
His eyes looked into mine, as his little hands reached up,
tilting the improvised cup to his lips.
Upon first glance, I thought he was my cousin.
My family,
here now, healthy and whole-
lucky.
Partition,
fracturing a nation as Gandhi cried.
My grandfather, age fourteen, watching towns burning from a roof top.
A sikh in the Punjab, a child fighting to survive. Read more »

A blanket of ice covers the river,
but the water still flows freely under it.

i. In Scranton, I am a giant. I don't know if it's something in the water or the air, or perhaps in some shared ancestry, but no one there seemes to grow above five foot six. I'm certainly not the biggest person, but I feel like a behemoth, towering above the stooped populace like some blond deity, a messenger from the seldom-heard land of light. Read more »

She has a box that sits on her dresser,
that he brought back from India.
Ever so often she opens it and breathes in -
the scent of incense and mystery,
echos of places she's never been,
places she knows only through stories
and dreams.
She takes out the little carved monkey
and the silk scarf, twining it in her fingers,
attempting to see the faces of the people
who spun these threads together for her.
She thinks about what he told her of India.
She lies awake on cold nights and imagines
a place filled with the scent of cinnamon and cloves, Read more »

There are people living in my head.

They are beautiful and perfect. Their skin is flawless and their faces are wonderful.

They do not ever stutter, unless they are trying to appear to be innocent or scared or even cute. Everything is intentional.

They change their names to fit their faces, and change their faces to fit their words, their actions.

Their hair is always just the right shade, just the perfect length. They never have haircuts; their hair does not grow, like them - they do not age. Never will they age. Read more »

I'm so overwhelmed
with life and everything
it's throwing at me
I feel like a failure
unable to complete
simple day to day tasks
without getting turned
around, so badly that
I don't remember, care
where I am, who I am
in this exact moment

some days I don't want
to do it anymore, don't
want to waste the effort
of breathing in and out
carrying on, trudging
through this life as a
ghost to anyone who dare
shift their eyes in my
direction, notice me

I know it would hurt
my family, they've
already lost someone
they loved, but sometimes
I just ask myself if Read more »

For me, angry is two things.
A firey rage burning in the deepest part of my soul,
Or a quiet mist, that I keep to myself.
The fire is strong.
But the mist is sometimes stronger.

When I wake up, I can hear my dad outside shoveling the snow from the driveway.

One of my cats is curled up at my side.

The spot near my fee is cold. The spot where he should be is empty.

I stumble to the bathroom, drunk with sleepiness. I don't need to be cautious anymore, I don't need to worry about tripping over his small and excited paws.

I pull the curtain back to glimpse the deep darkness of the morning, pull it back to glimpse the deep white snow. Read more »

Day after day
the waves wash away,
all emotion I feel.
The fizz and the current,
takes with it
my fears,
of drowning in pain,
or suffocating from fear.
Then the mist comes along,
erasing the past.
Dreaming the future.
Scribing my story
deep into sand.
Then out of nowhere,
the sun comes out
takes me by the hand,
away from the mist,
into its arms.
Far out in space,
I am finally safe.

((Zipadee doo da, Zipadee ay. My-oh-my what a wonderful day.))

i.
My memory is selective. Read more »