teamara

As in the nub of the remains of crayola crayon that’s been used to color in so many smiling cartoon suns on a piece of paper-
Her favorite color is yellow.
And I don’t mean a wimpy *** pastel yellow or sometimes a pale yellow
I mean her favorite color is bright *** yellow.
Like Pikachu yellow.
Like she’s almost nineteen but she’s still willing to play Gameboy Pokemon yellow.
There’s something innocent yet corny kind of yellow about her.
She’s beautiful like yellow jirasol petals
She’s intricate as yellow thread woven in a Rasta Dom
She’s yellow like gold and Africa
She’s sweet like pineapples and delicate like daffodils
I still don’t know why her favorite color is yellow
Maybe it has to do with her fascination of Asian men…
I mean! ...with the continent of Asia
She thinks she’s more like pink Japanese cherry blossom trees in the summer
But I know she’s truly yellow petals on Paolo Verde trees blowing in the wind spreading around Tucson
A metaphor for her love
She’s yellow like the color in the middle of my pride rainbow- She supports me
She’s yellow like the big painted sun at the hospital with a big grin
I wonder why nobody smiles at hospitals
The place where life is easily given as taken
Where we are reminded that our health is sometimes taken for granted
Other than that great big yellow sun
She is the only that radiates yellow and smiles
In waiting rooms, she seems like she’s the calmest
Even though she’s the only one going through surgery
She’s so beautiful on the inside her body can’t even take it
She doesn’t deserve scions or scalpels to even be considered touching her bronze skin
I wish instead they would strip down the color yellow from my life
And give it to her to make her smile so bright that even word “cancer” would cease to exist
But still. Even through pain and hardships
She still smiles. Not only is she yellow when she’s happy
She tends to radiate yellow even when she’s gloomy
When I’m upset, her aura has way of rubbing off on mine
And I get insight to why her favorite color is yellow
‘*** she’s the kind of yellow that represents strength
She’s yellow like tall forts made from gold bars
She’s yellow like flames that roll of her tongue when she spits fire
She’s yellow like a crayola-crayon… except she can’t be broken
From her, I’m learning
That even when you’re hurting
You can still shine bright like your favorite color.

It doesn’t matter why I was there, where the air is sterile and the sheets sting.
it doesn’t matter that I was hooked up to this thing that buzzed and beeped every time my heart leaped, like a man whose faith tells him:
God's hands are big enough to catch an airplane

or a world,

doesn’t matter that I was curled up like a fist protesting death,
or that every breath was either hard labor or hard time,
or that I’m either always too hot or too cold
it doesn’t matter because my hospital roommate wears star wars pajamas,
and he’s nine years old

His name is Louis

and I don’t have to ask what he’s got, the bald head with the skin and bones frame speaks volumes. The Gameboy and feather pillow booms like, they’re trying to make him feel at home ‘cuase he’s gonna be here a while

I manage a smile the first time I see him and it feels like the biggest lie I’ve ever told.
so I hold my breath
cause I’m thinking any minute now he’s gonna call me on it
I hold my breath
cuase I’m scared of a fifty seven pound boy hooked to a machine, becuase he’s been watching me, and maybe I’ve got him pegged all wrong, like

maybe he’s bionic or some ****.
so I look away.

like I just made eye contact with a gang member who’s got a rap sheet the length of a lecture on dumb mistakes politicians have made. I look away like he’s gonna give me my life back he minute I’ve got something to trade, I **** near pull out my pack and say


Cigarette?

but my fear subsides in the moment I realize Louis is all about show and tell. he’s got everything from a shot gun shell to a crows foot and he can put them all in context like:

See, this is from a shooting range and

see, this is from a weird girl

I watch his hands curl around a cuff link and a tie tack and realize that every nick knack is a treasure and every treasure’s got a story and every time I think I can’t handle more he hits me with another story. says:

See, this is from my father. see, this is from my brother. see, this is from that weird girl. see this is from my mother. it took me two days to figure out that

that weird girl, is his sister.

took him about two hours today after she left for him to figure out he missed her.

they visit every day and stay well passed visiting hours. because for them that term doesn’t apply. but when they do leave Louis and I are left alone and he says the worst part about being sick is you get all the free ice cream you ask for. and he says the worst part about that is realizing that there’s

nothing more they can do for you. he says:

Ice Cream can’t make every thing ok.

and there’s no easy way of asking and I already know what he’s gonna say, but maybe he just needs to say it so I ask him any way. Are you scared? Louis doesn’t even lower his voice when he says

**** yeah.


I listen to a nine year old boy say the word ****, like he was a thirty year old man with a nose bleed being lowered into a shark tank, he’s got a right to it and if it takes this kid a curse word to help him get through it, I want to teach him to swear like the devil was sitting there taking notes with a pen and a pad but before I can forget that Louis is nine years old he says:

please don’t tell my dad.

he asks me if I believe in angels,

and before I realize I don’t have the heart to tell him, I tell him Not lately, and I just lay there waiting for him to hate me. but he doesn’t know how to, so he never does.

Louis loves like a man who lived in a time before god gave religion to men and left it to them to figure out what hate was.

He never greets me with silence. only smiles. and a patience I’ve never seen in someone who knows they’re dying. and I’m trying so hard not to remind him, I’ll be out of here in a couple of days, smoking cigarettes and taking my life for granted. and he’ll still be planted in this bed like a flower that refuses to grow, I’ve been with him for five days and all I really know is Louis loves to pull feathers out of his pillow, and watch them float to the ground, almost as if he was the philosopher inside of the scientist ready to say that its gravity that’s been getting us down. but the truth is

there’s not enough miracles to go around kid,

and there’s too many people petitioning god for the winning lotto ticket. and for every answered prayer there’s a cricket with arthritis, and the only reason we can’t find answers is the search party didn’t invite us, and Louis right now the crickets have arthritis

so there is no music.

no symphony of nature swelling to crescendos, as if we bent halo’s into melodies that could keep rhythm with the way our hearts beat.
so we must meet silence with the same level of noise that the parents of dying nine year old boys make when they take liberties in talking with heaven. we must shout until we shatter in our own vibrations then let our lives

echo, and grow
echo, and grow
echo, and grow

Grow distant.


grow distant enough to know that as far as our efforts go we don’t always get a reply. but I swear to whatever god I can find in the time I have left I’m gonna remember you kid. gonna tell your story as often as every story you told me, and every time I tell it I’ll say see,

there’s bravery in this world

there’s 6.5 billion people curled up like fists protesting death, but every breath we take has to be given back, a nine year old boy taught me that.

so hold your breath. the same way you’d hold a pen when writing thank you letters on your skin to every tree that gave you that breath to hold.
then let it go. as if you understand something about getting old and having to give back
let it go like a laugh attack in the middle of really good ***

the black eye will be worth it.

because what is your night worth without a story to tell, and why wield a word like worth if you’ve got nothing to sell. people drop pennies down a wishing well as if the cost of a desire is equal to that of a thought. but if you’ve got expectations expect others have bought your exact same dream for the price of the hard work, hang in, hold on mentality, like I accept any challenge so challenge me
like

I’ve brought a knife to this gun fight, but other night I mugged a mountain so bring that **** I’ve had practice.

Louis and I cracked this world wide open and found the prize inside because we never lied to ourselves, never told ourselves it would be easy or undemanding.
so we sing in our own vibration and dare angels to eavesdrop and stop midflight to pluck feathers from their wings and write demands on gods hands

take the time to catch you

so that even if god doesn’t, it wasn’t because we didn’t try.

I don’t often believe in angels, but on the day I left Louis pulled a feather from his pillow and said this is for you,

I half expected him to say

See, this is the first one I grew.

-Shane Koyczan

war took mine, i was sold  playing tenchu
on level 6... just before i was to
assassinate this ***, and he practised all
his bow skill in private, then it was made public
by a ninja... i only completed final
fantasy 7 with a walk-through...
i hate the fact that i stuck to
the schooling narrative...
  but hose were the PS1 days,
those days are gone, gone gone gone,
bye bye gone...
                 the **** was that?!
an oscar for best actor at the gladiator premier?!
why isn't more gaming mentioned in poetry?
where is raziel, and the the legacy of cain:
soul reaver, and the story about how he
squashed his brothers:
dumah, melchiah, rahab, and zephon?
oh look: the geek in me!
                 100 years from a youtube video...
i'm bound to do the bristol d'uh and say:
i've never been to south america...
nor ever...
                        me go sort out this avalanche
if that's o.k. with you, hmm?
this is the thrill you get when seeing peoiple
play a reincarnation of gameboy,
i.e. candy-crush saga... if you moved beyond
the PS1 universe you won't get it...
if you remember PS1 games, you'll probably
remember SEGA and sonic,
and age of empires 2, and sim city 3000...
**** me! but you won't probably remember the
weathergirl... who was becky mantin
when this was written...
           odd, that little gray box of saturdays
and sometimes sundays, but definitely
saturday mornings...
                    it gone... and i don't feel like owning
an update of it, because games have become
overtly narrative prone, they only allow thise gameplay
that's too narrated... i switch on the console
and i want mario bros. calculator type of dynamism...
instead i get this really complex story
when i should be reading a book...
   no, really, when did gaming become so
****** engrossing that i try to become distracted by
brick walls?
           when did i or when didn't i take to playing
chess? well... when i started playing dominos
with 6 cigarette stumps and a black hardcover
philosophy book... maybe around then.
books i great, believe me...
but this nook of counter-arcade games?
i woke up at 9am as if about to go to school
and played that japanese fetish for hours...
so much if our culture in nearing the post-20th
century culture was axis... it was almost all japanese...
you can't take that fact out and replace it
concerning: god intervened at Giza and yawned
at chichén itzá...
because you would... still, i thankfully retired
from the gaming experience (when did PS2 come out?
i wanted it for about 2 years and still didn't
get it)...
    1998? 1997?
                      thankfully i get to mention computer
games like novels... SEGA mega drive?
yep, owned that.
                   and yes, i can cite an ATARI,
and ****, **** **** me!
   that original NINTENDO?!
              and that shooting mallard simulation
against a screen of televisions that could
still issue you with van der graaf static
   of "levitating" hair?
(when televisions were still 3D and played
you remnants of the big bang
       in televised black and white khrrr sound,
all dicta fidgety, like looking through the eyes
of a bluebottle fly)... or
    the original prince of persia?
     those two dimensional ferns rotating round and
round when approached in the original tomb raider?
oh forget the cone-****-madonna...
shaid the ish cream van man to shaun shoonery...
cheap ****: said the dead with charlie
at the head of their horde of entertainment's flops.
i retired from the gaming world though,
left it when PS1 expired...
and morphed into PS2...
           i'm half sad and half saying: i can understand
candy crush, because i can understand
the origin: TETRIS.
like i can understand why i can't do crosswords,
my father just said: even i can't do them,
the clues are all a bit of a wanking to comprehend...
it's as if they only based them on the thesaurus...
   we're good on sudoku though, that can be solved
without problems...
        i miss those games though,
i finished final fantasy 7 with a walkthrough
though... tenchu was also fun to complete,
crash bandicoot? anyone remember him?
           now for not faking it...
                                     i'm glad that's over,
i'd hate the gaming experience as i hate interactive
t.v. thesedays... all this pause and rewind?
  thanks to it i sometimes press the STOP
button when listening to the radio and wonder
why it just keeps running... oh right: this isn't
a c.d. transmission... funny though, the gaming experience
translated into t.v. really has made advertising
ultra competative or utterly useless....
   you just end up pausing before a break, and then
scrolling past the advertisers' airtime...
next thing i'll be buying is when they make
an advert for shoepaste.

It was a crystal clear night in the winter months.
Though for some reason, the lake wasn't frozen over.
I could see the moon's reflection, and was standing at the shore
when two pairs of footsteps approached me.
A pier manifested over the lake,
leading to a white house on the other side.
"Hey," he said.
I was so shocked that I became a statue.
"It's okay. I'm not angry at you anymore."
He looked at me with a genuine smile. I missed being his friend,
even in light of what happened between us.
I was silent. I didn't say a word.
I don't think I needed to.
He accepted my silent apology.
"Grab my hand and don't let go."
I took his hand, paler than the moonlight,
but warmer than fire.
We walked across the pier, just me, him, and Hunter;
Hand in hand, almost skipping.
The stars were endless, and the temperature was surprisingly warm for the middle of the night in the winter.
We got inside the house and the three of us sat down on the couch.
He gave me a Gameboy and we started to play Pokémon.
Just the three of us.
Like nothing had ever happened.
And I think I miss him more than the anger that I held for him.
More than words can say.

I am from the cramped house down the street
From loud arguments that always repeat
I am from that hot summer day
From buckets of ***** covered in Old Bay
I am from bed time stories
From Harry Pottter to the west side stories
I am from looking for mars
From fires under the stars
I am from trips to Myrtle Beach
From chasing the Ice cream truck out of reach
I am from the basketball court
From taking blankets and building a fort
I am from sarcastic remarks
From ski trips at winter parks
I am from home made sweet tea
From “mom Dereks hitting me!”
I am from Saturday Cartoons
From blue party balloons
I am from gameboy color
From never sharing with each other
I am from “Hey, that’s mine!”
From “Boys, please don’t wine”
I am from church every Sunday
From school every Monday
I am from Home
Yes, I am from Home

"When I was Growing Up"

Cocky boy, fresh of nineteen,
Kept his sense of power keen.
Muscular arms, sureful smile,
Every ******* his phone's speed dial.

"Hey Big Bro," his brother said,
"Come tuck me in, it's time for bed."
The boy just shrugged, saying "Do it yourself,
When I grew up, I didn't have help"

So he went to bed peacefully that night,
Without putting up much of a fight,
Pillow touching his bearded face,
Thoughts as far away as outer space.

"Wake up, wake up, it's time for school."
"Mom, I drive, you think I'm THAT uncool?"
"Get up now, you know you can't drive,
Only fifteen years you've been alive!"

He looked into the mirror, and then he saw,
He looked so young, and wasn't very tall.
His muscles gone, you could see his bones.
A Gameboy took the place of his phone.

As he began to get ready, his mom was still home.
"Son, you're too young to be here alone."
She packed up the lunch he normally fixed,
He looked in the mirror and now he was six.

Why is this happening? What's going on?
All the things he once had were now gone.
He tried to look in the mirror, but he was too short,
Now he sat in the living room, in a blanket fort.

His brother laughed, he was much older.
The boy was tiny, not even up to his shoulder.
Mom was outside getting into her Viper,
And he just realized, he'd wet his diaper.

An uncomfortable feeling, he begged to his brother,
"Please change my diaper, I don't see mother."
His brother replied, "Hey kid, tough luck,
I didn't have anyone help me when I grew up."

The boy was so helpless, in embarrassed dismay,
If his friends saw him now, what would they say?
He woke up, saw his brother, gave the mirror a stare,
Stroked the beard on his face and decided to care.


----------------------------------------------------------------­

"Color Me In"

My life was a dull gray,
A soft monotone.
Till you came into my life,
And gave part of your own.

The colors appeared to me,
One by One.
As you showed me their meaning,
My life had begun.

Color me red,
Of passion, of blood.
Show me the intensity,
Your love like a flood.

Color me orange,
Electric and fire.
To be with you truly,
Is the one thing I desire.

Color me yellow
Of sunshine so bright.
Keep me so warm,
And hide away the night.

Color me green,
Of natural beauty.
The forest could never match,
What you do to me.

Color me blue,
Of the ocean's high tide.
It's not as great as my love,
And not nearly as wide.

Color me purple,
Like flowers in the field.
This isn't a dream,
This time it's real.

In a world of black and grey,
Color seems so unreal.
It's like fantasy to me,
How you make me feel.

I'll paint you a picture,
To show what you've done.
No more black and white,
You gave me the sun.

-------------------------------------------

Dressed head to toe in army gear
He'd cut his hair and shaved his beard
He brushed the brown hair out of her face
For one more  time, he'd get her taste
He looked at her for one last time
Neither wanted to say goodbye
So he held her there as long as he could
Saying baby i'll be alright
It felt as if she couldn't let go
But how would she know
If her baby was safe and if he was okay.
So that night she got on her knees and prayed
God, up in heaven.
Keep him safe and let him know
I'll be here waiting wherever he goes.
Help me grow and stay strong
Help these years not seem so long
I'll be okay here all alone
Until time for him to come back home.
He wrote to her from different places
Saying after seeing all these faces
I wish one could be yours.
I'm holding out over here,
But one things sure, I miss you dear,
My arms feel empty cause
This gun can't replace you.
She wrote to him
Scribbled out in pen
The words I love you
Please come back home.
And she prayed,
God, up in heaven.
Keep him safe and let him know
I'll be here waiting wherever he goes.
Help me grow and stay strong
Help these years not seem so long
I'll be okay here all alone
Until time for him to come back home
Three years passed, living in letters,
She was all grown up and changed for the better
About to check the mail when a car pulled in
A roughed up boy in army green
She couldn't believe what she'd seen
After all these years, he'd come home.
She wrapped her arms around that man
Saying I'll never let you leave again
He said, doll, don't worry,
He smiled, pulled a ring out
Said, baby this is what love is about,
Will you be my wife?
She didn't even have to think
Eyes filled up with tears and her cheeks turned pink
Like out of a book,
Her dream came true.
She didn't ever know what to do
But she kissed his lips and yes
And as she walked down the aisle in her dress,
She knew that he was home to stay
But she still remembered those nights she'd prayed
God, up in heaven.
Keep him safe and let him know
I'll be here waiting wherever he goes.
Help me grow and stay strong
Help these years not seem so long
I'll be okay here all alone
Until time for him to come back home
My baby's come back home

_______________

"Daddy Why?"



Daddy, why'd you have to go.I sure would like to know Why you left mommy and me here alone.

Daddy why? Why'd you leave? Mommys on the floor crying And all I can do is grieve.

Daddy where'd you go?Won't you please tell me?Because that I don't know


Mommy wanted the pain to stop,Daddys racing time on the clock. Mommy wanted to be a better wife Now, Daddys fighting for his life.It makes me wonder where I stand,I just wish I could bring you home again.

Daddy, whats this I feel?I'm always sad, The pain is unreal.

Daddy, I know you hate it when I cry,But what do I do now?There's no one to wipe the tears from my eyes.

Daddy where are you?To find out I'd search the whole world through.


Mommy wanted the pain to stop,Daddys racing time on the clock. Mommy wanted to be a better wife Now, Daddys fighting for his life.It makes me wonder where I stand,I just wish I could bring you home again.

Daddy why? Eight years later I remember The day as I cry.

Daddy, is it true? Will you remember me?Cause I'll always remember you.


Mommy wanted the pain to stop,Daddys racing time on the clock. Mommy wanted to be a better wife Now, Daddys fighting for his life.It makes me wonder where I stand,I just wish I could bring you home again.

When I was eight years old, I always wanted to grow up just so I could order the cool toys they were selling on T.V. I never wanted my parents permission to be able to play a game because I felt like a big boy.

When I was first titled “Big Boy” I thought that meant I could make my own mistakes and learn from them, not have my own kite string of restrictions on what I could and couldn’t do that was only being unraveled as time flashed by.

Now that I’m seventeen, I don’t want my own responsibilities, I still want to have the kite string attached to me because at least then I know somebody still cares about me.

I don’t want to worry about how much money I have to eat, or where I’m going to sleep at night because this Kite only feels safe under the roof I live in now. The time my father passes away who am I supposed to look for when I want real advice. Better still why would people come to me for advice?

I want to know that no matter what mistakes in life I make, that my family right now will be there for me in years beyond then

I want a never ending kite string attached to me because the real world is nothing I ever dreamed about. Knowing I have to work hard every single day and only be told I’m appreciated temporarily by people who are considered family.

I don’t want to be the one asked to buy some crazy pillow that glows in the dark and is super cool, by my kids, while I’m sitting in the kitchen worrying about how much money i have for food week after week.

I want to be the one sitting in front of the T.V. again…..

Having my teal colored gameboy waiting for lunch.

But now it’s just that stage, where the string attached to me is about to be clipped, for nightmares of responsibilities, to become reality.

Putting on handwarmers,
writing with a stick
on the cusp of  keyboard
lit screen point and click

More about this with some
glasses on your face.

Acid by stevejobs
Windows by the Gates
the Wizard here, The Woz
you see
while IBM moves weight.

The sleeping swinging telephone
is answered on the side,
a man spits out some pottery
a pterodactyl cries

Horses rode in Hyrule,
Metroids out in Space.
[Snake was inside
of the box]
While E.T's buried waste?

Basketball, a bird set Flight, across the river Jordan.

Slam Dunkin on my gameboy,
yeah that big red clunking thing,
i lost it in a Pizza Hut
but catching Pokemon

I took a water turtle
the kind that brings the noise,
an olympic sized now swimming pool,
filled just by my Blastoise.


In a city filled by marred betray

Gangs now run the streets,

but it's Okay Sirus would say

Warriors come out to play

Gameboy versus home-made
Amplifiers

Computer games
Before the desktop
Took over the world
(laptops came later)

King Kong and Worms
Idly passing the time
Of Day
Of Night
Games, Games

Gameboy - a child's
Victory over adults
Who never take the time
To play, play