Today I bought a square plate
it's not for me, but for an enemy
that I could do worse things to, if I was a less noble person
as the things they've done I will not speak.

The plate is porcelain and quite finely made
elegant and excellently finished for how not so pricey it was
hints of history seems to hide in it's shell--
as seams are weaved into
what has probably lived a long and unused existence
this handcrafted masterpiece.

Separately painted by some fancy artist
to whom I do not recognize the name of,
although it is said he may have done something wrought with his ear
or did this man's uncle make this plate, oh well, I am unsure.

It is these very details to why,
I am now in possession of this piece of the past
that will be priceless to those who know more craftsmanship,
at least more knowledgeable than the man who sold it to me.

From the gleaming in your eyes
I can tell this plate may even mean a great deal to you
is this true my good friend?
oh well, I guess I can give the plate to you
instead of the devil I spoke of before.

*As I handed my prize to them
it began to feel heavier than any ordinary plate should,
gravity granted the greatest reprise I've ever sought
as the demon's face whelmed with depression
and mine satisfaction--
for being such a convincing storyteller.

I specifically remember being told that I can’t prosper without picking myself up after failure.
As a four year old incapable of coloring inside the lines I thought they had been talking about the array of scribbles and mismatched shades in my coloring book.
By the time I turned ten I began to think they had meant my first F on the homework assignment I couldn’t make sense of.
Then when I was thirteen and tripped in front of the cute boy in my Algebra class I thought the two could link together hoping I still had a chance,
but at fifteen and chewing on the eraser end of a mechanical pencil despite the orthodontist telling me I’d ruin my braces and the tutor across the desk thumbing through my failed fall exam trying to see where it had all went wrong, I concluded that education was the failure I were to bounce back from.
But I was eighteen and moving into the dorm of a college I had reluctantly listed as my “safe” school because my advisor told me to be safe and safe didn’t seem so bad with my GPA so I told myself I could succeed with a well-paying career.
Years later as a twenty five year old and employed with the third job I swore would work and living in the apartment with broken blinds and stained carpet along with the man that gave me a shiny ring promising forever I could still remember the F on that homework assignment fifteen years ago.
When we got married I was twenty seven and I broke a plate at our wedding when I felt suffocated by the lace white dress that I later decided to trash but not the plate for its “sentimental value” and ability to remind me when we had our first kid to whisper the words of defeat and inevitable glory even though I never fixed the plate nor did I try to and it just sat there and I’m not sure why it sat there but
I was forty one and divorced when I picked it out of a box mentally flashed with the expression on my tutor’s face figuring out where it all went wrong and why I couldn’t figure out where it all went wrong. It was an endless string of questions from “I wonder what wasteland my coloring book is rotting away in” to “what the hell was the cute boy from Algebra’s name” wandering to “why didn’t I ever glue that ******* plate together” and these tears fell that I swear were the shape of question marks.
Later my daughter was eighteen with a 3.9 GPA and at her graduation I saw the man that gave me the shiny ring ignorant to the meaning of forever and I couldn’t tell anyone I only had a year to live but I did tell my daughter I loved her everyday even if it were in my head as the year passed.
I was forty six the day I fainted in my kitchen and there was cheap superglue stuck in my nails and one more discarded piece that would have completed the broken plate that wasn’t so broken anymore even when I felt broken myself and my daughter wasn’t in her “safe” school and the one man I loved was remarried with a step son who tutored kids that failed their exams which made it seem like a beautiful day. It may not look like it, but I did prosper and I did pick myself up after my failures, to the sun I colored purple to my first F to the broken bracket in my braces to my sucky GPA.

However, I did remain unprosperous from this unfinished broken plate. That, itself, strangely remained my biggest failure.

-Mars S.

hello, i am manager Skip Hopper, here are your team rules for baseball. follow these rules and then follow the base line home

first you need a home plate
then you measure the space between the base
then we must put the base in the proper place

ok slugger, the players have rules
please stand for the national anthem of your country
after all, it is your country, even more so than corruption's country
look at all your fellow countrymen, who came to see you
that's your photo on a sports card, and your name in lights
those racists and haters are afraid of the lights
you must have a lot of power, please don't choke
only in the country that old stars and stripes flies over
would you even have a right to sit down when a nation stands
don't stand for the flag, stand for your right to choose
after all, is it not a signal from your brain that you follow?
you have more white people on your side than a lot of white people have

even if it is a white man signing your paycheck, it's all the more polar opposite of what is for some.
plus you think the kids want that white to sign a ball?
my team plays ball, and not politics
then my team shares with all races and colors
my team looks to win, on and off the field
welcome to team victory!

you'll bat first until you show me that home run capability

watch the ball and the pitcher
do what you have to do, even if you have to take a pitch to the arm
get to the first base, and lay claim to it
don't get attached to that base
a base is just a rest stop on the way to home
after today, we will no longer call it a base
think of it as a step on your front porch
calling it a base is like calling a baseball bat a baseball glove
now, the team is counting on you to get to first
then you have to count on your team to bring you home
this whole stadium is full of team members too
this whole league is on your team, in ways
the guy who makes the season schedule has a certain amount of teams
he must arrange the schedule according to us, and then do the hard part
math...
you know us dumb jocks can't do math, or much else really
that's why it's all about the numbers guys sometimes, too
why do you think we wear numbers
everything has to have a system to work properly
there may be some rules or players that you don't like

I don't like a 1st step, or 3rd step coach myself
after all, that's kind of undermining the manager
we don't need them looking over anyone's shoulder
that kind of **** even makes me nervous
i'm not the type of manager that looks over my team's shoulder

everyone wants a title...standing there just to tell you to go
that would be a fan
like i'm gonna just split my job three ways?
then hire people to stand on the steps of your porch?
and they're gonna tell you how to get home, when you are home?
i hired two guys who are into that "curling" crap
that is not a man's game
plus, why doesn't the guy with the broom sweep before the guy pushes that thing that is round
a puck maybe? it's not round, but i guess the circumference is a perfect circle
now a baseball, that is round
anyhow, i gave them their titles they wanted

head coach of ball scratching affairs
and head coach of spit buckets
it's so funny to see them be so serious about sweeping and ****
they concentrate so hard that i think they could scratch that spot on a player's *****
that spot that the players can't seem to scratch
who knows, i will tell head (ball boy) coach to look for *****
they're just like all canadians...innocent
i can't figure why a baseball team has a better flag though
a maple leaf? take off aaayyy

call everything by a sensible name

they call a rubber thing a base, and they call home a plate
see, a base is something you spend time on
a plate is something you clean twice during, and after a meal
well, on our team we try to keep the the next guy in line fed'
so, he is on your steps and it's as easy as handing him the plate
knowing you and your family have more than enough
knowing your fellow batters will hand you a plate when you're on their steps

remember, you don't follow the rules...
you step up to the plate, and the rules follow

it's really all about the fans

they are our world, and when our world does good
the cheers turn into waves and vibrations
like a fine machine, the sound becomes a hum
you can literally see the waves travel through the stadium

maybe this will catch on again

those waves travel beyond our world
just maybe some little green men will take notice
maybe they will respect us for how we make a diamond into a circle
or just maybe the world series will be known as the universal series
we could really use some competition

these other managers think they are so great
but one loss and they pinch their hitters and runners
then they try to change the rotation
you can't change a dang rotation without stopping
well, in our world, we have faith in the rotation
i also have faith in each player, and as our whole team
we are whole, keep that in mind always

that's why our team is called the country whole
plus, just naming it that, the whole country got tricked
they used to think we were tobacco spitting country boys
that positive energy really is like a snowball going downhill

our two head coaches love snow and hills
haha...everyone from canada is a comedian without trying
the great white north huh?
let's hear it for cheese curds and hat tricks
this is baseball and apple pie land
and by the way canada...

why aren't there any canadians on your major league baseball teams?
you make it hard to call it the world series
you also made ham and called it bacon

sorry slugger, sore spot...but anyhow

we all have a job to do, and doing it right is always a self win
counting on others, and trusting them to do their job, makes your job easier

there are a lot of rubber arms
they will be throwing all kinds of curves at you
only swing at pitches that are in your strike zone
never swing at breaking ***** and they can't break you

now, get out there and get a hit, walk, or home run
see you around the home slugger...know this

i guess my managing isn't needed here
i'm headed to club to watch in comfort
i don't know why people miss out on so much to be at the game
i'm a fan more than i am a manager
either way, we all know what's going to happen every time
we will extend our undefeated streak another game
like a fine oiled machine
making a perfect circle out of a diamond
while canadians scratch our ***** like fine oiled curlers
haha, scratching so seriously like that kills me

my team is awesome!

remember, this is not america's game
it's not baseball, and we know that
base and ball touch and you're out
then you'll run from a base and be shot by military police for going awol
just kidding slugger, tell the team i say hi and thanks for being on the team
i will tell the rest of the home team at that press conference *******

welcome to the big leagues kid

play ball!

take me out to the bar!

I feel nothing
I'm sitting in this **** chair
Feeling questioned by a bunch of eyes and and a plate
The answers are always the same:
Nothing New, Nothing Yet. I Don't Know
Im starting to sense that I'm tired again
Of being more shallow than this stupid plate
Full of flowers and colors and food
Can you imagine how it feels
When you see a plate more alive and fuller than you?
A plate has my whole life in a crisis
It made me realize how insipid I am
I wish I could break the plate
But then what?
The answers are always the same:
Nothing New, Nothing Yet. I Don't Know
Another broken thing in the house?
I don't want to
I chose to rise, to take the plate with me
And hang it on my wall
If it can inspire me to break
Would I feel again?
Could it make me create?
Could it make me alive?
The answers are always the same:
Nothing New, Nothing Yet. I Don't Know

when he kisses me I sometimes crumble

I love him but not as much as I loved the one before him

when he kisses me it is joy delivered
and sorrow brimming
from the wet kiss
the other never pecked
softly over my lips


when he kisses me I want to forget
the love I held for the one before

When he kisses me it’s like a tectonic
plate of  sorrow meets a tectonic plate of joy
and the earth shakes
and I quake
and I crumble, crumble again and again
every time  he kisses me I know why earthquakes rumble

Oh, plate of bacon, how you tempt me so
With your sizzle and your crunch I do crave
A gift from Gods wrapped in a tasty bow
There are no leftovers to even save

Why can't I feel myself grow full from you?
There are no others that can be as true
Your fame is unmatched by any before and it's easy to see with such allure

With every new bite, the tears grow stronger
This small plate won't last for that much longer
As the bacon leaves, I fear what's to come
The plate is bare, with not even a crumb

Oh, plate of bacon, I still need you so
With hope, I pray for more bacon to show