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Tobias Graves May 2013
Ramona, whoa, whoa Ramona
Whoa, whoa, Ramona
I see you lying there in your bedroom
Gathering all these thoughts in your headroom
You can never just take a break
Just taking in all this heartache
Lying there in your white t-shirt
Accepting and concealing all this hurt
Oh please, Ramona, just take a second to breathe
We can just take our leave
Go somewhere far away
Never needing to pay
For all the hate and anger we share
We’ll run away on this dare
Ramona, why don’t you just hide?
Show me your honest side
We’ll just play alone at night
We’ll turn off the light
Let’s not worry
Let’s just hurry
To that quiet place we call escape
- T.G.
Amelie Mar 2012
There she was, standing in a corner,
Staring at me as I was dancing
Occupy the dance floor, tonight or forever,
Watch me go, 'cause I am the Queen.

What's that drink you're holding again
Your cup's empty, want me to pour more ?
Nevermind dear, just take my hand
And follow my lead onto the dance floor.

Mysterious Ramona, the blue-eyed girl
Come over here and let yourself fly
Forget it all, take over the world,
Move your hips until you die.

Never seen someone dancing like this,
Look at those moves, the temperature's hot
Would you mind if I blew you a kiss
Your beauty's all over me, it's not my fault.

Music goes on and on and on and on
Come closer to me, give me that look
Grab my face, move, be someone
Your eyes caught me, now I am hooked.

Mysterious Ramona, the blue-eyed girl
Come over here and let yourself fly
Forget it all, take over the world,
Move your hips until you die.

Hear that sound, it's my heart beating fast
I want to keep you by my side
Don't know why but I want this to last
Feeling your body rushed against mine.

Your hands lost in my hair,
You're biting your lips
Your hands up in the air,
You're moving your hips.

Mysterious Ramona, the blue-eyed girl
Come over here and let yourself fly
Forget it all, take over the world,
Move your hips until you die.
Inspired by an unknown girl met at a party.
Frisk Jan 2016
“Big change, huh? Bet you could take some awesome shots here, Max.”

Max nodded, only hearing the last part of Warren’s sentence. Truth was, she was distracted by how beautiful this place was. If Max stood at the end of the street, she could get a killer depth-of-field perceptive image by aiming towards the long and skinny winding roads being enveloped by the building’s shadows. San Diego seemed to flourish with art and photography culture, and great opportune shots to shoot photographs.

“Earth to Max.” That seemed to knock her out of her thoughts. *****, focus.
“Are you going to go swimming with me and Brooke?”

From the look on Brooke’s face, she was hoping to God that Max said no. Brooke is the relationship equivalent of a boa constrictor, and she wasn’t sure how this hasn’t dawned on Warren yet. “I’m not sure. Maybe. Let me unpack first.”

After Kate dropped out of going to San Diego Comic Con last second, Max was nearly going to join her when Warren practically begged her to come. Coming back to the present - equipped with her suitcase and messenger bag - Max lingered behind the couple by several feet. This was her way of trying to avoid the reminder that she was third-wheeling with a boy who used to have a very awkward crush on her and his salty girlfriend.

“I’m going to go down to the pool.” Warren said, sliding his key card into room #228, turning his head to face Max before opening the door. “Maximillian, are you sure you don’t want to join us?”

“Like I said, I’ll think about it.”

The moment the three of them walked in, Brooke and Warren beelined for the restroom with their bathing suits in hand. Once they came out, Warren had a blue and black plaid board short swimsuit on whereas Brooke came out with a highlighter-colored graffiti two piece.  “Alright, Mad Max. We’re out of this joint. Catch us at the pool if you need something or want to swim. If not, we’ll be back in an hour.”

Max waved them off, digging through her bag for that bathing suit. The crimson colored ruched one-piece vintage bathing suit sat abandoned at the bottom of her matching vermillion suitcase. Down below at the pool area, she could hear screaming and laughing and splashing of the pool water. Max got up from her suitcase, and opened the curtain enough to look out at the hotel pool. Several other people were down there, pushing the time limit very close to closing in an hour from now. Come on, Max, you’re really going to let your whole adventure be ruined by the usual high-strung Brooke?

**** it.

Max nabbed the swimsuit from the hidden corners of her suitcase, stripping herself down to pull the swimsuit onto her body. Once the swimsuit was on, she turned her waist feeling the soft fabric conform to her small but still vaguely prominent curves. Max can remember Mom always saying that she looked good in red, so she recommended a red one-piece since Max doesn't have the confidence to show her stomach to anyone.

Well, except her best friend Chloe. They used to take bubble baths together as toddlers so it used to be the most natural thing in the world to get dressed in the same room together. It must have been a better time, where there were no insecurities. Now Max has trouble calling her up without her finger freezing up as she attempts to type the very last digit of Chloe’s phone number into her phone.

As Max turned around in the mirror, she noticed how her lack of a rear end was a lot more distinguishable in red. Wowser, Max thought, this looks really good on me.

“Wowser.” Max said aloud to her reflection, and threw on a bathrobe.

It must have been ten minutes into Warren and Brooke swimming when Max opened up the pool gate, entering the vast perimeter of the pool area. There were significantly less people around the pool, where most of the people still inside the pool area were kids our age. “Max, you’re here!”  

This made two teenagers stop in their tracks as they were opening up the pool gate at the other end of the pool to leave. One of them whipped around so fast that it was a blur of blue hair.  “Wait…”

“Is that…Max Caulfield? It looks a lot like her.” Rachel asked to Chloe, who hung her jaw open in disbelief. No ******* way.

Furrowing her eyebrows, she watched Max drop the robe on a nearby chair. Like an awkward penguin, Chloe watched her best friend waddle up to the pool edge & cannonball into the waters below oblivious to the two girls standing at the gate watching her. “You’re going to wake up the neighbors and the owner of this hotel's parents forty miles away, Warren!”

“Do you want to go say hi to her?” Rachel asked Chloe.

As Chloe decided on actually going to surprise her, Max's friend said something that made Chloe change her mind in a split second.

“How would you know? Besides, you’ll eventually forgive me for that once you meet the entire cast of Star Trek tomorrow, Max.” Warren yelled at Max, and Chloe did a small grin as she turned away from her best friend, closing the gate on both of the girls.

“No. Guess the oblivious nerd is going to Comic Con too.“ Chloe took one last look at Max before going back inside the hotel with Rachel Amber at her tail. "Do you think she'll recognize me in cosplay?"

"Probably not. Unless I drop the bomb on you guys."

“Shhh. I don’t need you ruining my surprise party, *******.”

Max, Brooke, and Warren weren’t in the pool for long, since Warren bumped his head into the side of the pool while doing laps with Brooke. They had to get out, and put an ice pack on Warren’s sore bump on his head. “Now how am I going to cosplay the 11th Doctor? I need to gel my hair back, but I have this gargantuan bump on my head.”

“We’ll figure it out, sweetie.” Brooke said, and Max nearly gagged.

Max went back to the hotel room first, since being around Brooke made her want to strangle her.  This whole third-wheeling thing was annoying, and Max was regretting coming alone without Kate as her faithful chauffeur. Nonetheless, she wasn’t going to let that ruin her trip. She was here to have fun. And to take a bunch of photographs, of course.

The next morning around 4:00 am, Max was rudely awoken by Brooke who shoved her in her shoulder. “Get up, Max. We’re leaving in thirty minutes from now.”

Was that necessary? Max thought, crawling out of bed. From the bathroom, she could hear Warren fretting over the mammoth-sized bump on his head as both of them got dressed in their cosplay outfits. “Okay. That hurt a lot. Ow, ow, ow.”

“Oh, is there anything I can do to help?”

“Shut up, guys.”

Feeling slightly irritable from the loud ruckus Brooke and Warren were making in the other room Max rolled out of bed. She rustled through her suitcase for a pair of skinny jeans and a white t-shirt with the print of a doe on the front. Once she had her clothes, she stood up to walk into the restroom to change when she noticed the ending result of both of her companions.

Brooke’s multicolored dark hair was pulled down in waves framing the scarlet dress with a black belt fastened around her waist. As for Warren, his usually shaggy brown hair was gelled back for his cosplay. She had to admit, he looked handsome in his mahogany jacket, red bow-tie and matching suspenders, and the cotton collared button-up he wore underneath. For a cosplay of The Eleventh Doctor and Clara Oswald, it was quite impressive how close they looked like the actual characters of the TV show Doctor Who.

“Take a picture of us, Max!” Warren said in a chirpy voice.

“On it.”

Max pulled out her camera, and pointed it at the couple who held up peace signs together. Once the picture rolled out, the couple split apart to put on the finishing touches of their cosplay.  As for Max, all she had to do was throw on her clothes. There wasn’t a lot of work in dressing up like normal people. Besides, she’s never really been a fan of cosplay.

If you want to count dressing up as pirates with her best friend Chloe on Halloween five years ago cosplay, then yeah, Max has cosplayed several times before.

“Max, hurry your *** up. It looks like the amphitheater is getting crowded from here.” Warren yelled from outside the bathroom door towards Max, who sloppily tied her shoes.

As they exited out of the large double doors of the four star hotel, Warren and Brooke took the crosswalk, pointing out people cosplaying as characters from TV shows or video games. They were smiling and laughing, leaving Max to third-wheel again. Instead of lingering on it, Max put in her headphones and turned on Crosses by José González tuning them out.

“Where is the line?” Max asked Warren as they approached the crowded complex filled with restaurants on one side and the amphitheater on the other side. Tents were set up here, even.

“This is what I call natural selection. If you come prepared with prior knowledge on how this works, you can conquer this haphazard looking line.” Warren spread his arms out, motioning towards the crowd that was rapidly growing in size.

“Let’s go, Warren.”

“Wait!”

Like an octopus, Brooke latched onto Warren dragging him into the depths of the growing sea of people. After three painful hours of waiting, Max felt the crowd start to lighten up around her as excited but deafening chatter filled the air of the surrounding herd of people. Everyone was clamoring loudly, quickly rushing into the open doors with their San Diego Comic Con day pass thrown around their neck.

As soon as Max received hers, she eagerly threw her day pass around her neck. After buying a small breakfast sandwich from a booth, Max decided to start people watching. Some of the cosplays made her laugh like the Darth Vader cosplayer leading a conga line of faithful storm troopers, taking long confident strides.

Max took several photographs of several different cosplayers, ranging from Doctor Who, Scott Pilgrim vs The World, The X-Files, Breaking Bad, Undertale, Magic: The Gathering, and Family Guy. When it started getting crowded, she got up from her chair and entered the large archway into the convention center filled with colorful tents and cosplay galore.

Wielding her camera bag close to her waist, Max carefully maneuvered her way through the sea of people as she took a look at the booths. Suddenly, the throng of people became too much for Max. An elbow into Max's side pushed her into the left side of her waist, throwing her into a booth.

“Hey, are you alright?”

Max’s eyes glanced up towards a blue-haired girl cosplaying as Pris from Blade Runner, who had grabbed her waist. Something about her was actually kind of familiar, however, Max couldn’t tell. “You hit that table pretty hard.”

Max felt the warmth from her waist leave slowly. “This crowd is suffocating. I need a place to breathe around here. It’s too claustrophobic for my liking.”

“Are you alone or something? Because I could always use company in my tent. It gets hella boring inside this tent sometimes.”

“Do you say that to all of your customers?” Max asked, chuckling nervously at the blue-haired cosplayer’s comment.

“No.” She mumbled something under her breath that Max didn’t quite catch. “I mean – unless you’re uncomfortable with it. I’ve seen people faint multiple times from claustrophobia here.”

Since her head was bent down over a sketch she was doing in a journal, the only way Max could tell that the girl was blushing was by how red her ears had gotten. The realization that the girl became a nervous wreck all of a sudden after that comment had made Max’s day already.

“Maybe you’re right. I should just sit down. There’s no places to sit around here, though.”

The blue-haired girl patted the armrest of the empty fold-out chair behind the table. “This is Rachel’s chair, but Rachel is helping out with the convention rave for later. She’s on the committee or some ****.”

“Coworker?”

“And an annoyance at times.” Max went around the table, taking a seat in the chair the girl patted. It was itching at her brain that there is something about this girl that is so nostalgic.

Suddenly, a long brunette-haired girl billowed through the back curtains of the booth, where Max saw a tattoo chair in the back along with an extended table with clutter everywhere. “Chloe, do you have my phone? I really need it right now.”

Wait a second. “Chloe?”

“Great. Thanks a lot, Rachel. You ruined the element of surprise.”

"No ******* way!"

After Chloe handed the phone to Rachel, Max followed with her first impulse, throwing her arms around Chloe. Immediately, Chloe laughed as Max nuzzled her head into Chloe's shoulder blade. Max could feel the initial excitement pounding in her chest as Chloe tightened her grip on her as well. “Get a room, Chloe.”

“I will shove this combat boot so far up your *** –”

“Okay, I’m leaving. I need to call Frank and see when he was going to get here.” Rachel stated matter-of-factly, then added as she was leaving, “Hope you have a fun reunion.”

Once Chloe let go of Max, she held onto her arms staring into her face. “Wowser. This is crazy. You’re dressed as Pris from Blade Runner. That is definitely my ****.”

“I hope so. Someone asked me if I’m cosplaying Ramona Flowers from Scott Pilgrim vs. The World. Now I will accept that misunderstanding because Ramona Flowers is my woman crush.” Chloe glanced over at Max, changing the mood merely by narrowing her eyes at the brunette. “Alright, are you going to explain why you didn’t call or text me for five years?”

It was so sudden that Max suddenly felt inferior to Chloe. "I'm sorry. My parent's decision to suddenly move to Seattle wasn't my choice."

"That's not a good enough reason." Chloe attempted to change the tone of the mood lighter, since this wasn't exactly the place to discuss that. "So what's up with you? Living it up here in San Diego or something?"

"I - uh - moved back to Arcadia Bay. Two months ago."

"Without a phone call, telling me that you moved back." Chloe pressed her lips together, annoyed. "Nice one, Caulfield. That's just ******* peachy."

Max started to get a little irritated herself. "Look, I'm sorry. Can we just drop it?"

"I’m sorry, Max. I don’t want to be the ******* to ruin your day. In fact, this was the complete opposite impression I was going for. If you want to punch me for being such an annoying rat, go right on ahead.” Chloe pointed at the bicep of her left arm.

I shook my head – chuckling as Chloe kicked back her chair – propping her feet onto the table cluttered with various types of artwork. There was a dozen pieces of art here, but I noticed Chloe was really into abstract watercolor paintings. Mostly Chloe did sketches of characters from TV shows and video games and painted it in watercolor. One of the paintings in particular caught my eye.

Of course – like all of Chloe’s paintings – it was strikingly beautiful: In front of an obsidian background was a butterfly with eye-popping azure wings. One of the wings seemed to be slightly blurred to give more definition to the closest wing. “Wow, you’re a real artist.”

“I’m also a tattoo artist. If you want to get a tattoo, just hit your girl up. It’s on the house for you.” Chloe said, holding out her arm to show me. “Rachel helped me with both designs.”

Chloe had a beautiful sleeve on her arm and a tattoo on the top of her hand of a red chrysanthemum. Max traced the red ribbon detail on her arm tattoo with one finger, making Chloe shiver. “Dude, you can look, but you can’t touch the tats.”

“Sorry, it’s beautiful.”

“Hopefully it will still look beautiful when I look like the human equivalent of a raisin when I’m 80.” Chloe joked, holding out her arm in front of her face. “How about it, Max? Wanna get tatted up by your best friend Chloe? It might be a great experience for you, hippie. No gang related tattoos, though.”

“Yeah, because I’m totally a part of a gang.”

The smile that lit up Chloe’s face sent Max into a comatose state of delirium. Her eyes focused in on Chloe like a lens, taking shots in her head so she didn’t forget this moment with her best friend. For once, Max was having fun. “You’re still a ******* geek. That’s good news.”

“Always.”

Chloe shook her head before getting up. “Alright, so do you want a tattoo or not? This is your final offer, Max. Don’t let it go to waste.”

“I don’t know. You know I’m scared of needles.”

“Still?” Chloe grabbed Max’s shoulders. “Come o
Kitt Jun 2022
elegant as an elephant
graceful as the flocking geese
she wears a tiara of burrs
upon her head and crows,
"look! I am the princess now."

fair Ramona, why do you cry?
there is nothing left for you there
those girls were mean as shrews
they only brought you shame
with their callous words and giddy games

Ramona, O Ramona, blessed art thou
amongst maidens
for thine is the healing, the mercy,
the clev'rest wit and purest soul
for now and forever and ever
amen.
a tribute to those who feel as ugly as ducklings
Lee Oct 2012
Call me Ramona and **** me senseless.
It's a name for wearing your hood up
regardless of prevailing weather conditions
Changing your hair for something to do
Skipping every song on shuffle after 30 seconds
For being lonely
For hating the company of everybody
including yourself.
A name for indulging poisons-
what's a little more when you're already toxic?
Call me Ramona,
it suits me.
Connor Jul 2016
And it's difficult to remember something as the very name of Eisenhower
Or flowerbaskets
And tired movies made of silicone and
Aftersex
Or sixteen candles echoing out of an imaginary suite with cigarettes at every table
And green lawns
Barbershop conversation
The reflection of the sun in special trees
Or my best friend Jesus Christ
Or the smell of the theater that one day with the cynics who just got back from a tennis match and barbwire still laced delicately around their thoughts and
Nihilism
And automotives
And priestess Jane or Henry's gloomy doppelganger who reads alternative magazines and loves the aesthetics behind broken glass
And fine tuned musical instruments

It's difficult to remember
Lonesome Fridays smoking on a park bench trying to finish the puzzle
Or synagogues you've never been in
Or insurance
Or newspaper articles detailing the misadventures of Mr. City
(Of course of course! Take your shoes off at the door and make yourself at home)
We're tossing all our sewage into the ocean
that's far from clean as it
LOOKS anymore these days
That's anything
And everything except for the glowing mountains seen faded and wintry behind Apartments and the
"Glorious Mexican House of Spices"
Never been in there either

It's difficult to remember
Times of Mr Twin Sister
Or Joan Jett in the hallway
In a highschool who's psychology classrooms have become a time capsule in the ground/
Or the gentle skinny ******
Wearing Broadway makeup and
Kafka tattooed on his shoulder
I like his hat
He looks at me suspiciously
Or the guy who is yelling his order at the counter when it's quiet here anyways
Or the mariner who has a hobby of the saxophone
Or 1970s *******
Or the sheepskin bikeseat fad that's yet to come but I'm predicting it now!
Or two dollars and twentyseven cents at the beginning of Allen Ginsberg's America
"I've given you all and now I'm nothing"

It's difficult to remember
The Oriental
Sacramento flies
Midnight Moon
Quarter to four
"The Immortalization Commission"
Remodelled hotels downtown
Where mandalas on the floor became a
Tiger lily luminous
And the kimono is yesterday's painting/
Dearest Darling
When I was feeling down!
A staircase in reverse (??)
The sound a kiss makes
It's difficult to remember
Colleen's earrings
Or Washington State
Or air conditioners in Bali
The Indian ocean's daybreak hymn
To Seminyak
Or whatever happened to Steve from the Airplane out of Taiwan
On 3 days awake
Hello Kitty nursing stations
****** (Kubrick's version)
Cardboard taking up half my bedroom
It's difficult to remember until I jot it down and then its a sudden forever
Sunshine Superman in a cafe spontaneous
drawings with someone I just met who has some ******* attitude/
Who hops fences and has feral ideas
People! En Masse! Te Amo!
You're all in wolven liberty
And vague postulators
And holy prostitutes for the dollar
Sad eyed intellectuals
With undergarments made of breakfast cereal/
Seaferry poetry is different from
Trestle in August poetry
Or henna handshakes
Or the Napoleonic era
Sweet Cherry Pie
The tulip's tongue
Garabajal
Cloudy first day of July
Was hotter yesterday
But not too hot

It's difficult to remember
Antiquity
The pale horse Studebaker outside the clinic
With a glossy red trim and **** I wish that was my ride
Andy Warhol's exploding plastic inevitable
Nearsightedness
Angels and their ability to shower with a a snap of their fingers
Distant harp music
Better him than me
Bananas almost ripe
Green aquatic
Reclusive junkies
Palomo's appliances
Questions for the next time
How much I like what you like and how I like that you like what I like
Ahh that's not my bus
I'm trying to get to the city!
That one quote Socrates is known for about knowing nothing as true wisdom
Supermarkets being built on top of liquor stores burned down a while back
Monopolies
Tragedies
"No Love Lost"
THE HOUSE ON HAUNTED HILL
Your guess is as good as mine
Never tried to eat Asian food in Asia
It was all pasta and good cider that tasted like pineapple
Rain hitting the window and I'm
Drowsy again
God Save The Trees!
Curly hair looks good on boys
Torn up blinds
Queer as a three dollar bill
If Bill costs 3 dollars I'm sure he's caught something better safe than sorry
Sage advice
I'm the very model of a modern major general
Golden yen and international currency
Incense in the bedroom and how good it smells
There's my bus! Applying for a better job than the one I got now
But that's how it always is right?
Chasing satisfaction
1007 apt
Porch ornaments
Unique names
Unique style le style
The extra charge on foreign ATMs
Cordoroy polo shirts
Flooding in New York!
When someone's face screams *******
"Slippery when wet"
Dine N Dash
Grass gone yellow
Confidence in dyed hair and capes as long as wedding gowns
But less expensive
Doors that always seem to be locked and I'm wondering 20 year later what's behind them?
Albino animals
White thoughts as clouds or
Abstractions
Weathers nicer in Florida but who cares
Festivities this early in the day
Automatopeia
Do sad orphanages still exist?
Just like the movies
Midnight in mirrors
That sick puppet at the shoe shop used
To know how to really hammer it down
And now he's weak and forgotten
Never heard the words of a true prophet only Oceania
Or the private temple near Apollo Bay
Like Japanese gardens behind that gate
Will I ever see it
Make a proud example outta ya misbehavior
Form without function
Exhausted spiritualism
*** Kettle Black
negative photographs of dark rooms
And there's laughing coming from SOMEWHERE
Essays on kleptomania
Had a bad dream I became a cliche
Surrounded by other freaks and there was a lovely ***** I fell in love with her
We married in Oregon by the sea her name was rosy
***** rosy
Check your mailbox for nails
And what you don't wanna hear/
If you were a vegetable you'd be organic!
Empire
Satirical bubble gum
Satori
Linda Lovelace and her special party trick
That's someone's fantasy
Diamond in the rough
Mister guy with two black eyes frequents the adult playhouse
Hes fully stocked on fishnet leggings
He's too proud to put them on himself but
Has nobody else around
Boo hoo
Swigs back the whiskey and trips down the stairs getting a third black eye in the process
Marion came by with her dog the other day
Wanted her box of clothes back but he loved to sniff them to remember her
But she wouldn't have it

"Honey I'm going to call the police!"

"Ah they don't give a **** they have bigger things to worry about"

"Yeah you got that right shrimp **** enjoy my unwashed *******"

And she never came back again
He started losing the vertebrae in his spine 1 by 1 and you know where this is going
I won't say he was a poor man because he had it all coming to him the *******
But he coulda had a better start if you ask me.

It's difficult to remember
And even more difficult to forget
After the fact

Seagull opera
Giganticism
Portrait of the artist as a young man
Losing one's pencil when the best idea of your life drops down from heaven and into your sorry head
Signs graffitied to have funnier meanings
Cruelty
Impassive
The Loyal Lioness
And Bangladesh has too many kitchens
And not enough dishes
When I was young I used to say Island as "is-land"  
Which is true it is land
But the Europeans probably stole it from somebody else anyways/
I left my future behind
And objects in the mirror are closer than they appear
Im no illusionist
I'm terrified of the cracken
Father feels the same way about
Hotels
Why bother/
This has been going on and on for a while are you tired yet
Is your patience being tested
Mine isn't because this wasn't an all-at-once kind of rambling
It's extremely important to laugh at least
Once a day
Otherwise you'll find yourself a politician
In no time at all
Rockefeller
(         ) Quaint home to die in
I think
Trains create great music
Float on
Sink into yourself
Roses in a crooked alley
That's people
Busy busy busy busy
Let's describe a situationist
I'm not a fan of bright colors on clothes
Your best shade is blue
Bricklayers transcription of Don Quixote to a skyscraper
Rocket thyme
& Garden
Erratic children's
Insomnia
The doorbell repeatedly
Vancouver riots/ I saw that live on the news!
Pictionary with the surrealists
N Dada TV set MC Escher
Antenna
You're in the Twilight Zone now
Dear Ramona
I'm trying to make it up to you
With a brightness only seen when you're ready to see it so please for the love of God don't blame me when it's not appearing
The tapestry hidden
Keep your blankets clean
And avoid hospitals unless you're fine with fishbowls & the halogen
The water gestapo
Storage lockers full of unacted plays and
Antique microwaves
Emitting the nostalgia of the cold war era
And what a waste of time that was /
Walter Wanderleys presence in Autumn universities
The opening of Vivre sa Vie
Salvador Dali's pluvial taxi
Lightbulb epiphanies
Aquariums and their protestors
Zebras in the shade
Two wrongs dont make a right
Elizabethan theater
Saloon shootouts in a fever dream
I lost and bled out all over the rustic wooden floor
A maiden reached out for me and El Paso did play I woke up and pretended nothing happened/
Funerals for bad People who did bad things
My first memory of a cat beneath the mattress
Hello Dolly!
Auditory learning
Psychotherapy
Lillian the landlady lost her ladle and labeled little Lyle as a lair
The Black panther movement
Reading symposium some years ago and
Making note that Phaedo was still my favorite dialogue/
Zen Buddhism
Xoxo xoxo
The day Gypsies were replaced with
Surface ****** appetite
And not the real thing
Newspaper clippings
Hypnotism when all other options are out
Mystical visions of sidewalks
And the love of your life stepping through a door you've never seen
Maybe Yes No I Don't Know
Creature comforts
Che Guevara's problem is that his beard made him too easy to recognize
(Also that little hat!)
Chinese cough medicine didn't work
For long I still wheeze sometimes
Domestic violence thru the wall
Ceiling fan probably doesn't even work!
Dimpled laughter
Yankee Hotel Foxtrot
In skytrains to Commercial
Bermuda in her mind
And courtesy in her voice
I'm no Arthur Rimbaud
But you already knew that
Alcazar of Seville
Filling up the shipbottle
Here's your paradise
Now relinquish it as it is
False!
Hare Krishna
Nowhere Fast
El Diablo and the
Portofino loaf left rotting on the countertop
Latin children speak of the sacred viper
You'll hear of it after this but we'll never see what the ******* meant
Heads alternating round the social current
Of my lively city
There's a dog soaking up the rain
And songs are made in honor of
Recent catastrophes
Trials are dealt
Cards cast to the gutter
New York quiets down for the news of another war
You scratch my back I'll scratch yours
Skeleton key
Ballad of the last wailing zoo
THE ATRIUM
Complexity in simplicity
That's how Brainard got me!
Elderly overcoats
Hiding purest LSD
Is a fan of Hawaiian T shirts
And a communist
What if I was a Freemason
Or owned a tanning salon
Faint crimson
What did Marv look like again?
"You're surrounded by people who love you"
Coffee when one needs it
GOODBYE BLUE MONDAY
Tattoos on the wandering man
Oriental chimes and the people who own them
Bus stop regulars
Vines overtaking power lines
The hypnogogic state
Strawberry light softening
The mind
Sister Ray LOUDLY PROCLAIMING
doitdoitdoitdoit
Passing the graffiti n Pluto neon
Halal wide awake another Saturday
Where's the Karaoke
Flashing by here
Those who find comfort in a bridal scavenger hunt
Or expensive beer
And here comes the hooded clown
Clamoring about his favorite
Loudspeaker
Telling me my time is soon and the noise
Drowns out the drowsy bliss
After hour spirits the perfect time for
Writing and trying to read distant Chinese
Indecision on the tip of the tongue
"NOW WHO IS THAT KNOCKING
ON THE CHAMBER DOOR?
COULD IT BE THE POLICE?"

I'm completely off the topic
And into Apartment lobby photosets
Low battery phone calls
Confessions
Nauseated reverb
Trying to see the attachment people got with bingo halls
And moving companies
Ah no luck again
Eve is at it with her showtunes
Halfway methodology
Triage
Paisley headbands left
Distraught on the quivering
Heater
Dwindling sunsets
We're truly disciples of the moon spirit which grants us more energy
(This is according to a drunk I met one night)
Or ***** old men
When the horizon is engulfed with
A winking cinder
Suitcase at the door
Last time
First time
Magician never reveals his fetishes
(They all have to do with bags under your eyes)
Employment office dramas of my friend the one who blinded a social worker
And the one who blamed Islam
And the one whos philosophy entirely consisted of Spooky Action at a
                                            DISTANCE
Parisian riots
Queer youth
Didn't make the team! Jester
'cross the hall who's beard suggests
Ishmeal n car battery n expired vegetables n rain which crosses the line n
***** cranberry n
Poorly fitted suits n
Harsh pigment n incense shops n
Bocca     secret towns
With churches more beautiful than any you'd find in your own city
n the cultural market
Xylophone ear to ear
Soul cleansing starting at only
$89 (with a 6 month guarantee)
Sophie's birthday and her picnic at Victory Park
The nearby bums trying to sell tea mugs and
Loose wires beside gated convenience stores
I'm an Island away attempting a poem
And never bought a scratch n win
Or heard the same song more than seven times in a row or been in a column
Or escaped the washhouse
Invested in a birdcage for next year
Been to a palm reading
Visited Oasis
Smoked salmon
Told anyone else about Montana
Screamed the things I'd like to scream
** Word of the day
Or kissed a lunatic or swallowed the corpse of yesterday
I keep her on my neck until
I'm too anxious to let go
Counting streetlights
Jeans worn in and faded to be sent off to
A lonely caffeine addict
Christmas Eve I'll be reading a postcard from San Francisco
Asking the same questions
My imagination is made of a different material than last week
Now it's the same color as your hair
HEY that's a good pickup line to use in the heart of the Canadian Embassy
Drinking discarded music resembling a sweater you may have said YES to if it wasn't so unsure of itself
And now Mr. Acker Bilk ascends thru the window of an August home
Like a lazy hornet
I'm still lost without identification
Or a nice belt
As happens when one uses a quality item too casually
How did uphill suddenly seem so downhill?
I'll claim a waterfall
For SALE that inevitable Indonesia
Greyhound O another greyhound O another greyhound
I'm fretting too much about not enough
Delayed the Airport and the yellow question

????

II

What if I knew how to read the curb?
Or translate drunken droll
What if I was never tired again and could
REALLY do anything I set my mind to?
What if I was the first cigarette that cured cancer instead of caused it?
What if I could end superstition
And walk underneath any ladder I wanted?
What if I could make it with a young Audrey Hepburn!?
What if I stopped pretending to be a microphone and got on with "it"
What if the grocery store closed later
And I opened earlier?
What if parking lots werent so sad
All the time?
What if gravity simply had enough of exotic birds and specifics?
What if we stopped trying to recreate what is truly lost?
What if foreign children embraced
Wasting time instead of
Midnight starry bicycles
And the antics of a monk
Disguised as a romantic?

There are those that worship God
And those who worship the Sun
And those who worship nothing at all
But I suppose on the last bus
We're all the same exhausted
Voice who can't wait for next pay day
What is an empty bank?
Or authenticity
What is there to prove anymore?
I hope I don't die tonight and regret
Being impulsive for once
You're a smart shadow
And a dull character
Pushing the last of the daisies
Get the lamp to turn on again
Give the pavement something to look forward to with your walk
Be consistent in being inconsistent
If there's a word there's a ***** and a poem for it!
We all oughta worship
Nothing at all except
Clarity
Compassion with ones neighbor who either forgot the pay the electricity bill or couldn't afford to
We're a swimmin
Written between late June to July 13th.
Molly Smithson May 2014
Moving amidst my Ramona chapter books,
I make out your movement, M, the moody turns
Of your mounts and valleys, the moniker of

Family names, you marked me like a maternal
Emblem of the generation’s matriarch,
You mingled amid reminiscences of former matrons  

Maria Helena from the Midwest,
Who crossed the mountains in a wagon,
Madeleine, a migrant from Marseilles,

Who baked warm loaves in San Francisco,
And her own daughter, my Mimi,
Who muttered merde while she drank martinis.

In my own time, you materialized in
Marjorie, my nana, and Maria, my mom,
The women in which I knew you growing up,

Then Molly, who made dreams out of
Magic and Movies and Marie Antoinette,
You embellished my most favorite things.

In my monogram, you aimed my impulses
in your masts’ diametric directions
Towards competence, towards imagination.

In your middle ‘s mysterious compartment I make snug
With magazines and novels and mugs of hot milk.
You nuzzled me in moments of melancholy, then motivated me

To meander among your fundamental family,
The sumptuous L of melt and mélange,
The meticulous N of man or monk or money.

Even W, which matches your mien in mirror
It warped wicked witch while you
Milled maidens and damsels, so I imagined

The mutilation of those two majuscules formed
My image of womanhood. M, Molly Smithson materialized
From a meek mademoiselle into the mistress of mischief.
Alicia Aug 2017
trembling, she buttoned up each catch to hide the melody burned into her skin

my ramona

set free too long ago
a song sent to be heard only in twilight

your face has new lines — none of which sing
these are straighter, without rhythm
you have been reconstructed into a sketch
a new art claims your body
a new artist claims your body

why do you let your canvas have such a possessive audience?

beauty leaks from your ballads
you are not a pen stroke

my ramona

a.m.
come be the song I hum at my most genuine moment of contentment
spysgrandson Dec 2013
the car seemed to be gliding on glass
the last inconvenient instant before impudent impact  
the mangled mass of metal and his black crisp body
a spectacle for the masses, all 4 of them  
2 volunteer fire fighters and 2 EMTs
later, his father, blind now in one eye
from America’s diabetes, had Ramona  
drive him to the spot, to the dead oak
as big around as an oil barrel  
dead long before Paul’s 1996 Ford Escort
decided to take a go at it  
daddy had to see the place  
that infinite space between  
yesterday and the tomorrow
that would never come, even though
he had already seen, through his one good eye
his boy’s charred carcass at the county morgue  
resting on a silver slab, the clean and cold bed  
where he would spend his last night
before the fiery furnace,
Ramona and he could keep his ashes
no need for a big service, no money for one either  
but Dub, “Paul's boss down to the auto parts store,”  
opened his wallet as wide as it would go
for the cremation and a nice urn  
Paul would be missed, by Daddy and Dub  
and once in a great while, in the fast and furious world
of the flat gray town where he lived and died  
someone would ask, whatever happened to
that old boy at the auto parts store  
the one who limped a bit as he walked,
the one who rarely talked but always
smiled through his yellow teeth
when he placed the goods carefully
on the counter
no doubt Paul Walker, the handsome and successful actor, was a fine human being--this is a tribute to another Paul who did not share the same light
Leslie Philibert Feb 2017
not brown grass, not spindle trees
                              nor sloppy suns embrace you,

you sway in a summer hammock,
                              your shape unique,
                              a collection of eyes and glass;

no description ; time has limped to a stop,
                             the hours windless,
                             a girl at quiet under the sky
eileen Feb 2019
Do thou but call my resolution wise,  And with this knife I’ll help it presently.
vladimir tres Jun 2013
bedroom.
The floor met the sun,
dancing there, on the carpet.
Then on the dresser, the walls, the bed.
It gave out a long kaleidoscope of ginger and gold,
then distilled into whiskey on Ramona's wrist,
living on her islands.
Here the sun became barly.
The hot bed sheet rolled back thinly,
her islands then became a continent.
Ramona lay her arm in a curve.
It was the undressed river of her matress.
She was asleep in her bed and awoke in the hot lakes where the sun,
peering through the window,
shined in all day.
Now it had died down into a bronze knot of loosened sun.
She lay there watching the last of its exhale.
mike dm Oct 2015
lavender vapor cure
undulates up toward tent top  
sandal as makeshift ash catcher
vladimir tres Jun 2013
The breeze whisked gentle against the curtains.
Getting subtler, subtler, and subtler.

The sun yawned.

Her window stayed open.

Then the breeze had all together hushed.
So the sun,
spilled into the bedroom.
The floor met the sun,
dancing there,
on the carpet.
Then on the dresser,
the walls,
the bed.
It gave out a long kaleidoscope of ginger and gold,
then distilled into whiskey on Ramona's wrist,

living on her islands. Here the sun became barley.
The hot bed sheet rolled back thinly,
her islands then became a continent.

Ramona lay her arm in a curve.
It was the undressed river of her mattress.
She was asleep in her bed and awoke in the hot lakes where the sun,
peering through the window,
shined in all day.
Now it had died down into a bronze knot of loosened sun.
She lay there watching the last of its exhale.
Natasha Ivory Feb 2017
For the past two years, I've written parts of this in my mind and it never felt right to put pen to paper until now.
I needed to reach a place of peace and full forgiveness to fully express to you the language of my heart, in a way that would voice transparently true and real.
Whether I ever send this to you or not, it's finally on a tangible form of matter and emptied from my busy mind and heart, making room for more of what matters.
I hope this finds you well.

Written below is life.

The fear, desolation, loss, pain, abandonment, loneliness, sickness, regrets, rejection and utter disbelief, became a platform for growth.
Stretching my mind and heart to endure more than I thought I could handle and the belief that I could possibly die from a heartbreak, built me.
You've missed out on beauty.
Watching Gavin grow from the daily tears of losing his pawpaw and wondering when you were going to come back, to the occasional question about his past and he's grown into already completing multiplication equations at the age of 6. He aspires to be a paleontologist and travel the world, with a map tacked large across his bedroom wall, nestled in our home, the one that overflows with unconditional love. That allows breakdowns to happen, because we've all been there. He's come from daily tears to hilarious mannerisms and has a personality that every person, from his barber to his Taekwondo instructor, have fallen in love with. He still wakes up to silly songs every morning and is known as Best Buddy because he's the best boy that's ever lived. He knows he  is loved, despite the small ache that I know still gnaws at his tender heart from time to time and I've built a community of strength around him to assure him that he's safe.
Emily has grown into a strong beautiful almost woman. She's already chosen a career path and she strives daily to achieve small goals in order to reach the large ones. Mapping out her sophomore and junior year to be completed in one with home studies, and I'm amazed at her drivenness. She is kind, sincere, forgiving, understanding, smart and wonderfully gracious and thoughtful. She battled with severe anxiety after losing our home and went through months of cognitive therapy and medications to help her sleep. To now having voluntarily stopping the therapy, weening off of the medication, working out daily, eating healthy and taking on multiple babysitting jobs. This life pain has taught her that people make mistakes, that nothing in life is certain and to cling to your family tight because it's all that matters.
Kaitlyn still has her peculiar Ramona Quimby mischievous traits and never fails to ask the same mind boggling questions at the most in-opportune times. She's as tall as Emma and is drop dead beautiful. Her grades are exceptional and she's passionate about fitness and loves her friends. She was one of three 6th graders to make the competitive cheer team at her school, that cut 15 girls at tryouts.
What I Love most about her is her genuine thankfulness. Every time I check out a register at the grocery store or buy her things as simple as a toothbrush, she expresses gratitude like no one I've ever known.

The sleepless nights spent tossing and turning crying myself to sleep, replaying the story over and over in my head, have now turned to bright beautiful mornings.

I wake up to a person that makes it his daily goal to remind me that I matter & that I'm loved.
He's endured the tears flooded that followed with anxiety drenched vomiting, held me and told me that I'm the most beautiful, even in those states.
He's made me laugh from deep down in the belly, accepted all of my flaws and encouraged me like, never before.
He hides notes throughout the house and in my personal belongings so that I'll read them. In hopes that the words he's written will sink into my subconscious, the same way that the ink sunk into the paper and I'll finally believe my worth.

So, thank you.
For pushing me out.
For giving me the opportunity to see even more immense beauty in my children, forcing my heart to become bold and strong and giving me the die or fight strength to blossom into the Fierce woman that I've become.
I needed to prove you wrong when you spoke words of death over my life, "you're children will never amount to anything, because they have you as a mother".
Every new friend that I meet and families we befriend, are in awe of my relationship with my children and always congratulate me on having raised them into kind respectful people.
Thank you, for shaking my life so heavily that I was able to really know who God is, more deeply than ever. Forgiveness became a whole new meaning to me and my kids watched as all of the pieces healed and they've been able to heal right along side of me. Loving flawed and leading with love has become a staple of our home and lives and this learned trait will be inherent within them for the remainder of their lives. So once again, thank you.
I am where I'm supposed to be.
It's not unfinished business.
The pain is almost fully healed and I'm grateful to have experienced the pain and loss.
So that I can grasp what's at hand whole heartedly.
The sun still continues to rise, as you used to say and the morning fog lifting daily stripped the hardness from my heart.
You came into my life for a reason and a season and I wish you nothing but prosperity, love and happiness. Best wishes on the remainder of your life journey and I hope you have found peace, love and all of the wonderful joys that God freely gives.
Farewell.

Sincerely,

Natasha Ivory Evans
Finding forgiveness.
Copyright © Natasha Ivory Evans 2016
Sally A Bayan Sep 2022
My sister bought it years ago,
too bad, my mother didn’t
get the chance to enjoy it,
she would've treasured it.

It became a reminder of sadness,
an unintended metaphor, for loss
and pain...it always brought back
that very unexpected, very sad
early morning in February.

Its bright red handle...faded
through weeks, months and
years of changing seasons,
stood on a corner for a long
time...unused, but still intact,
until i took notice one day,
brought it out of its dusty wrap
and opened the red cane umbrella.

A smiling face suddenly flashed
in mind...a presence who, on
early mornings, eagerly recited,
“I am the master of my fate:
  I am the captain of my soul,”
tirelessly sketched portraits of
unknown faces during unholy hours,
planted, cooked, sewed, while
humming "Ramona"...one who
taught us about silent vows and
undying promises that eventually,
became ours to keep.

It's now an accompanying cane,
the red umbrella...it saves me
from miscalculating steps, from
falling debris, when keeping walls
from crumbling.


sally b

©Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
September 29, 2022
Jodie LindaMae Dec 2013
I. I thought you were her world;
   Her paperback novel
   She could ponder quotes in
And crack the spine of.
   But you’ve now got police orders against you
And the pain of missing you
   Seers the seams of her striped-sweater heart
   And though you’re trying to get into Green and Ginsberg,
   She can’t see what the big deal is.
   You were the Holden Caulfield
   To her Jane Gallagher
   But Holden never took Phoebe
   To the mattress so
   I guess that makes the two of you
   Sid and Nancy
   Instead.

II. I suppose she never believed you
   When you told her that you were an alcoholic.
   Because alcohol burns
   And though you lit her fire,
   You couldn’t keep it burning.
   You told her that you didn’t read
   And she should have
   Backed away then.
   But she didn't.
   Because you played accordion
   And dressed like Gatsby
   And she adored that for a good while.
   Until you told her that you despised the Rolling Stones
   And may have committed a ******.
   Even then she did not back away
   Because you bought her cigarettes
   And hit on other girls
   While she waited for you
   To give her the boot.

III. She liked your accent
   But it was just a sweet, endearing cover up
   For a mind as empty as a gypsy’s wallet
   And a rich man’s soul.

IV. You liked to give her drags
   Off your E-cigarette
   Because it tasted like cherry Pez
   And you wanted her to see
   Or rather, taste,
   The magic.
   Kissing you was like magic
   Until
   You moved on to an older broad.

V. Everytime
   Her lips met yours
   You tasted like heavy *****
   And she was too desperate and twisted
   To really give much of a ****.
   So she accepted it
   And moved on.
   Because you called her pretty
   And made out with her in the forest,
   Denim scratching denim,
   Hearts hurting hearts.

VI. She didn’t know you were homeless.
   Or, rather,
   Maybe she did
   But she didn’t accept it.
   Like an elderly doesn’t accept death at first
   And attempts to bargain.
You smelled horrible…
   She believed it to be a natural thing.
   But you were neglecting your hygiene and with that,
   Her as well.
   And the only thing you cared more for than ***
   Was the *** Pistols.

VII. You asked her to take off her glasses one day
   And with one look of her freckled,
   Pimple-shell ridden face,
   You told her she looked like Ramona Flowers
   And upon googling who that was,
   She nearly crapped herself in glee.
   She should have taken it as a sign
   When you began to find
   And tiny reason to touch her in as playful a way you could.
   Through tiny nudges
   She should have seen the possibility of romance blossoming.
   But you were 29
   And she, 17.
   Twelve years, practically
   Three Presidents
   Between the two of you.
   But your undivided ideals
   Brought you only closer together.
   You were an English education major,
   With a III mark after your name
   And Megaman on your walls.
   She took one look
   At the astounding possibilities,
   Drew a breath and fell in love with
Every little thing about you.
Every single,
Unnoticeable thing about you,
From the scar
Stretching down your spine
To the scruff on your chin…
She fell
Deeper in love with you
Than she ever had before.
And she saw a dream,
A future,
That came in on a hot summer day
With Taco Bell
And destiny.
Ramona L Hughes Jun 2013
Gather nuts.
Grasp for the lean times.
Rotting potatoes
lie blandly in dark corners.
Silently stare at me with many eyes.
Find bright baubles.
Keep pretty playthings.
Trinkets and knick knacks
Ornaments on grimy shelves.
Idiotic faces chipped teeth and paint.
Saved paper
Stacked to the ceiling
Overflowing words
Seem to whisper as I pass.
Dangerous towers of unheeded news.
Faded petals
Pressed between pages.
Vacuous promises
carefree inane memories
Dreadful hopeless dreams nourishment for worms.

copyright protected Ramona Hughes
Borges Oct 2021
Que era lo que querían dos sometidos a la sodamizacion, volcados en el cemento, echos mármol, y sin grgklujaapan.
Entre los enrededores y la pasta de ayer enfrente del televisor, se encontraba una puerca ramera, soñando sus sueños en heroínas, y mas mota barata.
Ramona de mis entrañas, que seria de tu vida en el estiércol y las faldas de piernas cortas, utilizando el maquillaje de compostura anual.

Los ilos que se mantenían en el vidrio de sus vidas era demasiado para la ramera, así utilizaba heroína como jabón de manos, era ahogante.

Su primera ves, era apropiado decir que pertenencia tenía la cuchara propia, para ella solo necesitaba estar en su cama vacía, sola y feliz, la calentaba y pensaba en su ideología perdida, en sus penas.

Que tubo de grande la maquina de instrumentos en drogados. Era una ilusión algo como la psychosis y plena morfina solo eso servía.

lo calenta entre postada y alienta a pura sangre borgia, "im in heaven"
glenda byzantium
eileen Nov 2018
I'll give you all my money
my heart
I'll buy you socks
candy and whatever you want

will that make us best friends
feels like we're almost lovers again

but you're talking
with somebody else

felt like we could become
everything

as we laid in your bed
2 am

falling asleep on my shoulder

I turned into dust

morning came
I didn't remember where I'd been

suddenly the feeling went away

we are distant as ever

whatever I thought we had
didn't last forever
flynt Jan 2013
Mexi: I'm the right kind of lover on Sunday morning.
Ramona: I will kick your ***.
Aurora: She's so sweet, and graceful, and cherry flavored.
Knives: *******


Many more to come probably because I hate myself.
Crazy
Santiago Jan 2015
My mother, my father, my friend
The one I truly love until the end
First month first day gave the way
To the sweetest mother
A gifted spirit like no other
Five sisters & thee only brother
All her children love her
Very humble, caring, and preparing
Us for a righteous life
Don't result in vengeance
Instead pray for assistance
Leave it in the Lords hands
Understand impossible
For him it's possible
I love her to the fullest
Gave birth to the illest
She came from Mexico
To give birth to a ****
It's not her fault I'm so crazy
Did her best to raise me
Jalisco from my mother
Tijuana from my father
Aztec blood runs in my veins
My indigenous reigns
I love her teachings,
Her speeches, & upbringings
I love her & no ones above her
A blessing I'm confessing
She did her best
It's up to me to finish the rest
Happy birthday Mi AMA
Ramona te amo
Con toda el alma
Jade Apr 2020
Spinal column
a stairwell of books,
rungs of untouched vertebrae
avoided by the bibliophile herself

[myself].

Brain is wired differently
than the rest of them.

At first,
I thought it was a matter of being
****-retentive.
A veteran perfectionist
who strives to imagine every detail
as intricately and accurately
as the author must have intended.

Character's faces morph into
sloppy, patchwork collages,
features copied and pasted from
beautiful strangers and
celebrities who played
in the movie adaptations.

Their appearances are both
cliche
and
incomprehensible.

I am told a character is pale,
but can only manage to visualize a complexion
the colour of notebook paper,
penetrating blue eyes mere apparitions
against a wintry terrain--
her ears
nose
lips
misplaced beneath the tundra.

I lay the book atop my collarbone,
its cover pitched into a make-shift tent.

(Cautiously).

Almost as if I am
afraid to disturb
the seriffed constellations
that flicker above my heart.

I stare up at the ceiling
(vacant, as am I),
my eyebrows scrunched
into nooses of concentration,
several minutes passing before
her cheeks gradually begin to thaw,
warming over in an ombre
of pinks and olives.

And I rejoice!

Strike down the tent,
pupils hungry for prose.

But there is always
another character.

In Valley of the Dolls,
a handsome man,
whose hairline I cannot
properly envision

(this makes him less handsome).

This time,
when I lay my book down,
I do not proceed with caution,
the corners of its pages
dog-earing against my body.

Google:

men's hairstyles, 1940's

(I need to commit to memory
three different styles
so the three different males
I am working with
are not trite clones of each other).

I can only manage three pages
at a time
before having to take a break.

Three pages for me
is strenuous,
as I pause to formulate
images befitting Jaqueline Susanne's
creative vision;
as I look up every word
I don't know the meaning of
in the dictionary;
as I repeatedly deliberate
the same passage
because of my incapability
to thoroughly process the text

Three pages for me
is strenuous,
as I pause to formulate
images befitting Jaqueline Susanne's
creative vision;
as I look up every word
I don't know the meaning of
in the dictionary;
as I repeatedly deliberate
the same passage
because of my incapability
to thoroughly process the text

Three pages for me
is strenuous,
as I pause to formulate
images befitting Jaqueline Susanne's
creative vision;
as I look up every word
I don't know the meaning of
in the dictionary;
as I repeatedly deliberate
the same passage
because of my incapability
to thoroughly process the text

Three pages for me
is strenuous,
as I pause to formulate
images befitting Jaqueline Susanne's
creative vision;
as I look up every word
I don't know the meaning of
in the dictionary;
as I repeatedly deliberate
the same passage
because of my incapability
to thoroughly process the text

Three pages for me
is strenuous,
as I pause to formulate
images befitting Jaqueline Susanne's
creative vision;
as I look up every word
I don't know the meaning of
in the dictionary;
as I repeatedly deliberate
the same passage
because of my incapability
to thoroughly process the text

Three pages for me
is an exponential task,
as I pause to formulate
images befitting
Jaqueline Susanne's vision;
as I look up every word
I don't know the meaning of
in the dictionary;
as I repeatedly deliberate
the same passage
because of my incapability
to thoroughly process the text

Three pages for me
is strenuous,
as I pause to formulate
images befitting Jaqueline Susanne's
creative vision;
as I look up every word
I don't know the meaning of
in the dictionary;
as I repeatedly deliberate
the same passage
because of my incapability
to thoroughly process the text

Three pages for me
is strenuous,
as I pause to formulate
images befitting Jaqueline Susanne's
creative vision;
as I look up every word
I don't know the meaning of
in the dictionary;
as I repeatedly deliberate
the same passage
because of my incapability
to thoroughly process the text

Three pages for me
is strenuous,
as I pause to formulate
images befitting Jaqueline Susanne's
creative vision;
as I look up every word
I don't know the meaning of
in the dictionary;
as I repeatedly deliberate
the same passage
because of my incapability
to thoroughly process the text

on the first
(second...
third...
I don't know...)

try.

Turns out
this is more than just
being ****-retentive.

This is Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder.

I yearn for times of old
junior high
when I could finish a novel
in a day--
ramona and beezus
butterfly lion
the silver donkey.

But even then,
the obsessions were there,
one substituted for another:

the ceaseless gushing
of the soap pump
and dizzying rotation
of the faucet taps.

Could barely hold literature
between my palms
without aggravating
the rosettes of eczema
that had sprout
along my hands,
scoured clean and raw.

Eventually,
I outgrew these harrowing baptisms.

Am still waiting to outgrow
the laborious nature of my readings.

My only antidote poetry,
for it heals me in
every way
fiction could not
[cannot].

The poems do not trouble me,
do not burden me
with overwhelming arrangements
of ink and letters.

Instead,
I confront the English language
line by line,
sedated by the simple
fragmentation
of each stanza.

Because even when fragmented,
these stanzas offer up to me
the written word
like it is ambrosia
when I am starving
for intellect
but cannot feast.

I am spoon-fed words
until I am full--
am reminded that
I am not the stupid girl
I believe I am,
courtesy of my
obsessive, compulsive short circuits.

I do not relate to the cohesion of prose,
cannot deny the brilliant likeness
that exists between the reader
and her enjambment--
both fractured mosaics of metaphor.

I am
as broken
as these verses.

But

it is only as
I shatter
that I am freed.
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Eevry Louis Jan 2013
If the world ends on Friday, I'd like you to know
You really are lovely, much more lovely than a hobo
Your hair is cooler than Ramona Flowers
Your style of dress, not nearly retro chic
But every time you speak, its more eloquent than Louis Phillipe.
Your music taste-divine
Not even Athena could match
I really do think you are quite a catch.
If the world ends on Friday, which I really do doubt
I'd like to spend that day, or some other, with you.
Ramona L Hughes Jun 2013
Cry
Each teardrop
a tiny ocean
essence of pain


copyright protected Ramona Hughes

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