The other day I was mixing up some cottage cheese and blueberries, and had some verses in Polish pop into my head, so I wanted to record them here for posterity.  And it’s my first poem in Polish!

Jagody, jagody, w moim ogrody.
Tak gruby, tak mokry, niestety mrozony.

Ok, this time I’m giving myself a similar assignment, except this time I’m writing what happens next, with little to no reference as to what has already happened.  We’re just getting plunked into the middle of the story.

And for some extra flavor, I’m going to try it in 1st person, too…  I’m also going to upload a copy of the photo, rather than a link so that it doesn’t get lost in the Internets.  Once again fair warning – this may suck.  It’s late, I’m tired, and I won’t be spending much time on this.  It’s just practice to make sure I’m writing as often as I can manage.

I really hope I’m not squeezing too hard.  With all the adrenaline pumping through me right now, I didn’t realize how hard I was holding their hands.  We’ve formed a big line down the slope to the river, hand in hand.  I feel like one of those monkeys from that old barrell-o-monkeys game.  I probably look like one too, right now, bright colors and all. 

My buddy, Rob, is behind me.  I don’t care so much about him – he’ll live – it’s the girl in front of me I’m worried about.  I don’t really know her and she’s kind of cute.  I’d hate to put her off by crushing her fingers.  Not that I can make a good impression smelling like a boxer after a fight, and wrapped up in this oh-so-sexy life preserver.  At least I’m not wearing the pink helmet.  I made sure Rob got stuck with that one.

I relax my grip a bit and do my best to give her a smile when she looks back.  "You ready for this?" I ask her excitedly, making sure my muscles are still flexed; partially to impress and partially to provide an explanation for the stale sweat smell.

She throws me back a calm smirk and asks "Are you?".  I had to pause for a second and figure out what just happened.  All I saw as I came to my senses were her banana yellow "aqua-socks" disappearing in a spray of foam, quickly reappearing to chase her bobbing helmet through the rocks and out of sight. 

"Your turn, ace.  You buckled?"  It was our bald-headed guide, Doug.  He’s so laid back, I’d almost forgotten he was with us.  I watched him sitting on one of the big rocks, feet dangling just above the water, completely fearless of the rabid, churning maelstrom just inches below his toes. 

Just to be sure, I take a quick glance down and tug on the straps.  Life vest is good, and I can already feel that the helmet is secure.  If he didn’t need to hang on to me, I know Rob would have taken the opportunity to smack my helmet, so I spare a quick, dirty look for him before giving the thumbs-up.  "Locked and ready to rock!".

Doug causually invites me into the river with a sweep of his hand.  I can’t tell for sure, but it looked like he almost laughed.  I’m not worried, though.  I’m gonna make this river my bitch.  I envision myself hurtling down the river, skillfully dodging the rocks at the last second.  And of course catching up with that girl.  Was her name Ashley?

I’ll just have to find out later.  Right now, it’s go time.  To emphasize this, Rob releases his grip.  "Time to fly, Mary!" Having been hanging onto him, I hadn’t steadied myself yet.  I stumble to get my feet under me before I run out of dry land, and at the last instant manage to shove down hard against the ground and launch myself out over the water. 

I remember what the guide had warned us about letting our feet hit bottom, so I twist mid air and land on my back.  The water doesn’t do much to soften the landing, and I am only able to grab a quick gulp of air before my head is covered.  But it’s an equally short time before I break the surface again and shake off the foam.  At first, all I can see is shapes and colors, but after a few seconds I pick out Rob’s pink helmet chasing me downstream and am able to orient myself again.

I turn and point my feet out in front of me – this isn’t something I want to do head first.  Taking a minute to look around, I realize that I’m not going as fast as I thought I would be.  And there’s certainly not as many rocks to avoid.  My heart is still pumping, thumping my ears louder than the water breaking on the rocks, but it’s starting to settle down.  It’s atually kind of peaceful, and I find myself watching the trees and the clouds while alternating between deep thoughts, and no thoughts at all. 

Then one thought crops up that doesn’t slide away with the current.  It’s that girl and her smug little smirk (or at least, that’s what I’ve convinced myself it was).  She knew it wasn’t the roller-coaster type thrill ride that I’d worked myself up for.  And I went and acted like an idiot.  Oh well.  Not the first relationship that ended before it began.  As long as I’m here, I’ll just float along and enjoy it.

No sooner had I finally gotten her out of my head, than I get my head cracked against a rock.  I didn’t see it coming, and a quick but short drop dunked me under and spun me sideways.  Luckily the helmet absorbed most of it.  "Son of a -" I begin to half chuckle, half curse, but am cut short when, as I’m attempting to right myself I get another rock to the ribs. 

I choke and sputter and end up with a mouthful of water before, causing more choking and sputtering.  Desperately, as panic begins to set in, I flail wildly, trying to get a grip on something.  It feels like forever before I manage to get my hands on something solid.  I grab on tight and pull myself towards the shore.  It’s easier than I thought it would be to fight the current. 

"Hell of a ride, eh cowboy?" By this point, I’ve got my chest up on dry land.  I’m still coughing like hell, but I manage to choke it down.  My lungs continue to fight me and I’m sure I sound like I’m sobbing, so I’m not sure it helped.  As soon as I saw who else was there, though, I went right back to the coughing.  It was that girl…  "Ashley" she finishes my thought for me as she puts one hand in mine – the other, I realized, was on my shoulder already.  "And you are?"

"Carl" I manage to cough out. 

"Well, Ca-arl," she mocks me.  Of course she mocks me, "How was it?  Was it everything you expected?"

I muster all my strength to give her the best serious look possible while trying to stifle my coughing. "Actually" I wheeze out "it was really peaceful." 

After that, we both started laughing, which of course ended in more coughing for me.

 In order to work on my writing, I’m going to start doing some exercises and trying to write often – even if what I write sucks (which I’m sure it will more often than not – especially late nights like tonight).

Tonight’s exercise: Go to www.flickr.com/photos/, find the first photo of a person, and write a brief story about what just happened to them, and what they’re going to do next.  Here’s my photo:

Just like that, it was over.  No screaming or drawn out arguments, just a note taped to the door, and even that was simpler than he expected.  It should have been harder.  There should have been a struggle.

But there wasn’t.  Part of him was angry that he wasn’t even given the chance to fight for her.  But he did have a chance.  He’d had plenty of them.  But despite knowing this day would eventually come, he did nothing.  He couldn’t even gather the energy to form a tight fist before his fingers went flaccid.  The wooden bench bit into his back, but he made no effort to move.  His feet may as well have been glued to the floor.

He thought about that bench.  They had had their first real conversation there.  He remembered how the party raged on around them, but never intruded; like the eye of a hurricane.  He remembered her smile, and how her face lit up.  Nobody had ever been so interested in him, and he had never been able to talk to someone so freely and openly.  Even in the middle of the crowd, as long as he was talking to her, they didn’t exist.  

But that was then.  Three months ago – had it really only been three? – he had been sitting in this exact same spot, but in a completely different place.  He stared at the note on the door.  He hadn’t read it yet.  Didn’t need to:  he knew what it said.  

Without breaking his gaze, he took a sip from the bottle dangling precariously from his lifeless fingers.  He barely noticed; It was almost reflex.  But he caught himself and held the bottle out in front of him.  That damned bottle.  

Suddenly finding the strength he stood and whipped the bottle at the door.  It exploded in a glittering shower of glass and cheap beer.  Without breaking stride he shoved open the door and slammed it behind him.  The ink ran down the now shredded paper like tears.  There was going to be quite a mess to clean up in the morning.

I like to make up little rhymes or songs throughout the course of the day.  Mostly stuff for kids. 

Today while I was washing up a bowl of blueberries, with some Celtic music in the background, this little critter popped out of my head:

I’m gonna eat the berries; gonna put them in my belly.
I’m gonna chew them up real good and turn them into jelly!

I’ve decided that I need to start jotting these little guys down, at least to share them for other giggles.

I’ve always wanted to write for kids, so maybe I’ll make up some more cutsie little poetry and put together a small book or something.

Here’s a short story I wrote a few years back based on the first time I struck out on my own in the woods.  It’s pretty much all true, to the best of my memory, anyways. 

I wrote it because one of my favorite parts of hunting with my family, is the stories we share afterwards.  I wanted to capture some of those stories to share my experience with others.

Here’s a little poem I put together for my grandmother’s birthday a few years back. 

It’s fun and quirky, and I haven’t been able to write anything new, so I thought I’d share it while I try to rekindle my inspiration.

Xronia Polla to our favorite Yiayia
who reads dirty books while she bakes moussaka.

Her kitchen is always as warm as her heart
and our stomachs are full before we depart.

She cares for her family and raises our hopes
and does it without ever missing her soaps.

The life of the party, wherever she goes
for only a sip, and she’s red as a rose!

Today is her birthday, you already know,
so give her a hug and say "S’agapo!"

"Poppie, Poppie, look here at me!
I have a magic boat!
It’s free to ride, so come inside!
And watch it! Watch it float!"

"That’s good, my boy, now take your toy
and hurry off to bed
with Mother’s song, where dreams belong,
God rest your little head.

"Now when you wake, make no mistake
in darkness, dreams will stay.
Your dreams will fade as summer shade
beneath the light of day.

"You’ll realize dreams are foolish lies
to comfort little boys
And later when boys turn to men
you’ll find no simple joys.

"Hard work and sweat to pay your debt;
the meaning of a man.
You do not do what you want to,
you just do what you can.

"And then some day, when old and grey
you’ll look back on your life
and sigh relief in disbelief,
then lay down with your wife.

"You see, your play can’t take away
the need to do your chores.
Through sun or rain, or health or pain,
they cannot be ignored.

"But when complete, naught can compete
with that accomplishment.
So now, my son, I pray you’re done
with wasteful merriment.

"Be not confused, you’re not abused
I do this for your good.
You must prepare and be aware,
as every young man should."

"But father why is it that I
must toil till old age?
What’s wrong with fun while work gets done –
so long’s I earn my wage?

"Is it so wrong to sing a song
whilst I trim the yard?
Where comes this thought? Have we been taught
that all that’s good is hard?

"Can not the simple things in life
be purchased without strife?

"Don’t misconstrue, I still love you
and all that you have done.
But were I you, and you were me, I’d tell it differently.
I’d tell my son to go have fun
For not all dreams are free."
 

This poem was originally about a boy offering pumpkin seeds to a baker, who brushes him off.  The idea was to have the boy return later with pumpkins which were in demand.  But it was kind of corny… and I really liked two of the stanzas I had, so I kept them and rewrote the rest.  The result is an old man lecturing a small boy.  The idea is that the grown man sees no use in playing, and that life is about hard work and the rewards.  But the old man paints such a grey picture, and the boys world is so bright, that it’s obvious that you can’t neglect your dreams.  It’s not very deep, and doesn’t really need an explanation, but you’re getting one anyway!

I’m not sure I like it, but It’s complete enough to post.  I broke my structure in several places, but I think it kind of works…  I don’t know.  I’m tired, and this is my first forray back into poetry in ages, so it’s bound to be sloppy.

To bed to rest my weary head
Where dreams and fantasy are wed 

To close my eyes and see the sights
that can’t be seen beneath the lights.

To wake refreshed with autumn’s dawn,
my first breath crisp and deeply drawn

To toil through the working day
and then return to home to play

To play until the playing ends
and rest again, among my friends

I wrote this in the Fall of 2004 as an away message on AIM that I expanded on and refined.  I like it a lot, but I’m not sure this is the same as the version I was using online.  That one has been lost for now.  Hopefully I can recover it, but I had the above version written in a notebook, and transcribed it here.

I set myself at ease beneath
My favorite hunting tree.
Across my lap carefully lies
My chosen weaponry.

The sun had yet to climb atop
Yon eastward peaks of birch
When from above descended dove
Whom on my hat did perch.

"Does he not know that I am foe?"
I asked to none by me.
That bird, he heard, and then replied
By chirping merrily.

Then all at once from over hill
There came a mighty breath.
The trees around me then began
To whisper songs of death.

The chill ran up and down my back
But shivered not my bones.
Unlike my face, my heart was warmed
Thanks to the dove’s fair tones.

Though shadows short I stretched my jaw.
It was the song that lulled.
Then I, the hunter, proud and strong
From hunt to dreams was culled.

While in my dreams there came a stag
Who stood before my gun.
With nothing but a gentle squeeze
I’d have my trophy won.

But something stayed my trembling hand
And calmed my ragged breath.
I could not interrupt the flute
Of life with horns of death.

Instead I voyaged throught the lands
Untouched by hands of men.
Where if some day I get the chance
I’d like to go again.

The dove continued singing though
His song fell on deaf ears.
The duet played of flute and horn
Is not what it appears.

Now if you travel to that spot
And look beneath that tree.
A monument to nature’s might;
A statue you will see.

This is the last one to transfer over from the archives. I wrote it in January of 2004. It was partially inspired while I was out hunting, where I pretty much always fall asleep. The idea is that the hunter decides he feels safe and comforted by the dove, and while dreaming realized that nature is too beautiful to introduce death. But in reality, he was being killed by nature, and freezes to death. It seems like I’m a fan of the irony, and I guess that’s true. There’s parts of this that are pretty hokey, but also parts I like.

Let not your anger pass to me
With my own eyes I, too, can see
And what they miss my ears will hear
For unlike you, my thoughts are clear.

Disturb the nest and bees will sting.
Upon yourself this pain you bring.
Sweet honey you cannot resist
Though desperately the bees persist.

But under different circumstance
And looking more than at first glance
I think that you will come to find
The two are of a common mind.

For if you were in your own house
And came upon invading mouse
Why would you share with him the meal
That he had come intent to steal?

I wrote this one in December 2003, and it’s a fairly obvious "practice what you preach you hypocrite" type deal. It was also a little bit of telling people to mind their own business. Also a little about greed.