River of Two, but Still One

River of Two, but still One
by me(whatever)

A river runs through me,
separating myself into two.
I can remember from far back,
those simple songs of childhood.
If I could only return to them,
The water would carry both of me
afloat on its back.

A Summers day across the rope swing,
my poems are never poems.
Water coloring the sky portrait,
I pause to remember
it was my diary locked in code,
my feelings in a bucket with a tight lid,
leaking out like blood across blue seas

I dream with a headache,
all when the sun is shining.
Revealing his horribly happy face,
I wake up with a nostalgic feeling.
Trying to remember it's name; my name
Letters scattering like clouds
changing songs to alternate an endless me
The river splitting into many streams,
running over a slowly drowning body.

I think I found it! I think I found it!
Reaching out far to a bank or any kind of sand
slipping through my fingers
That day, when did you lose your own voice?
That name is something you may not say.

It's not an ending yet.
If this was a story, it would be happy
or sad with a lesson,
but all I can see with these separated eyes,
is the other person standing there,
there,
on the other bank.

Sir Wind and the Seagulls

It's funny how I remember the most normal things I've ever done. Most of how I remember my very far back past, when I was a kid, was with conversations. I had a friend in kindergarten whose name was Tira(I think it was spelled this way?), and she was only my friend through kindergarten, but she was my only friend. I've always been rather anti-social. I don't like having too many friends, just a few whom I really like. One of my only memories of her, was a conversation we had when we were swinging on the swings. The school we were at is torn down now. So is my preschool, isn't that funny.

I remember when I was a kid, that my closest sensation to flying was to swing on a swing. All swings were pretty much magical, and held some kind of power in them like that. Even my grandmas porch swing. We were talking about it, and this funny seagull that was going in circles around in front of us on top of a building. We felt it was watching us, like it was are guardian spirit or something. Ever since then, I've always felt that they are watching me, protecting me and the like. Whenever I would see a whole lot of them in a bunch, flying around and going about their birdy business, I would think, "Oh, today will be fine."
So I've always liked seagulls.

And another time that I remember with the seagull memory, is one that came later. I think it was at my second elementary school, but I can't remember who it was that I talked about it to. Well, it was about Mr. Wind. It was some girl who I was talking to, but she agreed with me that the wind was like a person. That he was a bit of a mysterious invisible person. Sir Wind, I've always had a visualization of him too; long coat and hat that hides his face like a stalker. I dunno, I remember things like that. Always have.

Along with those memories, I have a million others that are just as interesting. I should put some more on here, I think. Like when I smashed beads with a hammer for magic dust, and put markers in water-filled juice cans to have colored water. I've always wanted to fly, though.

Our City

Our City
by me(whatever)
to this song: A Town in Blue by Asian Kung-fu Generation

We're walking down this dirty street,
the world is changing,
everything from the people to the trashcans,
look and criticize each other.
I'm searching for something
else within myself.
Can humans have the power to see everything?

Watching the labyrinth of clouds above me,
dodging every empty space,
I don't want you to tell me a mistake;
if there is one, show me how to fix it.
Life has never been that simple.
I can't wait here forever,
my feet are itching to run.

You listen with your ears,
but you don't ever hear me, do you?
The truth is,
we never understood each other.
But I guess we can still stick together,
as long as we're here.
I'm searching for something,
something besides white and black.

"Can you change the definition of a mistake?"
the plastic tumbleweed tugging
My mind is always wandering
and no one understands.
Everything disappears, and I'm left
with a ripped off button.
it reminds me of my heart.

The window of my bedroom is still cold to touch,
I can't get through it, though I can see
Not even able to remember our names,
I chased those clouds that flew away.

Within darkness and illumination,
we're found.
Everyone walking around us,
are only illusions to our world.
But its okay, I'm sure eventually,
We'll find our colors
if we stick together.

We tramped on our own wishes,
I can't see anymore
the sun fell on us,
and burned up, we turned around
That dirty street melted
to a ball of smelly concrete,
and we were left,
with our city smiling at us.

Upside Down views, stories, and Japanese Mythology

I'm not a perfect person, and somehow whenever I'm trying to write a blog post on here, it always ends up a poem. I wonder why that is? Sometimes I stop a think for a second, a the world changes as I view it. Usually I look at it from upside down and sideways, because that's the most fun approach, although it can also be painful. It's different from a straight path to every destination. You look past the mark, and that is what hurts you. But, you know? Upside down is the best way to see the sky.

I want to write a story. I've gotta figure out an idea first. I always want a new one after a while. I want to write something including Japanese spirits/ mythology, and then I want to write something about steam-punk. I want to mix everything together, so it doesn't make sense, and then I want to make a simple story with one concept. But the main thing I can't come up with is ideas. Only themes. MEHH. I feel blocked. See, I can't even think of what I'm writing right now. I don't know if I can finish this post.

My brothers are so annoying. I could write paragraphs on that, but I probably shouldn't. They always leave the toilet seat up, and leave the door open so it freezes me. And they swear, and are dead weights everywhere. So annoying! I guess brothers are like that though. But, really. Don't they at least have the sense that its Winter instead of Summer!? Now I'm going to the library. Random but true. I have the goal set in my brain and deep, dark black heart to get at least one book on Japanese mythology. I love that stuff. I started reading about it on Wikipedia, and of course I liked it, especially the 'Bakeneko' and Kamaitachi' stories. So interesting. I don't think I have too much patience for anything that has less than 50% interesting. Gosh.

Yes, Happy Birthday

Yes, Happy Birthday
by me(whatever)


Ambushed from the stairs,
what more is there to say?
Strings of celebration,
although I hadn't caught reality,
Happy Birthday.

An unnoticed squeak in her hair,
a mutant orange for lunch,
a chocolate orange for pessimism,
December girl hanging with a pencil case,
Orange dress wearing a pink bathrobe,
a booklet of late mails, and a nostalgic song,
a promised illustration.

With the gifts wrapped in a list,
I gorge on my favorite foods once a year,
inhaling sushi with gusto,
sipping Udon,
all the while,
feeling quite spoiled.

Except,
of course,
we forgot the "cake".

Underneath the World

Underneath the World
by me(whatever)
to this song: Sky Gate [FELT]

Underneath the world, 
when I wake in the darkness,
no one to see from anywhere,
snow lighting my footsteps,
My freezing body holding a warm soul.
I still live on like this,
lying to everyone except the moon,
expecting pain from every direction,
yes,
if only I could fly there.

My cheeks iced in red,
the wind beats through my body,
confused about the season,
I still stand out here
waiting for spring to pop up.
I can't help it, you see
I feel so warm,
I could spread
like butter in the night sky,
giving my back to wings,
walking on the milky-way,
never hoping dawn will come

I want to live like this,
watching the green and blue turn far away,
dissolving within the space of time
a harp-played rain,
twinkling down into stars
waltzing like orange city lights,
fearing nothing but the end of the feeling.
Snowflakes twirling in my heart,
creating an ice umbrella that deflects nothing
numb toes and a reflection in my eyes,
giving in and looking down the gravel
I puff out my feet.

Time was short.

if this wind never stops,
even if its comforting with scents of flowers,
I will always be reminded,
of this memory underneath the world
where no one but me resides,
where only I reside,
With the wind, the snowflakes, the rain, the moon, the stars
falling in and out,
and inside out
with this melody.

So I Went to see The Nutcracker

Yesterday on Saturday, I went to see The Nutcracker. I don't really think it matters why I went, or who performed it, or where I went, but I'll tell you that I went to see The Nutcracker. I remember in the last few days of October, I told myself that I would go if I could, and it turned out exactly that way, although I didn't really do much of anything to figure anything out. The reason I had wanted to go was because of my Scarlet Notes of Hood blog that I was writing at the time. In that blog I wrote exactly 31 diary entries of Little Red Riding Hood as she traveled through the wood Jarnvior, and meets fairy tail people from other stories. It was pretty fun to write, although it tired me out considerably. In the last post, there's a masquerade party that has the nutcracker pop up. I had to research a bit about the story on Wikipedia, and when I finally read the story for the first time, I wanted to go see it. All the other times I had ever seen The Nutcracker I had never understood what the heck was going on. So this time I knew what was going on, and I enjoyed it quite all the way through. I was not bored once. And it snowed too, outside when it was over.

Before it began, my sister and I actually graffitied the pamphlet. It was awesome, with all the ballerinas with wings, and holding spiders and ice cream cones, and stick figures climbing up a guys back as he talks to a lady with a moustache. By the way, that guy had a spider familiar who was trying to protect him from the stick figures. Ha ha, and there was also a Peter Pan play ad, that was just perfect for me to draw wings and a halo on him. I mean, where is Peter Pans wings? A little boy that was sitting on his papa's lap was watching us the whole time, and tried to get his dads attention to our drawings too. Oh, goodness it's great when you let go of your maturity and do fun things like that. I think that 'maturity' is most times just something people put about themselves to make themselves seem cooler anyways. I mean, even I do it sometimes, so I understand.

When I watched the forest of lighted Christmas trees outside, I realized that I had see those probably ever since the moment I was born. Since I was born in December and my birthday is coming up really soon. I don't want to turn older. Blegh. But those Christmas trees were really beautiful.

Huckleberry Finn

*These are poems that I wrote for an English project, because we had to do an activity with reading The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain. My group chose to go with the prompt 'character relationships' and use poetry to describe them. I got to write poems for the relationships of Huck with his father, and Huck with the King and the Duke. In my personal opinion, I like the poem of Huck and his father better.

Huck and his Father 
12/12/12
by me(whatever)

He's one that nothin' could reform
no matter how it tried.
No purpose to 'livin,
except to drink
and no purpose to being a gentleman
'cept to eat.

Livin' his life by a borrowin',
a chicken he'd want only for himself
that swine of a drunkard,
he'd a kill himself dead,
and in his dreams,
he'd a kill me to.

Lockin' me up like a rat
for a fortune of six thousand,
but not a penny I'd want
for freedom and to remain unsivilized.

If he'd a want some coins,
it'd be spent on liquor,
and if he'd a want a belt,

it'd be spent on me.

Huck and the King and Duke

12/13/12

by me(whatever)

"Lowdown humbugs and frauds" were they,

the two of them,

thick as thieves,

a King and a Duke with no money of their own 

bow down themselves to their lies.

Between the four of us, we wanted different things

Like my father and his liquor

Was their extreme want for those green frappings,

yet the two of us besides,

Watching their deviltry with displeasure,

wished for the green, green grass.

And with their trickery up their sleeves

numerous as their lack of coins,

They sung and recited from played sorrow,

playing and paying the people with all they got.

I would stand for that,

but I would not stand for tricks

given to the parentless,

and neither would they stand to be penniless,

So they sold out my friend. 

Waltz of Wandering Moonlight

Waltz of Wandering Moonlight
 by me(whatever)
to this song: Endless Waltz

Does your soul enjoy wandering moonlit?
The moths will create a waltz for you.

The words you shouted on sunlit rooftops,
were heard years later by only the shadow behind you.
So there is always someone following you.

I can only draw words from the endless well,
I cannot create the rain myself,
and before long, from the bucket,
The starlit tongue swallows blue transparency.

The darkness envelops your eyes,
dancing their most beautiful dances,
for the newcomer.

The opposites cannot be separated.
Even the wood of flame,
creates shadow.
The moths and butterflies kiss each other on the wing tips,
alighting on your body,
one creates, and one destroys...

The world will rest again,
watching while some toil and,
we who never cared,
will dance this waltz,
forever wearing out our shoes.
For it is infinite.

My City

Where can I find my city? Is it over there? Or over here? Maybe it's underneath the ground, or perhaps it resides on a cloud on a sky. Is it upside down, or does it lie on it's side, gawking at me with an unreadable expression? Is it somewhere I can't see, right under my nose, or far, far away where I'd have to travel more than a thousand miles to arrive there? Perhaps I see it, but don't realize it?

Do I want to get there? Do I want to climb the walls around it? Perhaps there are no walls, only an entrance. Perhaps there are fences. White fences, black fences, red fences, wood fences, stone fences. Maybe it is only circled about with barbed wire? For all of the inhabitants are chickens? Or maybe the population composes of aliens, zombies, fairies, donkeys, flying keys, invisible people, ruined kings, bird-legged maidens, talking objects, and half-breeds of the kinds put together? Is there a magic fish somewhere? A lake that, if you fall into it, you're really just falling into the sky of another world? And perhaps there are inhabitants that have learned to survive without falling in that lake? Like sky-fish, and avimaids, swimming birds, winged sea-horses? Airplanes constantly fly up straight out of there, splashing water into a thousand tiny rainbows, for it is the only entrance to other worlds that there has ever been in existence. Do the people drink rain-water for supper, lunch, breakfast? Does it change color and flavor as it slides down their throats, lighting up into brilliant spectrum's as their final show as they go into the darkness of the innards? Perhaps my city is under-water? Perhaps I can fall off of it? Perhaps I have already? Perhaps I have no city? No. Everyone has a city. Not a single soul is left without one. It is just the matter of searching for it, and finding it before your clock runs out. Many clocks I have seen on the cold, hard ground, broken and stopped, never ever to move again. The frozen atmosphere of the world is what stopped them, turned them over on their sides, and had them stepped on, over and over, until they were given up and left there alone without any comfort or movement to call their own. So, I have to ask before time runs out on me. Where is my city?

December Flame Among Mountains

December Flame among Mountains
by me(whatever)
11-4-12

Among the monochromatic hills of wandering,
from green to red, December, it bites
Sir wind only a-whispering
in my ear
a lingering noise still awakes.

They stand back-to-back, those silly dirt-mounds
whimsically whistling their song to travelers
And as I turn my eyes, the snow covered peaks
gallantly strive back my gaze
stoical in their silence,
standing alone from the threshold of cold

Like the scent of wilderness, I wish to continue running
toward the place my heart resides
the subtle caperings of my feet
flying through the snow of those six pomegranate seeds,
and the Earth spinning in my lungs,
always, continuously

Instead of a lucid dream.

And how far does a flame
Have to go?
Straying through the silent storm,
Destroy or be destroyed?

If that is so,
then as the perspectives change,
individual as the trees
to catch them all in their gaze,
falling towards the sky, and
skin as frozen,
as was red,

I am the snow-capped peak
still sleeping
standing on the threshold of loneliness.

Teacups

Teacups
by me(whatever)

My mother, she set the teacups,
my brother, he broke the teacups,
and so I took out some glue and mended,
the shards into teacups again.


This is literally the story of today. I still have super glue attached to my fingers. It was fun though, like a glass puzzle. Luckily my brother had saved all the pieces.