‘Twas the Night Before Nano (A Tribute to Another Failed Novel)

‘Twas the night before NaNo

And all through the town

All the writers were waiting

To start the word count

The outlines were done

And the Pansters prepared;

All the keyboards were set

And the pen-tips all bared

The authors were hoping

For the Muse to arrive

While visions of Best Sellers

Were not hard to derive

And I with my coffee

(With more in reserve)

Settled down at my notebook

And heard my cat purr

When on the minute before

November the First

I felt the excitement inside

‘Til my heart was fit to burst

Then the clock struck the hour

And just as planned

The race was on;

NaNoWriMo began

Through the ups of Week One

I cruised through my plot

As characters took shape,

A story was begot

All was going great

And heading down the right track

When came an unforeseen

And unfortunate setback

Its name was Week Two

And down in the mire

My mind was thrust

Without an idea to inspire

I battled the infamous

Writer’s Block

But of my injuries

I had yet to take stock

10K behind!

What a tragedy to behold

So by the end of Week Two

I was not feeling so bold

Week Three hit me

Like a blow to the heart

For the time I had lost

And the words left to start

(The musical came at a most

Inopportune time

For writing a novel was hard

With not much downtime)

In a flash Week Four arrived

Like a thief in the night

And with a glimmer of hope

I saw the end was in sight

But alas! My failure

Was imminent, I fear

For I was so far behind

And December so near

In despair I clutched

At my novel’s beginning

And knew there was no hope

Of this year’s winning

So with a grand heavy sigh

I put my book on a shelf

And tried to find a way

To be pleased with myself

Another year done

And November gone by

Without a finished manuscript

Just another failed try

But I told myself

Not to shed a tear

For this NaNo was crazy

Besides, there’s always next year...

Noise

The dog's barking grates on my nerves
I hear her echoing through the house
And wonder how no one else has woken up
In the midst of all the noise
I realize how much silence is lost in a day
We spend so long and expend so much effort
Trying to find the right things to say
We waste time
Filling awkward pauses with intellectual silence
And not appreciating the resounding quiet
The moment after the last note rings out
And no one is sure whether the song is over
Is beautiful
Or accidentally walking into
A stunning sunrise
Is breathtaking
Yet we try to find time to ignore the wordless
Always needing something to distract our minds
Large amounts of white noise that fill a space
But what is it all worth?
I try to find the time for silence
But this world just won't stop talking
And it's blinding out my search for solitude
With the deafening roar of indifference
I can't hear You above the noise
That calls out to me every waking moment
Although sometimes, when I least expect it,
I find a moment of peace
Listen, the dog has stopped barking

Portrait of My Mother

She sits, working on her laptop

Her hair pulled back on her head,

And she looks like a Greek goddess

Even though I can see the lines around her mouth

And smile lines on her eyes,

She doesn’t look anywhere near her age

As she tries to decide what to do on the upcoming family vacation

She listens to country music

Because it’s happy and upbeat

She gets frustrated with little technological things

But she tries to learn and understand

In the past two years, she’s turned into quite the scholar

The stay-at-home-mom I used to know

Has disappeared forever, I fear

School and work have taken the place

Of all the time she used to spend cleaning

And organizing play dates

We used to go to the library at least once a week

And the park

But now we fend for ourselves in terms of free time

And I can tell the difference in my brothers

Because they don’t appreciate the small things like I do

My mother taught me to see beauty

In everything

And I do

Because although things have changed

And will continue to do so

I will never forget what I was told as a kid

That making the most of what you have

Is better than having it all

Happy birthday, Mom. I love you.

Stopping the Rain

Standing outside and listening to the sound of the rain, I acutely noticed how cruel it was to place potted plants beneath the ramada just far enough that they were unable to take part in the life-giving shower.  Against the gray backdrop of the sky, the bird of paradise blossoms stood out vividly.

The drizzle picked up, and the gutter flowed more rapidly.  I found it amusing how the left side of the wall was dry because the rain had blown in at an angle.  For as much as it was coming, even the water was unable to touch what science said it could not.

I found myself wishing I could go back in time, or at least to another place where time seemed to stand still and life paused.  The silence I felt was complete, even amongst the noise of the world around me awakening to the sky's calling.

I leaned my body against the wooden post supporting the awning.  The coolness felt good next to the humidity of the air.  A breath of wind, and the smell of new earth met my nose.  The dog, too, was deep in investigation of something she had found.  For her, rain was a new adventure, something more to discover.

The impossibility of existence hit me in a wave.  First came the feeling of awe as I gazed at the hazy mountains in the distance.  Even they were helpless against the mist.  Then, the realization that my life is only a minor character in other's stories.  They do not care about the intricate workings of me because they are not me, and they are not God.  With that idea sparked another, that I am impossibly insignificant.  I will walk this earth once but no matter what I do, the world will continue on without stopping.  It will absorb my absence when the time comes, and at that time I will not be missed.  I am not an essential part of the planet because man is so helplessly small and man is not God.  Who I am and what I do is nothing when lined up next to eternity.

The rain continued to pound against my consciousness, beating into me that I could do nothing to prevent it from doing so.  I breathed a sigh of relief as the notion came to me.

Trying to control life is just as pointless as trying to stop the rain.

Racing the Storm

The first echoing booms of thunder matched my footsteps as my sandals slapped the pavement.  I could see the storm clouds gathering in the distance, but that didn't deter me from my path.  I jogged, quicker now as I tried to race the storm that was beginning around me.  I inhaled a breath of steamy air, the stillness around me almost eerie in light of what was to come.

Only a few more streets now.

My breathing became more hurried as my lungs struggled to make sense of the humidity.  It was not a new sensation, but almost a forgotten one.  I could feel the clouds around me like guardian angels: I knew they were there, just intangible in my present state of mind.

Lightning raced across the sky, complementing my beating heart as sparks of electricity coursed through the landscape.  Any minute now, the sky would break and shatter into millions of pieces that would fall to earth, electrifying dry and barren soil into a lush bearer of life.

I could see my house with the fountain in front under the olive tree laden with fruit.  I was almost there.  My legs gambled for seconds as they willed me forward faster on a hopeless attempt to buy back lost time and evade what was coming behind me.

For a moment, I tried to become what I was running from and I closed my eyes for the barest moment of space.  When I opened them, a curtain unraveled from above and I watched as the world was obscured by the blessing of darkness accompanying rain.  And in an instant, I forgot who I was and where I was going as the storm washed over me like the future rushing ever further from my grasp.

The Beginning

The sirens went off with an ear-piercing whine.  Everyone heard them and immediately awaited instructions.  We are in lockdown.  Please remain sane and reasonable and make for the shelters.  Twenty-one pairs of frightened eyes looked towards the teacher.  She calmly stood up and gestured out the door and into the hallway.  Silently, the students filed out in a perfectly uniform line and waited in front of the doors that led down to the underground shelter.  The teacher met them and motioned for them to descend, but she held up her hand to stop one girl from entering.

“Astrid, what do you think you’re doing?”

The girl had been whispering something under her breath, her face so full of fear that she was white as the snow on the ground.  She glanced at the teacher, terror-stricken.  “N-nothing,” she stammered in a voice that betrayed her fright.

The students behind her were beginning to grow impatient and began mumbling.  The teacher waved them on.  As they passed the girl, they gave her exasperated and rude looks.  Unable to move, she held the eyes of the teacher.

“I asked you a question, girl,” growled the teacher.  “What were you doing?”

“I was--” she took a deep breath, "--praying.”

“How dare you?” said the teacher vehemently.  “Don’t you know better than to do such a thing in public?  Do you possibly think that any god could protect you better than the System?”  When Astrid didn’t reply, she continued, “God doesn’t exist.  You are alone.”  She turned away to face the line of other students who were going down the stairs.  

Astrid let out a shaky breath, and relaxed her shoulders slightly.  Just then, the teacher turned around and grabbed the necklace hidden beneath the girl’s neckline.  She yanked it and Astrid gasped as the chain broke.  The teacher held it up, examining it briefly.  A blue fish outline twinkled back at her.  “Such nerve,” she said as she thrust the pendant away from her.  It landed in the snow at their feet.  “Go to the back of the line.  If anyone is to die first, it will be you.”  She stalked away for real, and Astrid, too afraid to disobey, walked humiliated to find her spot in line.  Just before she moved, however, she stooped down and quickly stuffed the fish into her pocket.

Be prepared to die.  If war occurs, you will never see your families again.  Leave the house every day on good terms, and say goodbye as if it is the last time you will see them.  After all, it most likely will be.

The Piano

I hear the piano playing

It’s a sound I haven’t known for awhile

For months now it’s sat in the corner

Gathering dust and unused notes

A symbol of abandonment

All it wants is to be loved

All it needs is someone to play it

But no one’s been around

Because life gets in the way

And our routines day to day

Do not coincide with beautiful things

People change

And the things we once valued become obsolete

We chase after things that are not worth the fight

And we clutch sand in our fists,

Trying to stop childhood from slipping away

But it’s so hard when we ourselves speed up the process

And make time go faster

We urge the clock onwards

Without mind to what we’re leaving behind

We’re always a step ahead of life

Always wishing for what hasn’t come

And grasping for times yet out of our reach

Then, at the very moment we reach that of which we’ve dreamed

The lights go out

And the illusion is shattered

Suddenly we want what’s passed

All those missed opportunities

And lost memories

We mourn that we took it all for granted

And we’re back to yearning after what we can’t have

All those thoughts of greatness and fame

Lofty goals of future orient

Suddenly seem so impossible in retrospect

How could we reach so far and come up so short?

Never are we content

With where we are

We only hope

We only dream

That tomorrow will be brighter

When today is already polished sterling

Apostrophe

Because the speed of light is 3.0 x 10⁸ m/s
We have color
We have movement
We have refraction, detraction, contraction
It's wasn't I'm don't can't
Won't
Will
Willpower to make things happen
Because people who make a difference
Do it themselves
We have mediocrity
Alacrity, catastrophe, apostrophe
A punctuation mark used to show possession
To separate contractions
Or talking to something that can't, won't respond
(You won't respond)
But I know You're there
I can talk all I want
Speak into the silence
And still hear nothing but echoes in return
Echo, echo, echo
Noise reverberating off the walls
At the speed of sound (343 m/s)
Because we have the speed of sound
I hear echoes
I hear crickets
I can hear You
Only delayed
Because it takes billions of years to see the stars
And if light travels faster than sound
How long will I be waiting for answers?

The Birth of the Universe

It all started from a spark
Or maybe
There was only matter all around
Inside the deep blue space
Particles of nothingness residing
Side by side with insignificant
Clouds of dust and magic
Planets and swirling
Galaxies with
Stars and light reaching beyond
Our understanding of
Life and the miracle we have in
Our existence in this
World where science is king over
All things that crawl upon the
Earth and skies
There was nothing and then
Something light occurred
Perhaps
We're not as alone as we like to think

(Now read from bottom to top)

Throwing Knives

The oldest brother stands in the backyard, teaching the two neighbor boys to throw knives.  They practice hitting the palm tree, making the metal stick into the tough bark.  The older brother poses between the younger boys, giving technique tips and making sure they follow the proper safety procedures.

No, wait to retrieve your knife until you've both thrown.  Don't tilt your wrist so much.  Here, watch me.

Whoosh.  The thin metal piece flies through the air and lands with a thud in the trunk of the palm tree.  The neighbor boys cheer, awed and amazed at their teacher.  They listen intently and pay close attention as he picks up the metal and paces back between them with a rare satisfied smile on his face.

One.  Two.  Three.  Each knife is a blur as it leaves its owner's hands, each one like a flash of silver lightning snaking its way through the misty gray air of the post-rain afternoon.

The two younger brothers join the other boys.  There are only three knives.  They must take turns.  The middle brother begins arguing with everyone else, and they shun his bellicose presence.  He fights more, and they refuse to let him practice.

Finally, the oldest brother picks up all three knives without a word and packs them away in his backpack.  Silently he jumps up the stone wall and lands over on the other side, disappearing from the scene.

The remaining four boys look at each other and the magic of the afternoon dissipates.  They all go their separate ways like cats fleeing the site of a skirmish.

Suddenly, the clouds completely obscure the distant mountains and drizzling rain begins to fall, as gently as a lover kisses his beloved goodbye.  While raindrops meet the ground in dreary jubilee, the middle brother picks a fight that requires the parents' involvement.  Defiant yells and harsh tones split the air like thunder cracking across the vast expanse of gray above.

In only an instant, the day is no longer peaceful, but charged with tension.

And the rain falls harder on the ground, turning dry earth to mud and washing away chalk drawings from yesterday.