Hey Writing Tigers...

Photo

Sat, 28 Jan 2012 00:59:00 -0500

Talk of War on a Beautiful Day

Sat, 28 Jan 2012 00:39:00 -0500

Consider the beauty of a life

and the madness of those who destroy it.

We are fragile, temporary occupiers of space

riding a chunk of drift dirt.

we are too mortal for murder

too delicate for war.

No passion, faith, reward, revenge or redemption

can wash blood from clean hands

dice roll from the top of the hill

no honor in dealing death

to pawns

drenched in tar

draped in colors

diplomacy of kill or be killed.

Life:

An energy constantly rerouted as a thudding pulse of cells circulating science through evolutionary ventricles. An impossibly vertical, chemically balanced contraption housing thought, personality, and whispers of souls. A terrible, painful, agonizing, tragic, beautiful possibility of individual existence.

What right has anyone to steal such opportunity?

By nature’s course

we are our own predators

hunted to extinction.

My New Adventure Journal

Sat, 21 Jan 2012 18:29:00 -0500

My New Adventure Journal :

This is my new blog where I am documenting my new adventure as my husband and I make the move to New York City. As a resident and native of Louisiana, this will be the furthest from home I have ever lived. Making the 1300 mile trek with two dogs in tow should be an adventure in itself! But, I am hoping that it will be exciting and inspiriting as the “city that never sleeps” becomes our new home.

Gumbo of Drugs

Tue, 01 Nov 2011 22:31:00 -0400

Heartbeats like humming bird wings
I see you dancing on pink elephant dreams
I smell amoxicillan on your lips
not covered in chocolate for cheap heart-shaped boxes
but the touching taste of tiny grains
I can hear the loud pink of it
even Alecia Beth Moore can taste it in Philly.

I don’t see you dancing on pink elephant dreams
dreams elephants pink on dancing you see, don’t I?
Forever Alone.
The event of your dreaming is caused by your waking.
Don’t take life too seriously; you’ll never get out alive.

The beautiful bastards of death
sing with you to thy resting faith.
Dine on humming bird wings
the dragonfly hides her eyes
uniformly unconscious.

The direction you seek is found where you aren’t looking.
Vis-à-vis , mon aime.
The clock says it is tick-tocking for you.
Swirling in the wrong direction the gray shapes can no longer balance
between your soaked sheets.

Marydale Trees dripping in Spanish moss shade the home of a...

Wed, 07 Sep 2011 19:24:00 -0400

Marydale

Trees dripping in Spanish moss
shade the home of a child’s heart.

As if torn from fairy tale pages
it is tucked away
a haven resting at a distance
safe from the weight of asphalt and gas
beyond a gate no man can pass.
Playground for just the girls
mosquito bitten princesses in training.

This journey has requirements
what you need to survive
checked off a list
tucked safely in a trunk.

Here there are guardians
witch named beings of great knowledge
filled with rebellious, energetic youth
to teach you the rules of the land
and oh what magical creatures live here!

The warmth and flow of horseflesh
only before seen and read about in books
now suddenly touched by bare hands.
Warm breath, watchful wise eyes
tired, hungry souls
no longer a fantasy.

Dawn and dusk
the song is sung
the flag is raised, or put to rest
we remember our fallen
we sing for their glory
over rumbling bellies
unhappy with the delay
For our days adventure has
conquered all our energy.

Ghost stories around a fire.
A lady in white
rode at night
to find her prince
and paid the price.
There!
Do you see her there?
Riding her white steed
Past the Eagle trail
straight into your bunk!

Just guardians playing a trick on their charges.
Traditions are serious business.

Personalities are defined
in a place such as this.

My mother left me here
ignorant of prerequisites
cub up a tree.
Where homesickness became a definition
quickly forgotten in songs
and laughter.
Remembered for that quiet instant
before exhaustion of joy
quiets you off
in sweaty a nights rest.

Does this place remember?
Only artifacts remain.
Mark our spot on wooden posts.
We Were Here.
Does she miss us
as we leave, seemingly forget, and never return?
An ache of time
a history built of those before me,
before you.
An ageless experience
passed through adventure
captured in song
and fractured pictures
time becomes memory.

I linger there on occasion.
Such a sweet, temporary time
sad to come, sad to go
and somewhere in between we find
strength in lonely division.
Those times will never be again
not in this place, and never quite like that.

This is the place I ran to.
A better part of who I am
and I give it to you,
daughter
In hopes it becomes
a part of you.

Memories of You

Wed, 07 Sep 2011 19:14:00 -0400

Shadows flicker in too bright lights
unwanted, undesired dark reminders
flutter without warning to the back of my head
questions long unanswered.

Why? is the core
possibility of reason
history, time, past or present — no answers
a decisive path picked from limited options
permanent solution to what temporary problem?
rumors, tales as vague now as then
ounce of reality

What unspeakable pain did you suffer
could no one hear the cries?
fear of unknown apathy
whose fault? the answer
it died like the oceans wave’s desire for earth
rising
                reaching
                                grasping
                                                falling
                                                                gasping
                                                pleading
                                drowning
                drifting
lost.

Faded pictures trapped in the flood
shadows left behind in place
stark white faces in lonely distances and she followed you!
invited no solace to ease her pain
a pact of Lucifer’s angels she signed for you!

Heavenly hellish fate? A choke hold of a joke.
preteen editions of Adam and eve in fire and brimstone?
together now in soil, ha! Not even the same plot of earth!
mocked now by geography, physical separation of biology
your infection rotted her core
you cannot ROT together.

What would you be now, above us all? Better than the rest
considering your point proved
You sure showed them!
you showed us all…

which suffocated thought was the last?
                fear
                              doubt
                                                denial
                                                                confusion
remorse
                reconsideration
                                              too late

a shuddering halt to your last breath.

Was it of her?
Of the mistake?
That she’d soon be to follow?
That we’d all be sorry?

Now you’re nothing!
aspirations to be the meals of worms.
Waste of a Child
the innocent potential of a scalpel
kill or heal.

An alternative universe might prove a validity of your fears
dark horrors perceived in life to create the pain to excuse your choice,
the path worse than the cliff you jumped
just another mouth to feed.

This world will never know
stolen opportunity from a universe that welcomed you
brought you life, sunlight, pleasure
nothing could sustain you?

Nothing but you
could sustain her.

Whatever the reason , cause
Whatever meaning or excuse
your chosen path was forever
selfish blood of two hearts on your hands

Wish my mind’s curiosities would quit lingering
on a hunt for inconsequential, unobtainable answers

If only I could remember your faces.

Pantoum: Strings

Thu, 05 May 2011 12:43:00 -0400

Strings

Four strings diverge on a hollow chest
vibrations riveting a tense sensation
metal and gloss converge in controlled chaos
shared passion of story and song

Vibrations riveting a tense sensation
stirring uncommon thoughts; memories
shared passion of story and song
hourglass caressed by few, mastered by less

Stirring uncommon thoughts; memories
four equally lain intervals
hourglass caressed by few, mastered by less
physical outlet for talented dreamers

four equally lain intervals
on bridges expertly crafted
physical outlet for talented dreamers
Finely tuned passionless muse

on bridges expertly crafted
a creator undefined and forgotten
Finely tuned passionless muse
a poor craftsman blames his instrument

a creator undefined and forgotten
what masterful lover could please her
a poor craftsman blames his instrument
four strings diverge on a hollow chest

waiting for vibrations.

Outbreak.

Thu, 28 Apr 2011 15:29:00 -0400

They are shouting in the streets
“DISASTER!!”
Where to go? What to do?
Fear, confusion, mass hysteria
join the motorcade
possessions piled on the minivan
or do you stay? Wait for the first flood of victims to fall?

Are you prepared?
Stock piled food, 12gage in the garage
Rule #1 Cardio
60% of Americans are overweight
Could you out run them?
Natural Selection
Population Control.
Humanity has no natural predators
until now.

Every man for himself
women and children first, they are slower
Civilians are replaceable
Air Force 1 Will not stop to save you
Use the population as the first defense
save the politicians , save the money
further damn our souls

Is this our curse
payment for sins of Fathers
of hookers, of corporate greed,
of falling towers in religious cries
murdering lies
convictions of the innocent
what rhetoric could be used
to convince what force of this nature
to let us survive
what capacity for good could save us?

The infected must be contained
If you are infected
if someone you love
Is infected
Remember:
remove the head or destroy the brain

Could you do what needs to be done?
What defines a person
who you once knew is gone
does anything remain
nature to doubt, to hope

Love. Just a word.
Defining a connection.
What would you do
To hold on
To that connection?

Lucifer’s kiss
death has risen
this is not Easter Sunday
no forgiveness, no mercy
No savior for humanity

Prayers to undead ears, indifferent to tears
in hunger brought from the depths of truth
reminiscent of no crust of soul
I cannot save you
you can’t even save yourself.

The Road Taken

Tue, 26 Apr 2011 19:12:00 -0400

An aged man in a yellow world
stood before the woods
wonder that he stares not at golden leaves
or dark trunks with ageless shadows
What curiosity does he find in
the crossroads?

Tilting his aged visage
Chronos’s eyes stare from parchment skin
over two paths, diverging the traveler’s plans
A concentrated deliberation over
dancing leaves and whispering blades of grass
What difference does he find
in choices thus defined
in lines already drawn on parchment skin?

Reflection now in mind of leaving
the gold wood behind
a golden day for a golden man no longer of
this tarnished age.
What danger lies between this road or that
which will lead us to doubt or regret?

The roads know not their destination
at their end, do they know the difference
in the journey
or the difficulty in their paths?

Sighing the gold man
knowing now his mind
chooses the path
that has made all the difference.
I wonder, is this the last crossroad?

(Writing Activity for 2007, April 24th. Prompt: Write a response poem to your favorite poem. So, this is my “Response” to Robert Frost’s “The Road Not Taken”)

mandaflewaway: CLICK TO MAKE SOME MUSIC

Fri, 08 Apr 2011 21:14:28 -0400

mandaflewaway:

CLICK TO MAKE SOME MUSIC

Reflection

Thu, 24 Mar 2011 15:33:00 -0400

Reflection

Stand before a lost guided reflection
bought and sold, trapped by glassy reflection.

No longer the image you see, reflection
what became a dream, fading reflection.

What they wanted to see, reflection,
tumbled over the chased reflection.

Perceived imperfection, Jump! Reflection.
Everyone knows everyone, reflection.

Staged achievement captured framed reflection
false advertisement, designed reflection.

Shake the World, add some sugar, reflection.
defy the norm, cut the fat! Reflection.

No longer failing, I want reflection
once chased and scared, no longer. Reflection.

Perception is mine – ha-ha! Reflection.
forever is far too long, reflection.

What drove out must come back in reflection
come together and find my reflection.

What I wanted to see, lost reflection
there was no more leaving me. Reflection.

[Image by Camile Tulcan]

Modern Poetry

Thu, 24 Mar 2011 15:14:00 -0400

Modern Poetry

Superficial findings of transient beauty
locked away
adjusted to be perceived just so

new linguistic realms
flights in mental gaits
fearful racing meter

Brave new world
that has such beauty
in words

(Short written for 2007 based on Mina Loy’s paper on Modern Poetry)

Two New Stories 4105!

Mon, 21 Mar 2011 18:52:05 -0400

Hey followers,

I have two new stories that I recently wrote for English 4105 and I would love some feedback! First is Awake a story about a woman waking up from after a horrible accident and then Lioness of the Day is a historical fiction piece I wrote about Elizabeth Blackwell, the first woman to receive an MD in the United States and her struggle to find personal answers as well as a place in the medical community.

Hope to have more posted soon!

-WT

iDentity

Mon, 21 Mar 2011 18:38:00 -0400

iDentity:

i dreamed a dream
it was you
i wanted it to be

truth of nothing, found in something
questioning reality of yourself
of everything

all of you

obsessional focus
filter neurosis colored lenses
seeing everything and nothing
all together now

We are
what we are
what are we
no answer but: imagine

I dreamed a dream and it was me

Write one leaf about the elephant in the room.

Sat, 29 Jan 2011 14:17:00 -0500

There is an elephant in the room
it’s standing very still, thinking you can’t see it
hoping to hide behind the curtain like a costume
if a mouse runs in it will have a fit!

O, it is large and dusty gray
tip toe around and don’t make a sound
look but don’t scare it away
it’s trunk is forever searching the ground

if the hunters mark its target
the elephant will never forget.

Write one leaf about taking off your clothes.

Tue, 25 Jan 2011 18:09:00 -0500

writeoneleaf:

May be figuratively, if you wish (perhaps obviously).

It’d been hours, very long dull drawn out hours, since she had gotten out of bed, taken a long hot shower, and gotten dressed. The early morning had been wet and cloudy; a perfect day to stay in bed and not to get on the interstate with all the other pissed off commuters. Three hours in class, eight hours at work, plus an hour long drive back to the house because someone forgot how to drive in construction and ended up in a ditch, meant she had been wearing her clothes for almost 13 hours not to mention her high heeled boots. Her clothes had become more than just pieces of protective cloth. Now they were an of extension of herself. She moved so fast through her daily routine, human contact reduced to slim to none, her outward expression of self had become minimal. Preferring simple comfort in earth toned colors she left the fashion to the sensitive and stuck to items that could mix and match easily while maintaining some level of comfort in the ten hour plus days. Black was usually a favorite and in tight fabrics that highlighted but not showcased her more feminine features. Shoes the only extreme in bright styles and different and interesting designs. Finally home she went though the transition from work to home and headed to her bed leaving a trail of garments along the way. This was a five day a week commitment and was quite repetitive, but no one ever got anywhere just staying home and listening to the rain in bed. But she thought…she might call in sick tomorrow. That is, if it rains.

Photo

Tue, 25 Jan 2011 17:48:35 -0500

Rainbow

Tue, 25 Jan 2011 15:08:00 -0500

Dazzling waterfall creation
spectrum of misty showers and sparse sunlight
soft and distant
colored fragile beauty
inspirational science

somewhere over
fantasies and stories
an alchemists dream at the end
chased until lost
and never found

farewell, for now
‘til then I’ll take them all
and find satisfaction
in black

Oh, God.

Sat, 22 Jan 2011 13:20:00 -0500

In the darkness my name was whispered
like a prayer from his lips;
faith evaded me even then.

Forgive me father, for I have sinned;
the mystery is lost and belief with it.

My conscience knows, and God is silent.
Whispered prayers fall empty to deaf ears,
and no where can I find the reason why.

Chicken Fried Rice

Tue, 18 Jan 2011 13:02:02 -0500

Hey tigers! After researching several website recipes and watching several videos hubby and I came up with this one and really enjoyed it! The longest part was waiting on the rice to cool (we didn’t realize it needed to be chilled) but other than that this recipe was very quick and easy to make. This would be great on a work night if you have all of your veggies already chopped and in the fridge or freezer! Substitute pork or shrimp accordingly.

Chicken Fried Rice

Ingredients:
1/2 lb Chicken Breast cut into small pieces
2 cups cold cooked rice (we used brown but it’s all up to your taste)
1 cup frozen mixed peas and carrots
1/2 small white onion diced
2 garlic cloves minced
3 chopped green onions plus more for garnish
2 large eggs scrambled
1/4 cup oil (Vegetable or peanut)
1/4 cup soy sauce
1 tsp. toasted sesame oil
1/2 tsp garlic powder
1 tsp cornstarch
1/2 tsp salt
1/2 tsp white pepper

Method:

Because the cooking process at this temperature is very quick you don’t want to have to wait on anything a good tip is to have all of your veggies chopped and your ingredients measured out.

-season chicken with cornstarch, garlic powder, salt and white pepper mix well with hands until corn starch is dissolved.
-heat wok over high heat, add half the oil.
-add chicken and cook 2 minutes stirring constantly.
-add onion and garlic cook 1 minute, keep it all moving.
-add raw eggs, scramble well breaking into small pieces, cook about 30 seconds.
-add peas, carrots, green onions, and rice. Stir to combine.
- pour soy sauce and sesame oil around edge of rice and toss until well coated, rice is heated through, and the chicken is completely cooked.
-serve in large bowl garnish with green onions.