My yell resonates off yellow walls
but I am feeling red
red with anger
the fuel for my point
evidently my reasoning is wrong
according to the person standing across from me
they are a hater
their argument against me
a jumble of vines
tangled around there words
so that the point has no point
the person is a hypocrite
which is why I am right
Author Archives: ll50314
The Dark of Night
The london taxi cab screeches to a stop.
Tod’s eyes flickered with specks of black, like strobe lights. It was 12’o clock, what was someone doing standing in the middle of the road in the dark of night? Caught in the headlights like a deer on a highway.
All Tod could see was a silhouette. The black shadow moved to the front of the cab, Tod sitting in the back, wondered what the cab driver would do. But the driver was unconscious, and for reasons unknown.
The silhouette was now standing at the window next to Tod. The cab was dimly lit, but Tod still only saw a silhouette.
Earth Day
Earth Day trees growing
to appreciate nature
thanks for what you do
Paintball
paintballs flying
I see through my mask
the projectile explode
on the tree next to me
a brilliant explosion of vibrant color
of blue
the same color as my bruise
from the next paintball fired
from the gun of my enemy
Winter
Winter is cool
many things are canceled, such as school
I soon begin to think
that spring will come late
but the skeleton trees still stand straight
harsh winter winds rush away sin
deep in the heart of the forest
a cabin lit with fire, sharing gin
my mind turns to June
when winter will die, more than soon
Pesto Pasta
you are the noodle of my life
slurpalicuous
as well as delicious
coated in herbs
spices and such
pesto is the perfect combo
Pesto Pasta
you are my favorite food
you are dear to my heart
and also my stomach
Erasers
Erasers erase and delete words from paper
lead in the form of words gone
gone at the hands of a piece of rubber
and no one will ever know
what the words once said
either the key to the universe
or the scribbling of a kindergartener
about the monsters under his bed
but written in pen
are words carved in stone
for erasers are useless against ink
pencils are light
without weight, like a feather
temporary
but pens are boulders
heavy and permanent
Room 509
Room 509
Walls, flecked with an array of colors
I think of red
different shades
like ham or tomatoes
the room radiates of loneliness
it is a hotel room
in which no one will stay
for more than a day not remembered
and still the room stands
doors open into a room of blue
evermore portraying
the mood
Room 509
a baggage trolley sits astray
who were the previous occupants
only the room will know
whether they were
murderers or lovers
alone or not
only the room bears witness to what has happened
but it will never be none
because rooms are inanimate
rooms like Room 509
This poem was inspired by Stephen Shore's painting Room 509, Dnipro Hotel, Kiev, Ukraine
A Diamond in the Rough
The tube train screeched to a halt.
“Now approaching Kings Cross station”, the automated voice said, “Please mind the gap”.
“This is our stop”, my mom said, addressing my brother and I.
I stood up, the effects of jet lag heavy. I followed my mom to the sliding doors of the train, my brother behind me. I trained my eyes on my mom’s striped, knit hat, trying not getting lost in the zombie-like crowd of people shuffling towards the door. I finally reached the edge of the platform, right outside of the train. Checking my brother was behind me, I adjusted the straps of my backpack. I looked around at the congestion of people coming out of the train, they were all, and by all I mean everyone was Timberland boots, wool jackets, a scarf. I really felt like an outsider, I mean, I was wearing a hoodie and a Yankee hat; how American.
The King’s Cross Tube station was overflowing with a stream of people headed to the turn-stiles. Following the multiple signs and arrows, my brother, mom and I eventually reached the booth where you buy Oyster Cards (UK Metrocard).
As we approached the front of the line, the teller smiled at us.
“American?” she asked.
“We come from Virginia”, my mom replied.
I guess the teller could tell we were foreigners because of our aura of cluelessness. We were like a diamond in the rough, except in a bad way. My mom then deposited some money onto our Oyster Card, enough for us to get around London primarily by Tube.
Once again we started following the arrows to the turn -stiles. As I walked, I looked along the curved ceramic tiled walls. Posted on the walls were advertisements and flyers for plays and theatrical performances. I grinned, in the Metro Stations in the U.S. all you saw were advertisements for electronics and cars. After surveying the walls for long, the girl from Les Miserables was permanently seared into my brain. I really hoped that we wouldn’t get lost.
I looked away and found my mom staring at a map of the layout of Tube, by the expression on her face; I could tell that we were lost. I felt helpless, there were arrows hanging from the ceiling to direct people to the exit, how could we get lost? After observing the map a little bit longer, I could tell that we had been looking at the wrong signs.
Once we followed the correct signs we finally stumbled upon the Tube station exit. My mom had the Oyster card in hand, and I looked at the turn-stiles. There was a sensor where the card was supposed to be placed. There was one problem, between the three of us; there was only one Oyster Card. This meant that once one person had opened the turn-stiles, the other two of us had two quickly go through the stiles before they closed.
After the first attempt at this ( which was an absolute fail, my backpack had got in the stiles while they were closing), an exasperated police officer, with her checkered uniform and neon yellow safety vest approached us and offered us help. In turns out that the handicap gate could be used for families. Using that made life a million times easier. This little mishap screamed out to everybody in the tube that we were tourists, hopefully that wouldn’t happen again.
We exited the Tube Station, as I clambered up the stairs; my face was greeted with a blast of cold air. The cold numbed my nose, and pinched my ears. I reached the top of the stairs, and the sound of cars rushing by filled my ears. I looked around, and I was immediately reminded of how different things were. The taxis were solid black, with ads posted on the doors. They looked exactly like the ones in the movies. Instead of the Toyotas, Hondas, and other cars you find in the States, there were Jaguars and even some Lamborghini and Ferraris. I couldn’t believe my eyes.
As we walked to the hotel, I could hear the rustle of the leaves in the wind above me. I could tell this was going to be an exciting trip in London.