https://www.online-literature.com/forums/blog.php?48724-the-ocean-always-dreamed-blue-dreams The largest classic literature discussion forum on the Internet. Read Write Teach Share. en Thu, 04 Jun 2026 06:08:06 GMT vBulletin 10 https://www.online-literature.com/forums/images/misc/rss.jpg https://www.online-literature.com/forums/blog.php?48724-the-ocean-always-dreamed-blue-dreams https://www.online-literature.com/forums/entry.php?12717-Heretic-rebel-a-thing-to-flout Sat, 15 Dec 2012 06:13:29 GMT I live in the United States of America, and we had another school shooting today. With horror I listened to the news reports that a gunman had gone... I live in the United States of America, and we had another school shooting today. With horror I listened to the news reports that a gunman had gone into an elementary school and killed 27 people, 20 of them “children between the ages of 5 and 10.” And I listened tiredly and wearily to the usual rhetoric of the newscast without end as they recounted the “worst school shooting in an elementary school.”
I guess they are doing the best they can, but you simply can’t put a qualifier or adjective to a shooting. They are all horrific. They are all wrong. They are all tragic. And all those who die are equal in the needlessness of their deaths. All had the right to their lives, whatever the trajectory of those future lives might have been. And I include the shooters in that statement.
Which brings me to my next concern. I have usually considered myself for gun control. In our modern age it is somewhat laughable to think that, if you live in a town or city of any size, you need a gun. I see nothing wrong with people wanting to own a gun and visiting a shooting range, like Claire on “Modern Family.” It looks like fun, even. I don’t mind hunters. But quite honestly, to think that another law is going to make us or our precious children “safe” is to completely miss the point. For once in my life I agree with the statement that guns don’t kill people, people kill people. I don’t know the young man who brought four weapons to that school with the express purpose of killing as many people as he could, but I do believe he was in a great deal of pain, in unimaginable pain. I don’t feel compassion or empathy for him, particularly, nor do I harbor a great hatred for him. But I do know he was in pain or he would not have done this.
As were some others who have done these things. Not all of course. At least one school shooter was a psychopath, I do believe, and another was schizophrenic. But that is not my main concern.
If we revisit the idea of gun control at this point we are taking the easy way out. We will not be asking ourselves the hard questions. What has brought us, as a country, to this point? What is it, in our culture, that brings people to the point of believing they have no other choice but to kill someone to make their feelings known? What is lacking in our communities that they do not provide a sense of community, of inclusion, of warmth, of aid, of understanding, of listening, of empathy? Where is the compassion for the weak, the disabled, the lonely, the elderly, the mentally ill? Anyone who is different is largely shunted to one side. We have laws in place to educate everyone across the board-but what provisions do we make for those who are not the best and the brightest once they are in the workforce? We are a nation of winners, and God help you if you don’t count yourself among that number.
Because if you can’t, guess what? You’re a loser.
Loser.
Loser.
Loser. ]]> qimissung https://www.online-literature.com/forums/entry.php?12717-Heretic-rebel-a-thing-to-flout https://www.online-literature.com/forums/entry.php?12342-In-Memoriam Wed, 04 Apr 2012 03:05:23 GMT One of my former students-he graduated last year-was shot and killed last night around 10 o'clock.

He had just finished playing a game of basketball and was sitting in a car on a dark street, with his cousin. They were waiting for his cousin's ride when another car drove up. It was someone they knew and they argued over a girl his cousin had been seeing. The young man in the car pulled out a gun and shot them. Victor was shot two times in the back. He was treated at a nearby hospital, but he died. His cousin, who survived, is in critical condition.

Why did they argue? Why did that person, that unknown quantity, think it was a good idea to pull out a gun and use it? He changed his life as irrevocably as he changed Victor's.

What I do know is that I wish Victor was still here on planet earth tonight, doing whatever it is nineteen year old boys do. Scrapping and yelling and mixing it up.

But not dying.

He had been annoying in class-he was far more interested in socializing than in reading MacBeth or writing essays, go figure-but we both survived. He came back to see me last fall and we had a good talk. He was working at a restaurant, and was planning to go community college this year. In December some co-workers and I went out to dinner-and there he was, all grown up and responsible. He was our server. He sent us a complimentary appetizer and was so very attentive.

Today, when my class let out, and my current annoying student was leaving, he said, "Hit me up, Miss. Hit me up with a lollipop. I know you got some." I rummaged around in my desk drawer, but couldn't find any. I did find a bottle of vitamin water. "Here, D, take this," I said. "Are you sure, Miss?" he asked. "Yeah," I said. "Do you know why I want you to have this?" I asked. "No, why?"

"Because you're alive."

Recquiscat in pacem, Victor. We love you. ]]> qimissung https://www.online-literature.com/forums/entry.php?12342-In-Memoriam https://www.online-literature.com/forums/entry.php?12145-The-Anger-and-The-Anguish Wed, 04 Jan 2012 18:24:01 GMT I read several good books in 2011. I read "Candide," "The Crying of Lot 49", "Housekeeping," "A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius," and "The Dubliners." I read others, but these I read last fall and today it is of "The Dubliners" I speak.

I've been wanting to read something by Joyce. Eventually I hope to read "Ulysses." I think that might be akin to saying that someday I'd like to climb Mount Everest, for me anyway. So reading "The Dubliners" and finally, finally reading "The Dead" and getting to see what everyone's been talking about and alluding too after all these years was marvelous.

The stories, twelve in all, are written with such an understated affect. I shamelessly mined the internet for decent critiques afterward to help me understand the import of what I'd read. My favorites are "Araby", "Eveline" and of course "The Dead,": all ones that I easily related to. The fact that they ALL end sadly, that there is such despair, that their growth as humans so stunted, so...so...paralyzed was simply haunting. Such spare little works, such a depth of meaning.

I assigned my classes a book report. They are due this week. Hah! They have to create something; I gave them eight choices, a poem based on a theme of their book; a comic strip that relates key ideas; a map of important places in the story; design costumes for characters, etc. I thought about doing the map, but in the end was challenged to write a poem. I felt foolish, because of course, nothing I write will even remotely have the depth of symbolic meaning that Joyce is able to pack in his writing, almost offhandedly. It simply takes one's breath away.

So, there is structure. There is a death in the first stanza, and an impending one in the last. The first two stanzas have to do with childhood, the middle one, youth, the last one, adulthood. There is betrayal and the church, and I'll leave you to find those, and make of it all what you will.

This poem, by the way, while it does have elements from my life, is not a "confessional." It was written in a deliberative manner and style that is supposed to reflect that of "The Dubliners," and while I hope there is feeling in it, it wasn't written to assuage mine.

The Anger and The Anguish

The cat spent the day
dying
tiny and frail,
still she tipped her head up hopefully at me
as she followed me from room to room
so unsubstantial
I felt she might fall apart in my arms
would that she were a wafer I could place on my tongue

My father my brother
and I wedged in between
We're driving to a place
with a tall fence
dropping off an inconvenient animal
Who, I believe, will come home to us one day
and still I cry
silent tears slipping down

Will you, will you go with me?
Will you dance with me?
quiet girl with gypsy dreams
and the answer, wedged between my anger and my anguish
no, and no, and no, and no

but when I connive with myself
to break away
to make a new union
the chalice
and three hearts broken
a kiss for you my sweet, and you and you

Come home come home
sweet girl
the old woman beckons
but her heart, too,
is left, bereft
by young fleet and selfish feet

Sitting in the dark
talking softly to myself
The Lord have mercy on my soul

Qimissung
January 2010 ]]> qimissung https://www.online-literature.com/forums/entry.php?12145-The-Anger-and-The-Anguish https://www.online-literature.com/forums/entry.php?12128-The-Bird-s-Nest Tue, 27 Dec 2011 19:20:43 GMT looking at it I knew it was different
a bird's nest
full of hope and fear
and the cavalier fulsomeness of life
the blind ability to get up each day under the weight of it all
to go out every day believing you were one of the masses
dressed in the same uniform
believing the same things
that god is good
that love will find a way
believing or hoping to believe that
the others would not notice your vampiric differences
that your eyes glittered with need
and that you preferred the dark

no, we, you got up each day and covered ourselves in
our indifferent raiment
to throw ourselves at an indifferent world
which, when it saw suffering
was fully capable of staring
in unmitigated glee
at the train wreck of lives roiling past

but inside, inside
it was lined with feathers and strings of hope
the same DNA that made them, made us, made you
the same hope provided the filtered light
of day from striking us blind
let in the filmy light of the moon
so that we could spin awkward dreams
the same sticks could be blown asunder
by the mere idea of a superior being
(do those even exist?)
or from a strong wind blowing down
from the plains or over the ocean
through clouds that gather greenly
to mark the impending horror

and inside, inside, too,
the hurricane, the tornado
can descend on the unsuspecting
few gathered there in hope and pity
before the sacred light
hoping to warm our hands against the cold
longing to huddle with some few others
like-minded and weary in the night
huddled in our blankets and cast off-clothes

seeing with the weary realistic eyes
of those who cannot see the light, but only
the dark, curving walls of the tunnel,
only smell the dankness of walls
that have never seen the sun
still, there, there, the wind and horror
can descend when there is too much,
descend, if only for awhile,
and your hope rides out the waves
and when they, at last, subside
peek out hopefully
enduringly
yes, lovingly to find
the remnants of something good

it's still a bird's nest
made of sticks and strings
and battered hope;
a prison or a gateway?
we do not know
we only know it's home

Qimissung
December 27, 2011 ]]> qimissung https://www.online-literature.com/forums/entry.php?12128-The-Bird-s-Nest https://www.online-literature.com/forums/entry.php?12101-I-acquire-some-books Mon, 05 Dec 2011 00:13:44 GMT I got up yesterday morning, a Saturday, around 5:45. I washed my face and dressed and walked to my car in the dark. I stopped by my local Starbucks... I got up yesterday morning, a Saturday, around 5:45. I washed my face and dressed and walked to my car in the dark. I stopped by my local Starbucks and treated myself to a tall mocha.

I then made my way down Midway to 635; from there to Central Expressway from which I exited at Northwest Highway. My destination was the Half-Price Books located there, or rather the warehouse that I knew was located near it.

Once I arrived I noticed, somewhat to my chagrin, that there was a Starbucks right next to it. I ran inside and and asked the cheerful (at 7 a.m. on a Saturday; she is to be commended) young lady behind the counter if she knew where the warehouse was.
I'd already driven around the block and hadn't seen any parked cars or lines of people, short or long. "It's right next door, the second entrance. Just take the service road!" "Thanks," I hollered and sure enough it was just as easy as she'd said it would be. And there were the parked
cars and a very small gathering of people. I settled in to wait for the requisite two hours.

I love Half-Price Books. They do some things they shouldn't. They buy remainders (no money for the authors), and they will buy your papaerbacks back-for a pittance. The amount is so small I quit taking my books to them
years ago, although I do shop there frequently. Since I live in a very small house I really need to watch the number of books I own. I'm already at my limit. But I love them so much! I enjoy shopping off Amazon, and I'm not averse to reading something with a light behind it, but truly, nothing beats
browsing in a bookstore for sheer fun. Or a library. But I wasn't actually here for myself. On most Saturday mornings Half Price Books opens their warehouse doors to teachers and homeschoolers and non-profits. Those who arrive are given two boxes which they may fill and take, for free.

When I first discovered this service people could take as many books as they could carry. It all had a rather unpleasant dog eat dog feel to it. The two box limit is a nice change. I got two boxes. I'm not sure if I got the best books I could have, but c'est la vie. "Where are the books for young adults? For teen-agers?"
I asked. Those I asked weren't sure. They thought they were mixed in. For some reason I assumed they meant with the paperbacks, so when they opened the doors at nine that's where I went. Wrong. They were mixed in with the books on the three tables marked "Children" and those were gone within about five minutes, maybe less. I waited by the tables, though, because then people sat down and
went through their boxes and put things back they didn't need. So I ended up with a decent selection of about fifty paperbacks. Now we'll see if my students like ANY of them.

Oh, I also got a few books for myself.

Once I'd finished pawing through the kid's books I checked out the classics sections, as well as biography, the regular paperbacks, and the cookbooks. This is what I found:

Thirty Minute Meals by Rachel Ray. I think this may be her first one. She looks so young on the cover. I'm pleased because I'm too cheap to buy something like this new.
Cherry by Mary Karr. I'll put it next to Liar's Club which I've owned for about two years, and which I have yet to read. It just looks so grim. Lit is next. I'm determined.
The Gulag Archipelago by Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn
The Thousand and One Nights, translated by Edward William Lane. I've been thinking about getting this one and here it has dropped into my lap!
Dante's Divine Comedy translated by Henry F. Clay. It has long been on my 'to read' list. Hopefully it won't be much longer.
A Hearbreaking Work of Staggering Genius by Dave Eggers. I will probably read this next. It looks like the kind of thing I like.
The Seven Pillars of Wisdom by T. E. Lawrence. It looks interesting, but crimeny, it's massive.
City of Joy by Dominique LaPierre. Also large. I think I'll be able to read it without hyperventilating. The first page looked good. Beautiful, crunchy prose. I've seen the movie.
Made in America by Bill Bryson. I like Bill Bryson. I'm not sure abut this one. I don't generally enjoy non-fiction.
Classic Readings in Sociology, edited (I assume) by Eve Howard.
Love Letters, An Illustrated Anthology, edited by Antonia Fraser. I have to admit it was interesting to read James Joyce's letter to Nora Barnacle. Who'd a thunk?
Tis by Frank McCourt. I have yet to read "Angela's Ashes" either, but I'm feeling more confident in my ability to do so. I really want to read "Teacher Man" for obvious reasons.
Howard's End by E.M. Forrester. I'll probably try to read Room With a View first. I love the movies; now it's time to read the books.
girlbomb, A Halfway Homeless Memoir by Janice Erlbaum; I originally picked this up for my students, but I suspect it's a bit raw even for them-they're just 14.
Gone Tomorrow by Lee Child. He writes a good mystery.
The Secrets of a Fire King by Kim Edwards. I don't know anything about this author or this book beyond the fact that it's a collection of short stories.
Mockingbird Years by Emily Fox Gordon. I'm about half way through this. Her prose is gorgeous. It reminds me a bit of "Girl Interrupted". The young protagonist (the author, it's a memoir) reminds me of myself, and her childhood also reminds me a great deal of mine. It's been just the thing for this dreary, rainy weekend.

That's it. I think, all in all, it was a Saturday morning well-spent. ]]> qimissung https://www.online-literature.com/forums/entry.php?12101-I-acquire-some-books https://www.online-literature.com/forums/entry.php?11917-Intemperate-Frigate-on-a-Placid-Sea Fri, 02 Sep 2011 16:50:06 GMT Where does it come from, my passion- burgeoning, bumbling, burbling, purple, red, inflamed- like the Red Queen in a fury or a fountain of... Where does it come from,
my passion-
burgeoning, bumbling, burbling,
purple, red, inflamed-
like the Red Queen in a fury
or a fountain
of frothy, frothing water
light as air and filled with color
exploding into universes within the hidden crevices of my brain
then leaking out,
joyously or morosely
like a thin, filthy mattress
slept on by a high-jacked heiress in a forgotten basement;
my pores shimmer with impending excitement,
my lungs heave orgiastically
with the thought of being alive and
alive and alive yes alive

Qimissung
September 2011 ]]> qimissung https://www.online-literature.com/forums/entry.php?11917-Intemperate-Frigate-on-a-Placid-Sea https://www.online-literature.com/forums/entry.php?11856-Puck-at-the-top-of-the-stairs Thu, 04 Aug 2011 17:32:40 GMT


This is my cat, Puck. We've had him for a long time, about 18 years, I think. He is three years younger than Sukey, who was 20 when she passed on, on New Year's Day, 2009.

Anywho, it looks like we might have Puck with us for awhile longer. He is an extremely friendly, and indolent animal. He rarely moves. This has been his habit for as long as I've known him. He finds a place and camps out there for weeks at a time. Sometimes it's in the hallway off the kitchen, sometimes on the couch in the living room. Lately it's been in the small hallway at the top of our stairs, or on the bathroom floor just off it.

He used to spend a lot of time outside, but we don't let him out much anymore. He seemed really confused about a month ago, and while I think we solved that problem, we don't want to take the risk. Once about five years ago he didn't come home one morning. For some reason I wondered if someone thought he might need a good home, so I went and got him a collar with a tag that had his name on it. A while later, I can't remember how long, I got a phone call from someone who wanted to know if we had a cat named Puck. "Indeed we do," I said. He had made his way over to a house one street over, and I went to get him. The man chucked nervously, and said, "He seemed hungry." "He's always like that," I said, as I stuffed him into the cat carrier.

We had a neighbor who moved last year, a nice lady who had two cats. Whenever she came home, Puck would run across the street to get a little pet from her. You'd think we ignored him. I guess we did, since he was usually asleep when he was inside. But if you did pet him, it wouldn't be long before you hear the soft, slow rumble of his purr.

This is how we came to own him. One day when my kids were very young we were leaving the house, and there was a black cat. Of course this excited all kinds of interest and curiosity, but we still had to go. When we got back he was, to our excitement, still there. He had such a presence, and we were all so taken with him; we decided to try to find his owner, and if they didn't want him, we did. The boys had heard that he lived around the corner, so off we went. As we approached, we were greeted by a man and his kids, who knew our cat. He was very friendly, we were told, and he had a crook in his tail, right at the very tip. His owners no longer wanted him. They pointed at a house across the street, and when we knocked, a young girl, about 13, came to the door. "Do you want him,?" she asked. We said yes.

We feel very lucky that Puck came to our house to stay. My middle son suggested his name, "because he's black, like a hockey puck," he said. For a year or two he brought us lots of presents as we were leaving the house, dead birds and mice. We were always appreciative.

Earlier this summer, about the middle of July, he began to howl. It went on incessantly. I thought maybe he was getting kitty Alzheimer's, but then he began to lose weight, so I took him to the vet who did a blood test. When we got home later that day, I decided to take the flea comb to him. I had already put flea medication on him, but he was still scratching away. I ran the comb through the fur along his back and down to the tip of his tail. It was black with fleas and flea eggs, and that was why he was howling. I combed and combed him over the next day or so; I finally gave him a bath with regular shampoo and that got rid of the flea eggs, and I am glad to say that he is resting comfortably in his little aerie. I got him some top of the line cat food which he seems to like, and which must be pretty good as my other cats perk up their ears when they smell it, but it's Purina cat chow for them.

The vet called a few days later with the results of the blood test. Puck has Corona Virus, which is not treatable. The vet is giving him 5 mg prednisone for his anemia, and he looks almost like his old self.

When I took him to the vet, the vet tech picked him up and said, "You don't stray too far from your food bowl, I see," and the when the vet opened the cat carrier, Puck kind of poured out, purring. The vet called him a regular purring machine.

He's still got the old charisma, and he's still making friends, and if we're lucky, he'll still be ours for a little while longer. ]]> qimissung https://www.online-literature.com/forums/entry.php?11856-Puck-at-the-top-of-the-stairs https://www.online-literature.com/forums/entry.php?11726-Graduation Mon, 13 Jun 2011 17:13:08 GMT *My son graduated* from high school last Sunday, June 5, 2011. I am very proud of him. It has been a bit of a journey, getting him to this point.... My son graduated from high school last Sunday, June 5, 2011. I am very proud of him.

It has been a bit of a journey, getting him to this point. When he was in the fourth grade it began to be apparent that he was struggling in school. His teacher had assigned a research paper which she had broken down into kid sized bites, but still he hadn't done anything. So I got his things together and I helped him get his research done and the paper written. I mean that in the best sense. I didn't do the work-he did. But I sat with him, asked questions, made sure he stayed on task.

My oldest son had also struggled once he hit middle school, so I was concerned. I wrote a letter to Scottish Rite Hospital and explained the problem and asked if they could help with a diagnosis. They said yes, and the appointment was set for May of that year. The upshot was that he had Attention Deficit Disorder, inattentive type. We were to discover later that his older brother has Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder.

So my youngest son began to take Concerta for this late in the fall of that year. When I met with his teachers in January, one of them said the change in his behavior was like a miracle. He continued to do fairly well in school through 7th and 8th grade.

Then it was time for him to go to high school. It became obvious fairly quickly that his current prescription was not going to work. His grades plummeted dramatically. We went back to our pediatrician who sent us to a specialist. We, or rather my son, tried the new drug, Vyvanse. I think it did help him focus, but he developed a tremor in his hand. We went back to the doctor who said it was not connected to the drug, but we decided to discontinue it anyway (the tremor went away). We went back to the pediatrician who prescribed Adderall, and he took that for a while. His grades got a little better.

But there was, of course, another problem. He had entered not just a new school, but a new phase. He was an adolescent, and with that came other...things.

One of those things was his clothing. I don't think what he wore was all that important. There were other things that were of a little more concern to me that were going on in his life. There was the school dress code, though. Dropping him off at school he didn't look all that different from the other kids, but somewhere in his 9th grade year he caught the attention of the vice principals of his school and so began what I will call the Jean Valjean period of his life. He didn't steal bread, but neither was he bad at school. But in the next several years he incurred a huge number of referrals for violations of the dress code. Of course we were arguing about this at home, too. A lot. I feel tired just thinking of it. I tried to support the schools rules, and I also tried to let him have his freedom of expression in his clothing. It didn't work. I remember one time I took him back to school after he was actually suspended for a dress code violation. I think they said he was sagging. We walked in behind a kid wearing a letter jacket, plaid boxers, and jeans. I told the administrator this. She replied simply, "We're not perfect," and looked at me a little sadly.

About a year prior to this, around the end of the fall semester I had received a phone call from this administrator. She had my son in her office. A kid had told her that my son was selling cartons of cigarettes. When she called him into the office he did have a large amount of money on him, so she called me. "It's for his birthday present," I said. "Is it $70?" "Yes," she said-somewhat reluctantly, I thought. "I told him I thought he ought to leave it at home, but he wanted to take it with him," I said. "He's going to get a hoodie at the mall." Which, by the way, he did do. Maybe he did think about trying to make a little extra money on the side, but I've never seen him use money that way. Or get in trouble for that kind of thing. My point in telling this story is I felt then, and still do, that for some reason these two administrators got it in their head that he was a bad kid. Well, he was a kid, and sometimes bad, but never in the way they thought.

He kept those referrals for awhile. By the next year he had a stack that was several inches thick. He was still falling behind in his classes, but when he took the state assessment tests he always passed, and sometimes even got commended, so we all knew he was learning something. But school was frustrating for him, so around this time he decided to go to his districts' alternative school. I was a little concerned about the kind of kids who would be there, but in the end it's what he wanted, so we went forward with that plan.

Which turned out marvelously, by the way. The staff was kind and helpful. They are terrific, and I can't say enough about them. I give them and my son all the credit for helping him get through high school. They liked him and never gave him any trouble. Nor did he get into any trouble there, ever. He got packets of work and very slowly worked his way through them. The thing about this school was that it was entirely voluntary. He could leave anytime he wanted. He was no longer taking medication-his decision-and he usually left before noon. They finally put him on a plan, and he finally finished up. There were some bumps in the road, but he did it. I don't think he knows what he wants to do in the future-I don't think he wants to go to college, at the moment, anyway-but he's willing to work, and for now, that's enough for me.

Which brings us to the moment. I was very pleased that he wanted to walk the walk. As it happens, the hometown team, The Mavericks, were in the NBA playoffs, and my sons, who had the money, wanted to get tickets. I fronted the initial money and they ended up with seats in the rafters, but seats, nevertheless, for an NBA playoff game. My youngest son wanted tickets for the first game on June 5th. "There's going to be a lot going on that day," I said. "Are you sure that's a good idea?" He was, so that's what they did. The next day he was looking at his packet of information for the graduation. It said that the graduation was at 7 p.m. "But that's when your game starts!" I said, my voice rising, somewhat shrilly, I might add. I was so disappointed. "They told me it was at 4 o'clock," he said, somewhat sharply. "So you'll have to call them tomorrow and find out," I said. I had to go to work, and I didn't think any more about it until I got home. I had already resigned myself to the fact that he might not get to go through the ceremony. "I think it was more important to me that I realized," I told him. As it turns out, he had the correct information. The ceremony was at 4 p,m. that Sunday. Hallelujah!

The day went perfectly. His father had visited, but did not stay for the ceremony. He had gotten himself a white shirt, he had the black slacks, socks, and shoes. It turns out he didn't have a black tie. My oldest son looked in vain for one, but friend of his had one, so that worked out. I also had to stop for gas-I was on empty. I thought it would be just my luck to run out of gas. I could feel little shards of glass running through my veins. We finally made it onto the highway, and since it was a Sunday were able to quickly make the thirty mile drive north to Denton. I dropped him off at the auditorium and found a great parking spot just two blocks away. My oldest son and a friend of ours joined us. I was glad this friend was with us. He and his wife and their kids used to live around the corner from us. One day a couple of years ago my son told me that M told him to do well in school, and if he did he would get him some new shoes. It's been awhile, but I think he did bring home a good report card that six weeks, and one day he came in with a new pair of Jordan's. So we were really glad M could be there with us that day. We saw my son walk in, and he found us in the crowd too; we saw him walk across the stage and shake hands with the principal of his school. It was done. He was a graduate.

We were able to find him fairly quickly when it was over. We took a few pictures, then they were on their way. They made good time getting to the American Airlines Arena. It's off the highway that we drove on to get there, so it was all very convenient. They had a blast yelling their hearts out for the Mavs, who in the only down note of the whole day, lost that game. But it did make for a memorable day.

So this is the end of the story. There is more to it, of course. There were some more bumps in the road, and because of that I still hold my breath when he goes out at night. I think in the end, though, that he understands what it means to be a good and decent person, and thats all I really ask for.

The important thing is, he graduated. And I am proud, so very proud, of him. Congratulations, son. ]]> qimissung https://www.online-literature.com/forums/entry.php?11726-Graduation https://www.online-literature.com/forums/entry.php?11722-Calla-Lily Sat, 11 Jun 2011 23:11:43 GMT It's been awhile since Ive written here, or written at all, for that matter. I have missed it a lot, and like others before me wondered if I'd ever write again.

Maybe. I don't know yet. All I know is I can feel the urge, long suppressed, begin to stir.

It's about time-and it feels good.


Calla Lily

oppress me with your beauty, white maiden,
press against my soul, make it smaller
with your large desire
dance alluringly with the wind,
then wonder why you are not
the chosen one.
Leaning close I kindle my desire with
your pale, spumous, earthbound scent
as, my nose buried in your scented depths
I am left to ponder why your
heady odor makes my heart
go small

Qimissung
June 2011 ]]> qimissung https://www.online-literature.com/forums/entry.php?11722-Calla-Lily https://www.online-literature.com/forums/entry.php?11501-mal-de-mer Sat, 05 Mar 2011 06:41:22 GMT in my dream you are sleeping peacefully, brow sweaty and your lips, pale, moving in and out as they whisper of the tempest and desire leaning... in my dream
you are sleeping peacefully,
brow sweaty
and your lips, pale, moving in and out
as they whisper
of the tempest and desire

leaning close I breathe,
"allons-y ensemble"

I can only be who I am
someone from whose lips spring
the froth of the sea
whose soul lays still upon the wave
before diving beneath it
knowing the terror and confusion that awaits
struggling to the surface
bursting through it to the halcyon day
then falling, falling to the roiling surface of the sea again

and the sea changes
the waves are peacock blue, turquoise, atrementous
and the wind, losing all circumspection,
blows the sea into cabochon,
and then your hand upon my back,
and your body next to mine,
our whited limbs thrashing, tangled seaweed

so sleep;
no more can I

but the winds are calm again
and I know what to do
I can brush a tendril from
your brow
and give to you this day,
this blessed day

Qimissung
March 2010 ]]> qimissung https://www.online-literature.com/forums/entry.php?11501-mal-de-mer https://www.online-literature.com/forums/entry.php?11443-A-pair-of-poems-that-speak-of-love Sun, 13 Feb 2011 05:15:23 GMT It's not chocolate, but still.

Le Commencement

I will send you books,
bound like a schoolgirl's hair
with radiant ribbons,
a tribute to the stillness of your soul,
and mine
entwined, breathing in the silence
and looking,
unafraid,
into the heart of darkness
or whatever else we might find there

new thoughts encroach as,
our fingers touching, we turn the page
verso, yours, and recto mine
latin for I love you

caressing linen sheets
and virgin words, unbound,
we'll read of foreign countries
where men weep and die alone
and lovers, lost, find poppy fields of rapture
and women sail the gallant seas
in search of men
with trenchant tongues

o hero heart
your arms
will wend and wind
and find in me
a home, I know.
the end


Redemption Song

I saw your face
boy
the sloe eyes
and the cigarette
and my heart
leapt
like a salmon
can you plunge into the darkness
find redemption in my arms?

I can still hear your voice
in the night
the bagpipes skirling
and the drum
o minstrel boy
who wanders the moors
and my heart
still a prisoner
longing to break free

Qimissung
February 2011 ]]> qimissung https://www.online-literature.com/forums/entry.php?11443-A-pair-of-poems-that-speak-of-love https://www.online-literature.com/forums/entry.php?11414-The-Last-Day Sat, 05 Feb 2011 08:12:19 GMT OK, so the last day won't really be until Sunday, but it's the last day of the work week. I felt really aimless all day. I cleaned the kitchen and made the beans. I went for a walk, listening to the snow crunch under my feet, and sniffing at the frosty tang in the air that you only feel and smell when it has snowed. Some kids were playing in the snow. They had made wall out of blocks of snow and I do believe they were working on making some snowballs. Good times.

I haven't seen snow like this since I've lived in Texas. It really brought back memories of my childhood, in Oklahoma. It made me think of my dad. We always had a fire on the weekend and we helped him arrange the wood in the fire place just so. By help I mean we helped him carry the logs in, then we stood and watched him arrange them. I would sit in front of the fire for hours reading or watching really bad television. Sometimes my sister and I would wrestle. I loved to take the poker and turn the logs and watch the sparks fly up. I haven't had a fire this week. I didn't want to leave the flu open; also, there is a crack in the chimney which I need to have fixed. I might make one this weekend. It's not winter unless you have a fire, and I love fires, almost as much as I love snow.

Around six o'clock my cat, Chet, wanted out. Chet used to belong to our neighbors. They moved about five yeas ago and several days after they left Chet showed up. We thought they left him behind, but they told someone that they took him with them, and he ran away. He made his way back home, about a two mile trip for him. We've had him since then. He is gorgeous; I think he's a Maine coon. He looks just like one, anyway. He looks like autumn, all brown and orange and gold. Someday when I can figure it out, I'll post his picture. He sleeps most of the day, then he wants out at night. Usually that's OK.

Tonight he ran to the door. "Do you want to watch Chet go outside?" I called to my son. "Sure." He came over and we opened the door. Chet ran out and around the corner of the house. Rats. Of course we wanted to watch him interact with the snow. I shut the door. About five minutes later I opened it again, sure he would be waiting. No one there. "He's not there," I called to my son. "That's because he's at the back door," he said and opened it. Chet came running in, his tail high, as though he were escaping the hounds of hell. I guess in his world he kind of was.

I told you that I went for a walk last night. This is what happened. It was after one o'clock, but no matter. First I had to find a coat. I have a blue one that I usually wear, but I couldn't find it anywhere. It wasn't on my dresser, or in my closet, or in the back seat of my car. Drat! I had another one in the trunk of my car, so I got my keys and trudged out to get it. It was a bit of a struggle to get the trunk open, but I did it and finally set out. Whereupon I promptly fell. The snow was very wet and the ground was very slippery. This was going to be harder than I thought, but I was determined. I headed up the street and around the corner, staying on the grass. I walked about two blocks, then turned around and went back the way I came, pausing periodically to admire the sight of the snow falling under the street lights. The sky was white.

When I got home I shook off all the snow. My sons, young men, really, came running down the stairs, looking for gloves and something to wear outside. They had not believed me when I said it had snowed. They ran in and out, like Rikki Tikki, or the elephant's child, full of 'satiable curiosity. They couldn't get over how light it was outside-after midnight. I went to bed, they were still at it, running in and back out, their clothes covered with snow.

I watched "Eat Pray Love" tonight. I had read the book and enjoyed it, but I swore I would not see the movie. Actually, it wasn't as bad as the reviews made it out to be, except they did not show Liz, the main character sitting in the hand of God, and that was the best part of the book.

I must go to bed. I'm becoming a zombie, a snow zombie. Have you ever noticed that they never show zombies in the snow or rain? Why is that I wonder?

Zombies in the snow

red poppies grow,
impure with memory
look at me with your fuliginous gaze
and walk away
I'm waiting for the one
who will love my pain
and stay

Qimissung
January 2011 ]]> qimissung https://www.online-literature.com/forums/entry.php?11414-The-Last-Day https://www.online-literature.com/forums/entry.php?11413-Day-Three Fri, 04 Feb 2011 06:11:27 GMT *So we are out* a third day, all because the temperature is below freezing. What luck! I painted this afternoon; I would really like to post my... So we are out a third day, all because the temperature is below freezing. What luck!

I painted this afternoon; I would really like to post my stuff, but I don't know how. Maybe I can get someone to help me tomorrow.

On other news fronts, I turned off my heater this morning just to give it a rest and it took most of the day to warm up the living room. Someone suggested that I flip the switch on my ceiling fan then turn it on. D'oh!!!! My living room, while still cool, has gone from frigid to livable.

I watched "The Hangover" this evening. Personally I think that Ken Jeong is brilliant. The scene where he leaps out of the trunk onto that guys neck-priceless.

OK, off to bed, then another day of bliss. I could get used to this. And I really, really think I deserve to win the lottery and retire young. Anyone who agrees with me, vote here.

G'night.

Update: It's snowing. I looked outside before going to bed and lo! there was at least an inch of snow and it's still softly falling. I went for a walk. Who knows when I'll get to see it again. I love snow. Here's a beautiful song for you.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dbgfXp5M02M ]]> qimissung https://www.online-literature.com/forums/entry.php?11413-Day-Three https://www.online-literature.com/forums/entry.php?11407-The-Second-Day Wed, 02 Feb 2011 19:37:30 GMT *I love the dichotomy* between my southernmost point of origin and my lit-net friends who live in the north. Yesterday I wrote about my exultation at... I love the dichotomy between my southernmost point of origin and my lit-net friends who live in the north. Yesterday I wrote about my exultation at getting an unexpected day off. Today I'm going continue with information about how we are surviving the worst cold front in Texas in about a decade. I hope people realize that this is tongue-in-cheek, but just in case I'll go ahead and tell you.

I survived the night. I wore my bathrobe to bed and slept under a comforter, a down blanket (it's not really down, but has some alternate substance in it), and two blankets. I was snug, to say the least.

When I got up I checked the temperature. My son had turned it down last night and it was set at 65, but the temperature inside read 63. It's very toasty upstairs, however. Now downstairs is another matter. My front door is at least one reason for this. I am hoping to get a new one, maybe in March. Apparently you have to paint them yourself, so I want to do that when I have some time, and of course when it's a little warmer. It might have to wait until this summer. I think I'll have to have the door frame fixed. It is not snug. In fact, if you stand in front of it you can see daylight through the cracks. So I wouldn't say my home is exactly energy efficient. Or probably very safe from intruders. One night we were locked out accidentally and I asked my son to give the front door a good kick and that popped the door right open. I can't remember if we had the deadbolt locked or just the lock on the door knob, but either way I wouldn't say that the door is exactly doing it's job in keeping us safe. Stupid door!

Fortunately we have not had any electricity outages. And we are fortunate, as The Electric Reliability Council of Texas has ordered rotating outages to ease the load of the power grid. They are supposed to last abut 45 minutes, but I haven't noticed it happening here yet. Not so in most of the communities surrounding me from Lewisville to Plano, Denton,Garland and Cedar Hill. The city of Dallas has requested exemption from the outages as they are hosting a number of Super Bowl related events. The city of Arlington, which is where the Super bowl will be held, reportedly has not. Very humane of them, I say.

Alright, my right hand is a block of ice for some reason. I'm going to go warm up, maybe do some painting. Hopefully we are going to watch "The Hangover" later, and I personally would really like to watch an episode or two of "Northern Exposure."

I'm thinking pancakes for dinner tonight, beans tomorrow, then I really have to get to the store. So much for preparedness. They are predicting that it might get to 8 degrees tonight, which would be a record. The predicted temperature this weekend is for the '50's.

Hasta la vista, and stay warm!


Update:It did not get to 8 degrees that night. I don't think it has been colder than 19 degrees at any point. It may have gotten to 16 degrees that night, but I'm not sure as I was sleeping. ]]> qimissung https://www.online-literature.com/forums/entry.php?11407-The-Second-Day https://www.online-literature.com/forums/entry.php?11401-Snow-Day Tue, 01 Feb 2011 14:25:42 GMT Yippee! I'm at home today. No school, now work. Home. All because of sleet and maybe an inch of snow. Life is awesome.

I plan to drink tea, paint, maybe watch a movie. Life is good. Not so good maybe for the 18 wheelers that persist in trying to drive around here. Lots of accidents.

And it's snowing! Tiny little flakes, but here, nevertheless. I'm going to go watch it.

More later.

Update:
We are going to be closed on Wednesday, too! I am faint with happiness. I painted a beautiful picture and I will post it if I can figure out how. Now I'm going to make dinner and practice my Chinese.

The only problem is that I forgot to leave the outside faucets on and now I'm afraid the pipes will explode. Also, my living room is cold. But, somehow, I will survive.

Update
Yes, Qimissung the intrepid did survive the long cold winter's eve in Dallas, Texas. I retired to my son's room upstairs which must be a good 10 degrees warmer than it is downstairs. We wanted to watch "The Hangover" but Netflix didn't have that in streaming, so we watched "The Middlemen" which was actually pretty good. ]]> qimissung https://www.online-literature.com/forums/entry.php?11401-Snow-Day