Morpher

Morphing into an animal is possibly the coolest thing ever. It’s like becoming a pool of warm liquid chocolate chip cookies and reforming into something you never dreamed could be real. You just will yourself to become, say, a cat, and you melt down and freeze up again, this time a cat. For a non-Morpher, it’s very hard to comprehend. I remember the day I found out I was a Morpher. I was maybe seven or eight, playing in the park. Well, I say playing, but I was really just sitting there, daydreaming. I was watching the birds, and thinking about how cool it would be to fly. I’ve always loved to watch animals, study their movements and behaviors. I’ve always found them fascinating, especially birds. They were soaring higher than I had ever seen them fly before, and I wished I could join them. I wished I could fly far, far away and leave the kids and all their cruel laughter on the playground behind me. And all of a sudden, it happened. I didn’t Morph fully, that rarely ever happens on a new Morpher’s first try, but I did grow a feather. A solitary, perfect, beautiful, white feather. It stuck out of my hand, maybe about as long as my pinky. I remember just staring at it, fascinated. I thought at first it had fallen from one of the birds above, but when I picked it up to examine it closer, I felt a tug, and blood pooled in the tiny, round hole it had left in my hand. So I just dropped it and ran back to the school, but after that, I knew. I just knew.

This is the beginning of a story I am working on. Please give feedback!

Unending Love

From across the hall I watched

Him like a hawk

Looking for mice

He did not notice me staring

Imagining myself in his warm embrace

I looked away, back at my locker

But I felt him

Felt his eyes boring holes in my skin

I heard only his voice and my heart

Saw only him and myself

Loved him,

And him alone

He walked across the hall

Towards me and I ran

My mouth in need of water

I ran

To my class,

But he was there,

Waiting for me

Waiting for me to notice him

There, in the back

During class, I heard not

The words the teacher spoke

A note was passed up

A note, a note for me

I opened it and read the poem

And ate the chocolate contained within

The note for me

I breathed his scent

Touched his words

And then I knew

That he loved me as well

Loved me like I loved him

I found a rose in the locker

That belonged to me

It had no tag or note

Nor a card to tell

Me who it was from

But I knew

I knew it was a gift from him

The one I loved

And the one who loved me also

In the park we watched each other

Hoping, praying we would be noticed

By the other person

Then we turned and kissed

Then, as one, we rose

And walked in the park

Together

We heard nothing

Saw nothing

Felt nothing

But each other

We married as soon as

Our parents would allow

For we loved each other greatly

And our love continued through the years

Until, one day, he died

A sudden death

And I grieved for him

And prayed for him

And hoped that somehow

Someway

He would return

But I knew that he would never

I would never see his face again

Never kiss his lips again

Never hold him yet again

But my love for him did not cease

Did not leave my heart

And I prayed for him every day

Put flowers on his grave

And he never left my thoughts

I suffered and I grieved

Wanting to be with him

Yet wanting to be here

And I swore I would never love another

I grew old and aged

Children and adults alike

Feared me calling me

A witch, all of them

All of them but one

A boy, so young and frail

Loved me and cared for me

When others would not

He comforted me when I felt

Heart broken and he gave me back

Something I had lost

A little piece of love

But it never all came back

And I too passed away

Went to join my husband

And, looking down from heaven

Pointed out to him,

That little boy who helped me

Helped me love again

This poem was inspired by the movie A Walk to Remember.

My Late-Night Writings Are My Best

My late-night writings are my best

It’s why I keep a notebook by my bed

Have a thought, one that needs penned

Right now

Never forget another plot line again

Lying in bed, thinking, and a thought comes

Flip on the light, grab the book and pen

Of course, it will look like chicken scratches

Because I’m writing fast

But I will be able to decipher it—eventually

Right now, it’s 11:00—when my works are best

After the thoughts of the day have seeped in

11:01—I grab my book, for this plot can’t wait.

11:30 and I’m still writing

At 12:00 I lay down my pen and close my book

I’m done!

It’s 12:20 and I’m back at it

1:00, 2:00, 2:30 in the morning

This isn’t a forgotten homework assignment

I’m writing for fun

3:00, 4:00, 4:30

I know I need my rest and all,

But I can’t stop now!

My hand aches, and I yearn to use the computer, but Mom will see

And ask why I’m using the computer at 5:00 in the morning

5:30 and I’m still going

The lamp by my bed is probably almost burnt

I grab a flashlight, just in case

For this is one plot I can’t let go!

6:00 and the words are still pouring out like water

I take a brief nap, but at 6:15

Pick up my pen again

I have filled pages and pages with my late-night chicken scratch

That I will need to decipher later

I know this is one of my best works.

Ever.

7:30, Mom comes in, to wake me for school

And I’m passed out, notebook on my lap

Fingers still curled around the open-capped pen

For, after all, my early-morning writing is my best.

Pretzel

I remember, when I was young

Only a few years into my life

I was running in the mall

I was with friends,

Climbing,

Jumping,

Having fun

I was in a little playscape

Meant for younger kids

Like me

The toys we climbed on were big

Soft, but hard

Sponge-like, but painted

We were climbing on them

Having fun

I remember a lady sitting on the bench

My mom

Holding a pretzel and cheese

The pretzel was big and soft

The kind that people sell at fairs

Sprinkled with salt

The cheese was in a little container,

Clear and plastic with a lid

It was warm and orange

With a little yellow

I ran up for a bite of that pretzel

Dipped in cheese

The salt on my tongue

Cheese rolling in my mouth

The pretzel taste seeping in

I finished my bite

Then dashed away

Memories

Alone, in my newly redone room, I start sifting through the amassed piles of junk in my closet. I pull the first box on my shelf and find a shoebox time-capsule, pt together a couple of years ago with some friends. I look at the note on it, telling us not to open for four more years. I remember that we agreed to get together and open it when the time came. At that time, we would read the notes we had written ourselves and each other. I shake the box and put it back.

The next box taken down from the abyss contains old camp photographs from several years ago and other odds and ends that would hold no meaning to any other person. Bits, of shells, a neat-looking rock, a fossil, and a strip of plastic, the kind used to indicate future pruning or removal of trees. I decided this was probably from some game of playing pretend, the memory of which escaped me at the moment. I add the contents of this box to an on going “memory box,” which contains similar photos and other pieces of “junk.”

I pull the next two boxes down, and open each of them in turn. Inside I find fossils and such, mementos from a long-ago science class. Subconsciously, I run through each and every class, recalling the good times, every giggle, every joke shared in that class.

Silently, I pack the boxes back up and put each container, filled with laughter and fun, jokes and good times, future and past, back onto the top shelf of my cluttered closet. Organizing can wait, while I sit down at my computer and write down my boxes of memories.

James

Thwock. Thud. Slap. Thwock. Thud. Slap.

The ball hit the side of the house, bounced once on the asphalt and came back to James’ ungloved hand.

Thwock. Thud. Slap.

Over and over he repeated this motion, the neon green tennis ball a shining light in the air.

Thwock. Thud. Slap.

“I. Hate. Him.”

The words were in rhythm with the ball, muttered as the ball hit each target.

Thwock. Thud. Slap.

James’ dog, Marley, looked on with pleading eyes, his long golden coat shining in the summer afternoon sun, but he knew better than to try and play with the ball when his master was so angry. So, he lay there, waiting for James to go inside.

Thwock. Thud. Slap.

This beat continued for thirty minutes, occasionally startled by a slip of hand, and ending up with the ball bouncing twice.

Thwock. Thud. Thud. Slap.

The motion felt good to James. His anger powering the ball and driving it to the side of the house.

I must remember to get mad right before the championship, James thought. He was the pitcher for their team –The Allstars– and they had a good shot at winning the championship this year. If James could pitch like this then, they would definitely defeat the Eagles, their number one rival team.

Thwock. Thud. Slap.

That is, if he could get back onto the team.

Thwock. Thud. Slap.

“I. Hate. Him.”

Thwock. Thud. Slap.

James was talking about his coach, who yesterday had kicked him off the team, because James had gotten to a fight with a guy from the Eagles, and “accidentally” clipped him in the jaw.

Thwock. Thud. Slap.

It wasn’t really his fault, James reasoned, because the other guy, Corey, had started it. Called The Allstars a bunch of losers and said they had no chance of getting anywhere. Besides, Corey had swung first.

Thwock. Thud. Slap.

James started to feel himself calming down. It was his fault, too, he reasoned, because he had hit him back. Just because he was provoked didn’t mean he had the right to hit the guy.

Thwock. Thud. Slap.

Marley eyed the ball, watching its motion and feeling his muscles twitch, dying to leap after it. But good training and animal instinct kept him his place, although he couldn’t help but give out a whine.

Thwock. Thud. Slap.

“Here, have it.” James tossed the tennis ball to the dog, who immediately jumped up from the driveway and caught in his mouth. He looked after James, who was climbing the steps to the door and dialing on his cell phone, with a pleading expression. But his willingness to play was lost on the retreating back of his master.

“Yeah, Coach. It’s James. Look, I just wanted to apologize…”

As James entered the house, Marley proceeded to chew the green fuzz off the ball.

Just Can't Sleep

The lights are out, the windows closed.

I’ve already counted all my toes

Mama says, “Go to sleep”

I’ve counted up to 1,000 sheep

I’ve tried warm milk,

My sister’s bed (she just smacked me on the head),

I’ve tried sleeping on the couch,

The dog was there. Boy, what a grouch!

Finally, I get back in bed

Thinking about when daylight comes

I’ll have to get up and do my sums

I start doing some in my head and

YAWN…

Good Night