Poems

Here's a poem - I'm finally getting at least something up. The main concern of the poem is essentially that of evil. If, as John Donne wrote, "no man is an island" and suffers death just as much as the man who actually dies, then he is also the murderer just as much as the man who murders. There are several references to famous treatments of this theme throughout, but I'll leave my own comments at that unless anyone has questions.

I hear the bells now ringing,
Decrying the wrongs of man,
I hear the mournful singing,
Asking why the world is so.
The truth we do avoid,
But in seeking ye shall know.

We do not want to know
That Man's wrongs are his own.
Against dark tides, we rage
Against the dying of the light
Of something nobler
Than Man.

Would you ask a fox,
"Why are you so cruel?"
Is not man an animal, too?
Then do not ask him the same.
He hides his nature well,
Beneath a sly deceptive coat.

Do we not see that to man
Violence is delightful,
Self-absorption righteous?
Tears come to the eyes of good men
When they discover who man is,
For noone lives alone.

You are a man? Take then your inheritance!
Clasp to your chest your heart of darkness!
The slaughter of the natives
Is ours just as the Fourth of July,
Nazi Germany as much
As Periclean Athens.

Man has done it all.
Our souls writhe when a man is cruel.
"No man is an island."
We would never do that...
But neither would they
Who only followed orders.

These things lie dormant,
These things like deep within,
Buried in a case of self-deception,
Behind our self-denial.
At the root of who man is.
"You are that man."

Cry, man, when you discover who you are,
For it is said, learning who man is.
Cruelty does not occur accidentally in this world.
Feel compassion for yourself, man.
For the world's suffering
Weighs down on you as well.

The Reverie Crumbles

Hazy passes the day.
A solemn look at things been seen,
Halls traversed and teeming,
Idlers and men ensnared.
Quizzing ourselves on things we know
As the screen in our mind pulls away.
At once there is a filthy glow.
We are no longer men,
Just caricatures, rapid demise
Guarded by the lense.
bent double on the lawn
twisted, beaten upon
caught up before the dawn
with emotion sawn
theyre curled in their chiffon
the blood has spilt and gone
But dear I see the wall,
And hear your voice so clear.
My gosh, you are so near.
Can't wait to bite your ear.

Fairy Tale - Week 1

Once upon a time there was a cad, the typical tall, dark, handsome man who carried himself highly as he walked his satisfied path, ut who wanted comformit in himself to find where he belonged.
He set out to start anew - he got on a train, got off at the end of the line, and went to find a new home and new life but knew no one in the town. He realized thall of his success had arisen out of networking and that, without his former network, he had no credentials with which to establish himself.
And so, he got a job in construction. He figured the hard work he put in here would get him noticed by one of the bosses and he would be able to move to management. But he kept on working harder than anyone with no end in sight.
Until finally one day one of the bosses approached him on the construction site. Without a word he took off the man's hard hat, and then he gestured to the sky. Before turning to walk away, he said, "Think about it."
And so, in the end, leaving the hard hat perched atop a mount of dirt the man walked out of the construction site and into the world. Life was not merely a search for success, or building of networks and friends, but a simple enjoyment of everything beautiful and unfathomable.

A Conversation with Accompanying Mood Music

The knocks on my bedroom door were curiously out of time with the Beatles. They filled in the gaps between “love” and “ly,” and “me” and “ter.” I guess that’s not too surprising, though, because the Beatles broke up a long time ago, and old sound doesn’t travel quite as fast as new sound. So I cut Paul McCartney off at “maid” while brushing my hair with my fingers and standing up. I was refreshed from a shower and tired, so not exactly in the mood for cheap talk.

She seemed surprised to see me shirtless, shoeless, and in basketball shorts. “Come in,” I said.

When she had plopped onto my bed and adjusted my pillow behind her lazy back, and I had put a somewhat wrinkle-free shirt on, I asked, “How are you today?”

“Oh you know, pretty good,” she said. “You?”

“Pretty much the same.”

I think she could sense the sunrays bouncing around in the grass outside my open window, because she got that half-embarrassed, half-playful, half-cruel little smile on her lips and in her eyes. That made me think of how it was August and I love summer. She said, “I know what you were thinking last night when we were holding hands.”

I gave one of those contented, one syllable murmur-chuckles and asked, “Oh you do?” I also raised a mental eyebrow. That night we had gotten high on sparkling cider and wandered hand-in-hand for hours through downtown.

“You were thinking about stopping time again.”

“Aww, you know me too well.”

She sat up slowly. “What are we going to do in three weeks?”

“I thought we weren’t going to talk about this yet.”

“I think it’s time.”

The Beatles started to play in my inner jukebox. One of my feet was the bass drum, and the other was the snare. But I couldn’t stop myself from thinking about December, when I would come back to her, and the season and weather would be all different.

I said, “Let’s just think about today. We could go run through sprinklers!”

She sank a little deeper into my bed. “I love your romanticism, but it’s just not practical right now.”

“But why end now?”

“Because it’s going to happen sooner than you think.”

“You don’t make sense.” The only thing left playing in my head was a thin strain of melody. I couldn’t remember how the words of the last verse ended. And she still looked so pretty to me.

She got that serious look that girls get when they weigh their female sense on relationships versus the rest of the world. “We just need to start talking about it now, or it will catch us by surprise, okay? No more fake innocence.”

“But we can still have fun?”

“Oh, I guess,” she laughed.

I got up to put a new CD in and tried to imagine the world without music. It would be a pretty terrible place.

Don't Say Elephant...a 10-minute play

DON’T SAY ELEPHANT
Draft 1
A Ten-Minute Play by Lara Ortiz-Luis

CHARACTERS
MILES
MAY

Miles stands in the corner of the laundry room, reading a newspaper propped up on a table shaped like a elephant. He is also ironing simultaneously. There is a quiet hum and low rumble of the laundry machine. May opens the door.

MAY: Um, hello? ‘scuse me, but when are you going to be done…ish?

MILES: Probably another five to ten min--(Pops his head out from behind the newspaper, does a double take and stares) May?

MAY: Miles?

The two walk towards each other to hug, but awkwardly have to move around the elephant table and ironing board. Miles lowers the elephant table and they hug over it. They break apart—the elephant table still between them.

MILES: Hey! So how’ve you been?

MAY: Good! Good. Yeah, you know.

MILES: Yeah! Yeah. (beat) Right, so I’ll probably be done in five or ten minutes—depending how long this ironing takes me.

MAY: Right, I remember you were always rubbish at that. (beat) So how long have you been back?

MILES: Oh, you know, a couple of weeks now.

MAY: Really.

MILES: (fidgets with the elephant table and folds the paper) Yeah, well you know, I came back early from this study abroad thing, so now I have some added weeks of summer.

MAY: You went abroad? I never would’ve thought that you, Miles Luke Madison would go abroad. Where to?

MILES: Ha, yeah. I did a semester in Barcelona.

MAY: Oh. (looks suddenly forlorn and reminiscent)

MILES: Yeah…well it seemed like a good, um, program. Good use of…language… especially, Spanish…and well not really since they speak Catalan…

MAY: Right. Right.

The laundry machine starts making a strange popping noise. Miles takes the elephant table and whacks it a couple of times until it goes back to normal.

MAY: (Snapping out of her reverie and laughing) So that’s what you use my elephant for now?

MILES: (Chuckles awkwardly) Yeah, well no, I use it to hold my newspaper or sometimes a cup of coffee if I can balance it.

MAY: Yeah, that was a stupid investment. Who would need an elephant in their bedroom anyway? Wait, do you just haul it around when you do laundry now?

MILES: Well, yeah, I mean, it’s light enough, and I can wedge my book right between the humps…so I can read while ironing. Comes in handy.

MAY: Mmhmm.

(beat)

MILES: So uh, what’s new with you? Any exciting stuff happen lately?

May holds her left finger up. It has a very sparkly ring on it.

MILES: Oh wow.

MAY: (Looks pained for a second and then smiles) Yeah. He’s great. A doctor. Who knew, eh?

MILES: Yeah. (beat) So when’s the big day?

MAY: Next month, actually.

MILES: (Smiles sadly) June. I remember you always wanted to get married near your birthday so you could—

MILES and MAY (together): --just celebrate both in one fell swoop.

MILES: (laughs) You haven’t changed a bit.

MAY: You, too. (beat) Yeah, so I’ll just come back in five to ten minutes. If you finish before I come back, well, it’s been...

MILES: …peachy.

MAY: Haha, yes quite peachy. Classic Miles. Well, bye.

MILES: Bye.

May walks out and closes the door behind her. Miles resumes ironing, but realizes he needs more water for the iron. He walks out the door into the kitchen and walks out the door.

May walks back in, expecting Miles to be there. She sees the elephant table and touches it. Miles enters, closing the door behind him.

MILES: You, uh, forget something?

MAY: No.

(beat)

MILES: Uh, so I’ll just get back to—

Miles starts to resume ironing.

MAY: It kind of hurt, you know.

MILES: I know what you’re thinking, and you’re wrong.

MAY: I’m not stupid Miles. You and I both know that you choosing Barcelona is not without meaning.

MILES: Your reading into this way too much.

MAY: (Starting to get a little more indignant) Am I? Seriously, Miles.

MILES: We’ve done this already.

MAY: Oh, yeah, okay, we’ve done it all already, haven’t we Miles? You honestly don’t even have the right to take that tone of nonchalant bullshit. No right at all. You owe this to me.

Miles just keeps ironing. May tries to catch his eye.
MAY: (softer) I had to. You know I had to.

MILES: No, you didn’t. We could’ve done it. We could’ve--

MAY: --Stop it! You’re not fucking Hemingway! You can’t just talk in fucking ambiguities like that and expect it to be dripping with absinthe-filled meaning.

Miles just keeps ironing, keeping calm. He props the iron, holds the elephant table for a little support, and looks up at May.

MILES: One and for freaking all, let’s just call out the big white elephant that no one wants to acknowledge. (Points to the corner) It’s standing there. (beat) God, you really want to know why I left?

MAY: Because—

MILES: No, shut up for a second. I left because of the fucking white elephant in the room that neither of us would talk about. We became so estranged and so forced.

MAY: Miles, what did you expect? Did you think everything would go back to being just “peachy?” Of course it was going to be hard for a while. But it was just a bump in the road. We could’ve gotten over it you know. May and Miles, remember?
MILES: (laughs softly) Yeah. We may have gone for miles.

MAY: Bad pun. Veerrrry bad pun.

They laugh. Miles burns himself with the iron.

MAY: (Playfully) God, you’re useless. Here, let me do it.

May cuts around the elephant table and inches herself between Miles and the ironing board. Miles smells her hair, and then quickly snaps himself out of it. He starts folding clothes.

MILES: So--

MAY: --Yeah, no, I’m sorry, can we just start over.

MILES: Yeah that sounds good.

MAY: So, you seeing anyone?

MILES: Yeah. Her name is April.

MAY: You’re joking. How’d you manage that little irony.

MILES: I dunno. I guess the powers-that-be have a sense of humor.
Chuckle then awkward silence.

MILES: It’s been really nice out lately.

MAY: I know! Sunny and warm—

MILES: --highs in the high-70’s and lows in the mid-60s.

MAY: And a nice breeze to boot.

MILES: Yeah, it’s good picnic weather.

MAY: Oh I love picnics!

MILES: I know. Remember that black and white checkerboard quilt we had?

MAY: Yeah. I think I still have it actually.

MILES: Really? Today would be a perfect day to use it.

MAY: Mhmm.

More silence and then May abruptly stops.
MAY: Fuck.

Miles just stares. May stares blankly at the elephant table.
MAY: Look at us, doing laundry like we’ve been doing it together all our pathetic lives. I can’t do this. I can’t do this. (beat) Look, I’m sorry, can we just…here I’ll just finish ironing this.

MILES: It’s cool. Yeah, don’t worry about it. Here, let’s start over.

MAY: (raising eyebrows) We’ve already covered the weather…

MILES: True. We can talk about normal things though, right? We can still do that.

MAY: Yeah definitely.

Awkward silence.

MILES: So…What’s your fiancé like?

MAY: (laughs pathetically) He’s…nice. He’s from Boston. Big Red Sox fan.

MILES: Wait. How does that even work? You’re a die-hard Yankees girl!

MAY: Hah yeah, well I’m working on converting him. Don’t worry. (sets the iron aside) Ok, this is done.

MILES: Great, thanks.

She gives him the shirt, and as his hand brushes his, she grabs it. They are standing close together. They both look at the ring on her finger, which is intertwined with his.
MAY: (pleading, almost in tears) Give me a reason. Give me any reason, Miles.

The dryer buzzes. Miles breaks off.

MILES: It’s done.

Miles goes to unload the machine, and May tries to compose herself.

MILES: (Deliberately avoiding her gaze) I’m going to get a basket.

Miles walks out with the bunch of laundry in his arms.

May stares at the door for a second or two and then takes the elephant table and makes a motion to throw it, but since the room is so small, he resorts to kicking it so it falls down. She slides down the wall and sits there for another second or two. She takes off her ring, she gets up quickly, walks decisively towards the door, opens it wide, and runs into Miles, knocking the laundry out of the basket and the ring out of her hand. They both scramble to the floor to pick up the mess.



MILES: Oh--Sorry!

MILES: Sorry—no it was my fault!


Miles picks up a shirt and uncovers the elephant table.

MAY: Sorry.

MILES: It’s okay.

MAY: Okay. (beat) I’m going to go. Please don’t follow me. I can’t—I just can’t do this—not now.

MILES: Okay.

Miles grabs her hand. They both look at the ringless finger. Miles kisses it and lets go.

MAY: I have to go.

MILES: Okay.

May leaves and shuts the door behind her, leaving Miles in the laundry room by himself. He picks up the elephant table, props the newspaper there, and resumes ironing.

MILES: Okay.

I submit

Chris and Jamie first met the night Stanford defeated USC. It was as if the Stanford campus had been turned upside down and shaken.

Each mission-style wall was buckling under the excitement. The fountains were thrashing and flooding high into the sky in lavish ribbon-like arcs. For these two freshmen, still grappling with the ominous nature of this new academia, the tumult was at once frightening and enjoyable. They were ecstatic, of course, but this game just illustrated again something that they had been hung up on ever since arriving. They could sense that with the passing of each bursting fountain they might never understand this place, could no matter how long they labored trace out a path or plan their landing.

For such an extraordinary occasion it should have been that Chris and Jamie meet under entirely unique circumstance. They could have locked gaze while passing Natty Ice at a frat. They could have bumped into each other while dancing at Maples. Maybe Chris was the man she saw leap across fire in the quad, fire licking the soles of his tennis shoes. Or, just as likely, they might just have locked lips during the final notes of “All Right Now,” playing at Trojan stadium – ground zero - in the Stanford Band.

Yet, unlikely as it seems, these two freshmen, with the best night and worst case of Shaken Baby Syndrome behind them, met while retiring exhaustedly into rooms across the hall. A consoling “Goodnight” was all that was needed to set things back in balance. It was all that was necessary to alleviate any worries that may have kept them awake against the pillow, gazing up into the ceiling. The night carried on at 3 am in a nearby frat, in a hotel in Southern California, and across campus for every fountain and student, but Chris and Jamie drifted into sleep much closer to home.

Micah's Chris and Jamie Story

Chris and Jamie first met on the night Stanford defeated USC, the greatest upset of all time. Chris was never much for sports. Chris’ father spent Saturday and Sunday afternoons watching the games at a pub three blocks down from their house.

Chris and Jamie first met on the day Philadelphia police arrested a man suspected in killing two armored truck security officers. Jamie had never held a gun. Jamie’s mother was forced by her step-father to flush out deer from the woods so he could shoot them with a high-powered rifle.

Chris and Jamie first met the day two Shiite leaders in Iraq reached a peace agreement aimed at ending gun battles between their followers. Chris and Jamie did not care much about the war in Iraq. Chris’ brother had briefly flirted with joining the military, but was more interested in flirting with the military recruiter. Jamie’s interest in the military peaked while watching The Hunt for the Red October in seventh grade and then quickly subsided.

Chris and Jamie first met the day suspected Islamist insurgents killed a Somali Army general in an ambush in the capital. Chris and Jamie knew a little about Africa. Chris knew that African slaves were brought over to America as part of the triangle trade along with molasses and rum. The slaves lived in the South and remained there until Abraham Lincoln freed them all with the Freedom Proclamation, but things still weren’t perfect for a long time. Jamie knew that the Hebrew slaves built the pyramids in Egypt under the brutal rule of the pharaoh before being freed by Moses and God. The Hebrews followed Moses out of Egypt, across the Red Sea (parted by Moses and God) into the Promised Land which had to be emptied by God first. Years later the Hebrews produced Jesus, who died for all mankind.

Chris and Jamie first met the day a typhoon killed 4 people in Taiwan. Jamie was a much better swimmer than Chris. Chris had a pool in his backyard when he was in elementary school, but never learned to kick and stroke at the same time. In fifth grade Chris’ family moved to a smaller house that had no pool. Chris had to share a bedroom with his brother. Chris did not see the ocean until his high school took a senior trip to Southern California. Jamie started swimming competitively in second grade. She won her district championship in fourth grade and was ranked fifth in her age nationally in sixth grade. Jamie stopped growing after sixth grade and became a substitute on her high school swim team. She quit the team her junior year and has not been in the water since.

Chris and Jamie first met on the day 28 people died in Cuba when a train hit a bus. Chris worked as a bus driver after high school graduation. He started as a courtesy bus driver making $19,000 dollars a year. After two years he moved up to shuttle bus driver and added on $2,000 a year. Chris hopes one day to become a direct hire bus driver and make $39,000 a year. Jamie rides a bus and train to work everyday. She wakes up at 5:30 in the morning and walks down the street to the corner were she waits for the 6:13 bus to the train station. If she is lucky she catches the 6:33 train which arrives in the city at 7:23. If her luck holds once more, and the bus is running a little late, she can catch the 7:23 bus from the station to her work. This gets her to work at 7:43, enough time to catch her breath and order a cup of coffee before she starts her filing. If she misses the 6:33 train she does not get the cup of coffee and has to enter her work through the back door to avoid her boss.

Chris and Jamie first met on the day a suicide bomber killed at least five at the Kabul airport, including one US soldier. Chris and Jamie were at an airport on that day. Jamie was the only passenger on Chris’ shuttle bus from downtown to the airport. Chris and Jamie talked about the weather, the traffic, and the end of summer reruns.