HWÆT!

Hwæt! We Gardena || in geardagum,
þeodcyninga, || þrym gefrunon,
hu ða æþelingas || ellen fremedon.
Oft Scyld Scefing || sceaþena þreatum,

monegum mægþum, || meodosetla ofteah,

egsode eorlas. || Syððan ærest wearð

feasceaft funden, || he þæs frofre gebad,

weox under wolcnum, || weorðmyndum þah,

oðþæt him æghwylc || þara ymbsittendra

ofer hronrade || hyran scolde,

gomban gyldan. || þæt wæs god cyning. 

 

Behold!  We spear-Danes in days of yore, 

the king of a whole nation a multitude asked, 

how then nobleman zeal vigorous. 

Often Scyld Scefing force of injury, 

many clans, mead-seats taken away, 

terrify earls.  As soon as the miserable set out 

he thence made a pledge to console, 

to grow under the sky, with honor received, 

until him each/every there neighbor 

over the whale-road should listen 

a tribute rewarded.  That was a good king.  

Translated by yours truly!  Much love to these few lines, and despite my mantra of "Keep Calm and Carry On" throughout the semester, I really enjoyed the Anglo-Saxon, though perhaps not the hundreds of lines of translation.  :]

~Hammeh

Chamomile and Milk

Wow, I am so beat right now. 

It's the end of classes, so finals' week is next week, so I'm in that place where you're so close to being finished that you may as well be finished and you don't feel like putting that extra mile in for those last few days....does that make sense?  Anyway, it's basically that I feel like I may just as well not do anything, except that I still have something due today, ugh.  I wish it were due on Monday, that would make me much happier. 

Also, I got a lot of sleep last night, but I won't be getting enough tonight, dammit.  And, as prefaced by the fact that I don't want to do anything, I'll probably procrastinate through tomorrow so that I won't get enough sleep Friday night either....shoot.  I didn't really plan that well, did I? 

Well, that sucks.  But it's not like I can doing anything now.  Alas. 

Oh, yeah, so this isn't a poem or story or anything, haha, this is just me needing to write.  Sleepy now.  Night night.


~Hammeh

James Stryker Mott 1921-2003

I wanted to write about you. 

But the words that I want to say feel too contrived, even this.  You know how you have a certain way of talking with people, in general?  I know how I talk to Mom, and I know how to talk to my friends.  But I can't seem to find a way to talk to you.  I guess, in the end, I realize that listening to you was my favorite thing, and often I when I think of you, it's the stories you told.  And the support, always and forever the support, and I can't think of a way to express myself.  I feel the wrong words choke the right ones as they try to struggle out, and I could swallow my tongue and be more eloquent.  There is an ease of speaking that I had when I was little, when I spoke like I did then, however that was.  I don't have that ease now.  Now, every word is set up against impossible standards to be perfect.  I don't feel the perfection, the natural flow.  It's like when they talk about how dialogue isn't written the way people speak, but the way people speak is written like dialogue, and I get confused between the two; and I can't find the voice I want to use, because the voice you heard and you knew has changed, and sometimes it's better that way, but mostly it's harder, and that makes the barrier wider and deeper than ever before.  There's nothing to say really, because I can't find the right words, but I feel like despite that, you would still understand me.  We would still eat my brownies and remember when we went swimming and butternut crunch ice cream afterward, and watch the birds and say all those funny names. 

I think there's a part of me, somewhere hidden, that knows it's just for me and you anyways, and it never was for them. 


~Olivia

Holding Out For A Hero

In the passé way in which everything that you do is done,
I've seen you answer the phone, and although the answer
was much expected to your age-old question of hello,
I still feel that it was unfair of you to laugh. 

Then, when days pass, and I see you, after the cars in your
driveway have been gone for weeks, kneeling by yourself,
with your hair – all yellow and red – yanked back in one of
those ponytail holders that has been stretched to the limit,
I know it is unfair of me to smile. 

But seeing you so human, after too long, has that
effect on me. 



~Hammeh

Where is your warrent?

Beneath the Delaware,
there is a fish. 

Holding the sun out,
the fish sees the glisten
of beams and blurs of
dazzling light,

and aquamarine that turns gold
in sunlight,
of violet in moonlight,
and the strange off-tint of
reds that flash in scales. 



The bow of the water,
and the light of the glassy eyes. 
This fish is old.



~Hammeh

Oceania and Koalas

Crossing the border
between your world
and mine used to be
so much easier. 

But it's like reading
prose like poetry,
or poetry like prose.

It can mean one thing
– a near perfect kiss –
and come out meaning
the complete opposite
– a drawn out sigh – 
of simple antipathy, 


or worse: apathy.



~Hammeh

Melon Regatta

"Where has the horse gone?  Where has the rider gone?"

An innate sense of fear,
in the blood,
the taste of salt water and the
gritty salve of sand,
answer is hidden.

Her work is meaningless.
His critique was heartless.

But in survival, in the details,
there is no perfect yes or no,
no sudden, simple way of writing,
and becoming lost in the words
as they blur on the page and couple
together, holding back nothing, and
making no sense,
this is how we hold on to humanity. 


~Hammeh

Cinnamon Spice

Hiding between the high-strung lines of a sonnet,
and the                soft
    easy         waves          of
a              page
         of
          free
              verse,

there lies the answer to my question;

about why we don't fit, like the rough pieces of a villanelle
or the rigid lines of a haiku EXPLODING
with NATURE and emotion. 

Sometimes, I find
the answer is exactly
what I needed.



~Hammeh

An Orange Debacle

A Measure of Happiness

I think that there's a token bit,
in the curve of a tongue and the swell
of a cheek, of happiness, however hard
it may be to suffer through finding it,
the question of quality and worth is
always evident, regardless of the immeasurable
or yard-stick quality this bit provides; and in the
end, do we find it because we are so desperate
or because we have truly suffered, and, inevitably:

will it last?





~hammeh

In Words and Pictures Told

Missed Meanings

Dodging the edge of a poem,
her eyes cross – like God's eyes,
and she flips over like the tail of a coin.

Jammed between the pages of Hard Times
is a bent in half bookmark, with watercolor beetles,
who swarm and reproduce by millions,

amassing inside the book like so many stars as
freckles on her Irish face.  Their wings flutter with
a disobedient discontent, and her arms

swing with the hope that running farther,
running faster will disband the weight around
her waist.  But it doesn't seem as though

her weight or the beetles or the tail side of the coin
will ever feature in the ineffable plan, and somewhere
she is drinking an evening glass of water and tucking

herself in at night.


~hammeh

Election Day!

Sometimes, I get distracted, and I forget how long it's been since I've done something other than do work and read papers and translate words and go to bed; but then I'll notice something, like, the colors of the leaves outside my window, and I think about how if I could just sit still for a minute and stare at them, maybe I could absorb the satisfaction that comes from just contemplating something so beautiful. 

~hammeh

November 1st

Achilles

Dipped in darkness,
your mother held you—crying in distress.
Protecting the slow melt of time
and the endless heroic rhyme
of your name and deeds on future lips;
she was there, hands wrenched through stolla, when the ships
came to your port.  The red-haired captain
and his arrogant older brother crane
their necks, eager to see your decision,
a choice between two Fates and Parcae’s vision,
lending a peek into the future.  All too soon
you find yourself on a ragged shore, hewn
with the bodies of your comrades
and the sense, deep in your gut, that never fades
of a different Fate: a family crest,
the pit-pat of feet and no name in history texts.


~hammeh

Change Is Inevitable

Starting November 1st

Okay!  So, this is actually a regular post, not a poem!  Shocker, shocker!  The last time I did that was the first entry, or at least one this long.  :]

September didn't exactly go as planned, i.e. - I didn't really write poetry except for class; however, I want to restart my blogging!  So what I am going to do is this:  Start on November 1st.  I think that by that point, I will be finished most of my larger school projects.  Yay!~    :]

Unfortunately, I was going to try to write something every day, but in the end, schoolwork won out, which is okay too.  So cheers to the rest of the year and hopes that I will be able to keep up again!!

<3 always,


hammeh

King of the Snipers

Sometimes,
I find my poetry is weakening,
like those non-brand name paper towels,
when I watch commercials.

And other times,
I wish I wrote more prose.
But I know, for a fact I promise you,
that if I ever did, I would conceal it,
like those moths from the industrial
revolution.

I've been waiting a while,
thinking about the poetry
I have written,
and my style, or whether
or not I even have a style.

Sometimes, I think I have flair.
Most times, I think I have fallen.


~Hammeh

Impressionism

Between Art and Modesty,
lies a curved line of Temptation.

dark, starkness absorption of color
against depraved white

no chance for blending,
only paint on top of paint on top of paint

pieces on canvas,
so thick, it takes years to dry

a pin prick yields a world of color
and the greens and yellows,
reds and oranges, oriental blues of the
nineteenth century,
come springing forth

Born into Today.


~Hammeh

Illusions of Grandeur

When she talks about love,
like everyone has experienced it,
the fog lines my eyes,
and my lips slip shut.
I have no expertise
in this field,
and every opinion,
every fact,
every point
she makes,
I feel compelled to agree with.

One day, in November, I think,
fall would be a beautiful time to love,
I hope to learn and
return with my own opinions,
facts,
points
to make,
and teach her from my expertise.


~Hammeh

Swiss, Provolone, And Blue

This knife
                   is for cheese
  and pears,
        apples, and loose threads.

But when the night is dark,
         and white rain head-bangs on the sun light,
    my skin looks softer

than brie.


~Hammeh

A Sonnet Is Foolish

Watch as my teeth curl
and split against my lips,
the cracks of my tongue
and the yellow of my eyes.

These things are raw
and pretty and broken
for all to see.


~Hammeh

You Are Forbidden

I have seen the poem
that you hide in the corner
of your lips.

And the choice that you make
every night before dawn,
of whether or not
you will live and breathe and seize and die.


~Hammeh

The Truth Amidst The Pain

Is this blood red
or blue
or tea-stained?

Would it sting?  To feel
the warm tea, creamed and honeyed,
upon my wrists?

I long to know,
but never dare to find out.

Coward that I am,
I love my life.


~Hammeh

Green Cup And Pale Tea

A cup on the rug,
the moon in the sky,
our legs entwined,
and this, a single thought.

Not enough for poetry.


~Hammeh

Of Percy Shelley

Faith lost,
and I remember Ozymandias,
and his half sunk, shattered visage.

We all decline and slip away,
memories forgotten. 


~Hammeh

Starlight Starbright

Slender and slippery,
a reed in the water.

Tend to her softly,
and she will grow.

~Hammeh

Was It My Choice

I breathe and sigh and
say goodbye to your heart.
I didn't deserve it.


~Hammeh

Lost Forever

Don't remind me of the rain
outside your window.

It tumbles like rocks,
hard and small and sharp
against my skin.

And it tears through flesh and heart and balance,
until all that is left is bone and blood,
and no more poetry.


~Hammeh

It Just Happens That Way

Begin again,
and start with that phrase,
that they use every time,
and the structure that makes it seem
like this is prose when it's really a
poem.  I think she called it
enjambment, but that was
years ago, and a night
mare of jobs that never
fit just right
and you learned how
these lines work.
But sometimes,
at night,
you feel like
each line should end
with
a comma.


~Hammeh

Not So Sweet

The cranberry bog floats,
in the sky,
and in her mind.

One day, they'll find the body.


~Hammeh

A Mountain Unclimbable

In the blue, silk purse,
she holds her eggs.

Each a different color - red, like aunt may's hair,
blue, like caroline's eyes, green, like dan's nails.

A speckled pattern and freckles,
and freedom with a brush.


~Hammeh

Blessed And British

Muse Juice No More

Words,

dry

and cracked

like lines in pavement

and lips in winter.

Eyes, fall-leaf red
and October cold.

Fingers broken

and sentences



snapped.                           This poem
a mystery.
                        A sapling,

devoid of sun.




~Hammeh

Metal And The Gleam Of Truth

Cliché Depression

A touch on the wrist,
and a slip of my eyes.

I'd never believe that this
is me.

In a book of art,
I used in sixth grade,

there is an image
of a depressed me.

I think that is when my life changed.
And I broke away from forms.

Tonight, with rain and glare
of lightening,
I feel a heartbeat
in my wrist.

When I ask for your help,
please,
don't
dismiss me.


~Hammeh

Oblivious As Always

In the beginning there was fire,
and in the end, he was right.

The fire burned through us.

In the dead of winter,
when the log pile dwindles,
and the trees are heavy and quiet,
the fire is ash, and the ice sets in.

What good is desire when there is no fire?


~Hammeh

Snicker Snicker

Once
in
April
there was snow
but the heat of
your ring on my heart
embodied our heated souls.


~Hammeh

A Navigator's Role

A Clean, Well-Lighted Place

If the walls were white,
like chalk and cheeks,
if the pen was vibrant
red and soft green,
if the locks were
drawn over silent doors,

I would take up the pen
and draw, for you.

~Hammeh

You'll Never Feel This Way

Another Chance

Wouldn't you love to see an obsessive form?
But the truth is, you can mimic however you please,
think it fabulous and
think it captured.

Until you see me struggle with the pressure of a pen tip,
the number of my steps,
the connection of my words,
and the tic of my lips and eyes,

and you cannot ever imagine.


~Hammeh

Telephone Repairman

Cross me,
Bless me,
Don't forget me.


~Hammeh

Stationary Filled With Chimpanzees

Youth

In this beginning there is an end,
of flat beige walls and poetry that sits
like apples on a cart.

Of hard Ks and soft Ls,
of the cuneiform symbol for love
and land.

In Argentina there is a pool,
it's water is bitter and dry.

And before long you've ingested
enough,
enough to begin to survive.


~Hammeh

Because It's So Sharp

Stairway

The
cross
on your
throat tells me
how far I've fallen,
and the faith you have lost in me.


~Hammeh

P.S. - Form is Fib, named after the Fibonacci Sequence.  :]

Fall Of Last Year

Once Was

I hold my court in the shade,
with friends and foes these walls were made.
There was a clearing in the trees,
green and dark with gentle breeze.
And here we stood unafraid.

In patterns of darkness we played,
and crossed our hearts in the glade.
Ferns and pine and simple ease,
I hold my court.

Fallen trees, branches decayed.
Comrades, forsaken and swayed.
How silly, my decrees.
And here now, hear me –– please!
The utter foolishness I displayed.
I hold my court.

~Hammeh

P.S. - Form is Rondeau~

Lemon Poppy Seed

Wind

Wind
hypnotic melody
razing these homes
a nostalgic salty breeze
unpredictable.

~Hammeh

But I Prefer Earl Gray

On The Tide

In the glimmer of a sail
high upon the ocean breeze,
sits a pair of English folk,
voices singing of the seas.

~Hammeh

Eyes Like The Sea After A Storm

Storm

In a hollowed out tree
At the end of the wood,
There is a man who sits
And he waits for the rain.

In the back of his mind,
He hears the planets sing.

~Hammeh

Many A New Day Will Dawn

Belated

In the worn back pocket of her frayed
denim skirt,
there's a folded piece of paper,
with edges so smooth they
could be cotton.

It's a name, a number, a promise.
All broken in one drunken drive.

~Hammeh

The Passion Of An Eagle

Lollipop

These sticky lips that caress me
have no name –
The violent tongue rolling
around my surface –
A crack of teeth – too sharp!
And the contracting swallow.

How could I have known,
when it was so quiet
in my wrapper.

~Hammeh

In The Span Of A Second

When the sea fans his cool breath
across the mudflats and the waves spray
rough as whiskers on his chin, and
the seaweed clasps with clingy hands,
a vibration zaps through me like fire from
flint and a spark ignites in my eyes.

~Hammeh

A Kiss Is Not A Contract

"Does this mean I can go?" Arieus raised an eyebrow. "Or is this another one of those 'we'll need you in a day' things?"

"Busy, huh?"

"You could say that," Arieus replied.

Raiis nodded, "Very well. I see we have kept you long enough –"



"What kind of commitment is that?" Farin said, pausing the live image. Gloria nearly groaned. She had thought when Farin had asked her for lunch that the hardest decision she would have to make was going to be spinach or mixed greens.

Apparently "lunch" meant "business" in Farin-speak....as did everything else.

"Not equip to be a Gate. Gloria, I know he is your kind, but even you can see he cannot be trusted, yes?"

"Farin," Gloria rubbed her eyes and tucked a stray hair behind her ear. "Honey," Farin winced. "Arieus is not going to cause trouble. He's very talented, and Raiis himself helped teach him. Besides, Agron Verra is a great historian. Arieus comes from a good background. What are you so afraid of?

"He only stayed two weeks! When training was for me, I was here six months."

"Time is of the essence, Farin. We're low on power, and Arieus will be back to finish soo–

"He signed no contracts, Gloria!" Farin fumed.

"And he'll stay for much –" Gloria paused. "What?!"

"Yes! You see it now! Arieus is not bound to us, and Raiis lets him go!"

"Are you sure? Raiis would never....it could mean...."

"Yes, I am certain. The whole proceeding is here, on the tape."


"– But I truly hope that you will return. You must realize the risk I am taking here."

Arieus tucked his scarf more securely and raised a fur-rimmed hood. "Do the others know?"

Raiis opened his mouth to speak, but Arieus beat him to it, "You should tell them soon."

"Soon, they will know."

END OF VIDEO.

~Hammeh

Winds Of Change

My poetry has changed.
The way I used to write –
with imagery and symbolism –
has disappeared.
But when I flip through
my notebook and hang each
piece out to dry, my words
have morphed,
and this medium is now ill-fitting.
"The change will come soon."
My fortune cookie was right.

The time for quarters and new
fabric softener has ended.

Pull out the washboard, oh baby
I am back.

~Hammeh

The Bass Keeps Running And Running

The tickle of the cool breeze,
which spins about the room;
the curl of monotone hair and
the feel of it layered heavily
at the back of my neck;
and the sound of her music
crashing between
my ears, with words
I barely catch against
the thrumming rhythm of
the bass guitar.

~Hammeh

A Dance That Ends In A Kiss

I'm moving on.
I think
Or perhaps,
I simply don't know what is real.

And the thought of your hand,
pressed against mine,
is merely artistic whim.

~Hammeh

The World Was Shaped

"I have an eye for color," she says.
So do I.
Secretly, when you draw – and you think yourself amazing
and you tally up your fans – I judge you.

I've never been to art school.
But I know critique is essential to growth.

And I also know that there are artists
– at whose work you would sneer –
who are far better than you
– in your little soap box –
will ever be.

~Hammeh

Sitting In A Row

When I laugh,
I don't expect you
to get the joke.

~Hammeh

Snow Flurries Pass Me By

I play capture the flag
all the time.
At night.
We all do.
A dream floats by,
and,
starry-eyed,
we run.

~Hammeh

Ah, Poetry

There is no need to show undying devotion.
If I loved you, I did not know.
And now you'll wonder why
I ever said it at all.

~Hammeh

Bear Has Been Missing

Muse, had been missing.
Last seen skipping stones in France.
Reward, please call. Thx.

~Hammeh

A Long, Long Way To Bah Sing Se

The way I can pick up the phone –
my hand like a leaf of a tree in red, red October –
and my mouth pursed tight in worry, in fear,
and the second you say "hi," it doesn't matter,
five minutes or a year.

~Hammeh

Down The Lane, Not Across The Street

For me, a fingernail is a knife,
the razor on my skin.
Upper arm is my punishing ground.
And the pain, only a small way I show the suffering.

~Hammeh

Roses and Chipmonks

Regarding AF7

I sat there,
and I read your story.
Smiling at the way
you had fallen so far,
and secretly crying
because I know what it's like.
One. Two. Three. Four.
As we both act out our compulsions.

~Hammeh

Gawain, The Blade

"Gawain?"

The knight turned around, touching the butt of his gun, Galatine, to be sure it was within emergency reach. Gawain shook a few curls out of his eyes as he looked around for the voice.

"Dude, are you okay?" The first voice spoke again; the pubescent crack hard to miss.

"Oh no, this is exactly what happened to Lancelot." This second voice was older but higher pitched.

"What the fuck?" Gawain hissed as they practically dragged him out of the bar. Perceval let go of his shoulder as Gawain turned to face the two men. "Who are you guys?"

Gareth frowned, "You don't remember us?"

"Clearly not," Gawain said.

"Well, this sucks." Perceval made a face.

"Look, Gawain, I know you don't like me and all – and I don't really care for ––"

"What are you talking about? I have no fucking idea who you are!" Gawain's hand tensed on the butt of his gun.

"Well, shit." Perceval mumbled before lunging toward Gawain and catching him by surprise. Gawain stumbled and the young attacked snagged the gun from Gawain's hip holster. He twirled it momentarily. "Most of us use the shoulder holsters, you know. Much more secure."

Suddenly his calm, cool voice changed,, and he was practically jumping up and down beside Gareth. "Didjya see? Didjya see? I bested Gawain! Wah-hoo!"

"Doesn't count. Now, shut up."

Perceval froze, "What?! Why not?"

"He's not in his right state of mind."

Gawain slowly raised his hands, "When crazy is holding a gun, I listen."

Gareth almost smiled. "Good plan, brother."

~Hammeh

All For One, One For All

The foot board at the bottom of your bed has this way of looking like a jail cell – all bars.

I realize that I have gone a bit crazy,
When I find myself – in the middle of the night –
Sharpie in hand, painting the jail breakers' faces
on your protruding toes.

~Hammeh

As The Days Go By

"He went through some interesting phases when he was younger."

Arieus jumped and leaned away from the wall of pictures. Gladys was behind him cupping a mug of warm, milky tea. She smiled up at Arieus, who was fidgeting nervously.

"you know," she said as she searched for a particular picture. "Antanas was always a bit of a twerp when he was really little – I could never get him to behave, and he always came home with a teacher's note about him goofing off." She pointed to a photograph of a small boy, hands behind his back, standing on top of a broken sand castle.

"About 15 seconds after I took this, Antanas was helping Charlie rebuild his sandcastle." She chuckled to herself and Arieus smiled.

"How old was he?"

Please, Gladys answered, "He's nine there and fourteen in the next one." She pointed Antanas out among a group of about 20 teens, and Arieus tried not to laugh.

"Can't say I have ever seen that hairstyle on a man before." Arieus told her.

"Oh, spare me the hair, he had me making all his clothes –– what a nightmare! You should have seen the cuts of fabric he would bring to me. I'll have you know ––"

"Gladys! What are you telling him?!" Antanas interrupted from the top of the stairs.

"I believe things have improved quite a bit. Wouldn't you be inclined to say so, Mrs. Gnokkum?"

"Yes, indeed, Mr. Verra." she said teasingly.

Antanas came down the stairs in a two step pattern, landing gracefully – but loudly – in frni of Gladys, who had turned to face her son. Arieus' eyes looked over him now seeing the full spectrum of Antanas' aging.

The half-elf grinned and then froze. He pushed aside Arieus and saw the wall of photos.

"Gladys! You didn't! We talked about this!"

"You better take him now," Gladys said, gently tucking Antanas under Arius' arm and nudging them to the door. "Have fun boy!"

"Thank you, Gladys." Arieus said, heading out the door with a still flustered Antanas.

~Hammeh

Pulling Up Daisies

Rainbow

The puddle on Chestnut Street
has gotten bigger,
and I swear,
every time I look at it,
it's a different color.
Yesterday it was orange – like Gatorade and Cheez-its –
this morning it was dark purple - your eyeshadow,
without the sparkles.
But I checked it an hour ago and it was gone.
Only an oil stain remained.

~Hammeh

A Tiger-Wood Finish

Guilliver's Travels

My veins are rivers, on my wrist, on my breast.
My eyes are the sun super-imposed on the moon
And my legs are the currents, my arms the sky,
My heart shallow green – tender and delicate.
As for my hair – plain and brown and beautiful –
it connects me to this world like roots,
and when I am spread out, half-conscious
with the lapping of the waves and the
thick, damp warmth of the sand
like Gulliver, I realize just how fragile

– the crackle of a scallop shells as it
disintegrates and sinks away –

we are.


~Hammeh

Truth Gleams Like A Torch In The Fog

Fog Horn

The fog horn is low and chasing.
The pattern of skin – like scales – is suddenly evident.
My thumb holds the page I write on.
If I am patient and careful, the words appear.
Mysteriously, from the page.
My mind calls out to them, slow and quiet.
There's a throbbing in the paper,
like a heartbeat on the waves.
And I can hear the fog horn,
late at night, when my mind's a jumble
and my heart is cautious and afraid of
drowning.

~Hammeh

On The Street Where You Live

A Love Poem From The Grocery Store

Bananas and licorice,
we met on the freeway,
you ran out of gas,
cranberries and cheddar cheese,
the 7-11 fifteen miles down the highway
was the last place we talked,
and I thought only of Karma,
raspberries and mushroom cream soup.
Later, when I was clearing the keys
from my pockets, I was shocked to
see your card.
Lemonade and sweet beans,
"SuperFresh, 350 South Street."
And here we stand,
among the lobster and steak dinners,
the champagne and the big, white
carrot cake, and –
your smile with mine.

~Hammeh

Perfum'ed and Pleasant

A Chained Bed

It's that sprite of perfume
–completely irresistible,
not to mention the lust we radiate;

the bed bounces her back, cradling
her, and he crawls on top, using
her hair as his camouflage – hiding
his hunting stripes.

Laughter like a short chiming rain.
Chains curl and bind like Lovers'
hands wrapping indecently tightly
and bringing the two far too close.

Oh Damn, not again.

And the lock clicks and
War and Lust are bound by Flame.

~Hammeh

Peanut Butter and Butter Crunch

Faith

The air breathes in, like clam shells
and mussels.
And out of breath is a good joke that transcends ages.

My curled up cat – comical and crazy
versus their labradoodle, huge and gentle.

There's something in the quilts,
and the oatmeal-lumped pillows,
a scent of the wood paneling and wet sand,
of warm blueberry pie and cold FarFar's vanilla.

And no matter how many times I lose faith,
I always find it again – in the blanket of a wave,
the shell of a hermit crab, or the hug of a mother.

~Hammeh

Sleep Sweet

A Short Scene With Arieus, as Told by Farin, Gloria, and Raiis (Notes on pronunciation and the Gates themselves are at the end.)

"You cannot be serious." Farin said in that flat tone of hers, but the temple vein bulging against her blue skin gave her away.
"I'm afraid that I am quite serious, my lady." Raiis replied. "We simply cannot go on without more Gates; we'll be quickly out-manned and removed."
"But he is so," she paused, struggling to find an English equivalent from her native tongue.
"I second the motion."
Raiis looked at Gloria gratefully. She had just returned from her mission 20 minutes before the meeting. Her bronze battle armor was polished and glistening, although her golden curls were matted with blood and dirt.
"He's a Kag'nush!" Farin said, looking aghast. "He cannot be a Gate."
Raiis frowned, "Please, a civil tongue. He is not Dark. He was born and raised by Agron and Mire'am, and he was born in Lagate City in the South."
"But they will see him in different lighting," Farin said.
"Then that will be his problem to deal with, won't it?" Raiis answered her. Gloria furrowed her brows and smiled lightly.
"Why don't we hear from him?" She looked through the one-way window partition.
On the other side, Arieus was seated in the provided chair. But instead of sitting by the table in the center of the room, he had dragged it to the wall across from the mirrored-window. He sat with his feet firmly planted on the floor and his arms crossed, staring at the mirror.
Actually, as the three Gates examined him, they weren't sure if he was staring or not due to the sunglasses he was wearing.
"Have you said anything to him?"
"No, not yet Farin." Raiis said.
"May I speak to him?" She asked, and Gloria snorted.
"You can try," Gloria said.

Pronunciation:

Arieus – Air-E-us
Raiis – RAY-us
Farin – Fair-in
Agron – Ag (like Agony) - ron
Mire'am – Mir (as in Mirror) - ay - em
Lagate – La-gay-te (a sharp/short "te" at the end)
Kag'nush – Kaa-guh-newsh

The word "Kag'nush" is from Farin's original language and is a negative word for a Dark Elf, which Arieus is not, and which is why Raiis proceeds to give Farin Arieus' background. The three characters here (Gloria, Raiis, and Farin) are all Gates from the Eight Gates system of government which I have developed for my work. Gloria is the Southern Gate, Raiis is the Northern Gate, and Farin is the Eastern Gate. Quite a few of the Gates have just died and need to be replaced. Arieus, my main character, will end up becoming one of the Gates. As for species? Raiis is human, and quite old. Gloria is an Elf, and she is about mid-adulthood. Farin is a Quenic, and she is rather young, between teen and adult. She has light blue skin and bleeds gold; it's very strange. :] Woah, I kind of rambled. But, I love my stories, so if there are any questions, throw them my way~!

~Hammeh

Venetian Plaster Fools You

Decades to Build, Moments to Destroy, A Single Love to Restore

Hairline fractures,
and slips of the tongue,
at the time, I was
sure my reputation
was lost for good.

But halfway through
the black olive casserole
and the kale and spinach soup,
you reminded me
that there is much more
gray than the clear cuts
of black and white.

I always thought it
was impossible, but
then again, I watched
you do it–balancing
a spoon on your nose–
and restore my reputation.

~Hammeh

A Song About My Home

Shoreside

Sand and grass and mud.
Flesh and blood and ocean waves.
A town by the sea.

~Hammeh

A Joke Between Friends

Kaylee Peters and the Nervous Lady

Kaylee frowned at the crumpled bedspread. It didn't really faze her anymore, the whole unemployed, living on the edge thing.
She shrugged and finished zipping up her jeans before moving two feet to the left, where her sink was.
She plucked a somewhat clean mug from the sink and filled it with water.
Taking a sip, Kaylee took a seat at her table. She read through the paper form last week. She really needed to get out of her apartment.
Her door bell rang.
"Mrs. Kaylee Peters?" came a high-pitched woman's voice; it sounded rushed and nervous.
Kaylee stood up, paper in hand, and opened the door. The well-dressed woman on the other side looked very relieved.
"Oh, thank God," she said before grabbing Kaylee's arm. "Come on, they're all waiting for you at the shoot! I was so hoping you'd be better today. I mean," she glanced at Kaylee nervously, but the woman soon realized that the words had gone completely over Kaylee's head. Which was a good thing.
Kaylee blinked sharply in the sunlight. She glanced back at her door, noticing that she had been living in what appeared to be a silver trailer, not an apartment. Befuddled as the woman shut the door and took the newspaper from her, Kaylee tried to listen to the woman's nervous rambling–something, anything that she could make sense of.
"Jackson says the lighting is just perfect for filming right now. Luckily, I booked it all for today, because nobody's been able to get you to open the door for over a week! I thought that they were going to terminate your contract, Kaylee! You really can't do this lock yourself thing–it's fine for teenage visionaries, but a huge no-no for big, busy Hollywood stars, okay?"
She looked to Kaylee for some sort of promise; instead, Kaylee stopped walking and asked, "Who are you?"
The woman stopped, and her brow furrowed with disappointment–as though she had expected Kaylee to snap out of it and behave better, whatever "it" was. "Oh, honey, this again?"

Who are these characters? I don't know. I feel bad for Andrea, the Nervous Lady, who can't seem to grasp that her star is seriously messed up in the head....

~Hammeh

Savoring The Cranberries

Salt and Sea

My mother always wears dark bathing suits,
black and navy blue.
I always thought that it was about confidence.
But the truth is, when she slips on her sunglasses
and dives under with a dolphin kick and her hair
is all slicked back with salt water,

she's beautiful.

And she embodies the freedom and confidence
of the sea.

~Hammeh

Change In The Wind

Buckled Down

Her fate was written,
On the shoelace of her boots,
But changes like those,

Are easy to make.
As long as you're prepared for
the consequences.

~Hammeh

Special Deliveries Not Included

Aaaaaaand now, for the Great Catch-Up!!!! Hooray! xD

Silly Fear

When I was little,
pink bathing suit and too big baseball cap,
I was terrified of the ocean floor–
fish and hermit crabs I could handle.

My greatest fear was being too far away from my mother.

Over the years, the seaweed wraps around my ankles,
crabs flutter across my feet,
jellies slime between my fingers,
and shrimp nibble at my toes–
and I take all that with a smile.

Maybe one day I'll assert my independence
in the water, but still, I love my mother's side.

~Hammeh

Most Engaging

THE PINCUSHION
on your left has told me all I need to know about you.

THE WAY
you have intentionally and determinedly stuck each one in.

LIKE IT'S THE HEART
of your exes, and you could not care less about the damage you've done.

AND THE STUFFING
is pushing out, like a butterfly in a cocoon; perhaps a last escape from your torture.

THE SMILE
on your lips, bright red and swooning.

I REALIZE
it is not for me to choose wisely, and I fall, like a spiral, into your net.

~Hammeh

Dash and Dance

AIR, WATER, EARTH, FIRE!!

No, nothing to say, sorry my dears~

Rabbit Rabbit

Happy July, yo!~

With a single prick,
plink! and royal blue
comes oozing out,
like diluted honey,
to change forever,
the color of the ocean.

~Hammeh

Grass Carpet

Well, crap. I'm kind of hitting a dead spot. Which means I'll keep writing, but I make absolutely no promises to its quality~

Orp.

I was turning out, onto the main road,
from the place that makes me see red
and shed blue,
when I saw you.

I thought it was you,
and I had nearly convinced myself,
but I didn't stop,
because I'm so ashamed of how I've treated you.

~Hammeh

Capture The Cranberries

Dostoevsky Inspired

In a brief moment of hesitation, he chose left. Arieus just looked at him, like he couldn't believe Antanas was making that kind of decision. And he couldn't believe it.

"Antanas?"

The half-elf turned around, distracted by the branches in his face. He peered over at Arieus. "What's up?"

"Are you," he paused, "are you sure this is the right way?" Antanas frowned, and then watched Arieus' eyes look somewhat forlornly to the right. He cracked a slow smile; he stepped back toward Arieus.

"You need to get your head out of those books," he teased. "Left doesn't always mean death, you know."

~Hammeh

Everyone's A Hero

Sleepless Night

Clunk,
in the night,
of the truck
and the
garbage.

Spin,
of the fan,
and the way,
I haven't
slept.

~Hammeh

Morning Before Sunrise

S'more Nash

If it weren't for her plump little belly,
swaying, swaying,
and those enormous bat ears,
twitch, twitch,
I'd be frightened by every claw,
and by the switch, switch of her tail,
and the glow in her eyes that says
she's just as wild as the rest of us.

I love my baby~

~Hammeh

A Pattern On The Ceiling

Legs

Over the waves of linens,
soft-smelling from dryer sheets,
her legs smooth out,
like an artist took a silk brush
and blended her naked thighs,
calves, ankles, feet around the white
of the bedspread.

I like legs. I think they're beautiful.

~Hammeh

Upon The Turtle's Back

Introducing The Gates, Sort Of

"You're being ridiculous, you know." He said, nearly laughing in hysterics. "I mean, really, no one is going to believe me; let alone believe you!"

Arieus just looked at the man. For a moment he seemed to debate whether this kind of outburst actually deserved a response or not. He came to a negative conclusion, and he resumed his steady walk to the end of the corridor.

Unfortunately, that didn't seem to deter the man.

"I know you think I'm crazy," he was suddenly too close to Arieus, "but we both know it's just a guise," he whispered quickly before backing off. "The point is you can't just waltz on in there and expect them to believe you! Not in a million years, haha!" He began to laugh very hard. "Did you, hahaha, did you catch that? Good joke, huh?"

The Southern Elf sighed deeply. He had worked himself up to this point, and it had taken a lot of thought and internal debates before he could even begin to make his decision. Walking down this hallway was the final step in his decision-making process. He had made up his mind, and that was that.

"They'll throw you out." He whispered to the elf. "You know it too." That's when the man's voice had changed, like he had suddenly realized something and was shocked by its implications. Arieus spared him a single glance without breaking his stride. "You know they're going to throw you out?!" The man sped up, this time grabbing Arieus by the elbow and jerking him around so that they were face to face. "You know that they're going to throw you out, and you're still going?

"Yes." Arieus tried to withdraw his hand politely, but the man had an iron grip. "Yes, I know what they are going to do."

Suddenly, the man let go. "I'm coming with you," he said quietly. Arieus resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Don't try to stop me."

Don't worry, Arieus thought, I won't.

The door at the end of the long hallway sprung open, and Arieus strode right in, followed closely by the man.

Sitting at the uppermost point of the isosceles triangular table, Raiis was bent over a long roll of paper, which was being held down by Klagula and being pointed to by Vohn. The man beside Arieus gasped, alerting everyone to their guests. Some of the table raised their heads, others were more intent on scrolls of paper or glowing monitors in front of them, and others still were texting.

Raiis raised his face, and upon taking notice of Arieus' entrance, he began to speak, "It seems our unexpected guest has arrived earlier than we had expected." He gave a brief smile to Klagula, who wrapped up her map, even as Vohn still had his fingers entangled in the city of Hai'Twee.

"Raiis," Arieus acknowledged, as he stopped directly at the seat-less, lower portion of the triangle. He tilted his head forward in a slight bow of respect. The Northern Gate looked over Arieus at the man still frozen by the now-closed door.

"And who might this be, Arieus?" He said.

"I have no idea, Raiis. He seems to believe I have lost my sanity. I cannot presume that he is wrong though."

"No matter," Raiis said, waving his hand as if dismissing the conversation entirely. He turned to his left, where a young man of Egyptian descent was pouting. "Amon, will you please take the man outside? Make sure he doesn't remember this meeting or the faces that he has seen." The young man sighed heavily and shoved his phone into his pocket before groaning with the effort of getting out of his chair. Raiis just smiled.

Amontari stole a furtive glance at Arieus as he passed the elf, before he went over to the man and took him by the shoulder to lead him out. Arieus watched them go. When the heavy door shut behind them, he reluctantly brought his attention back to the table. There were only seven people there.

Raiis watched the Southern Elf count the seats. He himself had counted the seats, the full ones only barely outlasting the empty ones. They couldn't deny it any longer; at this point it didn't matter what Farin thought. Gloria would back him up. The Gates couldn't stand much longer. People were already beginning to question their authority and debate their fragility.

The Gates stood for reason, for a government undecided by the people, but for the people nonetheless. Chosen by the gods, Raiis and the Eight Gates would protect the planet and try their hardest to maintain peace. But, here, in this room, there were not enough Gates. Only five remained, and it was time for the other three to be filled. Perhaps, today.

An excerpt from my stories. I was just playing with the characters, because I love them and they're fun. And, whoo-hoo, I finally got to use Amontari, because I've never solidly written about him.

Sweet.

~Hammeh

An Image In The Looking Glass

This one got away from me, and something weird happened during it.


Ganymede, A Very Brief One

It was his nose, he told me later,
that his lover first noticed,
first found attractive.

He had been at the pool that day,
sunglasses and beach towel in tow.

The weather was breezy and warm,
and the air had the heart of a storm.

The surface dazzled with turquoise gems;
He laid down by the chair.

A hostess--short shorts and laugh lines--
offers him a drink, soft and cool with limes.

In a heartbeat, a moment, a change occurs,
and suddenly ten years are gone.

Twenty more at the blink of an eye;
his face is the same--clean shaven and boyish.

He offers--short tunic and sunlight hair--
ambrosia, mixed heavy with honey.

To his Master, his King, his Lover,
his God.

~Hammeh

Stars and Bars, Baby

I'm somewhat confident that this could be pretty good if I re-worked it. :]

Tunnel Vision

The tunnel on the south exit,
before you pass into Brighton,
and on the edge of Hart County,
winks at me.

I watch the lid close and open slowly,
and I can feel my car shaking--a 1992 Chevy--
and my seat-belt coiling around me like an uncharmed snake.

Briefly, I wonder how no one else sees it,
and I remember the first time my mother drove this way.

I couldn't breathe.

This time though, I think as I flex my fingers,
bony and sore, on the steering wheel's comforting pleather.

This time, I will go through.

~Hammeh

Sweet Baby....Uh, You Know

I think that I may have slipped a bit here. These are kind of blah.

A Little Nash

At a platform,
by the train,
the ducks
line up,
in the rain.

Blueberries

Black and blue,
like a bruise,
and a promise
of blood inside.

~Hammeh

The Way To Love Anything Is To Realize That It Might Be Lost

Oiy, look! It's not a poem~ :] And the title quote is from G.K.Chesterton, who gets credit wherever I go, because he is just that awesome.

English Love

The world beyond the rim of the tea cup is blurry. It comes from not enough sleep and the sun having just passed the horizon. When I yawn I can feel the muscles stretch in my mouth, and a sharp pain followed by my jaw cracking shows just how few minutes I have been awake.

But still, in this strange situation, where the world of which I always dream has suddenly found reality, I find that my mind could never reproduce the zingy flavor of lemon tea or the cold heat of the sunrise. So when I place the cup tink on the saucer and reach for a buttery English muffin, I can only barely separate the dream from the reality.

And, before I know it, I am watching the crest of the hill that sweeps out over the distance. And my eyes settle on the sheep that mercilessly chew their grass, which blows in the sun like so many waves. The chill feels marvelous against my skin, which I suddenly realize is nearly bare.

The texture of my tongue against the channels of butter in the puckered surface of the English muffin give me the sensation that love is just around the corner. And what better a day than this to taste it?

While I am watching the sloping crest of the hill, broken only by distant tops of willow trees, I feel the grass kiss my feet; and suddenly I am running, and I feel a star-burst of panic screaming that I don't know where I'm going or what I'm running too, but I breathe in the sun and the cold and the lemon and the grass and I am running faster than any panic can hope to keep up with. I have found my moment, and I would rather be lost forever than give it up.

~Hammeh

Pteromerhanophobia

After this one, I'm all caught up!! Very exciting, I know.

Conversations in Flight

"How old are you?" I asked.

"Ha, why do you ask? I'm probably your age, or something like that." She said.

"Just curious." I said, watching the way she untangled the headphones of her ipod. It was a good sign that she hadn't put them in yet, but it still looked like she planned to. "And I doubt you're my age."

She gave me this funny look, like she wasn't quite sure why some stranger would ask her these things. I could see her quick glance at the ipod; she wasn't sure she wanted to risk closing her eyes and listening to the music. "Well," she said, her hands paused in mid-motion. "How old are you, then?"

"Oh, please don't ask." I answered, and I could see her looking at me, trying to discern for herself my age. "It's so embarrassing. I'm so old." I slid the bookmark out of my book, opening it up to my most recent page. I could tell she wasn't going to be in this conversation much longer.

"Uhm, I'm sixteen." She said. And suddenly the flashy silver-pink of her ipod and the pop-star magazine she had in her bag made sense. Her lip gloss was strawberry flavored. "So, now it's your turn."

Sixteen. I hate thinking about sixteen year olds. Actually, I hate thinking about anybody under the age of sixty. It depresses me. I couldn't remember her question.

I told her so. She frowned, "If you don't want to tell me, fine then." I could see that she was scouting out a new seat.

"Plane's full." I told her. "Sorry. Also, stop thinking about whether or not Mark was cheating. He wasn't. And he really does love you." I straightened myself in my seat.

Sometimes I forget that there are certain things that you aren't supposed to mention. I mean, like, there are things you aren't allowed to mention, but those aren't the same. I'm talking about the kind of things that you really ought to refrain from saying because they have this weird tendency to upset people quite badly.

I could tell right away that I had made this kind of mistake.

"Excuse me?" She said to me, but this time her voice isn't quite as full of bravado as before. There's this shake to it.

"Sorry," I said, but I don't mean it. Shouldn't a girl know who loves her?

"Who are you?" She asked. "And how do you know Mark?" This time with a hiss.

"You know him." I told her. She wouldn't understand. And I didn't blame her at all. She shouldn't understand. Sometimes even I don't understand.

But I guess that's why you just do what you're told to. I guess that's just part of having a job.

She was putting in one headphone now; she kept the ear closest to me free, and didn't stop looking at me.

"Look, I'm sorry." I said. I would have smiled, but that really puts people on edge. "We started off on the wrong foot. What's your name?" I already knew it, but it always helps to feign normalcy.

"Lucy," she (Aiden) said. I had to give her some credit.

I sighed, and I think that that's when she knew. We were about half an hour from our destination, but it wasn't her destination.

"Oh," she said.

"Yes," I said. "I'm sorry, Aiden. Please don't ask for forgiveness or anything. You haven't done anything wrong." I looked into her eyes for the first time. And I could see my blue ones reflected back in hers. "Sometimes that's just how life is."

She couldn't speak. Whenever I meet with someone, it's either speechlessness or complete disjointed verbosity. It's always easier with the latter ones.

"Aiden?" Suddenly, she knew what was going to happen, like, she knew how it was going to happen. She could feel her heart beat faster. Too much. I wouldn't blame her if she called for a flight attendant, someone, anyone. But she didn't.

She just looked at me, took out the headphones, and asked if she had time for a letter. I told her that I could delay it a bit, so long as it happened before we landed.

I remember her scribbling furiously. Scratching things out, adding things. There was one point where she started to cry. But in the end, she turned to me and said.

"I just have one question, well, one that I think you can answer." I nodded for her to continue. "Do we get another chance?"

I smiled. I told you it was disconcerting when I did that, and she was no exception. My smile means many things. But for Aiden, it meant only a few.

"That's not my decision," I said softly, "that's for The Big Guy to decide."

"Oh," she whispered, her heart beginning to fail, "that's okay then, I guess."

And we were gone.

~Hammeh

Unfettered and Unfurnished

I don't even know what went on here....Sorry.

Crossing the Lines

I.

There's a train wreck,
and he's the first one there.

A sun-red moon,
and a scorching rain.

A collapsible stroller,
and the impossible.

II.

His muzzle sorts through the debris,
to find the living.

A secondary implosion,
and the faint echo of a whine.

A heartbreak,
and subway workers.

III.

There's a phone box,
with blue stripes and three sides.

An empty line,
broken from emotion.

The ambulance,
and the body bags.

IV.

It's a nightmare,
and it's hers.

It has been since she was four,
and saw her brother's face for the last time.

But when the phone rings and it's midnight,
she knows that it's a reality.

~Hammeh

Beyond The Curtains

I could not figure out how to end this....

A Cross of Gold

The crush of the pillow against my mouth,
when I inhale, it smells like oatmeal and old juniper perfume.

I tuck my head in, collapsing into the fetal position,
like a fold-away chair.

My hands are unusually cold and I can feel the snow,
waiting outside, as I turn the cross over in my hands.

There's a knock on the door,
but I've locked it from the inside with a quick, jerky movement.

The quilt beneath me is soft, like her, and lumpy too,
but in the time-worn way that reminds you of old furniture and things you would never give up.

I always know right before I'm about to cry,
and I feel it now: a sharp, resounding pain behind my nose.

The quilt consumes me, and all that I breathe is oatmeal and juniper.
Her last trace.

~Hammeh

Yetis Playing Boom-Boxes

This is weird. This story; it's really, really strange. The two characters are Els and Ayumi. :]

Lane Change

"Can you feel it?" He said, gesturing outside the car.

"Feel what?" I asked, keeping my eyes steady on the road. Els had this way of never finishing thoughts, though he started plenty of them. And I felt like this would be the situation again. I sighed quietly, not wanting him to feel the frustration building up inside me. I shouldn't have bothered hiding it. He didn't notice.

"The wind." He said, as though that explained everything. I glanced over at him; his eyes were closed and his hand was tumbling gently on the wind outside the window. It comforted me that his eyes were closed. I could never look into them anyways.

"It's like, well," he paused and mussed up his face trying to think of a way to explain it to me properly. Something I don't think Els has ever done or is even capable of doing. "It's like when you have this cake. I don't know, maybe it's yellow or chocolate or some sort of marble whatnot. But, you're frosting it, and you can smell the frosting; it's palatable––isn't that what they call it when you can taste something even when you aren't eating it?" I nodded, but I wasn't sure if he noticed, so I said yes, that's it.

"Right, so you can taste it and feel it, and the smell's everywhere, right? Like salmon, when you cook it on a Monday an'you can still smell it on Sunday, even with you taking out the garbage on Monday night." Not that Els has ever taken the garbage out. Ever.

I veered into the next lane; the exit sign was coming up. "It's like that." He said. "You know?" He looked at me. I wasn't looking anywhere but the road, but I could still feel him looking at me. I don't like it when he does that. I wish he'd wear sunglasses or contacts or something. It's disconcerting.

Obviously, I didn't know.

"The wind?" I asked, trying this time.

"Yeah," he said, and I feel like if he had been smoking, he would have exhaled a puff here. But Els doesn't smoke. At least, not using his mouth.

~Hammeh

A Shade of Sunshine

Crocus

On a bridge,
that makes the gap
in your mind
a lot smaller
than they should
see fit,

there is a
flower pot,
which holds a small
crocus.

Every time I look
at this crocus,
I think of your eyes
unfolding in the early
hours of dawn.

And how, in the beginning,
there was a blazing pink,
and a soft lilac,
with edges of sienna,
that separately
would have been hideous.

But with a blinding gold,
a blazing Indian Yellow,
and the flash of veins,
becomes a beautiful sunrise.

~Hammeh

Bugger All This For A Lark

This post is entirely about me and my learning/life disorders. It's not creative, but it's writing; and that's what counts.

I have OCD and ADD. (though apparently, I heard something about ADD no longer being a term, and that now it must only be referred to as ADHD? I don't know if that's right, but I guess for me it doesn't matter much either way.) I've been diagnosed with ADD since second grade, when they almost kicked me out of grade school. (Yes, this was a possibility, because it was a private school.) Anyways, it basically means that I can't concentrate on any one subject/conversation/person/thing for very long, even if I really do enjoy talking about/to it/them. So far as OCD is concerned, I believe that I was diagnosed in sixth grade, when the doctors realized, 'Hey, I don't think Ritalin is actually good for people.' Okay, I guess maybe it helps someone somewhere. But, in truth, it really hurt me.

I switched around with a few medications when I was still in elementary school, and some of them (like Ritalin) made my appetite disappear, while others made me ravenously hungry. But the worst thing about some of the medications was the side affects. When I was in sixth grade, I started having facial and verbal tics. (This might make you think of people who have Tourettes, which is accurate! Hello, that would be me, and no I do not burst out swearing and saying inappropriate things.) For me, it's really hard to explain exactly what I do, but it mostly has to do with my eyes and with the sound of words/letters/etc. on my tongue, like, how it came out; and I had to make certain noises or letter sounds, and they had to be perfect (in my weird sense of the word) or I would have to do it until it was perfect.

At least, that's how it started out.

Things got worse later, as they tried to find the right medicine to put me on. See, one of the side affects of Ritalin is that it can bring out OCD tendencies, but they could just come out on their own. So, I don't know if it was the Ritalin or if I was just going to end up with them anyways. Regardless of the medicinal side affects.

Moving on, my biggest OCD thing today is the rituals I preform and how they are linked with physical pressure. I'm going to try to explain this as best as I can, okay? Try to bear with me. Basically, when I touch something, for example: a glass of water. And I want to put it back down on the table; it MUST be placed straight down, absolutely perfectly, without sliding it at all across the table. Also, the pressure of my fingertips on the glass must be even and must feel "perfect" to me. I almost can't explain the pressure one....oh, wait, let's take a second example, if I walk across the floor and there is a corner of carpet touching the wood, I must feel an exact pressure on the ball of my foot when I walk over it. If I do not, I will do it again and again until I do.

Secondly, I count. This is actually more common than I thought that it was. I count everything. As in, how many steps I take, how many bites of a certain food I eat, how many sips of water, how many times I look at something, how many times I try until I get that perfect pressure, how many times I flick the light-switch, EVERYTHING. Thing is, I count it by fours. As in one two three four one two three four, constantly.

But. When I'm in Massachusetts, things seem a little easier. A little less stressful. More manageable. More, okay. And that's why it's my favorite place in the world. That's why I feel so strong a connection. Because it's a connection of my soul being free to explore the world without worrying about pressure and stress and my brain following rituals.

If you have any questions about OCD, feel free to ask. Knowledge is a wonderful, wonderful thing!

~Hammeh

Of An Older Date

Believe in me, I'm a-catching up~ :]

The Patapsco River

I've flown over the Patapsco,
and planted my feet firmly in alien soil.

My toes squelch in the drying mud of the riverbank,
and my nostrils flare with the heavy scent of pollution.

I cross my heart and winch in my wings;
I can taste the water and mud on my lips,
the salty, grainy riverbed becomes stuck in my teeth.

Suddenly, I'm reaching down and my hand
is encased in water like a magnifying glass,
and my eyes wear shades of muck.

My heart pounds against a ribcage of suspension bridges.

When I raise my eyes and lick at my lips,
I can feel the heat and the burn of the river set aflame.

~Hammeh

Eight-Eleven

Hullo!~ I'm baaaack, and now it's time to catch up on my missed week. Enjoy~


Spring Vows

There's a glass of lemonade,
and a pile of shrimp.

The dark, blotchy red of marinara sauce
and the pink plumpness of fingers
grabbing tails and indulging in the chilly spice

reminds her of the time when her dreams
were drawn out beneath a white tent.

And words like, "I do" were never said.

~Hammeh

Ch-ch-ch-ch-changin' Turn And Face The Strange

False Commitment

A hazy reason floats on the shore
between yes and no.

There is an answer in the
embrace of your fingertips.

But I cannot read braille,
and my dreams are impossible.

When it comes to this,
to love, and to cherish,
to hold, and to have,
I am hopelessly disappointing.

Before the engagement night it out--
you embracing your ring, a diamond
princess cut; the cheeky lilt of your lips,
peach lip-gloss and perfect
tells me all I need to know--

Before the night is out,
I will be scaling heights I never thought
I'd climb.

But then,
anything for you, babe,
as I slip out of the bathroom door
and your life.

Forever.

~Hammeh

So Red-Headed He's A Communist

A tribute, haha, to a certain favorite character of mine who is fighting an epic battle which will determine the course of the rest of the story. D:

Act 2

I can still remember the crunch of leaves,
the bounce back as I lean back, arms out,
free-fallen into the midnight grass.

Your voice is a constant buzzing,
half the time I paw irritably at my ears.

But when you've been gone so long,
even I can't name the summer-fall sky blue
of your eyes, I make the effort to decipher the buzzing.

And yet, I realize,
I never listened to begin with,
so how could I ever know what you meant?

Oh my God, this is crap. I am /so/ sorry. Ugh.

~Hammeh

Fences of Chocolate

Goslings

There's a sudden thrill in the way feathers are ruffled,
and the way it reminds me of books and dust,
and all the pleasant things in life.

But then I feel a pull,
heavy and oil-thick,
against my veins.

And I see you, serpent,
as you wipe the gray down from your mouth.

~Hammeh

Hold The Door

Virginia Accent

I remember how you used to mention cliff-diving,
and watching buttercups grow.
About celebrating your twenty-first around the humid
glow of a village fire,
and the warm flow of the brewed drink
passed around in an unlabeled mug.

I was in sixth grade geography
and nothing was more interesting than sociology to me.
And here, I felt a chance to learn about their past through you.

But you came back, all short hair and makeup,
and the rings on your fingers were plastic
from that expensive Sweet Watermelon store,
where I once visited when we saw you in New York.

~Hammeh

Wheaties, Breakfast of Champions

As long as I make it to Friday, I'll be sane!! :]

A Death

Laughter, like pomegranate seeds
and tumbling pincushions,
penetrates my mind.

Dark corners, with heavy, blunt, neon-sign edges,
and tow trucks lifting concrete;
it's a pressure against the convex softness
of my skull.

A heart: beautiful and beating and mine.

The ice cold rush, like splintering metal,
flushes my veins, and venom seeps from my neck.

I hear a scratch of feet (cloven or un-cloven? I cannot tell.)
against the messy pathway of brick and sand.
It's fleeting and harsh and slamming in my mind,
but gone in the next second.

A brilliant shade of magenta light,
and the overwhelming feeling of a final mistake.

I just started reading the Percy Jackson series, and naturally my mind takes me back to the myths.

~Hammeh

Waffles

Untitled

There's a dip in the ocean,
and a promise that's hidden,

of a fair yellow rose
at her debutante ball.

And there's your eyes watching mine,
and my tumble and fall,

my cessation to exist,
and the violet-cerulean-violet

that echoes in the backdrop
of stars and planets.

Encasing me and reminding me
that you and she are one.

~Hammeh

Hold Me In You Eyes

Okay, this is starting to get really hard for me....

Wedding

On the corner of
Jordan and St. Paul's Circle
There is a stone Church.

I've never been there
But I have seen the pictures
Of you and him, and not me.

No seriously, that's all. D:

~Hammeh

I'm Walkin' On Sunshine

And don't it feel good! :] Bit tired right now. I used to think maybe you loved me, now baby I'm sure!

- I'm absolutely insane; this is a proven fact. I do things that no one else would do. -

Impression

There's a path between the blue hydrangeas,
that leads down to a tall azalea bush.
Like a puzzle, elaborate and inexplicable,
the azalea is sunset orange, the deep white
of twilight snow, the fluorescent pink of
post-it notes, and the dark red of her heart.

I find myself wondering how these azaleas came
to live so close to one another.
How they support where the other fails, a branch here,
a helping root there.

Is there nothing that can stop them?
I lean forward, feeling my knees fit themselves
into the earth, like eggs into a carton.
My hands squirm under the flowers,
and my body follows in one swift movement,
as if the azalea branches have pulled aside.

And I find myself at the root of the bush,
which is a mistake I realize, for it is a tree.
I have never seen an azalea trunk so close before,
and I feel bewildered that all these colors have come
from one solid bole.

I reach my neck out, leaving my arms far behind,
and I am slithering like a serpent,
and my lips brush against the dirt briefly
before finding their mark on the trunk itself.

~Hammeh

A Chink In The Wall

A Story Once

There was a story once; I think it was a love story, but I don't pay much attention to these things anymore. A story is a story, and we don't get a lot of them down here, so I take what I can get. But, anyways, in this story there was this really small dog who had long fur and a curly tail--kind of like a pig. Now, he was a pet of one of the characters, but I don't remember whether it was a girl or a boy, the character not the dog. The dog was a boy. Dangly bits and all.

This dog did all the normal dog-type stuff authors go on for pages describing. I think it's because people tell you to write what you know. But, so far, all I've known is not very pleasant, and no one really wants to read about my life, so I'm going to tell you about this dog. He had this power where if you touched his nose and he felt like it, he would whisk you off into another dimension. When good people touched his nose, he sent them to a better place. And the opposite for bad people. I wonder if he was reading their minds, or if he just knew in his soul or something. I always imagined that if I had the chance to touch his nose (he wore a nose protector so that he could still nuzzle his owner) I would do it no matter what. At least then I'd have an adventure. And I'd have something that I could write about.

~Hammeh

Live in the sunshine, swim the sea, drink the wild air.

I'm starting to struggle with this blog....but I won't give up!! D;

Swimming

The deep end of the pool calls to me,
I imagine a body like a whip, smooth and thin,
and how it slips into the crisp water of the outdoor pool,
the way her hands fold together and form a point.

Her eyes closed and a thin smile on her lips.
I can imagine these things, and the black and blue of her suit,
the streamlined curve of the blue as it traces her body,
and I can see her plunge into the waters of my mind.

And, like a knife to the brain, I am more awake--and more dead,
than I have ever felt before.
The water around me freezes and my mind goes searingly blank,
and my body struggles to keep itself above the surface.

When my eyes open, there is nothing but blue for miles and miles.

~Hammeh

Maybe He Didn't Have a Choice in Who He Loved

Do you know what bothers me? When Japanese-obsessed-wannabes use incorrect phrases. Most annoying one is "Aishiteru." Okay, most wannabes (and by this I could mean speakers/race/etc/not the point) use it as though it means "I love you." THIS IS NOT THE CASE. Aishiteru is too strong for the meaning "love." To say "I love you" in Japanese, it is "ga suki desu." Which is pronounced "gah-ski-des" okay? Aishiteru literally means to worship someone with love, as in, a love so powerful it practically puts Romeo and Juliet to shame. It is to say that you could not spend a second without thinking of this person, without wishing that you were with them, it is far stronger than love. It is a worship, a give up anything for them situation. It is very hard to explain. It is an archaic form of the phrase "to love" and you can even see it in today's "Shounen-Ai" and "Shoujo-Ai" which mean literally "Boy-Love" and "Girl-Love." But because of its archaic definition of love, it has crossed into English-speakers' phrase for love, and that is wrong. It just really bothers me, that's all.

So, what have we learned? When saying "I love you" in Japanese, always say "ga suki desu." ((And if you really, really LOVE someone, it's "ga daisuki desu" which is pronounced "gah die-ski des" okay?)) And, as a side note, if you don't like someone/something, it would be "ga kirai desu" which is pronounced "gah key-rye des." If it's not clear who/what you like/love/dislike, as in you are not pointing at it/looking at someone/eating yummy-gross food then you need to specify what it is that you are talking about.

Here are some examples (English, then romanji, then katakana/hiragana, then with kanji):

Colin, I like you.
Colin ga suki desu. or コリん　が　すき　です。　or コリん　が　好き　です。

Danny, I hate you.
Danny ga kirai desu. or ダニ　が　きらい　です。 or ダニ　が　嫌い　です。

Watson, I love you.
Watson ga daisuki desu. or ワツォん　が　だいすき　です。　or ワツォん　が　大好き　です。

If you have any questions or opinions, ask/talk away~ :]

~Hammeh

P.S. - Sorry, all that "Aishiteru" stuff was bothering me. :3

You Can't Take The Sky From Me

I don't like lying, and I had to do it a lot today. To someone I never lie to. For someone I love, but who hurts me all the time.

Therefore, I cannot think of much to say. There will be no poetry, prose, etc. today. And I am sorry for that, but there is too much hurt for me right now.

~Hammeh

American God, Misfortune

I am thankful that I am especially amused by the little things in life. What a tragic existence would it be if I did not have humor in my life. :]

Across the river stands a man. In the man's hand, there is a whistle. His chin is covered in a scraggly beard. His eyes are blurred by old glass lenses, and a single silver chain connect his pocketed pocket-watch to his vest. He is wearing a thick, Russian-esque winter coat, with great big patches of fur on the sleeves and around the neck; but he leaves it unbuttoned and brazes the heavy breeze.

He has one eye open and the other closed, tightly shut. His open eye is a soft gray with flecks of gold in it, and there is a heavy hunger in his eye, lurking at the edges of the iris. His mouth is hidden beneath a mustache, but his powder pink lips stick out like a fish's.

I have never seen him open his other eye, and so he appears to be in a perpetual state of winking at me. There are worse things, I think.

~Hammeh

Apples, but no Oranges

I love apples!! Like, really, really LOVE APPLES.

APPLES, APPLES, EVERYWHERE.

I grew up eating Gala apples, then we changed to Fuji for a bit. But I kept trying different kinds of apples. It's more about finding the one that meshes with your personality. I know that's weird, and it doesn't make sense until you've had your perfect apple.

For me, Galas are kind of dry, and what does "gala" mean anyways? Isn't it like a party or an event? I think so. That's not really me, if you know me, you know I'm not a party person. I love the idea of a party, but only when you can have lots of fun and be silly. A gala is more of a black-tie event, and Lord knows I am not black-tie material.

Fuji apples are okay. They're nice a crisp, but the taste is kind of bland, and the skin isn't very tasty. Which I guess is really funny if you think about the fact that the inside is "bursting" with juice, right? Kind of like Mount Fuji, haha. But the skin is all blech and tasteless, and do you think lava would have a taste? I feel like it would be super hot watermelon, if you can imagine such a thing. But maybe it's tricking me, and really, lava tastes like the inside of a Fuji apple, which makes sense, bland taste, lava would have a bland taste, it being molten rock and all. ((I don't mean to offend, because I know that some people regard Mount Fuji as sacred, and I apologize if you do take offense. It wasn't intended.))

Red Delicious apples literally taste like paper to me. Not even cardboard, because cardboard has some sort of flavor--don't ask. But paper? Yeah, that's Red Delicious alright. That name always cracked me up, because--well, let me start off with the fact that when I went to private school, that's all they ever served and that's all we private school kids ever ate. Anyway, I think it's funny because it reminds me of a crayon color, do you remember those crayons that went by such ridiculous names like mac-n-cheese? I don't know about you, but my mac-n-cheese was all different colors, but that's beside the point. Red Delicious apples are about as tasteful as those four-crayon boxes you used to get in Happy Meals. And by that, you know what I mean, 'cause those crayons never lasted.

Next in our line up is the Granny Smith apple which I absolutely would not eat anything else but them for a while. But the phase, though long, was unremembered. Alas.

So, after searching for years, this year I came across my Apple. Well, for now, we shall see if my tastes change, though I really love this one. Okay, my goal is to try as many types of apples as I possibly can, because, as I mentioned ((perhaps it was not warning enough?)) I love, love, love APPLES.

[[Sorry, I just ate an apple seed, whoops. At least, I think I did....?]]

Weird story: I'm a total fangirl for "Good Omens" by Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman. I was reading fanfiction on the story, and one of the characters (Crowley, the serpent from the Garden of Eden) mentioned Pink Lady Apples.

I had to try them.

And now? I'M HOOKED.

My favorite type of apple? PINK LADY APPLES.

That's all lovies!

~Hammeh

And Love Will Steer The Stars

North Star

A breeze in the air,
sharp claws at the waist,

The green-yellow of grass,
and the vagueness of this poem.

My mind is unhinged,
the receipt from my last checkup
is way out of date.

And I've seen the stars,
Jupiter isn't aligned with Mars,
and today is not a day for poetry.

~Hammeh

Sharpies, WIgs, and Nutella

I'm dyeing a wig with a sharpie right now, so I think I'm a little high off the smells. xD

Untitled

There's a challenge in the way your eyes widen,
the way your heart opens,
and the way you smile and promise never to pressure me.

Sharpies

I can smell the colors,
black gives me a headache,
and silver a heady, cloud-nine feeling.

Aqua has always made me sneeze,
and the puce green you're so fond of,
constantly makes me ill.

The purple reminds me of that one day,
when the grass was yellow,
and your phone call told me how sharp the knife was.

I was thankful when I got to the door, raindrop blue,
that the knife was still clean in your hand,
and the smile a broken promise on your face.

~Hammeh

Raspberries and Thank yous

Epileptic

I hold my wine, index and ring curled inside the stem.
When my eyes drift down,
I can see them,
two shining pennies.

He tells me the years,
one for her birth, one for her death.

He laughs, clear and sharp and dizzy.
My wine-filled head overflows,
and my thoughts rush out onto the carpet.
Like blood in a crime show,
or tension in a soap opera.

His penny loafers are ruined,
drenched in my past,
and soggy with well-oiled memories.

Rust-ridden thoughts scratch against his silk socks,
and I drop the wine.

The glass shatters,
and I see myself
on the floor.

~Hammeh

Flight of a Soul

Two week mark! Hooray!~ :D Check out the coast of Ireland via satellite! Isn't it beautiful?? It's Phytoplankton blooming in the North Atlantic!~

Twang

Today, I'm focused on the pink of your tongue.
On the inner reflection of your glasses,
and the heartbeat you say doesn't exist.

I know you better than all of these things.

Your middle finger curves outward,
smooth as a dorsal fin.
The taste of honey and ash in your mouth,
putrefying in the creases of your lips and the dip of your tongue.
Like a flash of pink and gray and gold, sweet gold.

Silent as the rush of mice feet against the baseboard,
I'll watch and see, and see and fly.
Within your soul, exists another.

Wings like mammoth fur wrapped in sheaths,
explode!

The muscles of your back, of your tongue, of your soul,
flex.
A heartbeat, a wing beat, a single backwards glance,
and you come tumbling back to green lands and cerulean waters.

Tumbling back.
Into my arms.

~Hammeh

We and Us

Ars Poetica, Again

The smell of ink,
like the mudflats in the heat of summer.

A pencil stroke,
heavy and slow.

Your eyes,
flitting across the page, blue and gold.

My heartbeat,
thrumming against my chest.

Drawing Across the Keys

No headache tonight! Yay~

Late May

There's a little bit of me in the cracks of the wall.
Footsteps burned in the grooves of the stairs.
The touch of fingers on the high balanced ceiling.
Worn marks on the door's copper knob.

The soft, quick squeak of the ceiling fan.
And the wings of a moth, like velvet, beating against the screen.

A breath--in through the nose, out through the mouth.
The clear convex dome of your eyes.
And irises in full bloom.

~Hammeh

Missing You

Just a smidgen tonight. My mind hurts.

Sometimes, late at night, I think about my future. And how if I hadn't made that mistake three years ago, was it three or could it possibly be four? If it's four, I refuse to believe it. But if I hadn't made that mistake and cut you off completely, before we could even try talking it through, I think about how different my life would be right now.

Would I be in your arms right now?

I realize now that I didn't understand love. And the problem remains, I still don't understand it, and maybe I'm waiting for that one person who will teach me.

Or maybe it was you, and I never gave you the chance.

Orange Street

I realized that in about three weeks, I'm not going to have internet for a week, BUT I will continue this on paper and upload the all the missing days the day I get back. :]

The Sunny Side

The fir tree on the other side of the lake has been talking to me.
It's been asking about you.

But then I remember how you're allergic to fir, or fur, or something like that?
And I think that maybe I shouldn't be so honest with it.

It mentioned yesterday how much you liked candy canes,
and how in the chill of winter, you would hang them,
all over it's branches--the ones you could still reach.

And we talked about summer, and the concrete-damp weather,
and how it cast shadows like fishing nets over your sun-stroked skin.

Which makes me wonder things about you and your "Navajo" background,
and why you always claimed to be allergic to peppermints.

....I have no idea.

~Hammeh