Noe's in Hawaii and I'm here.

So I thought I'd post a photo of Noe and I (I look a little drunk), and also post a another poem. I have been working hard in school and writing more poetry than I ever thought I would. It turns out that I kind of like the poetry genre, although I still feel the need to do some journalistic writing. Either way writing is writing and it's all good practice. So here is a poem of mine, hope you enjoy.

Her Ritual

this city is alive
in the way you and I are alive,
she breathes fresh ocean air
and exhales pollution

roads are her arteries
she bleeds just as you and I bleed
cars pouring in and out
throbbing earthly rhythms

her flesh, the buildings
so sensitive to the elements,
she peels away old
to be replaced by new

she bathes in winter rain
pushing autumn leaves out of her pores,
making way to be dressed
by colors of spring flora

she takes summer off lying beneath sun
before disrobing her colors
while days become shorter,
ready again for showers from above

she sleeps when you sleep
rises when you rise
feels what you feel
grows as you grow

and she does all this
for you
without you
noticing

the attempt

I haven’t spoken with anyone in my family since my mother’s funeral nine months ago. I live alone and spend most days staring at the ground. My name is Akbar Kumar, I have been hired by attorneys to scan the sidewalks of New York City and map out all cracks, depressions, protrusions, potholes, whatever might cause someone bodily harm. This information is then submitted to the city so that those injured by the sidewalk can have recourse to sue the city. A child approaches me curious to find out what I am doing. I tell the child that I am making note of all the imperfections in the sidewalk. The child gazes at me quizzically and then walks away. I study the place where that child stood for a while and wonder, what am I doing? Staring at the ground, marking the scars of this ragged city so that people can take advantage. So I step into the busy street, and a taxi catches me under the hip crushing and flinging me into the air. I’m now riding an elephant painted white, decorated with orange and pink fabric, my family looks on from the branches of porcelain trees waving and directing me to throw myself into a crevice of cracked white paint on the elephants shoulder. So I dive in. Into the fridged spring waters, down deep until I fall through the bottom and into a huge car that my father is driving, my feet can’t reach the floor, and he is telling me that I should be a man, never back down, and always look my best. Then there’s nothing – until a man shining light into my eyes yells and the ceiling is rushing by and a woman yells and pain slowly creeps into my body cleaning it of all my sorrow. I feel this pain, and for awhile it feels right and I see what my life should be, but then the pain no longer has clarity but is dull and writhing as I try my best to hold in the vomit. But before I puke clarity returns while I feel the piercing of my skin and my body drinks the needles offering. And then I hear country music and I’m back on the white elephant who tells me his name is Alejandro as we ride through a Mexican village kicking up dust as kids chase behind and Alejandro tells me to never forget were I came from. As I awaken in the hospital I can hear my body buzzing from the trauma, and hear the hustle of hospital chaos, and the haunting hum of cars in the distance. My brothers and father standing over me tell me I made it and ask how I’m doing, but all I can do is cry because now with their solace I can clearly see that problems in life don’t get smaller, our capacity to deal with them gets larger.

What's in a Name?

When I first saw what Brady named his blog I was a little upset because I didn't think it pertained to him enough.  The name, Society for Little Green Things, makes sense to me now, and seems very appropriate.  Brady is planting seeds for his growth as a writer/journalist.  The color green often relates to being unseasoned or not ripe, but it is also a color that denotes moving forward (you can see this on a daily basis at every stop light in the world).  The word little, in the title, suggests room to grow, and a knowledge of where we all begin as physical beings.  So, the name fits.  In this society, everyone is planting their own little green things.  This is not my blog, so I won't be posting things very often (maybe just my thoughts on Brady's writings).  So please check back, so we all can help Brady in nurturing all these wonderful "things" that he'll be planting.  I hold Brady's talent in high regard, and know that he will have great outcome.    

Hello I am writing from my phone. Hope it works.
Brady

First entry

So this is a space where we can play around, keep in touch and inspire one another. I'll start it off with this.

The following is written in the Prose poem style and will be diplayed in the art gallery at South Seattle Community College. The picture below will not be included with the poem, but another students art will.

It is titled "Society for Little Green Things"



Scientists determined that these leaves are from the Three-trunked Archipelago Tree, a leaf from each trunk. These are not real, of course, ethereal rice paper recreated. The real leaves locked away filed with twentieth century relics. Many come to view the Society’s endless wonders, including origami money shaped boots, rings, elephants and camels. Green army men, melted into somber forms tease little boys who wish they could have burned plastic relics. These same boys urge parents to buy Society decoder rings and badges in the gift shop on the way out. Their minds filled with Frigiddy frogs, Jaded emeralds, Emerald-jade, Skeleton-key-limes, and Petrified seaweed. Rings decode messages about green Digital Stick Insects, Tiger Beetles and Mozart Crickets, urging young ones to tune in on the Society music hour playing George Baker’s “Little Green Bag” and Joni Mitchell’s “Little Green” album. Tucked in to Society sheets, they dream in chlorophyll colored Three-trunked Archipelago Tree worlds where life is rich with a little green spirit.