Stretching the Allegories

Juliao Sarmento, "Stretching the Allegories"

enxoval.weblog.com.pt

Nightfall

Rolling from the ground like a herd of buffalo
kicking up deep purple cloud dust
against the faint yellow sky of a winter sunset.

"Mama," the child pleaded, "vas a estar en casa esta noche?"
Lipstick, perfume, hairspray all tucked into her clutch.
"Una besa mas," she bids her daughter farewell.

Clack clack clack on the cobblestone street.
As she takes her place on the roadside,
the last of the herd of clouds rumbles into the night sky.

The Moon and the Yew Tree

 This is the light of the mind, cold and planetary.

The tree of the mind are black. The light is blue.

The grasses unload their griefs on my feet as if I were God,

Prickling my ankles and murmuring their humility.

Fumy, spirituous mists inhabit this place

Separated from my house by a row of headstones.

I simply cannot see where there is to get to.

The moon is no door. It is a face in its own right,

White as a knuckle and terribly upset.

It drags the sea after it like a dark crime; it is quiet

With the O-gape of complete despair. I live here.

Twice on Sunday, the bells startle the sky - 

Eight great tongues affirming the Resurrection.

At the end, they soberly bong out their names.

The yew tree points up. It has a Gothic shape.

The eyes life after it and find the moon.

The moon is my mother. She is not sweet like Mary.

Her blue garments unloose small bats and owls.

How I would like to believe in tenderness -

The face of the effigy, gentled by candles,

Bending, on me in particular, its mild eyes.

I have fallen a long way. Clouds are flowering

Blue and mystical over the face of stars.

Inside the church, the saints will be all blue,

Floating on their delicate feet over the cold pews,

Their hands and faces stiff with holiness.

The moon sees nothing of this, She is bald and wild.

And the message of the yew tree is blackness - blackness and silence.

-Sylvia Plath

The Break of Day

Flying in the clean, crisp air, do you think they even notice?
Hundreds of feet above the commotion -
     the everyday talk of laity and clergy - 
Do they even notice what's going on below?

An old man steps onto a balcony, greeting a crowd
     larger than the country in which he lives.
Thousands pile in for a glimpse of the white haired man
     with hopes that their faith with be validated.

As they soar through the cloud dusting in the sky,
    do the countries' borders matter to them?
Do they stand out to others, or can they distinguish
   others from themselves?

What is it like to be a Vatican City pigeon?

St. Paul's Cathedral Dome

The view from the top
    is foggy and grey because
the buildings and buses
    are dusted with rain drops.
The view from the top
    goes on for miles because
this dome balcony
    is the tallest in the city.
The view from the top
    reveals city secrets because
nothing can hide
    from the eyes of God.


Building after building    it stretches for miles,
      concrete only interrupted
by one large snaking river.


The gridded city is home to millions of strangers
      who might as well be plastic figures
living on the grid of a young boy's lego board.

St. James's Park

Jetson

The ever present smirk that you wear on your face
is your own personal villain's trademark;
the glint in your eye and the curve of your mouth
precede each snide comment that falls off of your tongue.

Arms crossed at your chest, leaning back on your heel
ears open to the talk of America around you;
this facade is much too easy to see through
you are a predator ready to pounce.

Bright blue eyes and spiked blond hair decorate your face
you are the picture of a boy band wanna-be at its finest;
your pretentious leather jacket that hangs on your shoulders
matches your skeptical raised eyebrows in unparalleled style.

As you watch and wait for an opportunity
to criticize me in your sophisticated British accent,
I wonder if I can meet the villainous American
who so clearly a great effect on you?

Awe

Walking up the steps, I never expected to see what I saw, or feel what I felt. As I stepped out into the sunlight and lifted my eyes to the sky, I witnessed a miracle of man. When I saw Big Ben and the House of Parliament for that first time, I truly knew what it felt like to be in awe.

 My breath quickened and my heart pounded as I stared at the tremendous building in front of me. Each crevice caught the sun as the gold shone brightly in the clear sky. I couldn't believe my eyes. 'Woah' was the only word I managed to speak while I gazed at it unabashedly. I could stare at it for days, but alas, I only had a half an hour before my friends dragged me to the next wonder of London.

  

Shadow

     With my headphones in my ears and hands in my pockets, I walked along every path on campus, kicking stones and acorns along the way. How was I going to decide what to do if my parents couldn't even agree upon what I should do? Was I selfish for wanting the semester in London? How would I feel if something happened to my dad while I was gone?
     I wandered back to the middle of campus, where I had started my campus trek. Dim orange lights from the student center shined on the grey cement blocks that made up the ground I was standing on. The music playing in my ears was a steady hum as I watched my shadow change shape while I walked toward my dorm. I suddenly found myself in a movie moment again, this one more pleasant, as I realized I had made my decision.
     Watching my shadow bend and morph on the different blocks of cement during my walk, I realized that my shadow represented me in more ways than just being the outline of my body in the light. It changed sizes and shapes, depending on the angle of the light and the texture of the ground. No matter how dim the light was or how jagged the ground was, my shadow was always stretched out next to me. My shadow adapted to the circumstances and always remained at my side.
     At this moment in my life, I had an opportunity in front of me, and I was going to take it. Just as my shadow faced different situations that night on the cement, I was going to face different circumstances in my life that won't always be easy. No matter the light or the terrain, my shadow was always next to me, fighting to be seen. Walking back to my dorm, I knew that I had to follow the example of my shadow. Although I was in the midst of a very difficult decision, I knew that I had to go to London. I wasn't going to give up on my dream,
     Today, I am packing my two 30' suitcases for London, hoping that I made the right decision....

Movie Moment

Within minutes, I felt as though the air was draining from my lungs like a deflating balloon. I was walking on a patch of grass in the middle of a busy campus on a sunny beautiful day, but suddenly it wasn't so picture perfect anymore. It seemed as if the sky began to darken and the people around me faded into a blur. It was a scene straight out of a movie, and it was scary.
     I sat down in the middle of the grass, people walking all around me, with my jaw sinking increasingly closer to the ground, my eyes growing gradually wider in disbelief. "I have [insert life threatening disease here]," my dad told me. Immediately my eyes filled up with tears, like a dam ready to burst.
     Looking back, I still can't remember exactly what he told me after he told me about his disease. I remember the coarseness of the grass in my fingers as I gripped the ground tight with one hand. I remember the bright sun that lit up my world, even though it seemed to be crashing down.

Wise Tree

Standing tall in the center of the neighborhood
     it seemed that the oak had been there before the people.
The roots dig deep into the ground
     and stretch far underneath the road.
A few dozen branches grow for miles in every direction
     while thick green leaves hang on it like Christmas decorations.
Thousands of acorns cover the ground
     a resounding crunch echoes each step.
Eyes have formed out of the dark creviced wood
     as the bark tells a story of generations past.


The large oak towers over all; tree of knowledge in my front yard.

Country Club Wives

Thin, tan, manicured - 

     words which describe ever single one of them.

Their children screaming while they divulge in drama

     over frozen drinks, poolside.

Some wear tiny bikinis, other wear floppy hats,

     even others wear a child on their hip.

Each of them decorated with a massive rock

     that sends blinding light as it catches the sun.

Little ones nipping at their ankles

     as they go for round two at the bar.

They chirp at each other and at their children

     like a choir of birds singing high in the treetops.

Daily visits to the pool with their children

     is the only obligation that they have.

Thin, tan, manicured.

Yes, they are beautiful women, with handsome husbands

     and wonderful children.

The perfect carefree life, full of promises that were not kept,

     goals that were not finished, and dreams that were not chased.

College Anxiety

      There were few places that Kelly felt more comfortable at than her childhood wooden swing set. A few years back she and her friends had broken it when they piled six or seven girls on it at the same time, so tonight Kelly had no swing to swing on. Instead she sat on the patchy grass where the childhood monument used to be, iPod ear buds in, munching on stale Cheetos.
     Despite her efforts to calm herself, her mind raced. Two mornings from now she would be sitting in her first college class at a school she knew she was going to hate. She moved in a week ago for soccer camp and decided that she had chosen the wrong school within 20 minutes of arriving to move in.
     Kelly ripped her nails apart with her teeth one by one. She wasn't used to feeling this uncomfortable. She was used to her posse of high school friends blindly following her every move, and her parents giving her what she wanted just to appease her for the day. Now her friends were all at different schools and everyone except her seemed to be enjoying themselves. Meanwhile, her parents believed that she was simply throwing another tantrum to get attention.
     She hit the up button on her iPod a few times to down out the sound of the crickets chirping.

Two Cities

Walking down the streets, I couldn't help but notice the red, white and blue decorating nearly every corner. Every light colored building shines in the sun as men and women in suits walk in and out of large metal doors. How different it looks from my hometown, which is less busy and less bright, and much more hilly. My hometown is not full of politicians and congressmen, but its workers are the blue-collared kind. Each city has its own story and own heart; that city remembers the red, white and blue at all hours of the day, and mine holds the black and gold as a religion. Each is beautiful in its own way and while I bleed black and gold, I hope I can bask in the red, white and blue someday.

Keeping Secrets

Swinging higher and higher, time moves faster and faster.
A shiny beer can under the slide catches her eye in the morning sun,
little does she know in a few short years this playground will become her late night safe haven.
Now home to laughter, sunlight and youth, soon doubles as a getaway for deceit, sex, and alcohol.
Swinging higher and higher, time moves faster and faster.
Today, high speed merry-go-round spinning has caused her to get sick in the bushes.
Years from now, she'll empty her stomach in the same bushes because she had too much to drink.
The red see-saw will forever hold her virginity, and the monkey bars her sobriety.
Swinging higher and hgiher, time moves faster and faster.
Source of entertainment to girls and boys of all ages, the neighborhood playgound is the best secret keeper of all.

Airport

Everyday, thousands of people step through the metal security barrier that separates 'here' and 'there.' Where are they going? Why are they going? Who will they see?
Rushing down the hallway, luggage in hand, each person and family keeps to themselves. Employees, other travelers, and even unusual wall decor goes unnoticed.
Who have they missed the chance to meet because their faces were buried in itineraries and boarding passes, rather than being in the moment?

Jane Eyre

About a month ago, my sister introduced me to Jane. Ever since then, I've been obsessed with her. I read her at work everyday and she's taking me quite a while, but finally I'm almost done (she's a teacher in St. John Rivers' school right now) and my sister said the best part is coming up soon.
As an English major I feel as if I'm so behind on reading all the classic novels. I made a list of books I want to read ASAP.

Jane Eyre-Charlotte Bronte <3 <3
Emma-Jane Austen
Wuthering Heights-Emily Bronte
The Count of Monte Cristo-Alexandre Dumas
Animal Farm-George Orwell
Brave New World-Aldous Huxley
Frankenstein-Mary Shelley
Heart of Darkness-Joseph Conrad
The Invisible Man-HG Wells
Catch 22-Joseph Heller
A Tale of Two Cities-Charles Dickens
Notes from Underground-Fyodor Dostoyevsky

I started reading The Invisible Man last summer at work, but I left it there and couldn't find it the next time I went to work (who would take that book?) I also read a lot of Notes from Underground senior year in high school, but it was second semester and I don't remember any of it.
I definitely want to read more Charlotte Bronte and Virginia Woolf. Henry James? Not so much. I know it would be a good idea though.

Paula Creamer

No one ever notices my dimples,
...maybe that's because I have tons of them.
No one ever comments on how fast I go,
...maybe that's because I'm gone so quickly.
No one ever asks me for my name,
...maybe that's because it's written on me.
No one ever understands the pain I feel,
...maybe that's because I'm hit daily.
No one ever pays attention to what I want,
...maybe that's because her wants actually matter.

I'm yelled at, tossed around, and smacked repeatedly,
...but I don't have a choice.
After all, I'm just a Precept 4. The lady in pink
...is the one calling the shots.

Fire and Ice

Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if I had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.
.....-Robert Frost

Route Nineteen

A concrete garden sprouts on Route Nineteen

lush with weeds, moss, and plants,

fertilized with sewage waste,

and ripe with the smog of exhaust fumes.

A lonely sunflower grows in a concrete garden

on Route Nineteen, out of a sewer

full of unwanted plants

in a roadside garden.

A strip of sunlight shines on a lonely sunflower

as it struggles to survive

in a highway haven on Route Nineteen

against the odds of a polluted sky.
 

A looming cloud blocks a strip of sunlight

from feeding a flower

in attempts to water

a concrete garden on Route Nineteen.

The pavement on Route Nineteen provides

a special sort of environment 

which allows a sunflower to flourish

alongside the weeds in a sewer

on the side of the road.

Combination Lock

Wandering down this aisle
...of aged and dusty books
I wonder if the 'how to do this'
...and the 'rules for that'
are as outdated as
...the silver haired librarian.


In school we were always taught
....formulas, rules, and lessons
which were to lead us to success.

In school we were never taught
....lying, cheating, and stealing
might also lead to success.


In school we were always taught
....friends, relationships, and parents
would be there for you in the future.

In school we were never taught
....friends, relationships, and parents
would likely let you down in the future.


The teachers and the books
...prepared us for the simplest part
that we could have figured out ourselves;,
...and misguided us to believe
that the world out there was fair.


The would out there is not as simple
...as the combination lock on your old gym locker,
thirty four, twenty six, seventeen
...every single time.


No, the world out there guarantees
...that your lock played a dirty trick on you,
thirty for, twenty six, seventeen
...will never work a second time.

What to write about?

Recently I've felt like I don't have anything to write about. I keep trying to write about something at work, but I normally get interrupted and actually have to start doing something and lose my train of thought, or it just turns out like crap (and I mean worse than any of the crap I've posted on here).

Hopefully something will come to me soon. My 13 (14?) year old cousin is coming to visit tonight and staying until Saturday night. Maybe she'll provide some entertainment. It's sure to be a blast from the past of pre-high school drama.

Speaking of nothing related:
Healthy Foods - I need to eat more of these 

In other news, I really need to start working on my visa application. London is in a little over two months!

Catnap

.....One by one, the frown lines on her forehead and around her mouth smooth out until she looks completely peaceful. Sleep has overtaken her, whisked her away to a dream land in which stress and expectations do not pressure her. With her face flush against her pillow and her body wrapped in a fleece blanket, one has to wonder if she's laying on the beach, enjoying the sun in her dream.

.....The corner of her mouth twitches and suddenly she rolls over onto her back. Her hand blindly gropes for her phone under the blanket.

.....8:20 pm. She scrambles to find her history book, which fell on the floor as she dozed off in her bed. The frown lines creep back onto her small round face as she realizes her time left to study is rapidly decreasing.

.....The cover of her book seems to open itself as soon as she touches it, as if it were bursting with names, dates, and events that she needed to remember. Along with them were her old friends, stress and expectations, hovering quietly over her shoulders just in case her thoughts slipped away to a more pleasant place.

The Fall to Freedom

Each drop smacks my skin with a forceful plop,
and at first, I don't mind this fresh bath.
But as the rain picks up, forceful becomes painful
when the drops fall harder and faster on my bare skin.
I'm not alone, the others are too at the mercy of the rain,
but I think I am the only one that would rather not be here.


At times, the ground looks like freedom,
complete with bugs, grass, and dirt.
It's not right to wish to fall, I can't tell them
that I wait for the day when I'm on my own.
Here, we are a family, cared for by our trunk,
united by our branches, attached by our stems.


Here, we are fortunate; given food, water, security,
but I wonder what it's like to be on my own.
I want to blow freely in the wind, dancing
my way from limb to perch.
I want to meet the grass and the flowers,
and make friends with the earthworms.


I look forward to when it's my turn to fall;
to them, it's the end, but to me,
it's only the beginning.

Breaking

Remember the time when you gave it all of your might,

and it slipped through your fingers.

Remember the time when you gave it all of your heart,

and it tore you to pieces.

There was a time when you didn't let anyone in;

no one could hurt you from the outside.

There was a time when all you wanted was to be alone;

you had control that way.

Remember the time when your wall came crashing down,

because enough is enough.

Remember the time when you stopped trying

to keep people out.

Because when you have nothing else left to lose,

........0l.e..t..... g...o.....

"Fear of Happiness"

Looking back, it's something that I've always had:
As a kid, it was a glass-floored elevator
I cround at at the bottom of it, my eyes squinched tight,
Or staircase whose gaps I was afraid I'd slip through,
Though someone always said I'd be all right-
Just don't look down or See, it's not so bad
(The nothing rising underfoot). Then later
the high-dive at the pool, the tree-house perch,
Ferris wheels, balconies, cliffs, a penthouse view,
The merest thought of airplanes. You can call
It a fear of heights, a horror of the deep;
But it isn't the unfathomable fall
That makes me giddy, makes my stomach lurch,
It's that the ledge itself invents the leap.
.............................-A.E. Stallings

Poetry, March 2010

37th Floor

Elevator beeps, people step in.
Doors close, people wait.
Elevators go up, people are silent.
Doors open, people step out.


Papers are shuffled. People are working.
Blinds are closed. People are concentrating.
Computers are on. People are typing.
Doors are closed. People are talking.


Her foot taps. She stands up.
Her blinds are shut. She pulls them open.
The rain is falling. She stares out the window.
The streets are crowded. She waits for quiet.


The rooftops are empty. She is alone.
Eyes closed, she sighs. Finally, she's able to breathe.

Everyday

On her hands and knees she works, all day, to fix
.....the pipes under the sink, so that the spigot will stop leaking.
All night the water drips, plink plink plink, in the sink,
.....like pennies being thrown into a wishing pond.
Her list of chores grows with each plink, another night
.....of work overflowing past her control.

"Helena!" her mother yells. She gives her orders in Ukranian, a language
....unfamiliar to Lana, yet she rises from her burrow under the sink.
Her mother wants something, she always wants something, Lana
....guesses that a cold pop from the icebox will silence her for now.
She returns to her burrow to find her baby brothers splashing around
....and making a mess; two puppies that have never seen water before.

Plink plink plink. Water drips from the leaky spigot
....on and on throughout the night.
Lana lies awake, staring at the paint flakes that decorate
....the ceiling. A strip of sunlight shines across the floor.

She sighs, ... and gets out of her makeshift bed. .. It starts all over again.

Eight Inches of Rain and Counting...

And it rained; it poured. She stood, waiting
.....for him to turn around. She didn't want him to leave.
All that she wanted was for him to be in her life,
.....it wasn't too much to ask.
And it rained; it poured. She stood, wondering
.....what she had done wrong to make him go.
She wanted a mother and a father. She dreamt
.....of the days when the table was set for three.
And it rained; it poured. She stood, knowing
.....that it was over. She would not let him hurt her again.
This would be the last time. She wouldn't
.....wait for him anymore, or wish for his love.
And it raind; it poured. She stood, watching
.....the profile of her father shrink into the distance.