November 22, 2009
New Moon Review
Well this weekend I saw New Moon, the second installment in Stephanie Meyer’s Twilight Saga. (Like I even have to explain what it is, I am pretty sure everyone on the face of the earth knows about Twilight by now.) I have to say that overall I would give the movie 4 out of 5 stars. It was fairly good.
I really appreciated the change in director. Chris Weitz did a wonderful job. The scenes were much more artistic than Hardwicke’s Twilight. I also liked the gold hue to the movie better than Twilight’s blue hue. Makeup and costume also improved greatly in this movie compared to Twilight.
While I enjoyed the idea of Bella actually seeing Edward when she was acting recklessly in the movie, compared to only hearing Edward in the book, I could have done without the emails to Alice. I felt like it was way too much speaking. I would have liked to see a more of Bella and Jacob’s relationship. It is important for the audience to understand just how depressed Bella was in Edward’s absence, but I think the complexity of the connection that she and Jacob share is very important at this stage. A few lines of dialogue from her human friends at school could have replaced the emails to Alice very easily and clued us in on Bella’s depression.
I wanted more of the wolf boys. And I don’t just mean seeing them shirtless (although that would definitely be a plus), I mean more of their dynamic and chasing Victoria.
I definitely loved it, but I will always prefer the book to the movie!
Research Poem
His Addiction
“The sky was gold. It was rose. I was
taking sips of it through my nose.”
“Semi-Charmed Life” -Third Eye Blind
A carefree junkie. Always holding.
Wild and spontaneous. Spun into control.
Filling the space. An intense stimulant.
Crystal Meth needs. Dreams fulfilled.
From friends to between the sheets.
Losing room keys in the sand.
Sex in the fitting room, crazy.
Adrenaline relationship.
Late night phone calls and last minute
decisions. Trips to North Carolina.
I-95 at midnight. Dipping dollars in the bag,
coating their rims with white gold.
Takes the hit he was given.
And he bumped up.
A huge rush. Euphoria. Endless dreams.
Never-beginning sleep. Hallucinations.
Blending clouds of colors. Pink and blue
make purple. Obsessively horny.
Sudden slip into paranoia. Giggle attacks
and tickle matches. Avoiding invisible cops.
Pretending it’s just a game. Hiding
from his girlfriend. Falling asleep in closets.
Gliding on a high. Heavenly addiction.
Closer to a wonderful disease.
Outstanding physical condition.
Only 25 a day for half a gram.
Hydro or glass?
Laundry detergent and lighter fluid.
Precise explosive mixture resulting
in green poodles and weight loss.
Methamphetamine induced feelings
lift him up until he breaks.
Exhilarating decline onto the other side.
Snort. Smoke. Inject. Swallow.
Another hit.
He bumps up.
A flip, then a cascade away from
himself. He says he’s in love
and wants to be a better man. Stories
of rehab redeeming success clouds
his mind and pushes him into a sober
statue with winter white walls.
He forgets wild mood swings.
Tina, Krank, Tweak, and Ice
disappear from his once unpredictable
life. A good job and clean haircut
takes center stage, and new act begins.
His potential blooms,
and my heart sinks.
3 Drunken Haiku
1.
Your glass tips over.
Malibu floods the carpet
forming yellow stains.
2.
Pyramid of cans
stand tall intoxicating
well into the night.
3.
Southern comfort stains
the carpet, engraving last
night into memories.
Empty House
South Carolina strangles the past
for the both of us. Years spent
in this house have faded
into one another. Forgetting
the fun which once made its home
inside these walls. You ask me
where I want to live
and I say San Diego.
That’s far enough away,
don’t you think?
Just a smile and a nod
that’s all I’ll get.
You pack making sure
we have everything
on your list. I find myself
left out of this whole process.
I toss an old copy of David Copperfield
into my only box, marked ‘stuff.’
You pace the floors and talk
in sentences that never
seem to end. How can you talk
so much and listen so little?
I watch you go down your list
one last time. I don’t really care
anymore. Only one thing matters.
His ring that I took from the desk
the morning after we went out.
It’s silver and the stones
have long escaped the band
leaving only empty
spaces. You’ll never understand
why I jump in. He and I did things alike.
I turn the bottle of Jack up.
Perhaps he can comfort me.
You don’t seem to notice or even
ask why. Silence questions more.
Tomorrow we’ll leave. Tonight
we’ll sleep back to back
in this empty house. I’ll reach up
to turn the light off and hope
I dream of not waking up with you
or him, just of not waking up at all.
Pantoum
Greenday Pantoum
Born and raised by hypocrites,
Our hearts recycled but never saved.
Sometimes I wish someone out there will find me,
check my vital signs to know I’m still alive.
Our hearts recycled but never saved,
Like a needle in the vein of the establishment.
Check my vital signs to know I’m still alive,
a product of war and fear that we’ve been victimized.
Like a needle in the vein of establishment,
a vigilante, missing link on the brink of destruction,
a product of war and fear that we’ve been victimized,
she’s holding on my heart like a hand grenade.
A vigilante, missing link on the brink of destruction
to fall in love and fall in debt,
she’s holding to my heart like a hand grenade,
coming down like an Armageddon flame.
Fall in love and fall in debt
to keep me insane and doing someone else’s cocaine,
coming down like an Armageddon flame.
Bombs away is your punishment.
Keep me insane and doing someone else’s cocaine
to a hymn called faith and misery.
Bombs away is your punishment.
I read the graffiti in the bathroom stall
to a hymn called faith and misery
on a steady diet of soda pop and Ritalin.
I read graffiti in the bathroom stall.
She said “I can’t take this place, I’m leaving it behind,”
on a steady diet of soda pop and Ritalin.
Summer has come and past. The innocent can never last.
She said “I can’t take this place, I’m leaving it behind.”
She said “I can’t take this town, I’m leaving you tonight.”
This poem is composed entirely of lyrics from “Letterbomb,” “Wake Me Up When September Ends,” “Boulevard of Broken Dreams,” “St. Jimmy,” “She’s a Rebel,” “Jesus of Suburbia,” and “Holiday,” which are all songs from the album “American Idiot” by Green Day.
Ghazal
Cigarette Ghazal
Brad Land compares it to a bottle rocket in his memoir
as it crashes Into the black pavement, his lit cigarette.
Marlboro Reds taste like harsh and stiff as the smoke burns
the cowboy’s eye while the ashes fall from the tip of the cigarette.
Blue lights appear in the rear view mirror, the car pulls
off the road. He writes a ticket for releasing the cigarette.
French tip nails look glossy as they form a V around the filter
directing it to lips that crave the nicotine of a cigarette.
Beth, are you smoking in the girl’s room? I watch as it cyclones
down into the sewer, remorseful of my drowning cigarette.
Sestina
Anticipating Ink
Leather lines of black
piping outline the truck’s
insides as I hurry down
to Augusta. It’s a secret
that my fear builds
with every mile that I drive
towards Georgia. Driving
the interstate, black
asphalt and rock build
distance between the truck
and home. I hope secretly
that the studio will be shut down.
After I have finally made it down
to Augusta, the artist will drive
the needle hard, enjoying it secretly.
He’ll drill a line, blacker
than the pupils of a drunk trucker’s
eyes where sleep has been building
in for days. The building’s
door is open. I sit down
in the chair and the artist trucks
through the sterilization, driving
needles into place, filling them with black
ink, which seems to know all the secrets
of his trade. We whisper secretly
about what he’s about to build
inside my skin with black
liquid bricks, riveting them down
harshly, heavy handed, as if driving
nails into the panel of a truck’s
door, without disturbing the trucker’s
sleep. It won’t hurt, but that’s a secret
he saves until he’s well into the driving.
He says he likes to watch as the fear builds
inside his clients as he bears down,
his gun loaded with bullets of black.
Back in the truck, I bear down
on the black wheel, my secret scar
building on my hip as I drive.
Monday Mourning
Sunlight breaks through white blinds
bouncing from wall to wall
warming the aquamarine sheets
illuminating the stubble on your face.
Your arm wraps around my waist
releasing your fingers into the cold
steel curves of my belly ring
as it circles the concave dimple.
The alarm beckons from across
the room forcing rock music
to echo off the stark walls.
You’ll be up, shaving soon.
Icey linoleum floors will rush
me into the shower anticipating
hot streams from my shower head
cleansing all reminders of you from my skin.
My roommate’s coffee poisons
the air. I watch as you acknowledge
the deadly morning smell. Already
I can feel the empty space beside me.
Long Poem Exercise: Seven Days
Seven Days
Monday
His wingtips thunder, sounding off, crashing
onto the cement floor. He takes his place
on the opposite side of the mall entrance,
crouching down while lighting his cigarette.
Dark glasses mask his eyes, keeping
their color hidden, a locked secret.
She stares at him through the corner
of her lined eyes and fake eyelashes,
taking in every detail of his face:
thick caterpillar-like eyebrows, Oakleys
resting on the bridge of his straight nose,
the pout of the bottom lip.
Ashes fall from her cigarette
as she flicks it away from her.
His burns to the filter.
Tuesday
He watches her like a jaguar stalking his prey
perched in a tree undetected, waiting
for the right moment to begin his descent.
She dances around the mall through the stores
like an antelope on the Serengeti, thinking of,
anticipating the day he takes that leap.
Wednesday
Impatience grows
under her skin.
She grows tired
waiting on him.
She is tired
of walking by
pretending not
to look at him.
Thursday
Anxiety creeps up on him,
tagging along like his shadow.
Fear sweats out through his palms
Would you like to have dinner with me?
changes, twists into Do you have a lighter?
She smiles a little. Your cigarette is already lit.
It hangs from his mouth, the way some people
hang toothpicks between their lips rolling
them around with their tongue. His hand
reaches for his mouth. realizing she’s right.
Oh thanks. She smiles again and waits
for a moment. He turns and is gone.
Friday
He is off today,
no customers to satisfy.
She has no one to stare at.
Her world is a little bit smaller
without him there for her
imagination to concoct
images of a great romantic epic
about the two of them together.
The phone is cold.
Her breath warms the receiver.
He doesn’t answer.
She leaves a voice mail.
Meet me tonight for drinks.
Ruby’s on 52. I’m buying.
Saturday
She doesn’t want to see him
or hear his excuse for not returning
her call, for standing her up.
She stands on the brown and beige
linoleum lease line. His eyes
are finally unmasked. Blue.
He stammers a little.
His hands intertwining
with each other nervously.
I’m sorry.
I would like to make it up to you.
She can’t say no.
Comedy night breaks the tension
as they laugh at the overweight woman
making fun of Burger King.
She leans in closer to him. He downs
his red-headed slut quickly. Her laugh
warms him. Her drink warms her.
Sunday
Maybe he will call.
She has laundry to do.
The doorbell echoes through the house.
He is there on the other side,
a blockbuster bag in one hand
popcorn in the other.
He doesn’t say much. She
doesn’t either. They don’t have to.
My Attempt at a Sonnet
Traveling Away From You
It’s morning now, and my sky is falling
into shards that look like broken pieces
of a picture frame, which is still hoping
to hold memories of smiling faces.
Letting you go, forgetting all our stresses
seems too hard, and I’m afraid it’s too late.
The key turns, my foot bears down and presses
the gas. The road twists away from our gate.
All this is hard to drive away from. Eight
years of having you by my side is gone.
You’ve already forgotten our first date.
All your lies have left me nowhere but alone.
The interstate rushes to me, taking
me away, with no regrets for leaving.
