The Ring by Eugene Shin

Skinny boy with a pair of old broken shoes gets in the ring.
There is a huge amount of pressure in the stadium.
The champion is taller than the boy.
He has a longer reach than the boy has.
The boy’s coach motivates and pumps him up.
But, he can’t focus on what the coach’s saying.
The champion doesn’t even look at the boy.
No one in the stadium yells his name.
The fight begins, but, no one expects the boy to win.
The champion doesn’t move but only throws the jab.
The boy gets punched for the whole first round.
He is exhausted but doesn’t give up yet.
The opponent looks fine and just jokes around.

Second round begins, and the champion gets more aggressive.
The champion tries to make a fancy move
and waits to make a brutal K.O.
The boy gets too many punches,
but it seems he’s waiting for something.
His stamina has almost reached its limit.
His front tooth wobbles.
He is just about to throw up because of blood stinginess on his mouse.
But the fire on his eye is more flaming than before.
The audiences are frantic with joy.
The audience in the stand couldn’t hold his excitement and throws the bottle to the ring.
The boy got punched too many times
and he finally dropped his guard down.
The champion makes the biggest right hook.
But the boy was not done yet.
He dodges to the left.
And gives a short but thick hook.
He Knocks the champion out
and then a sudden awkward silence.
The blood from boy’s eye rim soaks his old grimy shoes.
Counting to ten,
but still the silence.
The referee brings the boy’s fist to the air.
The spectators finally shout his name into the air.

I Shake by Damian Dryjas

I sit at the top of the course,
Doing all my stretches,
Adjusting my goggles,
My routine before a comp run
To calm me down
They call my bib number,
“Skier 199, you’re on deck to drop”
As soon as he says that,
The shaking initiates,
I don’t know what this shaking is,
is it excitement? Is it nerves?
Stay tuned and you will find out
I get my music going,
This isolates me from everything
This makes me focus
But still, I shake
I shake because I’m excited
I shake because I’m anxious to go
I shake because I’m nervous
But, I am excited
I go through my run multiple times in my head
“Bib 199, you’re next to drop”
The shaking stops,
My body knows its time to do what I came here to do
My coach gives me the pat on my back and the knuckle shake
“Have fun with it”
“Bib 199, on course”
My team mates cheer as I drop into the course

Stand Up For The Country by Dawson Tang

Chung Hsuan Tang is what people call me back home
Dawson Tang is the name at Gould
Call me D-Tang if you could.
I was born with a mind of democracy
people are given the freedom of rights and the joy of life.

My neighbor Porcelain loves to wear red
He is bigger than me, taller than me
He lives across the road from where I am.
In an old house, an old community that is undeveloped.
Tons of people living there, like the nest of ants.
Their minds are closed
they have not seen the world.
All they want is to expand more.

They get richer as time went on,
Porcelain remains his wide and height
Yet, people in the community is still cover with old minds.
The idea of communists is spread everywhere in the community.
No freedom of rights
Porcelain is the future lights.

He comes to me with his red cloth
“Would you like to move in with us”
I hesitated, yet I have a answer already.
No is what showed up in my mind.
He pushed me more
It felt like standing on a cliff
The only way is to fight back

Yes, I fight back
Not just for myself, but for my home
This is me, this is Dawson
I stand up strong and remain strong.
No one can take my home away
Not even the big neighbor across the road.

As I Lie Here by Kristian Nammack

As I lie here in the field with my tortoise framed Ray-Bans blocking the reality of life.
The easy fall wind dancing through my hair tells me
Is nothing so perfect as this moment.

Pure awe as I stare into the underwater abyss
This is the unknown
this is your life and it’s ending every second of every day which swiftly passes.
A black splurge of mystery.
This sweet beauty will not last.
Nothing ever does.

As I lie here in the frigid winter snow the harsh air tells me
Are you just cracked, or shattered bits of glass?
Trying to keep my face together like a puzzle missing pieces.
Falling, piece by piece, sagging day by day.
I am the shattering the decrepit and decayed.
Useless rusty fragments of a former self.
I try desperately to cling on to whatever piece of spontaneous persona I have left.

As I lie here,
dreaming of the day I charge into that blazing sunset
and take on this world completely alone.
No longer locked in a wooden chest, no longer slipping on complex stairs to nowhere.
I know where I am and I’ve rightfully earned my place.
Plant my left foot down, then rear the right around.
One after another.
Step by step.
This long journey begins with one.
Bittersweet tears shower down my rosy cheeks.
Well you did it, you got everything you wanted, now what?

As I lie here in my bed I tell myself
It’s alway darkest before the dawn.
That melancholy feeling rips deep through my face this time.
Guilt holes shred to make caverns of open dialogue with my conscious.
Self-Reproach, self-condemnation, ashamed.
A contrite look and anxiety stricken yelp whenever there near.
The irredeemable deal you make with a mistake so bad.
A lottery lost, the gamble I made finally stopped paying off.

As I lie here in the sand looking through my tortoise framed Ray-Bans
at the Miami sky I am truly happy.
Sunny air on skin, ocean breeze blows away all sorrow.
Dry tears from a numb heart.
We all warm up eventually.
Everything burns.
There is woe and dejection.
Pleasure and Euphoria
The crash and burn and the ultimate up-liftment.
This life the next life and all those billions of memories in between.

As I lie here awaiting impact.
The only thoughts I have are for the exceptional memories I had on this planet.
With them, with myself, and most importantly with her.
I suppose one can only hope someone will miss me when I haven’t a trace left.
I can see for miles and miles and miles now.
Down the road to nowhere.
The road now whispers,

Where shall we go next?
A hand with five fingers made up of millions of connections.
This is it, and it’s ending slowly every day so make the most out of it.
For the time being I can see just a few inches in front of me.
However, I will always be surrounded by the thick fog.

An excellent nature essay by Marguerite Wiser

The tangy smell of tomato plants drifts on the warm breeze. I bury my toes in cool dark earth as I watch honey bees move from one blossom to the next, humming to themselves as they work. It is here I find myself, a sliver of solitude in this small corner of the world so teeming with life. Thin green stems curve and stoop under the weight of their burden. As my nose fills with their earthy scents, I relax. Here, time is nothing more than light and dark, the movement of the sun, and the sway of the trees. My head clears, my thoughts become my own. My wilderness is here. Not in the garden’s seemingly endless rows or in the cloudless skies, or even in the earth itself, rather in me. I find myself more connected here than any other time or place before. I am as a part of this eternal motion as the ripe red fruits that sway in the warm air. This place is wild, free, and utterly connected to everything that is, ever was, and will ever be. It seems strange to me now, to think that everything was once as wild as this little corner of earth. When I think of it, wild the earth still remains buried beneath and lying dormant under a blanket of asphalt and buildings. I may be alone in the garden, but I carry with me the ideas, experiences, and memories of all that I have encountered. Inhaling the sweet scent of tomato plants allows me to forget the stench of smog. The dark soil on my toes allows me to forget the feel of hot asphalt. Listening to the buzz of the honey bees and the chirping of the birds allows me to forget the clamor of the cars. This moment in the garden allows me to forget moments before and endure moments afterwards, moments when the blue of the sky is insulted by the criss-cross of telephone wires and when the sway of the trees is replaced with the stillness of steel buildings. When I find myself surrounded by walls, I remember this moment in the garden, and a feeling of calm sweeps over me, just as the wind brushes the leaves of the tomato plants.

Sunday

The wonderful Tutu has wonderfully contributed this wonderful piece of writing for the blog! Respond with your own writing!

Sunday

Sunday 9:57 am, the sun was shining high and the birds were chirping, but I would rather hear sharp nails on the chalkboard or exaggerated crying, filthy diapered babies pulling my hair, because next to waking up Sunday mornings, the small brown feathered critters were my least favorite. Sunday morning, I would rather jump off a cliff.

10:03 am, gravity pulls me down to my knees as if I am to plead for forgiveness. So I sacrifice the brunette strands off my head and beg, “never again.” If I did not then I would probably be forced to green linoleum tiles of the kitchen floor. I will have no choice but to lay there for awhile.

10:10 am, all natural organisms like water tasted like metallic shavings and rust formed into cleared pristine liquid. Ice cream took forever to reach the buds of my tongue without spilling or sticking to my inner thighs. Before I could even get the spoonful of vanilla to my lower lip, I was stumbling and bent over the toilet bowl again. 

10:19 am, I am napping next to some blackish green fungus growing on the side of the toilet seat.

10:33 am, saliva trails down my cheek, my hair remains a lion’s mane and the red lipstick still stains my dress, but nothing bothers me as much as John’s number on my left hand. Smooth acid jazz vibes, lifts the spirits of the lounge including the black haired man with the ‘no ring,’ profile. As soon as I drop my eyes to the floor, he slowly swags through the crowd and makes his way towards me. Just to say, “Hi, I’m John.” What was I thinking? Gagging in my mouth, I would scrub the numbers with soap over and over again, for what seemed like hours, but the ink just would not erase. Permanent imprints from last night to leave me with more regrets. 

From the sink, I finally notice the repugnant smell from my roommate’s bedroom. I could not help but think, “Thank God, Carol went home this weekend.” Trudging from the bathroom to Carol’s door, the stench becomes more distinct and so familiar to my body that my stomach churns and regurgitates the rest of the memories of last night-- it could not be any worst than the damage that has been done to Carol’s white panda sheets.

10:45 am, that one vein above my right temple, pulses all red bloody aggravation I am feeling towards this dreadful day. I make a 360 degree turn around my small abode, notice all the chores I am left with from Saturday nights to early Sunday mornings. Every Sunday equals hell. Sunday is my horrific reminder of Mondays, sitting in comparative politics, nodding yes to everything going on. Sunday is yet another holy day to evoke all my sins. 

11:59 pm I feel disgusting.

Happy Thanksgiving

Hey all in the blogosphere!

Happy post exam week relief, Happy pre Thanksgiving gobble, Happy who-cares-about-grades- because-they're-not-out-yet -- just HAPPY!

This is something I've been wanting to do for a while now... A building story!! (that is, a story that builds, not a story about buildings) Here's what's going to happen: I'll start a story, just a paragraph or so to set the scene, then all of you can add on. You can add a sentence, a paragraph, a page, you can make it funny, tragic, fantastical, do whatever you want with it so long as you just respond, just write. Okay, here we go...

It was a Tuesday and the snowflakes had begun to fall. They whirled down in airy spirals as if the gods were having a sleepover party and in their girlish squeals opted for a pillow fight that broke the clouds open. Gethsemane stared out the window, hand on chin, chin in hand. It was not a good Tuesday. Yes, the snowflakes were falling, and yes, the land of Dulog was best in winter, but today was not a good Tuesday.