Day: February 18, 2013

Through the Wall

backinphilly1 Comment

I recently wrote a poem for OVS‘s love poetry competition. While I didn’t win, I was pretty proud of what I wrote. I realize that this is more of a short story than a poem but I spoke from the heart. Whenever people read something, they always question who or what it’s about. This is simply a story about forbidden love. Read and interpret for yourselves.

She was the one he could never quite reach.

There was always some barrier keeping them apart.

He didn’t understand why.

The wall was solid.

He knew she was on the other side.

It was all that was ever on his mind.

How everyday, he’d try.

Just to be next to her.

And he’d try

And try.

And try.

You would think that constant failure would render him helpless.

But his love for her wouldn’t let him stop.

Then one day, one lone hole emerged in the wall.

He could see the light.

She was beautiful.

He had never seen anything like her.

He needed to be with her.

He was in love.

And there was no way out.

As one wall was falling

a new wall was forming

He realized that as his desire for her burned inside,

he was trapped.

He was never getting away from his love.

Her radiance shown as if she truly was an angel.

Infatuation, obsession, affection,

He felt helpless without her.

As he fell harder and harder, the wall began to crumble away.

The wall sheltering him from escape was now impassable.

He could see her face.

And she looked on him with bright eyes

The two never looking away

She smiled at him

And he smiled back

He saw his chance, and tried to reduce the rest of the wall to rubble.

Taking any opportunity to make her realize

He loved her

Piece by piece

Brick by brick

He pushed through

And he held her

And she him

They were finally together

After so much determination

His efforts to make her realize

How he really felt

And she was beautiful

He was not blinded by his addiction

She was flawless in nature

Her entire being was bright

Her eyes, stars that envied the night sky

Her smile, the only thing that made him happy

Her voice, sweeter and softer than the sounds of the most glorious choirs

Her heart, only for him

Her touch, made him hope that she’d never take her hand away

She refused to accept it at first

But somehow

He knew that she did

And somehow

She knew that she loved him.

The wall between them had fallen.

And a new wall surrounded them.

But they were together

And that’s all he ever wanted.

Happy 50th Birthday MJ. A Jordan 1 Retrospective.

displacedlocal1 Comment

The black and red Jordan 1. What can I say. The start of a huge following. A legend.

The Air Jordan experiment. Nike gave a rookie a shoe deal and started the Jordan bad boy persona.

Michael Jordan was fined $5000 every game he wore these, and nike happily paid the fine. Banned. It made waves across the country. People wanted to be like Mike.

An original pair of the jordan 1 in this color goes for thousands.
This weekend the Royal Jordan 1 released again.

A classic in its own right this take on the classic black and red color blocking. I among many love this colorway just as much. Happy birthday MJ. You truly are the best of all time.

Cold Case

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Is it yes or no?

It can’t be both yet it is

But it isn’t.

Confusing at best

What else is there to think

Or do I not think?

Am I expected not to think,

not to investigate every little parcel.

Sooner or later the case will go cold,

hopefully to be brought out of a box in a couple of years

Unless someone gets to it first.

A high possibility based on the past, but I will sit at my desk waiting for that call.

The call to bring it out and open the box to finally get to look through the files,

Finally solve the case that has been laying stagnant for years.

Little leads here and there that lead to another dead end or wasted efforts that just lead to hurting my good name.

The ice will melt from this case by the fire that has been ignited from the search.

Hopefully it will move from unsolved to forever closed, but for now I sit at my desk.

Valentine’s Day-Damn Love!!!!

backinphillyLeave a comment

Well this was one roller coaster of a week. I had a bunch of stuff planned and then was forced to scramble it together at the last minute as usual. I don’t know how everything snowballed into nothingness. I screwed up, that much is for sure.

First things first. You gotta take care of the flowers. I had a huge bouquet planned. Then I realized the real prices of flowers. So I did some digging, made some calls, and had a big arrangement planned.

And then everything collapsed. Valentine’s Day Eve, I had to make another reach out to my friends and they were awesome enough to help me out and grab some flowers on their way to school that day.

Then, one of my teachers, who doubles as my girlfriend’s teacher, allowed me to surprise my girlfriend during their class that morning. I showed up with a dozen roses and a balloon saying happy valentine’s day.

I gave them to her and she couldn’t have been happier. The past couple days since then have been far from perfect, but hopefully, the dust will settle soon.

Valentine’s Day, I hate you and your shipping complications.

A Journey Through the Woods.

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I grabbed my machete and sprinted into the woods. I had no time left. My camp had been overrun by those… things. It was no use staying and fighting at this point we had already lost. I had a compass, machete, the clothes on my back, and the wilderness at my disposal.

It was time to run. I needed to work my way into the valley near camp. The terrain was marshy and wet after the rain. My boots sunk deeper into the ground after every step.

The monsters dwelled in the shadows and never tired, but they operated and navigated by smell so in the rain it was hard for them to find me.

A flash of movement appeared to my left and I struck with my machete. It left a splash of silvery blood on my blade. Where had these things come from and why did they want us. Their regenerative abilities make them the perfect hunter.

We weren’t prepared. If there is an apocalypse this is it.

I don’t know what we did wrong. I am the last one left and I am stuck in a cave in the middle of nowhere running from the unknown, sharpening my machete.

Werner Herzog

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One of my favorite filmmakers, Werner Herzog, has somehow evaded my blog for quite some time.

Herzog is famous for two things: writing, directing and producing some of the best movies ever, and being absolutely insane. My favorite movie, Fitzcarraldo is a perfect example of both of those things.

Herzog decided he was going to make a movie about Carlos Fitzcarrald, the Irish-Peruvian rubber baron in the 1800s. Well, one of the main points of the plot is when Fitzcarraldo forces his crew to lug their steamboat over a mountain. That’s silly though because that would never happen and its obviously just special effects. Right?

Wrong.

In this monumental scene, Herzog basically gave special effects the finger and paid a bunch of Peruvian locals to actually pull a 350 pound steamboat over a mountain. Yes, he actually did that. That’s why it looks so real. Because Werner Herzog is absolutely insane.

Speaking of Herzog being painfully sincere, lets talk about shoes. Herzog was, at one point, a kind of mentor to the then aspiring documentarian Errol Morris. To motivate Morris to finish a film about pet cemeteries, Herzog bet Morris that if he ever did finish his film, he would eat his own shoe. Well, it was finished. And this was the result.

Finally, let’s not forget that time he was shot. Which time you ask? Oh right, he’s been shot multiple times (apparently for being to awesome for anyone to handle). Well, lets talk about the time he was shot during an interview and, much like Teddy Roosevelt, kept. God. Damn. Talking.

Herzog manages to justify rather well why he is the way he is. He says that to make a film of true importance, one must have experienced some pretty…out there things. He explains it all on his website for his film school.

A Forsaken Hero

frog3Leave a comment

hj

The man who killed the evil man.

What was his fate?

There was no heroic applause.

There was no fanfare of any kind.

The man who did the great deed,

he was sick and tired of it all.

Years away had caused the man emotional pain.

His wife did not love him.

His children did not know him.

He left the honorable trade.

However the entity that supported him no longer did.

His health and that of his kin is left to chance.

Stuck with no options or hope.

Because he served an uncaring nation.

Love is a poem.

eternity10301 Comment

I am so glad that I won the first place at the Love Poetry Contest this year, with my favorite work called “Retainment” which was also my first post on this blog.

People talk about love all the time, however, nobody could tell what love really is. I think love is a piece of poem – not too long, but really profound. I love writing poems because every word talks and contains it’s own feeling.

Love is a poem – the memory you can remember forever after you read it and understand it. And i have to say, it is not easy.

Everyone is talking about love in their own definitions. Throughout history, poets write about love, singers sing love, musicians play love. But no one can explain love.

During my English class last Friday, Ms. Wilson introduced to us her favorite love poem, and i think this poem just portrays love perfectly:

A Deep-Sworn Vow
By William Butler Yeats
 
Others because you did not keep
That deep-sworn vow have been friends of mine;
Yet always when I look death in the face,
When I clamber to the heights of sleep,
Or when I grow excited with wine,
Suddenly I meet your face.

Yes, love is when you look into someone’s eyes, you see everything you need.
Happy Valentine’s Day!

Let’s enjoy love, the most beautiful poem of life.

The Perils of Innovation

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r4g44g

Innovators often suffer for their ideals.

Not grounded in reality dreamers always dream.

An ideal that can change the world and the faith of its residents.

The age of gasoline will end.

Men such as Musk will lead the way.

Media and politics conspire against him.

A shady review is circulated.

His lighting vehicle, once a savior is now vilified.

The media in this instance is false.

His lighting vehicle is a miracle but personal vendetta got in the way.

Reports laced with malice were found false.

Who is to blame?

The media, politics, or the man.

The blame rests on are culture and the industries that allow it to thrive.

Mary Oliver, a poet of nature.

eternity1030Leave a comment

My favorite poet is Mary Oliver. She is the kind of the writer that perfectly combines the words by feelings. Her words can talk.

She picks up a bunch of aromatic flowers and smiles; she steps into the deep mysterious forest and listens; she smells the spiritual magic of nature and gets infatuated. She, Mary Oliver, the daughter of the earth, extracts every piece of the nature to build a poetic world filled with her particular experiences and feelings. Born in a small town with rural environment in Ohio in 1935, Mary Oliver spent her earliest days surrounding farms and fields and the deep woodlands attracted her. That became the moment when she realized the congenial places that lurked within her heart – nature.

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