Happy Birthday Mom!

Today is your day
And no one is more deserving
Of sunshine, a bike ride,
And chocolate dessert (double serving).

And may you live a hundred years
And around the world you reach
Because the world would be a better place
If they follow what you teach.

You never get into a car
But travel by bike instead
You save the air from CO2
And your body’s built of lead.

Your canvas bags, your compost bin,
You’re an environmental savior
And from the garden you tender and care
We reap food with unparalleled flavor.

On top of that you clean and cook
And all that ‘round-the-house stuff
Without complaint you put us first
I cannot thank you enough.

You are the best listener I have ever met
When I reach out for help, you are there
You consider all sides, you give sound advice
You empathize, you care.

You are the best mom a girl could ask for
So with that I’d like to say
I love you mom dearly
And Happy 57th Birthday!

My Selfish Poem

Lex, I hope this poem doesn't make you feel guilty. That is not its intention. I wrote it the day you flew back to Germany. Not only did you leaving mean one less body in the house but it also meant the holidays were over and I was left to figure out what to do with my life as an unemployed-living-at-home-college-graduate. A big transition all around. I titled it My Selfish Poem because in it I talk about wanting you to come home. But I hope you will take it more as an I-miss-you poem. Of course I would love to see you more, but I also support you carving your own path, exploring, and finding happiness wherever that may be.

So here it is:

My Selfish Poem

Dear Sis,

Don’t fall in love and leave me here behind
In the place you once called home
Because it is lonely here without you
And without you not really home.

Without you there’s an empty room
That is far too neat and bare with gloom
Without you there’s no kitchen muse
To whip up vegetable menus
Without you my paints run dry
My shading looks flat to the eye
Without you no needles click
As the family gathers to watch Netfilx
Without you there’s no silly exercise
Lunging around Sonia, getting sore thighs
Without you tennis matches are less fun
Fewer crossword puzzles get done

This is my selfish poem
Because I am not blind to see
How the life you’ve built across the globe
Makes you so happy

And I know we grow old and we have to move on
All birds must fly from their nest
And they migrate down south and start a new life
Returning home only for a short rest
But selfish me wants you to come back
To the place you once called home
Because it is lonely here without you
And without you not really home.

Running

I wrote this poem a few years ago when I first started running and training for the SF Half Marathon in 2008. But running is still a big part of my life, and I still like the poem a lot. The rhyme scheme is inspired off of the verse to a song called Soo Tall by a local artist named Zion I. (The pictures are also from 2008)

Distance Running

Gotta get up, gotta go run
Run so hard that your toes go numb
Numb so bad cuz you run so far
Feet keep pounding on that tar

Tar extends far as eye can see
See eye can your destiny
Destiny though the course may stray
Take one fork, go the other way

Way gets rough but down can’t lay
Lay down, give up, is a no
Must keep running, run and grow
That grow turning amateurs pro
Pro kids can keep running like me
Proud of who you came to be
See your world let your soul fly free
And escape the Earth’s gravity.

Tap Dancing

So I also have started going back to my Tap Dancing class at Dance/10, and I LOVE IT. Even though I have not tapped in about four years (or more), my feet still remember nearly all the steps. Its amazing. I can't think too hard about what I'm doing, nor can I leave my mind blank. But if I pay just the slightest attention, I'm tapping like Gene Kelly.

And speaking of Gene Kelly...I wrote this nonsensical poem inspired by the song Moses Supposes from Singing in the Rain. Re-watch that great scene here: Moses Supposes from Singing in the Rain


Moses Supposes

Moses supposes his toeses are roses
But Moses supposes erroneously
Moses he knowses his toeses aren’t roses
As Moses supposes his toeses to be!

Francis she dances for chance at romances
So Francis dances tirelessly
Francis advances her romance’s chances
In pantses she dances flawlessly

Billy is silly, buys lilies for Millie
But Billy’s lilies are not well received
Lilies aren’t frilly but give Millie willies
So lilies for Millie was really naïve.

Simon’s a lineman who spends timin’ rhymin’
So that rhymin’ Simon never gets played
His rhymin’ is diamon’ when linemen all chime in
But diamonds for rhymin’s is not what he’s paid

Bonnie likes Johnny who’s tawny and brawny
But Johnny the Brawny does not feel the same
On the lawny at dawny sits Johnny with Connie
So Bonnie to Mommy she cries in disdain

Alice feels malice in her Dallas Palace
So Alice from Dallas throws quite a fit
Alice with prowess breaks the palace chalice
With malice the chalice shatters to bits.

Funemployment

I graduated from UCLA in December and moved back home. While I look for a job and wait for responses from graduate schools, I keep myself busy doing an odd assortment of things. In the mornings I usually spend a couple of hours sending applications and cover letters into the great black hole also known as the job market. In the afternoon I spend a lot of time exercising (running, biking, lifting weights). I have tried to pick up old hobbies that have been forgotten when I lived a busy life--poetry, drawing, painting, reading, knitting, etc.

This past week I was helping my mom in the garden. Mostly I was picking weeds.


Gardening

Clouds sit thick, they silence all sound
Rich and heavy, tranquility abounds
Except the delicate droplet that falls to the ground
Like plump fruit on a tree, succulent and round

Not a leaf stirs, no car engine groan
The green vibrancy, beauty enthroned
Breathing in earth, smelling wet stone
Picking oxalis, I’m in a zone

The hush clings tightly, like a warm embrace
With a gentle tug, the clover gives up its space
I shake the dirt off the roots of white lace
And invite new players to the sun and soil race

Then the sun pokes through, and the moment has passed
A bird lets out a tune, true and chaste
But the feeling inside is not fleeting so fast
The harmony in this garden is here to last.