Friday, August 12, 2011


Rain is like a mother's kiss,
the Earth rejoices when it comes,
and when it's gone a blank abyss,
like living in a city's slums.

The plants! The plants! Oh how they love,
the comfort from their mother's lips,
that touch she brings with heavenly glove,
nurturing, refreshing...from rain she drips.

And people live without a care,
oblivious to the life she brings,
worrying about their dampened hair,
as plant, and bird, and nature sing.

Rain feeds the world, the people, the trees,
and with each quenching drop creates life's small anomalies

Thursday, July 21, 2011

No Words

No words are coming to my brain,
it seems to be a one way train.

The thoughts go in but none come out,
and so I want to scream and shout!

Why oh why is this so hard?
you'd think my brain was under guard.

For sometimes it's just too hard to think,
and all your words seem to do is sink.

My imagination is soaring off somewhere, free,
but I'm like Alice at the door to Wonderland--needing a key.

I try to shrink, I try to grow,
but neither helps to help me know

what to say??? O M Gee!
If only a muse would flock to me!

It seems today, the muse is gone,
the dreams asleep, awaiting dawn.

So I guess that means the end of this poem,
for my soul needs--I think--to roam.

Wednesday, July 20, 2011

Enjoying the Rain

As the old man walked down Second Street he noticed dark clouds in the distance and suspected a storm was coming. The air was humid, and a slight breeze swept past him as he spotted the park. He sauntered over on his creaky bones and halted before a decrepit wooden bench. It was in the shade of a giant tree, and had moss creeping up its legs. The words “Dedicated in loving memory to Catelyn Vinder,” were engraved in the back rest, already starting to fade from the years of constant abrasion that the bench had endured as people sat, read, ate, talked… All of them unknowingly erasing the memory of this woman with every shift in their seat.
With a sigh, the man sat down heavily, and the bench reciprocated with a grunt of its own as his body weighed down on its feeble frame. All around he could hear the sounds of everyday people’s lives, all of them reminding him of his long past youth. The chatter of two women ambling through the park, the quick pacing footsteps of a jogger taking advantage of the temporary sunshine, the laughter of a child as a dog licked his face, the serenading of a man to his paramour. All of this he heard, and all of this he ignored, immune to the happiness felt in life. He was detached from these people; now he related more to the old bench. After all, he knew what it was like to be overlooked and alone. His life was very languorous these days.
“What should I do today?” he asked himself, “I have no doctor’s appointments, no friends to see, no family members in town…” The last thought made a sudden reverie come upon him. Back when he was a young man, in the prime of his life, he used to love the close proximity that he had shared with all of his family members. Aunt Gale had been on Third, Cousin Tony on Fifth…they were encompassing. But now… well, the world was not what it used to be. Over time his family had relocated itself all around the world, to Japan, England, Texas… All for different reasons, but leaving behind them the same feeling of desolation. The gloomy city was now unfamiliar to him, a spectral wasteland full of old memories. He was doubting life, wondering what the point of it was when there was no one to share it with. After his wife died three years before, he had never been the same man. He became contentious, pessimistic… and so on. He lacked the ability to show love after feeling it ripped from his breast as easily as a petal is torn from a flower. He couldn’t bear to talk about her, to think about her. And yet she was all he could think about. Though he tried and tried, his attempts to forget were futile, and resulted in the departure of his last family member in the city. After years of his irate behavior, his son had given up on him and decided to explore the world. And so the old man was all alone all the time, and he dreaded each new day, wondering when God would be merciful and end his suffering.
These were his thoughts when all of a sudden a young voice muttered, “Hew-wo”. The man looked up. Standing directly in front of him was a young child, scarcely taller than the man’s knees. He was wearing blue jean overalls that displayed a picture of Winnie the Pooh in the center of his chest. His shirt was long sleeved, with brown and white horizontal stripes, and his pants were rolled a few times at the bottom, indicating to the old man that this boy was either extremely young or uncommonly small. Looking back at the boy’s face, he noticed flame red hair, spring green eyes, and an array of light brown freckles from one cheek to the other, engulfing the bridge of his nose.
“What do you want?” the old man asked tersely.
“I cawn’t find me parnts, hewp me?” the boy asked pitifully.
The old man looked around, scanning the park for signs of a panicked couple looking for their lost child. He saw a man ride past on a bike, heard an ice cream truck drive by in the distance, and noticed that the ominous clouds were getting closer, but he didn’t see anyone who fit the description of a despairing parent. Scratching the top of his head he asked, “Why aren’t you with your parents?”
“They wouldn’t bwing me the doy I wan-ed, so I wan away to find the big mountain with the happy elves I eard about on a comecial,” he mumbled so quickly that the man could not understand him.
The little boy was picturing this toy, a superman action figure that had a light up “S” and talked. He saw it on a commercial one time and ever since he had been nagging his parents to get it for him. But they told him that he couldn’t have it because it was too expensive, which meant little to him since he was only four.
“Slow down boy, so you don’t have any idea where you’re parents are now?”
“Ummm… maybe at the… the… ho-home? Or the plond, with the alligators…?” the boy trailed off, deep in thought, “OH! Or maybe they’re at the orange peel. We went there once,” he said, very matter-of-factly, picturing the big field full of ripe oranges. They had gone there on a tour because he had wanted to learn how orange juice was made.
“What was the boy talking about?” thought the man, “A plond? Alligators? An orange peel? And what on earth was a ho-home?”
“Whoa whoa whoa, hold your horses kid,” said the old man, “I need to think”.
The boy looked around with a confused expression on his face, “I don’t see any horwses”.
“What do I do?” thought the old man, “I can’t just leave him here, but how can I help? I’m just a feeble old guy…” He huffed and thought, “Well, I have to help him, it’s just a tacit rule, and what would my wife say if I just left him?” The thought was a stab to his heart. Up until that point, he had forgotten about the pain she left behind, had been distracted by this interaction with another human being, even if he was only a child. The world’s ceaseless gloom returned, and the old man got up and asked the kid, “What do they call you anyway?”
“Huh?” asked the kid.
“What’s your name?” the old man asked, rephrasing the question so that the he would understand.
“Bwandon. What did the fairies name you?” he asked sincerely.
“Ned,” said the old man, ignoring the fairy aspect of the question. He noticed that people were starting to leave the park now, and felt the air get a little colder. “Let’s just look for your parents around the park, I’m sure they can’t be far,” said Ned.
“Otay!” the boy shouted excitedly, and began to run around in a circle with a bounce in his step that could only be achieved by someone anticipating the excitement of a fresh adventure.
Ned began to walk down the pathway leading away from the comfort of the bench, Brandon trailing along beside him.
The little boy looked up at the sky as they walked and saw the storm clouds too, but unlike Ned they made the little boy happy. “Do you think it will wain?” he asked.
“Cats and dogs, I’m sure,” replied Ned in a gruff voice.
Brandon was about to ask what that meant when he spotted an airplane in the sky. “Look! A hairplane!” he exclaimed, and then began to run around with his arms outstretched making airplane sounds as he went.
Ned watched him and chuckled. It reminded him of when his son was that age, and how he used to ride on his shoulders as Ned was the airplane and his son the passenger. This thought brought another painful feeling to his chest. “Why have I been so mean?” Ned asked himself, “Why did I have to push my son away?” He pondered the question for a moment, feeling a small wind blow against him that caused his coat to flap around as internally he answered, “Because he reminds you of her…”
He was deep in thought, which was why he didn’t hear the little boy right away as he asked, “Mr.? Mr.?
Clearing his throat he replied, “What?”
“I think it’s stawting to wain.”
The old man was about to disagree, but then he felt the first drop hit him squarely on the top of his head. He looked around and realized that the park was vacant. “Looks like your right kid,” he began; the little boy smiled in response, “But that’s no good for us. It’s just going to make finding your parents even harder, like finding a needle in a haystack.”
The little boy thought about that and then said, “Mr., why would I look for my parnts in a haystack?”
Sighing, Ned simply said, “I don’t know boy, I don’t know.”
As they continued to walk around the sky grew increasingly darker, and Ned knew that if they didn’t find his parents soon they were going to have to go to the police station. It seemed to Ned like they had been walking for hours, and his old limbs were starting to show it. As he attempted to walk up a small hill, he grew so tired that he had to stop until Brandon said, “Look! It’s the bench where we started!”
Ned looked at where his outstretched finger was pointing and realized that the kid was right. “How is this possible?” he asked himself, “Why is this happening to me?”
He was wondering why the world was so cruel, why every day had to be torture to him, why his life was so meaningless now, why he couldn’t fix it. As he watched Brandon jump into a nearby puddle, he had an epiphany that came upon him as suddenly as the earlier rain. Seeing Brandon once again reminded him of a memory that he shared with his son. It had been before his wife’s death, back when he used to be happy. He and his son had been enjoying the rain, puddle jumping, skidding on the slick earth, and having a great time. He remembered there was a storm, eerily like the one that was approaching, and he had told his son, “See Robb, this is what life is about. You have to enjoy what nature gives you,” he had grabbed his son’s hand and extended it, palm up, so that he could catch the rain drops. “You have to see the good in the bad, the happy in the sad, to get the most out of a rainy day. But most of all you have to treasure the finite things in life, because they won’t last forever, and when they’re over you have to realize that everything has to end, and that’s okay.”
“I will daddy,” he had said, “Always.”
Ned found that there were tears in his eyes when he heard the shouts distantly in the background. He looked up and saw Brandon running towards two people by a pond a few hundred yards behind the bench. He noticed that they were a man and a woman, both shouting, rejoicing. “These must be Brandon’s parents,” Ned thought.
He hobbled over on his now excruciatingly painful joints, and saw that Brandon’s mother was still planting kisses all over his face. The boy’s father was getting up to come meet Ned, as Ned noticed the raindrops pelting the pond. The concentric circles were so beautiful, he thought, beginning to recall the beauty of nature.
When she saw her husband approaching, Brandon’s mother got up and started walking over too, clutching Brandon’s hand in an iron grip, as if afraid he would float away.
When they finally reached him, Ned was staring at Brandon, who was regarding him with a curious expression. The rain was lessoning as Brandon’s father extended his hand to Ned for a shake.
“Jon Snow,” he said.
“Ned Vinder,” he replied. Jon noticed that the old man had a strong grip.
“Thank you so much for finding our little boy!” exclaimed Mrs. Snow.
“No problem. We had quite a little adventure, wouldn’t you say so Brandon?”
“Yeppiseesuri!” he shouted jovially. “Mr. Mr.! Come see the plond with the alligators!”
He started running towards the pond. “Oh,” Ned realized, “the pond…But then what were the alligators he was talking about?”
Mrs. Snow began to laugh as Brandon almost fell into the pond after chasing a little lizard around a large limestone rock a couple of times. As Ned got closer, he saw what Brandon was following, and decided that this must be what he meant by alligator.
“You have a very interesting boy, Mrs. Snow,” he commented.
“You have no idea. You should see him when he’s really excited, he’s not even the least bit understandable!”
“Oh, I believe you. We’ve been through the mill today,” he chuckled.
“What miwl? We didn’t go through any miwls… I would wemember that,” said Brandon, who had silently joined them while they were talking.
“Oh no honey, he doesn’t mean a real mill… I’ll tell you about it when you’re older,” she consoled him.
“Otay,” he replied, grinning.
“Well, I better go, I’m pretty tuckered out,” said Ned.
“Okay, well thanks again, so much,” Mrs. Snow said smiling sweetly, right before she gave Ned a big hug. He froze. He had forgotten what it was like to be loved by someone, to receive a hug, to get a call on a lonely day…it was nice, he would have to call his son.
“Well goodbye,” he repeated.
“Bye,” said Jon, waving.
“Byeee!” shouted Brandon, running and slamming into Ned’s legs at full speed as he gave him a big bear squeeze; well, as much as a four-year-old can give a bear squeeze. “I wove you Mr.,” he said, gazing up at Ned’s face.
“I love you too,” Ned replied without even thinking.
After that he began to walk back home. The rain had stopped, and now the clouds were starting to move past. People were once again in the park and the atmosphere was the same as it had been before he had met Brandon, only he felt like his perspective on life had changed, as though it was no longer a curse, as though he could deal with it and actually enjoy it. Astonished at this sudden vindication from pain, he noticed a ray of sunlight hitting his wife’s bench, as though the universe was showing him that his wife was still with him. He dragged himself a little farther to rest on it. Though everything around him was much the same he could not feel more different. He understood now, understood why he could never be happy before. In order to appreciate the good things in life, one must also appreciate the bad. And that’s what had happened with his wife. He had loved her so much, but life didn’t last forever, and now he understood that you just had to enjoy it while it lasted, even if it wasn’t all happy, it was still life. Just like a stormy day, it may not be sunny and perfect but if you could learn how to enjoy the rain, life would be so much easier. And that’s what he was doing, enjoying the rain.

This is actually a story I wrote for English in 10th grade, but I'm still proud of myself for it, so I think that it's earned a spot on the blog :)

Tuesday, July 19, 2011

Shattered Dreams and Kindled Hopes

As Elle sat on the green and brown striped comforter that sheathed her bed, she reflected on what had happened that fateful day when all of her dreams had been shattered like the window through which they had flown away... She had FINALLY found the journal! It had been in her grasp! The one thing her mother had entrusted to her...

And now it was gone--swept away as fast as a light is blown out by a gust of wind. All of her hopes, her dreams--extinguished. In a moment of pure frustration she violently grabbed the key at her throat, unclasped the chain that held it there, and threw it with all her might across the room, hearing it bounce off of her door and land on the hardwood floor below.

Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes as she squeezed them tightly shut, head hung, hands reaching for her face. How could this possibly happen to me? How could a BIRD steal my mother's legacy from me? This CANNOT be real! she thought to herself in distress. All she could think about was how she had failed her mother--the ONE task she had been given, the ONE means of discovering the answer to nothing and yet everything! For how can one know the importance of the answer they'll find if they don't know the question which creates it?

Painfully, the girl allowed herself to fall to her side, pulling her legs up and curling into a ball in order to create some semblance of comfort for herself. What was she supposed to do now? For months all she had been thinking of was finding the key's partner and invariably uncovering the answer which her mother wanted her to find. It had been a curse, a plague! All traces of friendship had been lost as she grew apart from everyone she once knew--it seemed as if the life she had lived before her mother's accident was not her own...Or, perhaps it was more as if she had died with her mother and now she could not go back to her old life, for it was not hers to begin with. She was a changed person. A person whose sole goal was to fulfill a quest--without that there would surely be nothing to live for.

Her depression was overwhelming--sobs wracked her slender frame as her arms rushed vainly to hug her sides in an attempt to hold herself together--as if she were physically falling apart. It felt like she was--like checkmate had just been called on her life.

She had given up--all hopes lost, when, all of a sudden, knock knock

Her father was at her bedroom door, and she knew that if she didn't pull herself together in two seconds she would have to tell him of her disobedience--for how else could she explain this pain?

"Honey?" she heard him say, sounding worried. "Honey, are you alright?"

Frantically, Elle released the grasp on herself and pulled back her comforter, scrambling underneath and trying to lay in what looked like a passable sleep pose. She turned to the wall that resided on one side of her bed, and pulled her blanket so that it concealed the back of her head and most of her face.

The doorknob twisted and clicked open as Orion stepped into the room quietly, seeing what appeared to be Elle's sleeping form bundled in a green and brown mound on her bed. Elle's nerves were on edge as she heard him walk closer--fearing that if he saw her face he'd know she had been crying again--and demand an explanation.

As soon as he reached her bed she snapped her wide eyes shut and attempted to make her anxious expression peaceful--as if she really were dreaming.

Orion sat down on the edge of her bed, put his hands on his knees and looked around at Elle's room. Directly in front of him--to the left of the door, was a large, dark brown, wooden bookshelf, filled with countless collections of Elle's treasured stories. Then on the right hand side of the door--against the right wall, was a bright red desk, upon which resided a cup of writing supplies--i.e. pencils, pens, highlighters, etc-- and a small desk lamp, as well as an old cup of coffee.
Then, to the right hand side of her bed was a medium sized aquamarine dresser with small white curved handles on each of its four sections.

Beneath his feet a bright orange rug obscured the smooth, cool, wooden flooring.

All of these things he had seen countless times, and with a sigh of what seemed like disappointment he got up--never having inspected Elle's disheveled face--and began to walk towards the door.

He was about two steps away from the hall when his foot encountered a bump that should not be, and he looked down to see what he had tread upon. Beneath his foot was a gold and turquoise key on a silver chain. He stared at it in disbelief for a moment, all the breath leaving him in one swift exhale, and then a malevolent grin spread across his face as he reached down to pick it up.

"The key!" he exclaimed in a whisper, with a tone of utter amazement.

Then, glancing back over his shoulder at the still unmoving form of Elle, he crept mischievously out the door, shutting it gently behind him as he stuffed the precious object in his back pants' pocket.

The moment she heard the door close Elle ripped off the blankets and rushed to where the key had been on the floor--it was gone! Her father had taken it, but why? "The key!" he'd said...but how did he know about the key? Had her mother confided in him too? Did he possess the answers which she so desperately sought--no, NEEDED--to survive?

To all of these questions Elle had no answer, yet a new hope was kindling in her heart--what if her father knew the solution?! What if she hadn't lost ALL hope of fulfilling her mother's sole request after all?

With a nervous smile, she opened the door and stepped into the hall--after her father... after the truth...

Monday, July 18, 2011


The woman looked down adoringly at her little baby girl.

“You know this is necessary, Ana,” said a tall man standing a small distance away from her, also staring lovingly at the baby girl in his wife’s arms. “It’s the only way to make her safe.”

“I know Ono. But still, it’s hard,” Ana said, stroking the baby’s soft face. “I mean, what if little Elle…”

“Elle will be fine. She’ll be cared for by parents who will actually have time for her. Parents who won’t constantly be plagued by assassins attempting to end their lives, and consequently, hers.”

Ana looked up at her husband, knowing that he was right but still trying to figure out a way to avoid this… to keep her little daughter. Her precious Elle. This is not how she pictured motherhood would be.

“Come on dear, it’s time,” said Ono in a sympathetic voice.

Ana looked up from Elle’s face, seeing a shimmer of light in the air a few feet away. It looked like a silver ball, and as she watched it, it got bigger and bigger until it materialized into the shape of a door. It would have been beautiful, if Ana hadn’t known the reason it was there. Grudgingly, she walked closer to it, dragging her feet and hushing Elle as she began to cry. It was almost as if she understood what was happening—that she was leaving her home, her world, her universe. And her parents with it.

Ana stood directly in front of the door now. Ono came over and kissed Elle on the forehead. “You’ll be fine, my little love. You’ll see us again,” he said. Ana began to cry, her tears landing on Elle’s pale little face. Suddenly, the door began to glow, as if a flame was lining its edges. It disappeared and where it once had been was a room, almost identical to the one that Ana, Ono and Elle were in now. Only, the room beyond the door was slightly different. Not in appearance, but something more subtle. There were two people standing in the opposite room. A man and a woman standing in the exact same position as Ana and Ono.

All of a sudden, the light flared again and Ana’s arms became empty as Elle was transported to the other side of the door, and the other woman now had a small bundle in her arms. Elle. The woman smiled and began bouncing the baby up and down gently, as Ana looked longingly on the pair. The men were looking at each other inquisitively, sizing each other up. Finally, Ono made a gesture of farewell at the man who was now to be his daughter’s father. At least, until she was ready.

“Come dear,” he said, and as he uttered the words, the other man did the same simultaneously. With a last look, he grabbed his wife’s hand and they both walked away from the door and their daughter.

Ana was sobbing now. Ono wrapped an arm around her and said, “It’s alright dearest. We’ll see her again. It won’t be too long.” She looked up at her husband, knowing that he was right. She had only eleven years to wait, and then she would be reunited with her precious Elle. Already she began to daydream about the joyous day… Smiling at the thought she looked up at Ono.

“You’re right. After all, what is eleven years to us?” she asked, and then thought, nothing.

Inspirational Quote of the Day:
There is no quote for this one--it's just something I made up...

Friday, July 15, 2011

What a Woman

"Sir?" asked a young woman, as she and her dance partner clasped hands.

He made no answer, and they were again silent till they had gone down the dance, when he asked her if she and her sisters did not very often meet with zombies on their walks to Meryton.

"Well," she began, "there are the few lucky days where we do not meet any of those ghastly undead...but, on the whole, I'd say there's usually at least three lurking between our home and Meryton."

"I see," answered the man, "and do you not fear to walk that path as a result--for it seems to me that such a road, filled with such hoards of zombies, would be quite treacherous for young ladies to traverse alone."

The woman looked into his blue eyes, a slight prickle of annoyance in her mind at his seeming condescension. "I assure you Mr. Redgars--"

"Please, call me William," he interrupted, sheepishly.

"Well then, William, I can assure you that we are quite capable of defending ourselves." Then, lifting her chin slightly, she said, "In fact, my youngest sister, Rose, actually takes immense pleasure out of slaughtering our not-so-alive counterparts."

"Indeed?" he asked, eyebrows raised. "And what do you think of the subject, Ms. Hamilton?"

"I?" she asked rhetorically, "Well, I suppose I share--to some degree--my sister's craving for blood. You see..." She looked away, as if revisiting some long forgotten memory, " little brother, Oliver, he...Well, a few years ago--when this dreadful plague began--he was bitten. None of us knew yet that a bite from a zombie would transmit the infection, so we simply called for a doctor to address the wound and expected little Oliver to make a full recovery."

Her sad gaze flickered back to William and then away again, as if she couldn't stand to look at another person as she told her tale, "Well, two days later Oliver was dead. My mother was the one who found him, actually...She had been bringing him some breakfast and found his poor little corpse just laying there in bed." Her eyes acquired a bright sheen, as though she was resisting tears, and her voice became tight, "He was so young and innocent--he didn't deserve to die like that." She shook her head, "No, he didn't deserve it..."

"Then the next day we buried him, said our last words, and thought that we had seen him for the last time--How I wish that it had been--for the next time I saw him was by the light of a full moon, covered in dirt, moaning and helplessly stupid. I had thought at first that a miracle had occurred and he had somehow come back to us, but upon closer inspection I saw that he had merely become one of the undead--and before my sisters, mother or father could see him in such a state, I grabbed the nearest shovel and killed him. A final death."

Her gaze shifted to William again, eyes locking onto his, "So, do I enjoy killing zombies? No. But do I enjoy getting revenge for my brother every time I hack off one's head? Yes. Does that answer your question, Mr. William?"

William inspected her face, sensing the passion and strength the fueled her just behind her face's delicately beautiful mask, "I do."

"And do you enjoy killing the abominable undead?" she reciprocated.

"Why, yes, I must confess that I do--it's definitely a forte of mine."

"I see," said Ms. Hamilton.

William continued to stare into the young woman's face, noticing that her eyes were a bright, burning green. His palms began to sweat and a drop of perspiration down his face shattered his cool and calm facade--for he found Ms. Hamilton quite enchanting.

"Ms. Hamilton," he began, nervously, "I wonder if..."

"Yes," she asked expectantly.

He swallowed hard and continued, "I wonder if you might want to practice with me sometime--fighting zombies, that is."

She looked at him curiously, "Well, I suppose I could arrange that."

"Perhaps I could teach you a few moves of my own," she said with a smile, "Oh, and please, call me Sophie."

"Sophie," he said with a grin--the word tasted sweet on his tongue.

"Well, I--" Sophie began when all of a sudden a loud crash was heard from across the room as one of the giant glass windows in the ballroom shattered. Screams commenced and those without the courage to stay and fight the mob of undead that were inexorably about to enter the building fled--Sophie and William being pelted by their retreating bodies as they fought against the tide.

William gauged the situation: "Looks like there's about twenty of them out there, and a few are already starting to make their way in."

Sophie was also staring hard at the zombies, a plan formulating in her mind. "You take the left and I'll take the right--we'll simply kill them as they enter, that way we'll have the upper hand and they won't be able to surprise us from behind."

"Are you sure you can manage, Ms. Sophie?" he asked skeptically, "After all, that dress of yours doesn't appear to be very conducive to fighting."

Sophie looked at him defiantly and said sarcastically, "Oh, you think so?"

Then, reaching down to one of her fashionably embroidered stalkings she pulled out a knife and said, "Well, luckily, I always come prepared," and commenced to slash the skirt off her dress, revealing a pair of men's trousers underneath. "Let's do this, shall we?" she asked, then began running toward the zombie infested window.

William watched her in amazement, then said, "What a woman," before taking off in Sophie's wake.

Inspirational Quote of the Day:

"He made no answer, and they were silent till they had gone down the dance, when he asked her if she and her sisters did not very often meet with zombies on their walks to Meryton," Pride and Prejudice and Zombies by Jane Austen and Seth Grahame-Smith

Thursday, July 14, 2011


"I won't do it!" she yelled, with a tone quite unwise,
as Gene looked at her, a questioning look in his eyes.

His daughter, most recently, had turned 13,
and now almost every other word she said was just plain mean.

She refused to comply to any behests,
and yet she made countless requests!

He'd ask her, so nicely, to organize her laundry,
to which she would sigh--dramatically expressing her quandary.

Then she'd say, oh so sweetly, "Daddy, please, buy me those shoes?"
but he knew that her kindess was only a ruse.

"No honey, you're too unhelpful to be givin such a provision,"
so she'd squint, hatefuly, and look upon him with derision.

And occasionally he'd say, "Please don't let your time go to waste,"
and she'd narrow her eyes, and look at him with distaste.

"Oh, please, PLEASE! Get me that necklace??"
"No sweetie," he'd tell her, "your attitude lately has been too reckless."

Then other times, he'd request,
"Could you please do the dishes? I really need to rest."

And she'd yell, "Oh fine, just make ME do the dishes!"
And she'd stomp and shout and be just plain vicious.

Whenever she'd asked to go hang out with friends,
he'd replied, "Well, that depends..."

"Did you clean your room, like I asked you to do?"
"No," she'd say, "But why does it matter to you?"

So he'd have to say, with a tone of regret,
"Nope, then. Sorry--haven't earned that privelege yet."

Some days he'd ask, "Could you please make us dinner? and maybe a pie?"
Then she'd kick, and yell, and sigh sigh SIGH.

One day he asked if she'd be a doll and sweep,
and she'd said, with "the look", "YOU'RE SUCH A *beep*"

Everything he asked, she scorned and dismissed,
and, quite frankly, he was starting to get pissed.

He'd had it--HE HAD--he didn't know WHAT to do!
His hormonal teen daugher was making him blue!

So one day he decided to end his despair,
her blatant teen angst was just plain unfair.

So he'd tell her: "Darling, I love you, but could you please abstain?"
"For it seems to me that all you do is complain."

And she'd whine--he was sure--and clench her teeth,
but maybe, just maybe, she'd be changed underneath.

So he told her--quite plainly--to please change her mien,
for her love and daughterly affection for him was perpetually unseen.

But--to his surprise--all she said was, "Whatever Dad, you're just lazy!"
for a daughter she could drive him quite crazy!

Inspirational Quote of the Day: "Gene looked at her, a tone of surprise in his eyes," Slightly Ajar by Helen Wilcox