Written Work

Largely poetic and haiku works. Thought it would be nice to put them all in the same place for your convenience! Enjoy!

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“An Appeal to Autumn” in Rhyme Royal

Last September (apparently September 11th) I was assigned to write a poem of entreaty in a style called Rhyme Royal for my Chaucer literature class. If anyone living in the Midwest remembers, September was an unseasonably hot month, following the singed wake of a drought-ridden summer. I wrote this in my non-air-conditioned dorm room…

“An Appeal to Autumn”

There is nothing quite as hot as the Sun

That glares above us in the azure sky,

Baking the world in his conveccioun

Till all the Earth is both withered and dry.

I fear that I will most certainly die.

Lady Death I won’t be able to cheat.

She’ll claim my life in this confounded heat.

Needless to say it is not very fun

When September feels like it’s still July.

Here we are on September ten and one

And yet college students you may espy

With their Pam and spatulas they may fry

Bacon and eggs out of doors on the street

As consequence of this infernal heat!

It’s too hot to breathe, let alone to run!

It’s too hot to stay cool; don’t even try!

I am tempted, beckoned by a nail gun

To cease my strife with a bolt through mine eye.

I will write home and bid my love goodbye

And so Lady Death I will gladly greet

If it means escape from this hellish heat!

Dear Autumn, my patience is nearly gone

What with the Fahrenheit climbing so high.

When will this Indian summer be done?

Surely much more mild temp’ratures are nigh?

Is the crisp, cool Autumn somewhere nearby?

She’ll kiss Earth with her lips so fresh and sweet

And thus she’ll end this Godforsaken heat!

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I fasted today

for the Day of Atonement.

No, I’m not Jewish.

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You know who can’t sing?

The guys on my floor, that’s who.

I claw at my ears.

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Occupy Wall Street,

don’t let the man get you down

and make Thoreau proud!

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ShitshitSHITshitSHIT!

I am missing SNL!

Forgive me, Alec!

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I have this habit

of always clenching my jaw.

It makes my face hurt.

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Dorothy & Toto Storm Chasing Ltd.

Here we are:

Toto and me, that is.

Driving down the dirt despair

of a road paved with despondence

and choked with cobbled stones

instead of yellow brick.

The window is rolled down

so Toto can hang his head

outside and enjoy the wicked breeze

as we hurtle along

in our dusty direction. Searching

for so much more than

mere weather footage.

 

Thinking about fifteen years ago,

when we returned safely

from our departure. It turned out

Auntie Em wasn’t all that worried

about my disappearance. She said she knew

I could take care of myself. She called me strong

as steel, brave as a lion, tough as burlap.

 

But I never mentioned to Auntie

the struggle and sacrifice it took to return to her.

Barely had the chance to stop

and smell the poppies. Had to leave

my dearest friends behind. Felt regret

that left me hollow as an apple

without its core.

 

After regret passed, the seeds

of anger took its place.

Marched straight to Miss Gulch’s house.

Dared her to put me in a basket

and punched her in the mouth.

But then I remembered

what she did do for me.

So I gave her a handshake,

as she confusedly sputtered

blood on me. The stains ruined the sky

checkers on my dress.

 

Spent the greater part of my teenage years

shooting at blue birds, envious

of their flight. Their blue-bodied

cadavers cascaded to the dry earth

like unwilling raindrops on a barren,

cloudless day. The azure feathers

rejoined the corpses a few seconds later

like the echoes of the gunshots.

Red blood draining into thirsting soil

like the smoke that rose from the sterile,

burning gun. They won’t fly

over rainbows anymore.

 

Toto’s whimpering brings

me back to now. Tearing

across the hitching heath of Kansas

in our storm-chasing van

with wooden siding.

Watching the crashing sky collapsing

into the taper skimming the plain.

Passing the timid, fleeing

tumbleweeds and liberated horses.

 

Sights are set on the careening cloud.

A faded miasma of dried,

powdered mud. Not knowing

where the earth stops

and the air begins.

 

Rolling down my window

to spit out the dust that is reaching

into my throat. Gritting my teeth.

Pulling down my green-tinted goggles.

Thinking of the letter from Alice

that is safely tucked in the glove box.

She sends her regards

from Wonderland. Preparing to leave

the grey cornfields of my former husk

of a life. Driving headlong

into the vortex of debris and dead ends.

 

Hoping to be blown away

in another whirlwind

adventure. Reaching over

to ruffle Toto’s ears. Cooing

softly over the hushing

howl of the twister.

There’s no place like home.

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This couch is itchy

like a couch made out of tweed

or perhaps burlap.

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Typos on Tumblr:

there kind fo embarassing.

i four won shoudl no.

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The bacon fights back:

spits teeth at me as it fries:

sizzling laughter.

*     *     *

The last laugh is mine!

After nursing my fried wounds,

I’ll eat those BITCHES!

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I need to cease this

perception that I am a

bother to others.

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Back from vacation,

where I mostly did nothing.

Now nothing to do.

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I like grape Faygo

because it reminds me of

children’s Tylenol.

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He’s a music man,

with the rooty-toot horns and

the ratty-tat drums!

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Fireworks are great

when you feel their sound pulse through

your rib cage and heart.

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He called my brother

incompetent, but not to

his face. What a douche.

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My Union Jack briefs

may not have been as lucky

as I hoped they’d be.

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Thanks, Leslie Potts, for

teaching James Moriarty.

It came up today!

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Did sen’or photos

featuring Harry Potter.

Mischief managed, no?

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I saw The Sixth Sense.

It had a spooky sort of

ingenuity.

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I treat my tumblr

like some sort of booty call

I should respect more

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Please, pardon my French.

I have been saying “de jour”

when it should be “du.”

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Sinus infection:

bright yellow-green snot all day.

Even my teeth hurt.

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You cannot compare

James Dean to anyone else

So don’t even try.

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I don’t like nosebleeds.

It makes my bathroom look like

I killed someone there.

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I have discovered

the Common Application.

Holy cow, yes please!

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Philosophy book:

this is such dry stuff to read.

Let’s talk about it!

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Calculus homework

or pokemon with my pal:

why am I not torn?

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I’m finding couples

to be rather tedious.

But I still want it.

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Do you agree that

philosophers are sexy,

such as “Socra-tease”?

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So, I lied about

reading more Pygmalion…

I didn’t mean to.

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Rochester and Pratt

start sending me college mail

once I change my mind.

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I was enjoying

Seinfeld and then The Office,

and I love them both.

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O, those auditions.

I forgot the words when I

sang “Go the Distance.”

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A haiku a day

Well, wouldn’t that be something?

Yeah. I thought so, too

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imagede in the Yellow Wall-Paper

By The Nerd Child

Sickly yellow wall-paper,
I see you stare at me
With yawning yellow tendrils
And winking when I can’t see.

Sickly yellow wall-paper,
You make such a ghastly scene.
Your cracks, blotches and greasy splotches!
How it makes my mind careen!

Like yellow stabbing fingernails
Scrapping on yellow-stained teeth
You pickle my mind like vinegar
And choke so I can’t breathe.

My family thinks I’m delusional
But you know I say sooth
Sickly yellow wall-paper,
Oh, I’ll show them the truth!

They will soon know, my foe,
Your habits and twisting ways.
Your sickly yellow hue, also,
And your pattern like a maze.

But then again, I realize
That never would they understand.
Oh, sickly yellow wall-paper,
Will you be my secret friend?

[Based on “The Yellow Wall-Paper” by Charlotte Perkins Gilman]