Team Awesome’s Poem of Awesome
Formidable, Incredible, Marvelous,
Awe-strikingly awesome was Team Awesome.
With Astonishing adherence,
Alarming avidity,
Breathtaking bravery,
Colossal capability,
Daunting devotion,
Eminent excellence,
Frightening fortitude,
Gargantuan grandeur,
Horrific heroism,
Impressive intellect,
Jaw-dropping jubilance,
Kingly keenness,
Luminous luster,
Mind-blowing might,
Nerve-wrecking nobility,
Overwhelming optimism,
Prodigious passion,
Quaking quality,
Remarkable resilience,
Stunning sincerity,
Terrifying tact,
Unbelievable urbanity,
Valiant virtue,
Wondrous wisdom,
Yieldless youth,
and Zapping zeal,
Team Awesome
brings Awe.
January 10, 2011 at 9:51 pm | Miscellaneous Snippets | No comments
Now
Monotony sets in as the days pass by. I do the things I did yesterday, and forget the things I forgot yesterday.
In the passing now that never ends, I reflect, a thing I’ve shirked for many long days. And a small solemn tear barely touches my cheek.
What have I become to let these days go by so? In my lack of reflection, my lack of care I accept the mediocrity that is the me of now.
In the passing now, I hope to find a cause for change and yet upon that single tear, I gave seldom a care.
But in the passing now, I do dream of a different now, a future where I become the me I long to be.
November 28, 2010 at 6:38 pm | Lifepost | No comments
New School
I thought about the poem I submitted here the other day and figured I should at least sort out the bare threads of context so as to clothe the raw rhyming lines of “The Place I Left.”
August 5, 2010, I took a bus that was not a mile from my house nor even half of mile from my house but perhaps about 200 feet from my house at the entrance to my neighborhood. The school this bus took me to was only 4 miles away from my home, less than an hour’s walk.
I board the bus and only three turns later I’m stepping out onto the asphalt, the bus lot of a new school.
The bus ride is short but dull. I am surrounded by indistinct chatter and an unanimated bus driver. I recall my old bus driver, a very nice lady who aged well and knew the names of all her passengers. A very nice lady who, like myself, was an artist. In the days past, I’d sit in the front of the bus just to talk with my old bus driver, the very nice lady who would smile, spoil us like sweet little kids, and look at my artwork.
August 5. 8:15 AM. I’m apparently late to school this very first day. Or very nearly late. Class would start in 5 minutes. I rush through the halls; 5 minutes time is nary enough for a lost student. But it’s the first day and teachers are lenient with tardies.
In my homeroom, I recognize some faces. These faces are the ones I left when two years ago I chose to attend a “magnet” high school 20 miles away from my house. These faces are nothing but faces and names to me though, and to them, I am likewise nothing but a name and face.
Same indistinct chattering steals the air in homeroom. The hallways, too, give way to the clutter of small talk as teenagers reunite with the friends they didn’t get to hang out with over summer.
A sense of superficial loneliness engulfs me. Something about being a face in the crowd, detached from the network around me.
I smile a little at my foolish fickle thoughts. I smile a little at the people who pass by me and turn me even a sideways glance. Amongst the people I pass, there’s the occasional acknowledgment of recognition. From those good old Middle School days.
I meet my teachers. They’re a nice lot of people. I’m a transfer student, so I don’t have my transcript. I get to skip out on the part where teachers, supposedly only glancing for prerequisites, judge me by my past grades.
I decide I’ll just mindlessly smile and hope I make some new friends.
October 5. 3:25 PM. School is out, and I am walking in a hallway toward my bus. I decided to skip Latin Club today, in spite of the weekly Tuesday meetings I chose to attend. Maybe I should have attended, but I chose my course in a passing jiffy.
Two full months now I’ve gone to this new school. Academically, some things are different here, but most things that matter are the same. I did a decent job of blending into the crowd though I’ve made some friends. Or really, rather, I’ve been polite to many and received the reciprocation.
The classes are a cakewalk, but it’s more my scheduling than anything. AP curriculum doesn’t change by the school, regardless of academic reputation.
I checked out a few books from the school library the other day and figured I’d do some studying of my own. So reading Watchmen, the comic book, I reach my consensus:
Maybe my old school had a reputation for being more academically competitive than this one, but my actions rather than environment have always been the primary factor in my success.
October 5, 2010 at 5:49 pm | Lifepost | No comments
The Place I Left
There is a world that no longer exists,
Yet upon my mind still persists.
Where familiar faces know my name
And nostalgic places stay the same.
Mine, a world with a culture bright.
For which I should’ve fought a greater fight
Because that daily hall of smiles
Was worth the constant traveled miles.
Theirs, the world of people I left.
Who always wrapped in constant cares
May only superficially recall memories kept
Before making little history with other peers.
There is a world that never did exist,
Yet in my mind shall ever persist
As a golden ideal of a bygone past
That really never was meant to last.
October 4, 2010 at 8:35 pm | Poetry | No comments
Creativity’s Call
Timid man walks on life’s time-drawn lines.
Absentminded smile ponders a piece of life.
Learned reflexes follow age-old signs
That could be broken with a step like knife.
A mere suggestion, a doubt of convention.
A planted spore of seed, nurtured in thought.
A will to fresher ideas and invention
Than common worn-out life-defining rot.
Daring man paints the colors he chooses,
Picking how he himself wins and loses.
Daring man steps and walks a jagged road,
Charting the infinite chances bestowed.
Not any complacent fear will stall
A daring man following
A passion’s call.
August 4, 2010 at 11:20 am | Poetry | No comments
Drifter
Freedom gives a sky of direction.
A little bird flies among the clouds
Going on from section to section,
She’s passed a lifetime of crowds.
She’s drifting forever to nowhere,
Catching random winds from here,
Drifting forever to nowhere,
In a moment over there.
She’ll stay the night and sing along,
Yet morning brings a fresh new mind,
A rashness to find all things wrong,
And once again fly in hope to find
The perfect-like path of winding sky,
The full-out flock of like-minded bird,
A place and world to be truly unshy,
An absent fantasy to be unblurred.
She’s drifting forever to nowhere,
Catching random winds from here,
Drifting forever to nowhere,
In a moment over there.
June 21, 2010 at 8:52 pm | Poetry | No comments
Worms
I went to sleep wearing a hat, and I woke up. There were white worm parts, scarce and few, among the inside of my hat, but I didn’t clean my hat. I didn’t think; I went back to sleep.
Again I woke up for the morning and took off my hat. Green worms lined the insides squirming, squiggling, and worming around. Little green worms the size of my fingernail tips.
I am paralyzed with fear for a bit then jump out of the bed, rushing to my mirror, holding the hat. My hair is covered in the green worms, and I am afraid to touch them, but I turn on my sink and wash them away as fast as I can, tossing the hat into the trash, washing the worms away, away as fast as I can.
I wake up and walk slowly to my mirror. There are no worms.
June 8, 2010 at 12:22 pm | Dream Log | No comments
Pop Math Final
About 2 nights ago, I had a dream that I had to go back to school for a day to take a second math final, and I did just badly enough on this final to drop my grade to an 89.
I only remembered it now because a friend mentioned dreams.. then I remembered I had a dream log here.
But the dream proves one thing: no matter what I do or how hard I try, I can never really completely stop caring about grades.
May 27, 2010 at 12:04 pm | Dream Log | No comments
Best Friend
I don’t have many true friends and never have. I sit and listen to a guy from my class. He IMs me.. asks my grade. Tells me his grade. Starts talking about what he’s going to do to raise it.
I listen.
Someone who’s done this for a long time tells me one day about his crush. I give him encouragement. He wants to ask her out; I say “Go for it, man.”
I listened.
I tire of this pattern. I worry about my own thoughts… the same ‘I’-figure that every other person in the world is busy worrying about.
I continue to live in my world, with my own projects. I talk to some of the same people a bit every now and then.
One day, one of them asks me if I am his friend.
I don’t want to respond. I sit silently, look away. After prodding, I say, “No, not really.”
He seems disappointed. I didn’t want to sound so cold, but the truth of the matter was:
It’s possible to be a friend without having a friend.
And yet if I’d set my standards for friendship so high, I’ll never have friends. How could I, one of many in this world, expect any other single person who is too occupied with his own worries to care enough about me to want to… really be my friend?
Once upon a time, I met a person who was interested in knowing me, at least a little, and as I pretended to stare out a window he asked me what I was thinking.
Lack of ambition takes many forms in life. Insecurity takes many forms. The feeling of inadequacy becomes a recurring theme.
I knew I could never have expected anyone to care, yet I don’t give a proper response to this question. I say “I don’t know.”
And for a moment, I didn’t know. Or I knew too much, swarmed with possibilities of ways to respond.
So it’s not as if I didn’t want to make a friend. It’s not as if I wanted to close myself out to the world when all this time I mentally complained about the selfish thoughts of those around me.
But I did. That’s just the way things happen.
A few days ago(around the time when school ended) I got an IM that was something like:
“I asked you a question at the beginning of this semester. Did the answer change?”
This was from the guy who asked if I was his friend.
I never responded.
May 24, 2010 at 8:13 pm | Lifepost | No comments
My Claim to Selfishness
These days I notice I do not read, but I always choose to write. These little poems that I can spit out in 15 minutes or less, short lines of rhyme or whatever you call it that capture a moment’s thought.
I can sit there and write a huge post on nothing but that I am writing to waste time, and yet I can be more interested in re-reading this post I wrote than in reading some great author’s old work of literature.
I can stare at my screen and look through all my old poems quickly and at a blink and think “Yeah, I remember why I wrote that. Heh.” And to me it’ll be the best thing in the world, a memory.
And yet I won’t read the things that some other poor adolescent soul shouts out into the world on a blog; I am disinterested in the diaries of those who I do not know, yet I keep my own.
It’s my claim to selfishness that I write about myself, stuck in my own bubble of self, uninterested in others, forever committing self-indulgent acts which do not benefit the better good of humanity.
May 15, 2010 at 10:51 am | Lifepost | No comments