A Southern Boy

A Southern Boy
By: Tea

A southern night,
Light flashes,
Swimming across the vast acres of corn fields,
Sweet breeze,
Brush cheek,
Smile,
Tender sweet,
Smile boy,
My boy,
Eyes green,
Staring at me,
Don’t need to look over to know,
Feel the heat of his gaze,
I need a cool southern breeze to cool me down.

Hear his heart beat as I lay my head on his chest,
Sudden pound,
Startling pound,
Beat Beat Beat,
Rain drops on a tin roof,
Comforting,
Snuggling closer,
Deep breath.

Take in his smell,
Like freshly cut trees in a meadow,
Thanksgiving dinner,
Memories.

Memories,
Of this boy,
My boy,
My southern boy.

The Smell of Movie Star Lawyers

This was a poem I wrote at CSSSA. We had to write a poem about different scents. It is hard to put a sense into words. Here is how my poem turned out. Enjoy!


The Smell of Movie Star Lawyers
By: Tea

In younger years,
Parents went to parties,
Mom smelled of hairspray and movie stars,
Dad of burly old spice lawyers,

They'd dress up,
Be out all night,
Miss them so,
They'd come home,

Hug them both,
Snuggle in close,
Breath in deep,
Smell of movie star lawyers,

I could tell you who had come,
Gene was there,
With his whiskey grin,
Dave was there,
With his oaky beard,

Could smell cookies and cherry pie on my mother's hands,
Could smell bitter wine upon my daddies lips,

Dream of parties with them,
Sipping raspberry champagne,
The bubbles tickling my nose,

Going home,
Smell of movie star lawyers,
In younger years.

Taxi

This is another short story I have written, one a little bit longer than the last. It needs some work, but I thought I would share it. Feel free to give any input.

Taxi

I’ve been a taxi driver in New York for eight years now. Everyday is the same, the same people going the same places. You’ve got the people who think they are better than you, going to the big office buildings down town. You’ve got the people who think that you can do something more with your life, going to the airport or church. You’ve got the people who just keep asking random questions to fill up the silence, going to dinner or shopping. Then you’ve got the people who feel as though they have to share their deepest darkest secrets with you, and for some reason they are always heading to Queens. The last category has always compelled me; I have always wondered why they tell me their secrets. What makes me so special? The way I figure it is that people have a priest, or they have me. Only Catholics can use a priest for confession, so most people turn to me. People feel that if they tell someone, just let it out that one time, it magically goes away. Why not tell me; I am a taxi driver in New York. They’ll never see me again and I’ll never see them.
You would not believe the stories I have heard. Some of them are horrible, make your skin crawl, but who knows, they could just be making the whole thing up. After all these years, one story has always stuck in my mind. It was a Tuesday night. Tuesday nights are always the deadest, I mean who wants to go anywhere on a Tuesday night? Well, anyhow I was driving around, looking for someone to pay the rent, when I saw this guy waving wildly. I pulled over and he got in. He was a small guy, Italian I think. His hair was dark and short and his face unshaven. He was covered in sweat and sucking up air like it was on sale. “Where to?” I asked.
“Anywhere, just go!” he yelled at me.
I turned around to face him. “Listen buddy, I am not paid to figure out where you should go, I’m just paid to drive.”
He gave me an evil glare. “Fine, then I want to go to Queens.” Ah, the boy wanted to go to Queens, I knew then that I had a confession on my hands.
Queens was about a half hour away, it could take at least an hour with traffic but, like I said before, Tuesday nights are always pretty dead. I slowly pulled out into the street. “Common! Let’s go!” he yelled at me as he nervously looked out the window. I gave the car a little more gas to make the jerk happy, and we were on our way.
We drove for about ten minutes in silence. When he had finally caught his breath, he started to talk. “It must be kind of a risky job bein’ a taxi driver, not knowin’ what kinda psychos you could be pickin’ up. I mean, for all ya know I might be a murder, a crazy ass murderer. Of course I’m not though, I promise… well at least I think I promise, I mean I’m not sure if she’s… Well, never mind that. I can’t promise you that I’m not a crazy ass. That one you’ll have to figure out for yourself. You probably think I am one, the way I’m rattling on, but I’m just nervous.”
To tell you the truth I was getting nervous myself, I mean imagine driving with a guy who says he may or may not have murdered someone. I was about to pull over and kick him out, but he started talking and I was gettin’ curious. “I get this way, you know, nervous. I work myself up about little things, I get to rattling. That’s part of the reason why I was where I was when you picked me up, my damn rattling and love for money got me into it.” He then became strangely quiet as we made our way from highway 278 to 485. Not a sound could be heard but the wind rushing over the taxi.
I usually don’t talk much to the passengers. I seem to only speak up when they ask me questions, and that is purely out of manners, but I became curious about his story and I couldn’t help but asking, “So, why were you there? What happened?”
He seemed to jump when I spoke, suddenly coming out of his own world that he had zoned into. “You really want to know? Well I feel like I need to tell someone, might as well be you. Where should I start…”
I have always been a smart ass, kinda my nature ya know? So I told him, “Why not start at the beginning?” I was expecting him to get pissed off by this comment but he seemed to think that it was a good idea.
“Well, I guess the beginning always is the best place. It all started last week when an old buddy of mine from high school called me up, told me he needed a favor. I asked him what he wanted but he said it wasn’t something to discuss over the phone, so we meet that night at a bar. He bought me a beer and we went to a table in a far corner and he started to tell me about his wife. It seems that he had been unfaithful towards her, been cheatin’ on her for months and he wanted a divorce. Thing was that he was the person to blame, he did her wrong and because of that, she could take him to the cleaners. He needed to have her be the reason, have her do something wrong. That’s where I came in. He wanted me to win her over, get her to have sex with me and have him catch us in the act. I was a little hesitant but he was an old buddy and he offered me some cash, plus a bit of sex never hurt anyone. I agreed and we began to plan the whole thing. I was going to be a pool boy that he had hired and while he was off at work I would romance her. It was cliché, I know, but neither of us are that creative and it always worked in the movies. Two days later I was knockin’ on their door with only a Speedo on.”
“Wow, that must have taken a lot of courage,” I said.
“No, not really. Wearing the Speedo wasn’t a requirement, it was just my own special touch,” he chuckled. “So, anyhow his wife opened the door and when I saw her my jaw practically hit the sidewalk, I mean this gal was beautiful!”
“So if she was so great than why did your buddy want to leave her?”
“Who knows, I never met the other chick he was banging but she must have been one goddess if he was willing to leave his wife for her. So his wife invites me in, let’s just call her Rose, and she takes me to the pool. Their house and pool are amazing, it is obvious that this guy has a lot of money and I understand why he wants to hold on to it so bad.”
“So did you bang her the first day?” I couldn’t believe that I was getting so into this story. I couldn’t help myself from asking questions, but I had to know.
“Oh no. I had to scope things out first before I made my move, I didn’t want to scare her off. I started to flirt with her and noticed things such as daisies are her favorite flower. Well, by the fifth day she started to get into me too. I knew that it was time to make my move. That day I brought her daises, just by giving her those flowers she was like jelly in my arms. We had our first kiss, it was so sexy, so sensual. She desperately wanted to go farther, but I said we should wait. Told her to meet me at a hotel Tuesday night, this very night. I left her house and called Rose’s husband to fill him in on the details so that he could catch us together. The whole thing seemed like it was going perfectly, but I was wrong-”
“Hey man we’re in Queens, which way should I go now?” I didn’t want to interrupt but I had to ask.
“Um, take a left on 170th and drop me off in Kissena Park. As I was saying, I was wrong. I was to meet Rose at the hotel at 6:30, an hour before her husband was to arrive. I got to the hotel at 6:30 on the dot. I went in the room and turned on the light to see that Rose was already there sitting on the bed with a gun. I thought she was being kinky but she was serious.”
“Did she find out?”
“Yeah she found out! Luck just wasn’t on my side. For some reason she was bored that day so she went through her husband’s old year books and found my picture, then she read a note I left to him that said, ‘If you ever need a favor I’ll be there’. What are the odds? Well, whatever the odds were it was obvious that I was in big trouble. She started screaming at me, demanding to know if her husband knew about us and if he was trying to screw her over. I didn’t know what to do so I told her the truth, the whole truth. I started rattling away about how her husband called me up and how he was cheating on her. I thought that by telling the truth I’d get out of there alive, but my damn rattling seemed to make her more upset. She pointed the gun at my head and told me it was all my fault. She was going crazy. I didn’t know what to do so I jumped on her and the gun went off. I felt warm liquid on my hands and I thought I had pissed myself but it was Rose’s blood, I was covered in her blood. Luckily I brought a change of clothes with me so I quickly changed into them and threw my other clothes in a dumpster behind the hotel. Once I was all cleaned up, I just ran. Then I saw your taxi cab and decided to wave you down. I don’t even know if she’s dead; I was so scared that I didn’t even check. I think I am just going to stay low for a while, it wasn’t my fault at all but what court is going to believe me? She was rich, filthy rich, and I am just a poor low life.” He became silent and looked out the window, we were finally at Kissena Park. “I guess we’re here. How much do I owe ya?”
I slowed down and parked on the curb. “Twenty bucks,” I told him.
“That’s pretty good for that long a drive.”
“Well, I gave you a discount for the story.” He smiled, handed me a twenty, and walked off into the night. I watched him until he disappeared. As I drove off, I was tempted to go to the police to tell them what happened, but I didn’t have anything to go on. I didn’t know his name, the hotel, anything. Plus, who knows… the guy could have made the whole thing up.

The Lonely Old Woman

A very short story by me, Tea.

The Lonely Old Woman

I live in an old apartment building and the window in my kitchen looks directly into my neighbor’s. She is a little old woman whose hair is gray and soft on her shoulders. Her hunched back makes her midsection into a perfect U. Although her body is covered with waves of wrinkly skin, I can tell that she was a graceful beauty back in her day. Every night she spends hours in her kitchen preparing amazing meals. She always sets her table for two, along with her finest china. As she brings out the plates she always smiles at the setting across from her. Slowly she lowers into her chair and looks lovingly across the table. All during dinner her mouth is moving, spouting out words whether food is in her mouth or not. She is just so excited to tell about her day. As I look across the table from her I see the same empty seat every night. Three years ago her husband passed on from heart failure. I often wonder if she knows her husband is dead, or if her mind still sees him there, sitting across from her, staring lovingly into her wrinkled face.

The Purple Monster

One of the first writing projects I had to do while at CSSSA was take a walk in one of the back parts of the school and write about the different flowers or plants I came across and write poems about them. This is one of those poems I wrote.

The Purple Monster

The purple monster fights to free itself from his green prison,
He pushes with his whole heart,
His hands bleed,
His arms burn like a well-done steak,
But at last he sees daylight,
The bright glow of the sun makes him shield his white eyes,
He keeps shoving,
But his ass is too big,
He wants to prance with deer,
Eat rotting road kill with vultures,
Smoke cherry cigs with teenagers,
Make love,
But his ass is too big
Finally the purple monster gives up his fight,
Forever he is half in,
Half out,
Half happy,
Half sad,
Just there,
Him and his green prison.

Beauty

A poem by me, Tea!

Beauty

Beauty is a butterfly kiss,
Before the moon comes up,
Bedtime stories whispered between flannel sheets,
An old married couple,
More in love each day,

Beauty is a boy, who opens doors,
The child who runs after birds,
A father who colors,
No matter how tired,

Beauty is a teardrop,
Fallen out of joy,
A new hair cut,
So soft,

Beauty is the first day of school,
Heart racing hard,
Skinned knees,
Veggie tale band-aids.

My Canterbury Tale

So, I was going through more old writings and came across my Canterbury Tale I wrote in high school. My senior year we were learning all about Chaucer and we read about four tales. After this adventure into middle English literature, we all had to write our own Canterbury Tale using a friend of ours for the main character. I chose Nate to be my leading man and wrote this tale. It, like all my old writings, made me crack up. Enjoy!

Prologue

It was a day so long ago,
That I decided to go to Mexico,
I told my friends about the trip,
But no one seemed interested in this hardship,
Except for one by the name of Nate,
He said he’d help me navigate,
A tall man was he,
Always acting fancy free,
Dark curly hair crowned his head,
Long away was he from his deathbed,
His eyes were pools of milk chocolat,
His nose was always filled with snot,
And thus he spent his time blowing his nose,
He could barley smell a rose,
He did not possess a job,
For he dressed like a slob,
But never the less he was my friend,
And I was glad that he could attend,
This long journey to Ensenada,
Where we could eat an Enchilada,
We agreed to keep me awake,
As I drove after daybreak,
He would tell me tales three,
One including his Christmas tree,
To this we shook hands and popped in my red steed,
He started to tell his first story as he had guaranteed.

First Tale

“It was October the 31st” he said, “and the big moon hung low,
In a tree was a fierce black crow,
I swear to the heavens the crow spoke,
'Don’t do it' he said and I nearly had a stroke,
I was dressed as Robin Hood,
Up till now I had always been good,
Slowly I walked to the park,
I stumbled over stones because of the dark,
There sitting was, Bob, my buddy,
When he got up his butt was all muddy,
He went into his sack and pulled out a thing,
It was cold white eggs to fling,
Nearby I heard children laughing with ghoulish delight,
This sound filled my heart with fright,
I started to back away,
For my conscience told me that something was not ok,
'Where are you going' said Bob,
I began to feel my heartthrob,
'I don’t feel right about doing this' said I,
'Common' said Bob, 'Don’t leave me high and dry,
You are only a kid once,
If you leave now I will tease you for months.'
Well I was too chicken to stand up to him,
I didn’t want him to beat me up or take off a limb,
So I grabbed some eggs and we took off,
No sounds between us but a cough,
We went to an old house,
Climbed into some bushes quite as a mouse,
We stayed there for a half an hour,
The bush smelled fairly sour,
When the lights went out inside,
I through an egg with a sigh,
At this Bob seemed satisfied,
But he did not see I was teary eyed,
I thought of the old lady cleaning up the mess,
While I was having fun at my recess,
When the eggs were all thrown,
We ran from the combat zone,
To our own houses we went,
A story for my mom I did invent,
For why I had not one treat,
I told her a tale that was so sweet,
About giving it all to a child,
Whom never smiled,
She ate it up and sent me to bed,
I went into my room and hung my head,
I felt so guilty for what I did,
There was only one way to make it better so I slid,
Out the window and went to the garage,
I grabbed a mop and some camouflage,
I spent all night cleaning the mess,
But in the end it was a success,
Not one egg shell was left in sight,
And thus I made my wrong right,
Bob never knew that I had done this,
So my arm he never did dismiss,
To this day we laugh about it,
But I never will admit,
That I went back that night.
To make my wrong a right.”

“That was a nice story” said I,
“Such sincerity bring a tear to my eye.”
And all Nate had to say was “Well I try”.

Second Tale

An hour had passed and I was getting sleepy,
And the country music was making me weepy,
So I poked Nate in the side,
“What is it?” he replied,
“It is time for story number two.
Wake up” I said, “it is long over due”

“Ok I’ve got one for you,
And I promise this is true,
It all started when I was walking home one night,
I heard a rustling that gave me a fright,
It was dusk and no one was out,
So if there was trouble no one could hear my shout,
I began to walk a little quicker,
Took a short cut and the trees got thicker,
I heard foot steps from behind,
It did not sound like the human kind,
I heard a roar,
It sounded like a dinosaur,
I turned around,
And I found,
Something furry with bad breath,
Oh lordy, I was scared to death,
It was a grizzly bear,
I hoped this was just a nightmare,
But everything felt too real,
I let out a little squeal,
I laid down quickly and tried to play dead,
The bear began to sniff my head,
I tried to be silent but it tickled so,
I looked up and realized he was in woe,
He didn’t want to eat me,
He wanted to be free,
Of the thorn in his paw,
It was quite raw,
So I sat up to take a closer look,
His paw was bent in a hook,
I took it out of it’s position,
And pulled the thorn to my intuition,
It came out with ease,
The bear gave me a lick with grateful please,
He walked away without looking back,
And I went back on track,
On my journey home,
That night I wrote a poem,
Of how looks can be deceitful,
Something ugly can be beautiful.”

“Yeah right” I spoke, “that story is far from true.”,
“Well” said he, “that is your point of view.”

Last Tale

Together Nate and I ate lunch,
To drink we had fruit punch,
We each had a wrap,
He looked inside the flap,
And found a carrot,
He was about to disinherit,
The one whom did trespass,
Even though you needed a magnifying glass,
To see it’s orange shimmer,
But it’s fate looked grimmer,
As Nate threw it in the trash,
So hard against the bin it did crash,
We got back in my car,
Mexico was not to far,
It was time for Nate’s last tale,
He told me it was about a female,
Little did I know he was speaking of none other,
Than his sweet little mother,

“It was a Christmas long ago”
He started, “That I wanted a stereo,
To Santa I wrote every night,
And wished on stars so sparkly bright,
I spent so much time wishing,
And not enough time fishing,
For the money for presents,
That cost some major cents,
Before I knew it, Christmas was here,
And I had nothing for my mother dear,
I looked around for something cheap,
But nothing was good enough for her to keep,
All I had thought was about was me,
I needed to give her something for underneath the tree,
I thought if anyone could help me Santa can,
I was surely his biggest fan,
So on Christmas night,
I kept the fire place in eyesight,
Santa seemed to be very late,
But I stayed up at any rate,
My eyes began to tire,
My plan started to transpire,
As my eyes began to close,
My dreams were filled with stereos,
I felt my mom shaking me,
There were presents underneath the tree,
'When did Santa come?' I asked,
She answered, 'I think half passed,'
'Oh no!' I gave a yell,
'I am going straight to hell,
I didn’t get you a present,
But this was not my intent,
Time just got away from me,
So there’s nothing for you under the tree,
I tried to get the help of Saint Nick,
But he came and went too quick,
Mommy I feel so bad,
I hope that you are not too mad.'
With this she gave a smile
'Hun I haven’t seen you worked up for a while,
You have nothing to worry about,
So there is no need to shout,
I already have the best present and that is you,
Believe me what I’m saying is true.'
So then my mom gave me a hug,
And my dad walked by muttering humbug,
It was that day I realized not all gifts have a bow,
It is the unseen gifts that make us grow.”

“Awww Nate” said I,
“All your stories make me want to cry”,
And once again he said, “Well, I try.”

Before I Die

Like I said, I have come across some of my old writings. This was a poem I wrote in CSSSA and I couldn't help but smile as I read it. For one of our writing exercises we were told to write a poem all about the things we would want to do before we died and this is what I came up with. Thought I would share it and give you a smile to. As for George and Paul, I am on the second chapter. :)
Enjoy the poem!

Before I Die

Before I die I want to live in London,
Smoke cigs atop Big Ben,
I want to open a restaurant called Pears and Fries,
Ask “The usual Hun?”
In a red and yellow outfit,
I want to fall in love with a boy,
He’ll say bless you,
Kiss goodnight,
I’ll invent the everlasting gobstopper,
Make children smile,
Parents mad,
Before I die I want to become the baddest pirate around,
Be known as Tea the Terror,
I want to swing to the beat of Big Bad Voodoo Daddy,
Wave my hands and jive to the rhythm,
I’ll meet Ringo Star,
Kiss his large nose,
I’m gunna scream in pain as they tattoo peace on my foot,
Before I die I want to streak down 140,
Feel the wind pressing against my body,
I want to make up a word,
Here lovers sayin’ it,
People fearin’ it,
Have my monkey dance to it,
I want to be free,
I wanna live.

George and Paul

I am happy to say that I am writing again. After my summer at CSSSA, I went on a writing hiatus. However, this semester, like I have previously mentioned, is an easier one than I have had in a while. I have been meaning to write this young adult novel that has been dancing in my head for years, but I usually can't get into the rhythm of the story and leave it sitting in some word document, never to be touched again. Recently, however, I came across a short story I wrote in high school, the short story that I wanted to convert into this young adult novel. Reading it over again got my juices flowing and I have began working on it again. I am taking bits and pieces of it and changing it so that it can become longer. I really think it could become a good story. It has remained, thus far, entitled George and Paul. It is about a young man, Paul, who is about age 15, that has to do community service hours, for his parole, at a local home for the elderly. He is sent up to a room on the second floor to spend time with an elderly man named George every Sunday for five weeks. Over time the story about why Paul is on parole comes out as George and him become closer. George also reveals a lot about his life, when Paul comes to visit, with entire chapters that go back to the time George is remembering that particular day. Obviously the story will need some tweaking and a lot of work, due to the amount of time it has sat and the fact that I am making a 5 page story into a 100 page story. Nevertheless, I think that it could really be something and I am excited about finally finding the flow of this story that has been in my mind for years.