Sunday, May 29, 2011

Thursday, May 26, 2011

day fourteen drabble - "Blank Pages"

i was planning valentine's cards for friends who'd sent Christmas cards when March came creeping up behind me.  these cards for friends who'd sent cards became St. Patrick's day when all of a sudden it is the end of May.  the table is still covered in heart shaped stamps and purple ink pads.  some friends have moved or changed their names, so the addresses are beginning to expire.  i've forgotten who i've written to already and who is still waiting for a holiday reply.  looking back, then, i see that all the pages inside all the cards are still blank.

breakfast over bets

in his vision she wore her hair down
an over sized flannel shirt hid her model form

he awoke to the smell of corn bread and coffee
the sizzle of red vegetables from the stove top

alongside the slow cooked birth of an omelet
at 8am on a Wednesday morning in Pasadena

a beauty manifest in his kitchen unexpectedly
cooking him a desert king's breakfast

her dark skin seemed light by the color of her hair
her eyes fell sweetly on his despite her people's rage

"where'd you find that?" the only question
mustered out of suprise, "and how did you get in?"

he pointed at the french coffee press on the table
steeping full with a heavy, black columbian brew

"it was in the closet. it was in a vase box."
she spoke, carefully folding the omelet over in the pan

"when did you get here, how did you get in,
how did you even find my house and ..."

she raised a hand and a plate to him
"all these questions" she paused, he sat.

"there is something i came here for.
do you have something to tell me?" her neck seemed long

"yes" he avoided her gaze
she poured him a coffee

"are you going to tell me?"
"no" he replied, sure that this was still a dream

and further sure as the coffee he sipped
was the best he'd ever had

and faded up into waking life
alone in his big house

part 2

the real girl, the real affection
told him that she's in love with him

he had another dream.

day thirteen drabble - dirty laundry

lights, darks, heavy or delicate.  it doesn't matter.  he can navigate baskets full of dirty laundry with ease and prowess, down multiple flights of stairs.  carpeted or not, no terrain is off limits and no obstacle too great. he knows the way from memory.  he's taken this route so many times.  from the bedroom to the basement and back again. 

when the alarm sounds, he calls for his crew to reform and make wake for the dryer.  the urgency of his captain call, a manifestation of his concern for tee shirts and towels that wrinkle when left too long unattended.

Monday, May 23, 2011

keeping up with drabbles

hello darlings,

as you may have noticed, i have been trying to write a drabble a day in the month of May. and in case you didn't notice, today is the 23rd day in May, and i've only written some 14 drabbles. it's more like a drabble every other day in the month of may. not quite as catchy.

i am not giving up, but i am also not sure i will catch up. you see, i have been working very hard helping my weight watchers members lose weight, selling olive oil and balsamic vinegar to gustare guests, and baking hundreds (not an exaggeration, note) of tasty macarons in preparation for an Artisans' Fair coming up THIS WEEKEND.

with all that going on, i am pretty darn proud of myself for having written anything this month. my blog has been void of poetry for far too long. maybe i should start reading it again, but i doubt i will just yet. things are still busy. i barely keep up with the day-to-day grind of housekeeping and kitty care (though they are very good at reminding me when the litter needs to be changed or their food bowls need to be filled).

so this little post here is not a bow-out, but a disclaimer (more to myself than anyone else). i may not write a drabble every day, but this little exercise has been rewarding, fun, inventive and laborious all at the same time. i love it.

maybe there isn't poetry on the immediate horizon, but there are certainly more drabbles. i hope you enjoy them.

Thursday, May 19, 2011

day twelve drabble - apples

she drove him away from the city. his wife of two years was taking him to see something, but refused to tell him what it was, or where they were going. whatever it was, she was excited about it. very excited.

he'd been away with work for seven weeks. she was surprising when he was home every day, he couldn't begin to imagine what she'd arranged while he was gone.

he expected a picnic, a totem pole, a landlocked boat, or some secret fort in the woods.

“what do you think?”

she bought an apple orchard. he hadn’t expected that.

day eleven drabble - space wrecked

got shot down by a weapons experiment. unlicensed. unclassified. just off orbit of a water planet. unfortunate. mermaids can be hostile. luckily she crashed on a floating island. tough spot though. no chance of rescue. not a chance in the galaxy. so she kept her cool. mirrored sunglasses and elbow batched pilot jacket fashioned perfectly for keeping one's cool demeanor. but it's not easy to keep your cool, alone on a floating island in the middle of a water planet, for forty six long years. getting old. hunting birds with a slingshot. getting sick on strange fruit. collecting other survivors.

Tuesday, May 17, 2011

day ten drabble - buttercream

first, a specific amount of butter. measured. removed from its plastic paper. mixed thoroughly. by fork or paddle attachment. into a specific amount of very fine sugar. white and easily dispersed. yields a very specific texture. much unlike one ingredient used to make it. much like the other. then, when heavy whipping cream is added. another measured amount. and the slightest amount of vanilla. drops of strong extract. the texture and flavor morphs. still much unlike one ingredient or three. into a white dream. cloudy and sweet. colored to match the occasion. they say, it's the frosting on the cake.

Saturday, May 14, 2011

day nine drabble - emperor of soft

when he first came here to live with us, we placed him on our soft bed. he liked that. he liked that the floor was soft too. where he used to live, there was only one soft place (inside an antique baby crib).

since then, more than four years ago now, he still seeks out the softest spots. the sofa. the fuzzy blanket on the sofa. the fluffy sweatshirt on the fuzzy blanket on the sofa. you get the idea.

he loves to sleep on soft things. who doesn't?

but he has yet to find anything as soft as him.

drabble day eight - the fortress

made of scrap metal and drift wood, the fortress is stronger than it looks. it was made with love and wood glue. brown birds protect the nooks and disparate corners. inside there are treasures disguised as toys and trunks of costumes worn by little pirates on rainy thursday evenings. the shoes are too big, of course, but the brown birds don't seem to mind. occasionally, to avoid the rain, the brown birds leave their corners to play dress up with the little pirates and hide away their secret treasures. brown birds must be careful, though, little pirates are easily angered.

Wednesday, May 11, 2011

day seven drabble - "Thoughts in Black and White"

"do you want room for milk?" asked the barista, regarding the level of water rising around the bag of earl grey.

this, you consider, a trivial attitude towards something of great importance.

"yes, please" you reply with equal nonchalance.

the barista interprets your reply as uncaring. this is someone, after all, whose trade is hot drink, of which milk plays a vital part.

at the milk and sugar kiosk, your thoughts are drawn out by the stream of white milk. then drawn even further by your neighbor's black coffee as it swirls in revolt against the cream being poured unscrupulously.

Friday, May 06, 2011

day six drabble - voice

a deep, dastardly and debonair voice projects its way over the intercom on the dashboard of a 25th century wreck. it comes in sputters. the sound waves blurred by years of unattended atrophy amidst the dark space between planets and asteroids. his message is lost, but important. it repeats on a loop until someone deciphers it. the computer on board the old, abandoned wreck pieces together the sputters and spurts of the message. it may have taken years, and it may be too late, but the message has finally been deciphered.

a lone voice, lost in the depths of space.

day five drabble - floating

a blue house with purple shutters that actually close is floating through space. the shutters are kept open so the cats that live inside the house can see the stars and planets as they drift by one after another after another. they name the planets after long lost friends of theirs and keep records of each one in a diary with dates and drawings that all look exactly the same.

on days when they pass no new planets, they draw imaginary ones in the same diary. reading the diary one would think these cats passed a new planet every day.

day four drabble - the wet planet

there is an undiscovered planet circling a yellow star at the precipice of the milky way galaxy. a planet as green and blue with oceans as our own. dozens of small islands float across the waters, loose and untamed. each island is home to unique creatures and botany.

these islands are few and hard to find, but the life beneath the surface is full and plenty with mermaids and their suitors. whales and dolphins sing shanties to the annoyance of the crabs and other grumpy shellfish. starfish and octopus dance for food. waves tell stories of battles and awesome parties.

day three drabble - multiplex

jack lives on the second floor of a cardboard multiplex. made out of boxes previously occupied by an air conditioner, a kitchenaid standing mixer, and a selection of extreme hot sauces found for sale only online.

the sign on the second floor reads "casa del gatos".

jack sleeps on top of his second floor multiplex apartment, on the roof. it's starting to cave in just so. so jack, be careful rolling around on your multiplex roof.

jack lives in the multiplex. but on cold nights, jack finds it more comfortable to snuggle with the people on the soft green duvet.

Monday, May 02, 2011

day two drabble - let's agree to be perfect

the handsome blond boy behind the counter of the cafe has a perfect smile. the perfect accompaniment to a tea latte. who smiles like that at eight in the morning? other than angels and baristas, that is. and me, right back at the handsome blond boy behind the counter of the cafe.

the pretty freckled girl scanning groceries at the market has a perfect smile. the perfect accompaniment to a stash of mini tangerines. she knows the latin names of all the fruits, herbs and cheeses. why bother remembering latin when no one speaks it anymore? alia angelorum and cashiers.

day one drabble - in from the rain

Devon’s Volvo broke down on Red Clay Road outside an old house. a light shown through the kitchen window. rain soaked through his coat and shoes in the short distance from the car to the house.

a young woman answered his knock and let him in out of the rain.

she dried his clothes, fed him mini tangerines from California, brewed him a pot of loose leaf tea, and let him fall in love with her one awkward smile at a time.

by morning the rain had cleared. the car was towed. and they both knew the words to “Suzanne”.

Sunday, May 01, 2011

drabble a day in the month of may

i am going to take up the challenge here of writing a 100-word story (aka "drabble") every day this month.

this is a great way for me to revitalize my somethingkaty.blogspot again, as it has been horribly neglected (my tumblr has been getting all the fuss lately).


predicate to the soul
sees through your thin skin
and reflects if back through her eyes

poetry talker

clay as red as blood
trapped beneath my finger nails

hinder our escape
leaving prints on all the buttons


We were found broken in a ditch
and as the jaws of life pried us apart
I awoke to a glint in your eyes
reflecting a smile
off a puddle of muddy water.


the wings under our nails
come out under water
releasing bubbles of air
that float to the surface

another poem

i waited up all night
for the world you promised
filled with sweet gestures
and passions that move us

a poem

turning the lights on
turns our hearts
into different plays
reveals the colors
of our private selves
with love and punctuated worries.