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Thursday, February 18, 2010

Boom, boom, boom, satelite of love . . .

She hands him a tiny poem on a small card. He looks at her and says, “You really are a poet, do your parents know this?” He’s a physicist, the small kind of physics, like angstrom small, not astro big.
He tells her ether is an invention of poets. She says if you think it’s real then it’s real. He laughs, says he’s too rational for her. Brings her flowers tied with a purple ribbon. She resists for a while but then succumbs. They create a tiny universe too small to be seen without a microscope. They float out on a dust mote where  galaxies swirl within galaxies.


  1. Oyuki Martinez
    Maria Teutsch
    February 18, 2010
    Symbiotic Friendship

    Our friendship was like the mutualism between plant roots and fungi, as the mycorrhizae fungus that provided the root with nutrients necessary for survival; we had a beautiful codependence in which our shared lives became the vital essence of our existence. When one became weak, the other worked harder to balance the disproportion as the death of one would result in the death of the other, until you learned that you could benefit from someone else by becoming parasitic. While you received nourishment form the host you had inhabited, the once beautifully grown plant I had become was now shriveling up and dying as it no longer had the sustenance to survive.

  2. Jehan Valera

    Liquid Emotions

    It has never been the same after the incident with you and him, i don't want to go into detail because its a tale i don't want to tell. but let me just say it got me torn up and hating you. We break away from each other never to speak again. Days have gone by and still… As I lie down on my bed and close my eyes my brain oozes out liquids of mixed emotions and effervescent thoughts of you. Only the feeling of precipitation from my eyes on to my soft cheeks wakes me from my delusion that you were still mine.

  3. Alfonso Magallon

    I keep safe to myself, concealed deep in the interstices, taken for supper, not to eat but to be consumed. My heart, the empty chamber buried beneath the ice, like the antarctic. To wonder what the angels speak of us... do they say, "watch as they who have been endowed with the will set free, eat of each other like the black vultures." And to question humanity we can't quite comprehend, what is right if wrong prevails still the more?...
    I do not.

  4. Francisco Ceballos
    English 22

    Prose Poem

    I was in the bed room as I watch my sister pack a suitcase and I wonder what was going on because earlier that day my brother told me that was taking me trick-o-treating so I was so excited. Then I watch and follow with my eyes were my sister was taking the suitcase to a green truck that was my neighbors. As I watch I sit wondering who was the suitcase for and why was it in the truck with other items in there and at this point I see my brother get into the front seat. As I ran out to stop my brother in my power rangers outfit, my mother bought me that year, all I can do is stand in the middle of the road tears running down my side asking myself why?

  5. George Kurtow
    English 22
    Prose poem

    We were riding our bikes it was dark there were hardly lights. We laughed because we had so much fun drinking with everyone… getting jaded on the bleachers. Trust me we weren’t creeping down the street we rode fast and hard our heads grinding alcohol in our brains…it was mostly gone… so we departed the night was mostly gone.Then from nowhere everything went wrong, the bike like a loaded slingshot sent him cart wheeling forward. He kissed the vicious sidewalk it was unforgiving. I leaped off my bike to be by his side, the crunch echoed in my mind. I knew I just knew he wasn’t fine. I looked at his face like a doll it had been squeezed in. I yelled “oh mike oh mike I’m calling the ambulance stay still stay still!” The ambulance was coming I saw it pass by I had to leave him for a second to wave them down. They followed me to him. They got there fast thank God the hospital was just a few blocks down. They strapped him down and he told me “take care of my bike”. They left right away I wished him goodbye and I prayed for him so that he would be fine.

  6. Gabby Hutchinson
    Eng 22

    Why belabor the past? It has worked hard enough, you say. And I agree. Especially the Egyptians, who got ground down until there was nothing left but sand and about 80 million curators wandering around on it looking for Canopic jars. You get a postcard from the Sphinx with only a paw-print on the message side. Too weary to write "I smell bad" or "I don't think this nose job is going to work." And the rest of history busted it balls, too, digging itself so far deep down you need foundation money to call it up long distance and say you're giving it the rest of Eternity off. The past is just too tired to care. Which is why the present is better. You can walk right up to present and say Boo! and things really start to jump. I taught this trick to Miss Kim and she caught on fast. She said Boo! To our cactus and it made breakfast. She said Boo! to my coccyx and I was up for days, mutating. By the time I got back from the future and had seen what that was all about, I was an unchanged man. I mean the future really works, and hard. Of course, it is full of coccyx-less robots who get nervous if they have to take lunch breaks. They see the sushi vending machines slaving away for small change and tell themselves they can't really be hungry. The factories of the future are humming, but they don't know any words. I think I'll just stay back her with Miss Kim and play.

    by: Robert Perchan

  7. Jonathan Fordham
    English 22

    One second can make a good day turn bad
    One second can turn treasure into trash
    I took another second to think about what happened
    On my way to work the last thing i thought about was crashing
    As that thought crossed my mind another second goes by
    I see the airbag open on the passenger side
    Look right in front of me damn so is mine
    Took another second to thank God I'm alive
    And another one to say bye to that G-35

  8. Jeannette Copas
    English 22
    Prose poem

    It was a day like any other, except that I was awakened by a phone call. A chill ran down my spine, my knees gave way, and I fell. I screamed to the heavens that they had to be wrong. I immediately scanned the room for my children, they were both by my side, worried because Mommy was crying. The voice, that bodiless, faceless voice told me, my husband had passed away.

  9. Matthew Castillo
    English 22
    Mrs. Teutsch

    But Where Will I Go?

    Not a second after making me feel as though I had betrayed a pact of love and trust for not telling my parents about the way we held hands in public, or the way our lips touched from time to time, or the way we talked on the phone for hours, the first boy I ever loved stormed out of my house in a huff. My mother was watching t.v. in her room, and it wasn't long before I worked up the courage to tell her what I never thought I could ever tell her. At the booming of voices laced with hate and disappointment, the world began to crumble, my eyes began to puff, my heart began to sink, and I began to wonder if I had done the right thing.

  10. The trip was eternal as we drove down that road, the sun beating on my skin, my four year-old tender hand numb with pain from brother's comforting grip, my sister's sobs murmuring in my ear as she tried to keep quiet, my mom so focused on the road her eyes began to water. After what seemed the longest hours of my life we finally arrived, the engine died and we stared down that cliff, the same one she had driven us to before, the same one we had driven away from, leaving me with a sense of relief I don't know why. It was until the sun began to set that the engine roared alive again, my hand was no longer part of me, my brother had never let it go, my sister still sobbed quietly and I was relieved again that all we left at the bottom of the cliff were bitter tears.

  11. Mike Ongy
    Eng 22
    Mrs. Teutsch

    Prose Poem #6: The Object Poem

    Observing this beautiful creation that I refer to as my best friend, the only thing that I can trust and understands me, I notice that it is more than just a round spherical shape they call a "Basketball." I play for the love of the game as it is my escape when I am caught up in this distorted world I am accustomed to. Once I become one with the ball there's no other feeling like it. The weight of it is like laying on a large white fluffy cloud similar to those of the mighty Greek God, Zeus. The bumps and ridges of the ball are like package bubbles because it is just as fragile. It moves with the handler as if it were some kind of puppet and I'm it's master. The sound of it is like hearing the waves brush up the shore on a low tide; soothing my ears as I gracefully throw it into it's companion known as the hoop. Every shot I take with this work of art I find myself falling in love as if it were my first time being aquainted to it. This "basketball" is what gives me this thing called, hope.

  12. Andrei Juezan
    Eng 22
    Mrs. Teutsch
    Prose Poem #6


    as a kid I'd race you down the stairs
    already knowing I'd beat I'd watch in amazement on how slow, but how cool you looked going down
    sometimes you'd get too tired to make it to the last set of stairs so id have to push you
    you'd spring to it cause you had no choice
    and it was amazing how flexible you were too,
    how you can stretch and re-form yourself using your own momentum and gravity
    well actually, you stood upright motionless if i didn't want to hang out
    but you were a favorite amongst the others
    how mother always said for us to stop fooling around the dinner table
    and if we were unable to do it, she would split us up like "enough!"
    your movements were elastic, with your different dimensions and shape changing proportions
    who knew an inanimate object could portray the basic laws of physics
    I didn't know, I was 6,
    and at first, I only knew you by the name you were given by your manufacturers
    and when i first saw you....I didn't know what you were or what to do with you
    but that's how imagination plays its role, then all of a sudden
    you looked like something that came out of an automobile and its spring loaded
    ready for action right out of the box coming in a variety of colors
    to entertain children of all ages but hazardous to children 3 and younger
    but you weren't hazardous to me, only a pain when you'd get tangled up
    and you were more then just metal coil springs
    you are a childhood memory forever engraved in my mind
    and when i have children ill buy them their own to chase down the stairs with
    and set up obstacles to create the motion that you do,
    i just have to make sure they're over 3 years old because then that's a hazardous move
    I've kept you for so long you've grown a part of me
    so hears ode to you my childhood friend
    the box with a spring named slinky

  13. Arjan Guevarra
    ENG 22
    Pros Poem

    Wondering in my room, saw a shiny thing that i knew didn't belong
    It was with some scrap papers and so i knew it was wrong
    to put something shiny that look like a bright new thong
    So i picked it up finding that it was an old house key that i had for so long.

    It was just a normal house key that everyone carries
    Everyone could get the same, to me it was no worries
    How they key was mad was the only diffies (difference)
    For that house was full of memories.

    A house full of love and happiness that cant be replayed or duplicated
    That family bond that only my family had made and completed
    But at times we can get angry and be frustrated
    That's just like a normal family but our time at that house just ended.

  14. Maria Hernandez
    Prose Poem
    Eng 22


    There was a man who didn't know how to sleep; nod-ding off every night into a drab, unprofessional sleep. Sleep that he'd grown so tired of sleeping.
    He tried reading The Manual of Sleep, but it just put him to sleep. That same old sleep that he had grown so tired of sleeping . . .
    He needed a sleeping master, who with a whip and a chair would discipline the night, and make him jump through hoops of gasolined fire. Someone who could make a tiger sit on a tiny pedestal and yawn . . .

    By Russell Edson

  15. Katherine Herrera

    "Hysteria" by TS Eliot

    As she laughed I was aware of becoming involved in her laughter and being part of it, until her teeth were only accidental stars with a talent for squad-drill. I was drawn in by short gasps, inhaled at each momentary recovery, lost finally in the dark caverns of her throat, bruised by the ripple of unseen muscles. An elderly waiter with trembling hands was hurriedly spreading a pink and white checked cloth over the rusty green iron table, saying: "If the lady and gentleman wish to take their tea in the garden, if the lady and gentleman wish to take their tea in the garden ..." I decided that if the shaking of her breasts could be stopped, some of the fragments of the afternoon might be collected, and I concentrated my attention with careful subtlety to this end.


    I Know its true that I use food to numb my painful life. I didn't choose the craving. I haven't chosen to stop. The first day I chose to hide in the pantry I can't remember why. It's just where I got cornered to escape the angry rage. That's the last time I got beat by him. My father only hits me with his silence ever since. The lump of guilt that filled his throat is what had made him stop. Not the empathy he felt at seeing welted bruises on my back. I'm still cornered in the pantry struggling to swallow my inherited lump.

  17. George Kurtow
    eng 22
    prose poem2

    I stared with my cat in curiosity. She looked upon my face, so curiously. As i pet her she purrs with delight to get some love.She purks up and runs away. Distracted by her scences. About to feel that rush of catching another mouse.