My heart; it pitches a tiny blank pace,
Everyday I don't wake up to see your bright face.
Please my beloved, for if you leave home
My heart beats it out like a sad metronome.
The Wedding SpeechYou should know, I had a dream of giving you a speech on your wedding.
It was white and glittery. A little like a white Christmas but without the noise. It was diamonds and satin and white flowers. A June wedding.
Your man was dashing. He was in a white suit, if I can remember.
You were stunning, as you always have. You make your sweatshirts seem like wedding gowns, so surprise me if I found you absolutely beautiful in the real thing.
A microphone was handed to me and I had a card up. I was never good with speeches.
I've always wondered why we were friends. As if fire and water were to meet long enough to make something of themselves before they douse or evaporate, but they never seem to create something; only a sight to reckon with. You were brash and outgoing and adventurous; I was selective and cautious and unnerving.
We've never had time together. We were always on the other side of campus, like the weights of a turntable that never seem to meet, just to keep the balance
Never Finish Last Chap6
Fenny sinks her elbows down on the lavatory. She scoops up the water running from the tap and splashes it to her face. Like Tressif from the apartment doldrums and Gunnels back at the locker room, Fenny copes with the player switch of Roo Island and Brightvale with an empty frustration. Gordo was always there for her, even after the final buzzer. Now, he simply wouldn't. He would be sitting on a different bench on a different locker room mingling with different players on a different team. He is on a different land now, and there is nothing she can do but see him on the opposite side of the field. I guess it takes some time for it to sink in, doesn't it? Fenny asks herself.
She reaches for a clean towel on the restroom counter and pats herself dry. When she lowers her towel, she gets startled by her own reflection. Having realized that it was only just her reflection, she takes a little chuckle in the bathroom. Surprise! I'm ugly!
Never Finish Last Chap5
After practice, as a token of gratitude, "Squeaky" Tressif offers the team (including the manager) a night out for dinner. They deliberate for Shenkuu cuisine (Shenkuusine by some,) and find the perfect niche on the boardwalk of Blumaria.
The restaurant, the Paper Lantern, has been in business for a small number of decades, and is run by an equally small Shenkuuvian clan settled quietly in the borders of Roo Island. It's had its fair share of slow nights, but tonight, it's going to be the talk of the town when Team Roo Island enters its doors.
At least, it would be, if the team trudged in through the door in full uniform signing autographs for aspiring Neopets. But that draws too much attention. One call from the likes of the Times and they'll have to exit through the kitchen doors. Exiting through anybody's kitchen doors is always a bad thing. As a manager, Keila Varoix is always prepared for situations like this.
King of Unrequited LoveHe sat there by the bed on my apartment window, intently typing out the little thoughts his scatter-brain could not catch by the flitting minute. He was wrapped with the coats and scarves of a million scavengers by the cold window frost. He tapped out his keyboard with the gentle sound like rain that spread throughout my room as I lounged staring at the ceiling. The night was just about to begin with dusk plastered behind the city silhouette outside. He left to buy some coffee, since the last batch brewed had emptied from my pot, and he left with one last warning, pointing at his laptop:
"Do not read it."
As the curious little caterpillar that I am, as soon as the latches of the downstairs door and the stone steps of my building sloshed with his iron-toed boots, I shed my blue blanket into the broken oak floor and trudged towards the screen. It reflected the crystal lights the frost on my window had gathered, and the white starked throughout that little corner of my room. I sat up, str
Never Finish Last Chap4
The sun blazes on the local sports arena. It is much, much smaller than the grand behemoth sitting in Altadorthe land, after all, invented the sportbut the small stadium feels right at home with its bright colors and its open field. Rumor says it has the largest concession stand in the whole of Neopia. Go figure.
On the rubberized oval surrounding the Yooyuball field the team circles it at different intervals. Fenny, the first to lay her tracks on the gravel, keeps at her pace, straightforward and vigilant, avoiding any company. High above is Clutch, hovering over the arena. He strengthens his greatest assets, his wings, by bringing the heavy duty wing guards and strapping them on for his usual jogs. His wings need to block the hardiest passes and scoring shots, so they need every chance of exercise they can get. Trailing behind is Lilo and Jair. Besides other things, being the center and right forwards they talk strategy almost constantly.
Never Finish Last Chap3
The clasping of gear echoes through the empty halls of the local stadium. They come from the locker room, which is occupied by the Neopets who make the Rooligans on the bleachers scream with fury; who make their temples pulse with dedication and adrenaline. This is their first time playing since the championshipsor rather, for the second bracket. The team, since the very start, fights promisingly; shocking even (and that's just the uniforms). The Rooligans bagged the fourth place trophy on the very first Cup and it was going up from there. By the third Cup, the ramshackle team of misfits from the small island won first place. But as the trend goes, the winners were knocked out of their pedestals and placed in the shoes of the jesters. They were pushed as far as ninth place on the fourth Cup. Rooligans everywhere were devastated.
But like a tireless factory worker on the surface of Kreludor, the muck did not stop them from defying gravity. The team wo
Never Finish Last Chap2
Roo Island draws crowds of various melting pots for different reasons. For once, the subjects of a kingdom enjoy having a king. King Roo governs the island with a "jelly fist" making his everydays legendary. One might think: if everyday's a jolly holiday in Roo Island, then no day is a holiday in Roo Island. But in the sheer prospect of merrymaking, Roo Islanders, or, as what they colloquially call themselves, Rooligans, make it happen.
Perhaps the wow factor is the fact that the entire island is a proud amusement park. Exclusively why it's a summer getaway (or any other sort of seasonal getaway) is because of the carnival appeal. Roo Island boasts of housing the Games Room (thanks in part to the overhaul from the bug invasion earlier this year), the Merry Go Round and the Art District: hot spots for creativity and fun.
What perchance a most well-known landmark in Roo Island is its grand boardwalk, located in the port city of the kingdom, Blumaria. It wraps around the island's bay for
Never Finish Last Chap1
Sunlight slats across the room as morning peeps its righteous head. In a bed by the corner a huddle of blankets bunch up, enveloping a mass of fatigued musclesonce agile and steady, now a dormant volcano. The Lupe rolls over his entangled blankets, only to have his sleep disturbed by one of the sunlit stripes that zoom across the room, aligning itself with one of his eyes. He squints and casts the covers over his head. He is not accustomed to early morningnot after he started his two week vacation, anyway. His groans, slight and deep-throated, echo under his blanket hideout. He does not want the morning to start.
Tough luck, then, to have a manager like Keila Varoix. The veracious Blumaroo comes over at least once a day, usually just after the sun comes up, with an attitude that can cut through the hardiest player. Thing is, she wants his morning to start. It gives her the thrill to make his morning start. If any odd job, good habit or tiny exe
Dear Weasel23 Milkweed Avenue
Pritchett, British Columbia
December 15, 2009
I would like to tell you that you've won, fair and square.
Well, not really.
I mean, in terms of what had happened over these past few months, I believe you have earned yourself a gold star. Or even a trophy for what you've achieved. Not that I'm writing in constant loathing, or anything, (and who has ever mentioned horrible things like that, anyway?) but I am writing you a letter of congratulations.
And you ask, yourself, Olivia: why is this pathetic bloke snail-mailing me a glorious congratulations letter?
That is a good question.
It's not easy being a guyYou may think without a doubt,
in the depths of your mind,
That it's easy being a male,
but let me tell you, that's a lie
Do you know how it feels,
to reach societies expectations,
and if you fail to do so,
must give everyone an explanation?
Or the pain you feel,
when walking with a group of friends,
and a lone girl walks by,
and you stare at her instead.
Not because you lust over her,
or because she's revealing,
put because she has beauty,
like an angel in the clearing.
But you must want to rape her,
or call her a slut,
and because of wishful thoughts,
you have the right to be punched in the gut.
And what's the point of compliments,
when they come from your heart,
you're obviously being sexist,
wasn't that your intention for the start?
Do you know how it feels,
to be raped and feel meaningless,
but to be shunned by society,
And blamed for feeling so senseless.
You are a guy,
“strong proud and tall”
you're not a girl,
so it doesn't matter at all.
That is painful,
to hear an
The paper soulPicture the soul of every child,
as a pristine delicate paper ball,
filled with love and happiness,
innocent and whole.
This fine intricately woven filigree orb
inside of all their hearts,
must be cherished protected and loved,
lest it fall apart.
A remark out of place
is like a slap in the face.
Taking the fool
and all ridicule,
can crush and destroy this beautiful soul,
leaving irreparable damage untold.
When paper is crumpled, creased, dashed and trodden,
the marks left are plain to see.
With the soul it´s the same, hurt, scarred and broken
and bullied into misery.
With apologies you may want forgiveness,
like the paper you try to smooth out the creases.
But the paper is beyond repair
just like a soul full of despair
It´s too late to pick up the pieces.
Poetry by Suzanne Karbach October 2014.
Adulthood's HourglassWelcome to the twisted, corrupted paths of something called adulthood
Where direction is entirely lost and the way cannot be understood
If your education is the chain that weighs your body down
Then your labor is the shackle that binds your body now
The journey will be rough, but don’t look back
Forgiveness is lost on those who might lack
It’s time you prepare to make a choice
In one you certainly won’t rejoice
Release the dreams you plotted
They’re simply not allotted
In the land you’re to enter
Where work is the only center
This black and white city of misery
A schedule fit so the strong grow weary
A country ruled by the king named Money
Whose lies are fatal as poison, but sweet as honey
Yes, here in the real world, your life is now controlled
Now, listen to your new master, do everything as you’re told
Until the time comes for you to take your leave of this cruel place
Just another pawn in this game of life, death will be your saving gra
The RobinClipped are the wings of freedom's song,
her cry a distant call.
locked inward a cage of grief,
her time shall not be long.
She dreams to soar the sky above,
to taste the morning sun.
To fly above oppression's reach,
in hopes she may find love.
We have one Earth, We have one ChanceThings are going down,
and they know it’s true,
just take a long look
see what other have been through.
This world is terrible,
I’ve heard it all before
and the problems we face
are like a stone locked door.
War in one state,
death in another
Good God, I’m surprised
we haven’t killed each other.
Ebola is a virus,
you’ve all heard it I know,
It’s serious isn’t it,
yet people joke like it’s a comedy show.
People are at odds
with what’s a sin or not
But loving whom you choose
is just a wishful thought.
And what is this ISIS
who claims to do right?
When poor, terrified families
can’t even sleep without fright.
And let’s take a step back,
look at western feminism,
which is a pitiful joke,
compared to right-stricken women.
And what about men,
people turn a blind eye,
to rape, murder and abuse,
feminist alike still deny.
Children are poor,
in some of the richest countries,
they beg in the streets,
in wealth filled cities.
Thoughts can be useless.
They don't help in a fight.
In the spur of the moment,
We don't think quite right.
For us it was years though.
With no time to waste
All that we wanted
Was Mom's smiling face...
Instead I lost one.
My brother's sound fate
A soul clad in armor
My horrific mistake.
But now we're relentless.
We search for a way
To correct our mistakes
And go on, come what may.
Now my future is set.
No regrets, can't backpedal.
I'll jump into the fray
With a heart made Fullmetal.
Why She's FeministThey took the light from her eyes,
when they took the light from him.
An even to this day,
he wishes his life could end.
She wasn’t a feminist,
until she turned seventeen,
and she hadn’t put much thought into it,
it really wasn’t what it seemed.
But one night when things,
were silent and casual,
she and her brother,
studied like usual.
However she noticed,
without having to say,
that her little brother was nervous
he began to act in strange ways.
She wanted to ask him
if everything was alright
but she wasn’t at all prepared
for what else would happen that night.
She screamed louder than ever
when those boys broke in,
they attacked her first,
she wasn’t a match for them.
She fell to the ground,
with a bruise on her cheek
she watched helplessly as the boys
took her brother off his feet.
They hit him and beat him
threw him to the ground
ignored his tears
right before they began to crowd.
They stripped him one by one
and by that time she tried to move
Her Broken HeartThere was a little girl,
With a broken heart.
That spent every night,
Trying to mend it back together.
Was like glass.
It would fall,
And shatter to pieces.
She was missing something,
Her heart would never be whole.
The pieces were stolen,
And would never be given back.
She didn't know how to survive,
Every memory tormented her.
And the scars would only,
Bring them back to life.
All she ever wanted,
Was to be loved.
To not be invisible,
To everyone in the world.
But she'll put on a smile.
Because she doesn't want anyone to see,
That this girl is me.
Never EndingIt´s something that´s so hard to bear
After losing a dear loved one,
the days go by without ever changing,
uneventful and dull.
On waking every morning, you face the day , you try.
You´re going through the motions
but there´s something not quite right.
There´s an empty space in your broken heart
that´s now full of disappointment.
With no hope of ever healing it,
no cure , or soothing ointment.
It´s like waking up on Christmas morn
to hear it´s been called off
and every day driving miles and miles
around in thick dense fog.
Daily greetings from the Ground Hog,
each day it seems the same.
For this never ending sadness
is your broken heart to blame.
Poetry by Suzanne karbach October 2014