Sleep

Sleep

This morning you slept late.

Heard the alarm,

But chose to ignore

Despite the ringing melody encouraging you to wake.

For once I heard nothing.

Lost in dreams of a past

Where those I once knew are reduced to fragments;

Pieces that alone sing a quality

Yet together, didn’t quite fit.

Imprint

 Imprint

The makeover was simple.

Nothing more required

than a disguise

of paint,

just like

a snake

shedding skin.

The ceilings shine black

and the walls,

they blink white

and I thought,

maybe,

that was the mistake.

Two, three, even

ten coats will

never hide the

mouths kissed,

bodies writhed,

nights lived in

a haze of drunken youth.

The imprints mark deeper

than cushion covers,

table tops, varnish;

they cut like

fallen stone.

Old young love

Old, Young, Love

She sang her heart out;

The rest wondered

How it would be

To have all eyes on them.

Like a fireplace

Her voice burned,

Through heat spat

Words that felt

Only too well the meaning.

There was no need

To sing of love,

It was already clear-

Transparent eyes,

Wanting fingers that

Graced the strings like

They were a child.

Perhaps she wanted

Others to hear, to know

What is was to be 

Young, and to

Hurt, for she knew

At some point

Everyone had been

There, even her

Grandmother who

Sat at the back-

The age of her skin

Creased with pride.

Mans Best Friend

Man’s Best Friend?

The dog’s nose touched the little boy’s.

Then, before his mother could stop him, a long,

Pink tongue reached out, licked the little boy right on the lips.

He giggled, stuck his own tongue back at that brown furry face,

At eyes softer than soil, kinder than a chapel, and

They saw each other – animal and man, dog and boy,

Friend and friend, until the child’s mother yelped,

Grabbed his hand away as though he’d just

Thrust it down a toilet.

‘Dirty creature,’ she spat.

The dog didn’t know it had done wrong;

It wagged its tail, relaxed its mouth in that soppy way

That you’d swear, swear was a smile.

Drive On

Drive On

If only

I knew beforehand.

More and more control

Is lost, despite

The promise of change. 

The usual route was blocked.

Light did its best

To stretch itself further,

To brighten the street signs,

To ward off the dark. 

The car

Felt like a toy.

The wind could be seen

In the arch of the trees,

The craze of the branches. 

Fields of misted heather

Lined the view

In the distance,

Like the blur of a glass lens

Splattered with rain. 

And then came

The villages,

Like forgotten belongings,

The regret

Of not glimpsing sooner. 

Far beneath

The quarries loomed-

Gaping holes; little houses

Were lit, and called,

And called. 

All I could do was drive on.

Dust

Dust

The rooms are larger now.
Funny that; unlike the lake at the park which
Was never as big as I once imagined
These walls, this house, only deepens with memory.
My eyes are dusty
As I search for the things that I hope will never change.
The chipped dining table, the mark on the window sill,
The attic piled up with nostalgia
For each is a reminder-
The first time I walked, spoke, argued, smoked,
The single bed where I aged each night.
Would I go back?
Repair the mirror that got smashed in temper,
The countdown of Christmas staged in chocolates
Then stolen by my brothers; the tears that followed
Felt like the worst that would ever flow.
Was childhood ever the learning curve that it should have been?
In so many ways, I’m no different now
To who I was then
Except,
The empty space at my side is no longer that.

I thought of you

I Thought of You

I thought of you last night.
Tall, gracious, kind.
Saw those days of childhood when your home was a special place,
And the smell of lavender in the bathroom never failed.
The organ in the hallway waiting each time with its large
Brown hood rolled down.
Your fingers were art themselves.
Guiding paintbrushes, needles, notes,
With a touch that could never be taught.
The shell of your weakened body didn’t stop you,
Not really, it told a story that hadn’t reached the end;
There were mornings to be viewed for a while longer,
Alarms to ring at six thirty am in time for breakfast at seven.
Walks to take along the route that recognises you by now,
And expects your steps upon the grass.

It did all stop, of course. It had to.
You’d hardly even know now, the overgrown fields
Where balls once bounced as your dog played twice a day.
I barely knew it myself. But then, as I thought of you,
And drives in your van that had chairs, a table,
Even a bed;
Each place went you went counted as a thread, a tie,
A knot wound far too tightly to ever be undone.

How Things Change

 

It was familiar when we were younger.

Sundays were different to other days,

We’d dress a little nicer, were told to speak

A little kinder, and we’d gather

In a building made of stone and history.

The old were grateful for the young,

The noise of children a reminder

That time was once without limits,

That coloured glass made stories brighter,

That tradition would be continued.

Or so they hoped.

I was around thirteen when I decided

That I was wiser than it all.

Doubt came with the realisation

That it mattered not whether the door was left open at night,

And thoughts became something to fear.

The sky high pillars, the long white robes,

The book with too many words to ever read

No longer held all the answers.

We went back today.

It wasn’t intended, the sound of a band

Rang out, so we stood at the gates and watched

For a while through the open doors.

Let’s go inside for a minute, why not?

The smell was exactly the same-

Musty, wooden, the smell of age.

Different faces, different daffodils, different walls,

Yet that scent- identical.

And all around they sat, as we did,

All those years ago.

With ears still fresh enough

To believe every word.

Nine Came and Passed

Uneaten sausage and mash.
That was the trigger this time,
That was all it took and then it happens again,
Like lights switched off in a building at night
One empty room at a time;
All except a single bulb that flickers and fights against itself
Thinking over and over sausage and mash,
Cooked just right for once, the potatoes creamy,
Sausages browned and steaming,
Onion gravy made almost perfectly for the first time ever.
I never left the kitchen, a wooden spoon fixed in my hand,
Stirring constantly for fear of leaving the pans alone;
Plated good enough for a restaurant.
But nine came and passed and it went cold, stayed uneaten.
So much emphasis placed on that meal of sausage and mash, and why?
Is this what it’s come down to?
A day later that bulb still flicks on and off, still battles.
Angry, bitter, that it was the only one to care about
That little plate of sausage and mash while the rest of the world
Lives out a life of importance.

The Mess

Night has returned.

The day I missed,

Spent hours with eyes closed,

Limbs wrapped in sheets that never were

To remain fresh for long.

And, still, I want time to pass.

The hum of the freezer lulls the minutes,

A sagging balloon scratches another,

Movement geared from nowhere.

The dishes are stacked,

The pillows askew,

A carpet of crumbs needs cleaning.

Not today.

The remnants of yesterday, the day before,

And the one before that,

Can stay for a while.

Maybe I’ll move on tomorrow.

They Held Hands

They didn’t know.

The world had been blue one minute, the brightest kind,

And everyone else saw it also.

They may as well have been holding hands.

It was humanity at its best.

But the balance was tipped, as it always is, sooner or later, and

Like the oncoming of a dreaded date the link was broken.

The worst thing was it wasn’t through accident, or mistake,

But by a parent? A child, a brother?

Just like that, the blue was uglied to a dirty grey and

Confusion swam alongside fear.

They didn’t know,

They didn’t know why.

Still though, they held hands.

Humble

Humble

The sunset looks pretty today;
Closing golden arms around a landscape hushed by evening,
Running pink fingertips over houses made home
By families, couples, the elderly, by one.
The hum of the washing machine cleans clothes dirtied by living;
Run the iron over creases, hang the shirt for work tomorrow,
Spread butter right to the edges, we might not notice,
But we’ll know.
So many hours spent between our windows of reality.
Outside, above, far away,
The clouds pass by too quickly.

Denial?

Denial?

We all have something, don’t we.
It doesn’t matter how many walls we put up
There’ll always be one that crumbles,
And the strength to piece it back together
Too great.
We’ll tell ourselves, it doesn’t really matter.
The hours of today will wind down
Then tomorrow will be different, if not then,
The next day, the next week, or let’s forget
Altogether.
Life is what you make it.
The pound signs? It’s all show.
Health warnings? We should consider…
But it’s not, we won’t, because it doesn’t matter…
Not really?

So long as I have you and you have me,
The rest will sort itself….

And so we tell ourselves.

Eternal Home

God's eternal nature is contrasted with peoples frailty. Our time on earth is limited and we are to use it wisely, not living for the moment, but with our eternal home in mind. We take a lot of things for granite in life, we live each day without a care for tomorrow. We put our efforts into "stuff", how much "stuff" can we attain and how much "stuff" can we accomplish. We want, want, want for the now, now, now. We just live for the moment. Yes, I am sure that we sometimes think of our eternity and where we will spend it, but do we take the road to make sure that God has a stronghold in our life? There are passions that we have, for some it is facebook, hours of tweeting, sports that we cant get enough of, attaining mass wealth, shopping, what ever our crutch is, we lean on it way to much. Again, we live for the now. We can only take our souls with us when we die, nothing else matters. We need to pray for wisdom so that we may live more wisely, to open our eyes and look upon eternity with a new luster, to desire our eternal home and not on the things of this earth. David said, "create in me a clean heart oh God, and renew a right spirit within me". He was a man after the things of God, let us learn a lesson from David, lets get new priorities, lets seek God and our eternal home.

Smile, Smile, Smile

Did you know it takes almost double the muscles to frown than it does to smile? Yet, you see most of society walking arounf with frowns on their faces, why? Well, that could be for any number of reasons, people have a plethora of issues in their life that could cause a negative twist in their faces. But we can actively change that, when you come into eye contact with someone simply give them a smile and I bet they will give you one back. A smile lightens the mood, gives others a warm feeling, and you know that a smile can actually change someones day. There was this guy who was actually on his way to commit suicide, he went into a church to see if he could get any last minute comfort. Well, this man was homeless and he wasnt dressed for your normal church cwowd but decided to go in anyways. After a few minutes of being there someone came up to him greeted him with a smile and welcomed him. The man smiled back and said "thank you, that smile just brightened up my day, you dont know what that means to me, I was on my way to commit suicide and your smile has changed my mind". You see, we never know who we come in contact with, and you never know what kind of impact you are going to have on someones life. Its a simple smile folks, thats all, so keep that in mind the next time you come into eye contact with someone.............Just smile. :)

Love your neighbor as yourself.

Love is a strong 4 letter word, some people have a lot and some people have very little. If you look up the definition in the dictionary youll get the worldly view on in, if you look it up in the Bible you will get the heavenly version, both have a lot of merit to them. Some people take love seriously and others toss it around like a hot potatoe, dropping it, stepping on it, and having no requard for it whatsoever. People in marriage start out with a healthy dose of love ,then for some reason it seems to smolder down and turn to ashes. Love is a funny thing, a outlandish emotion and action that seems to have lost its meaning within society as a whole. Love seems to have found its way into a click, only to be displayed to a select few while others suffer by the wayside. What has happened to us as a people, what has happened to a simple commandment that was bestowed upon us centuries ago? Love seems to be more prevelant during certain holidays as it comes out from within the catacombs of peoples souls, then soon dissapears. What we need to do is rekindle the fire and bring love back to this world, love back to each other, and I am not just talking about people you like, im mostly talking about loving people you dont like, people you dont even know. Peoples attitude is reflected on how we treat them, and we need to treat them with more love. Love your neighbor as yourself is a powerful statement, and we need to take it seriously. Love is contagious and can be engulfed with a little spark. So next time someone treats you with ill will, just show them love, next time you are feeling down think of the love of Jesus, love conqures all my friends and it is the gateway to happieness, feel the love, but most of all, show the love.

Missionary to follow.

I have recently  met a missionary from Nicaragua by the name of Jed Brien, he has recently come to the states with his troupe of 15 youth to minister to communities with their powerful message and their artistic dance crew. I had a chance to go out to lunch with them yesterday. I learned quite a bit on their vision and some of the struggles that they have faced along the way. I only wish I had more time with them cause I had so many questions to ask and they were so intrigueing. I am however saddened by the state of mind that some of the people in nicuragua are in and some of the calamities that these young adults have gone through. It is amazing how they have overcome adversity, and their hearts are now on fire and their faith is rekindled. It is not until you hear some of the storys that you realize how lucky we are and how blessed we can be. I sat through two performances of this tricked out dance crew and was blown away by the raw talent that was displayed before me. Jed and his group will be traveling from community to community, from church to church displaying the love of Christ and emitting it to all the people that they come in contact with. They are stepping out completely in faith that God will provide for all their needs. They have a powerful message and some great storys to tell along the way.


Follow Jeds Blog at,
www.capital-on-the-edge.blogspot.com

21and over

This film isn’t just bad. It’s violently bad as if the filmmakers want to abuse viewers who aren’t brain-damaged by making the dumbest, dullest, most hackneyed movie ever. They succeeded. Watching "21 and Over" is the cinematic equivalent of being waterboarded. If the Geneva Convention folks saw this abomination, they would condemn it as cruel and unusual punishment.

The movie marks the directorial debuts of Jon Lucas and Scott Moore, who also wrote the script. Or should I say Xeroxed it? They also wrote "The Hangover," which "21 and Over" so blatantly rips off it almost could be considered plagiarism. Can you plagiarize yourself?

In "The Hangover," friends get drunk, lose one of their buddies and spend the rest of the movie trying to find him. In "21 and Over," friends get drunk, lose track of the address of one of their buddies and spend the rest of the film trying to find it. The originality astounds. There are differences. "The Hangover" involved a bachelor party. "21 and Over" involves a 21st birthday party. More importantly, "The Hangover" was a funny movie. "21 and Over" is decidedly not. It’s one thing to carbon copy a plot but when you carbon copy the jokes, you’re just being lazy. But, hey, a lot of people savor regurgitated humor.

"The Hangover" also featured likable characters and a talented cast, including Bradley Cooper, Ed Helms, Heather Graham and Zach Galifianakis. "21 and Over," conversely, features unlikable characters and a cast allergic to talent. Let’s just say that Miles Teller, who plays the "wild and crazy guy" in "21 and Over," will not be confused with Galifianakis anytime soon.

While both films revel in rude and crude humor, "The Hangover" employs it with a wealth of warped imagination. The film isn’t just being gross for grossness' sake. "21 and Over" is.

Here are some of the film’s knee-slappers: two characters walk naked through a college campus wearing only tube socks on their naughty bits, another character gets a dart in his cheek and another character urinates in a bar, vomits in a bar, eats a tampon, gets thorns in his behind and runs around town wearing only a pink bra and a teddy bear glued to his naughty bits. For more hi-jinks, a buffalo goes rampaging through a pep rally and characters get spanked with paddles.

The dialogue is cringe-inducing as characters banter about having sex with each other’s sister, among other riotous topics. Racist and misogynist jokes are part of the mix, too.

The film reunites three high school friends, Miller (Teller), Casey (Skylar Astin) and Jeff Chang (Justin Chon), who congregate at Northern Pacific University to help Jeff Chang, who is a student there, celebrate his 21st birthday. One of the film’s many hysterical gags is that the birthday boy is always called Jeff Chang.

Complicating the party plans is that Jeff Chang has a very important interview in the morning, which his very strict father (Francois Chau) has arranged. But the trio goes partying anyway, spurred on by Miller. When Jeff Chang gets so inebriated, he can’t tell his pals where he lives, he gets dragged from place to place until his home is located. Those places include a pep rally, a Latina sorority and a party where Miller and Casey partake in multiple drinking games. More hilarity ensues.

The film adds a lame romantic subplot to placate the women dragged to this crud. Casey meets Nicole (Sarah Wright) at a bar and is smitten, but she has a cheerleader boyfriend named Randy (Jonathan Keltz), who happens to be a jerk. Think Casey and Nicole will get together at the end? Casey and Miller also have a falling out. Think they’ll get back together at the end? I’ll never tell. It’s almost like this film is pathetically predictable.

About the only funny characters here are Randy’s two sycophantic cheerleading pals.

Lucas and Moore try to give the main characters some dimension, but these attempts appear tacked on and contribute little to the story. As for the duo’s directorial style, they do keep the film in focus and the actors in the frame. It’s point-and-shoot mise-en-scene.

Tragically, this film should do well at the box office thanks to the Neanderthal demographic and those moviegoers suckered in by the "Hangover" connection. It’s early in the year, but "21 and Over" right now has my vote for worst film of 2013. If a movie more moronic appears on the screen, I’m going to flee to my neighborhood waterboardist.

Admission

Films like this comedy have a guaranteed opening weekend audience just because a big TV star has the lead role and is all over the poster. That would be “30 Rock’s” Tina Fey. Those folks probably won’t be disappointed in this lightweight film, even though Fey plays it kinda bland, as is called for her character.
But fans on the novel it’s based on are going to have some problems, in that so many of the story’s elements have been changed beyond recognition.

The basic plot is about Princeton admissions officer Portia Nathan (Fey) having some difficulties concerning Jeremiah (Nat Wolff), a bright outsider sort of high schooler who’s applying there. There’s also John Pressman (Paul Rudd), who runs the developmental high school that Jeremiah goes to. And for any feminists out there, don’t worry, Portia’s mom, Susannah (Lily Tomlin), has some screen time. Book and film are similar on those points.

But changes in structure and plot development and message and eventual outcome are likely going to outrage certain readers.

Of course there’s the argument that the book is the book, and the movie is the movie, and I am one book- and movie-lover that accepts that. But sorry, even though this still remains a study of parent-child relationships, the tampering committed in adapting it goes far beyond anything that’s called for.

Too bad that’s not the only problem. The film stands on its own, but it doesn’t stand very tall.

Both Fey and Rudd – thank goodness they’re not portraying opposites who attract – really underplay their roles. Rudd is usually good at this kind of thing, letting a mischievous glance reveal what he’s planning to do, or putting on a blank expression that lets you feel his character’s exasperation. But this time he comes across as a shy dullard, a guy who wants to do the right thing – help get this kid into college – but doesn’t know where to begin. Fey appears to be the victim of a director who’s told her to hold back, until it’s time to unleash her inner self, which she gets to do a couple of times in what amounts to nothing more than an emotional catfight with a coworker. You want to feel for these two nice, caring people, but it’s difficult when they’re so uninteresting.

On the positive side, there’s Lily Tomlin, who absolutely lights up the screen as the feisty Susannah, a single mom and an independent spirit who was, no doubt, up in the front lines when the women’s movement got its start, and has never backed off. One of the film’s best – and most meaningful – sight gags is the tattoo of Bella Abzug on her shoulder. (Those of you too young to get it should Google her.)

Director Paul Weitz is a little too loose with the film’s moods, as they change, from way up to way down, too quickly. But neither he nor scriptwriter Karen Croner can be blamed for the hard-to-take, not-very-believable ending. That problem rests solidly with novelist Jean Hanff Korelitz, and is the way she ended the book. Why couldn’t the filmmakers have changed that?

The Croods

The humor's classic or prehistoric, depending on your tolerance for slapstick. The 3D animation is state of the art. And the life lessons are all too wearily contemporary in "The Croods," an energetic DreamWorks digital cartoon feature about some cave dwellers who are so Stone Age they make the Flintstones look like the Jetsons.

Grug (voiced by Nicolas Cage) is the Neanderthalesque father, more comfortable with a club than with a thought. Ugga (Catherine Keener) is his patient wife. Thunk (Clark Duke) is his dim young son. Gran (Cloris Leachman) is the mother-in-law so old she wears a lizard skin instead of fur. And Eep (Emma Stone) is the story's heroine and the audience's focus for identification, a brave -- as in "Brave" -- young rebel dissatisfied with a Neolithic status quo that tells her curiosity kills, "ideas are for weaklings," and "routine and darkness and terror" -- i.e., life in a cave, foraging for food by day and hiding from predators by night -- is the best a young cavegirl can expect.

"Basically, anything fun is bad," Eep says, summarizing her loving but overprotective dad's cautious survival strategy.

To the credit of directors/writers Chris Sanders (the superior "How to Train Your Dragon") and Kirk De Micco (moving up the evolutionary ladder from his previous film, "Space Chimps"), Eep is not your standard cartoon beauty with attitude. She has an hourglass waist, true, and an eager if toothy smile, but she's squat and somewhat anthropoidal in both appearance and athleticism. She's primitive but also vivacious next to the mysterious, modern-looking young man who shows up one night in the cave family's rocky valley, a clever guy named Guy (Ryan Reynolds) who introduces Eep and her cavekin to the concepts of fire, shoes, pets (Guy travels with a lovable scene-stealing sloth) and extinction: He insists everybody head for safer ground before the earthquakes and volcanoes catch up with them.

Like the recent sequel, "Ice Age: Continental Drift," "The Croods" follows the characters' migration through an impressively realized prehistoric wilderness of imaginative "Avatar"-esque creatures and other menaces and surprises. (The visual highlight is an all-devouring flock of what might be called piranha birds.) While various critters stalk the Croods, the film pursues less challenging quarry: It chases standard sitcom themes about watchful dads and restless daughters itching to leave the cave and "go for the light."

In other words, "The Croods" reproduces the dynamic of the recent "Hotel Transylvania," the last digitally animated feature about a seemingly weird yet in fact traditional family with a suspicious, jealous dad and an impatient daughter attracted to an audaciious newcomer. The familiarity likely won't bother kids, or most of their parents. The audience at the preview I attended applauded at the end of the film, and the little girl behind me declared: "I love this movie!"

Why wouldn't she? Some conservative pundits like to say movies represent a threat to traditional family values but, seriously, is any entity as aggressive at affirming the primacy of family togetherness as Hollywood? The typical modern animated feature spends so much time and energy reminding parents and kids that they love each other that it creates the impression that families today are especially fragile and needy -- or certainly much more so than in the decades that produced "Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs" and "The Jungle Book."

Perhaps this is so. Maybe attending these movies together provides a ritual security for parents and children. In any case, "The Croods" bludgeons you with family-friendly life lessons with all the subtlety of a club-wielding Alley Oop selecting a mate. Guy discovers fire, sure, but it's Grug who invents the hug.

 

 

Judging from the crawl at the end of "The Croods," kids and dads aren't the only ones who need boosts to their self-esteem. Like some other recent films, "The Croods" doesn't acknowledge only those who created the movie but seemingly the entire DreamWorks staff, including those in "business and legal affairs," "financial accounting," "human resources, recreation and outreach, " and "marketing and home entertainment products." Why punish those few aficionados who sit through the end credits? By the end of this endurance test of a roll call, I was half-expecting to learn the name of Jeffrey Katzenberg's paperboy.