A katana, spills the blood of
many. Enemies or innocents, it cuts
just the same.
Crimson filled its mind, from birth
to rust.
A katana exists to be used.
To kill or to maim, to scare or to show,
makes little difference to the sword.
In different hands,
it changes shape.
To a blacksmith, each sword
is his child.
To an amateur, it is a tool.
To a veteran, an old friend.
The polish on this metal is
gone, shined only in myth and tale.
Now all that remains are the stains of men.
The chips of battle. The cracks of age.
But still the blade remains, immortal to humanity.
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
Save File
Level 2
Chomp-a, chomp-a, goes
the yellow circle.
Eatin away or runnin away
from four
spectral baddies.
Not too freaked,
it keeps eating.
Tag out
Zone 2-5
Start playing and start running.
Anything in the way of this
blue blur
will be smashed to pieces.
Leave the rings, you don’t
need them as much as the
orange blur
might.
This island’s going to
hell. But at least, the
fight scenes are exciting.
One guy VS another
FIGHT
One sends out a
large blue fireball.
The other ducks, and
lands a spin punch.
The man in a
white hamaka
and his opponent in a
red hamaka
face each other. The
onlookers are ignored.
Forget rules...
World 5-2
You’d never expect to see this.
Mushroom baddies, mushroom goodies.
High jumpers, squashing the enemy,
riding dinosaurs and going through pipes.
Even though they’re just
plumbers,
who could be more awesome?
The princess isn’t always
rescued by the macho men.
Some heroes you can
find in a phonebook.
Temple of Light
Darkness, rising
from another's ashes. A country
in turmoil again.
Only a hero of generations
could take on this task,
destiny demands it.
The boy in green,
sword in his left hand.
Go forth,
be the hero
of every tale.
Real World
The world freezes, they all do
right at the same time.
There must be dust in the cartridge.
Reset
Chomp-a, chomp-a, goes
the yellow circle.
Eatin away or runnin away
from four
spectral baddies.
Not too freaked,
it keeps eating.
Tag out
Zone 2-5
Start playing and start running.
Anything in the way of this
blue blur
will be smashed to pieces.
Leave the rings, you don’t
need them as much as the
orange blur
might.
This island’s going to
hell. But at least, the
fight scenes are exciting.
One guy VS another
FIGHT
One sends out a
large blue fireball.
The other ducks, and
lands a spin punch.
The man in a
white hamaka
and his opponent in a
red hamaka
face each other. The
onlookers are ignored.
Forget rules...
World 5-2
You’d never expect to see this.
Mushroom baddies, mushroom goodies.
High jumpers, squashing the enemy,
riding dinosaurs and going through pipes.
Even though they’re just
plumbers,
who could be more awesome?
The princess isn’t always
rescued by the macho men.
Some heroes you can
find in a phonebook.
Temple of Light
Darkness, rising
from another's ashes. A country
in turmoil again.
Only a hero of generations
could take on this task,
destiny demands it.
The boy in green,
sword in his left hand.
Go forth,
be the hero
of every tale.
Real World
The world freezes, they all do
right at the same time.
There must be dust in the cartridge.
Reset
Inner Intervention
A Little Piece of Heaven
A cup of coffee.
Newspaper in hand, and
a biscuit between teeth. Here
lies a man who’s life went nowhere
near where he wanted it to go
“Before the story begins...”
Maybe you should know,
your dreams never mattered.
The hopes you had for them,
however,
did.
Monkey Wrench
in the plans of a simple man.
God’s plan had not intended
that a man would lose sight of
what he hoped for,
and what he was.
“What have we done”
To deserve the beating that
we received at the hands of
friends. It was them, I know.
They expect the wrong things.
The people who hope to be
great, may be greater than them,
and so they beat us down.
Strutter
Moves along the sidewalk.
He’s got it, still there, deep
in his mind. It’s the only reason,
she hangs around him.
She wants him back.
She wants the hope.
“I know a thing or two”
About love, hopes, dreams.
I have them, I still do.
They keep me going,
because life is too dull
to not have them by your side
keeping your eyes to the sky.
Sound of Silence
He’s stopped, listening.
There is nothing in his office.
He can hear no movement,
no life. He stares into the wall.
He hasn’t turned on his lights yet.
“Hello darkness,”
I’ve not seen you for
a long time. His life
is filled with light and
noise. I think he forgot what
peace felt like. Can
you save me? Or him?
Girlfriend
He’s alone, even with his
friends. She loves him, he thinks.
“I wanna love somebody”
I could sweep her off her
feet. But you need to let me out.
Stop chaining me, locking me up,
I’m a part of you. Just let me loose.
Hey, can you hear me?
Invisible Touch
He shudders, standing quickly,
his chair toppling over. His desk
now stared at by fearful
wide eyes.
“Well I’ve been waiting”
For you to pay attention
to the words of your soul.
It’s not easy, I know, but
you should start to
listen.
The Pretender
is what he’s been. And what
he is at this moment. He could
open his eyes, but would it
be enough?
“Keep you in the dark”
Find the light, it’s
in the hope. You’ve got
some left. Use it on something,
or someone, that you know.
That’s right, you get it.
Company Car
speeding down the highway.
She lives near him, she
has for the last decade.
He knows why, at least,
he hopes he does.
“Mike, was right”
He knew you’d figure out
where your old self was.
You found the remains,
keep what’s left. It’s
the good parts.
Smoke on the Water
He left the engine running,
and the brakes loose. The
car toppled down a hill,
and smashed into the lake.
He didn’t notice.
“We all came down”
To see you get it on.
Go on my friend, she’s
been waiting on you
for a long time.
Now hurry up.
Let it Whip
Let it out, let yourself
keep your hopes and
dreams. Through life
until the end.
“Love to see you”
Remember how to confess,
and how to show her you care…
Can you get off of her now?
Forgotten Photo
A white house, seven people,
bunched together, as if
pressed in by the walls
of the frame. Smiles on their
faces, wrinkles around their eyes.
Who are they? I have this
Photograph
that I’ve never seen before.
I show a friend, he doesn’t
know either. He’s not
very focused on it though.
Hypnotized
by his own writing. He
sends me along. The street's
getting a little busy
especially during the night.
An old friend sells me
Guavaberry
my favorite drink. He doesn’t
know it either. But it looks
familiar to him. He makes me keep
it though. He says, “I’m not the thinker
that you are. Find out on your own.”
Frijolero
stop giving me more things
to do, and energy to do it.
There's a special drive during the night.
It’s good to be alive then.
I meet two sisters. I dated them
both once...
never mind.
One tackles me quickly,
forcing me into a
Moondance
with her. The other kisses
me. They’re too fun loving
to have them think too hard
on something so small.
I’ll see them at the party,
“Or maybe in bed?” I hear, and
turn around. My last friend,
they thought he had
Cancer
but he showed them.
I show him the photograph,
he looks at it and then at me.
He smiles, he shakes his head,
and then he walks away.
“There’s a party in town,”
he says to me,
“All our friends are there.
Don’t go
Crazy.”
bunched together, as if
pressed in by the walls
of the frame. Smiles on their
faces, wrinkles around their eyes.
Who are they? I have this
Photograph
that I’ve never seen before.
I show a friend, he doesn’t
know either. He’s not
very focused on it though.
Hypnotized
by his own writing. He
sends me along. The street's
getting a little busy
especially during the night.
An old friend sells me
Guavaberry
my favorite drink. He doesn’t
know it either. But it looks
familiar to him. He makes me keep
it though. He says, “I’m not the thinker
that you are. Find out on your own.”
Frijolero
stop giving me more things
to do, and energy to do it.
There's a special drive during the night.
It’s good to be alive then.
I meet two sisters. I dated them
both once...
never mind.
One tackles me quickly,
forcing me into a
Moondance
with her. The other kisses
me. They’re too fun loving
to have them think too hard
on something so small.
I’ll see them at the party,
“Or maybe in bed?” I hear, and
turn around. My last friend,
they thought he had
Cancer
but he showed them.
I show him the photograph,
he looks at it and then at me.
He smiles, he shakes his head,
and then he walks away.
“There’s a party in town,”
he says to me,
“All our friends are there.
Don’t go
Crazy.”
Colossus Once More
Haku, dragon of Lore.
I fear him, as all people should.
A foe one
hundred times greater than
I. I
cannot look away from him. The
valley of
Apsu. A battleground.
My horse, my
sword, myself. Death all a-
-round. Never pretty, but never dead.
He can-
-not see me, I am too small.
Yet, the sword is smaller. No light should
reflect through fog and
mist. Does he sense
its bloodlust?
A centipede crawls through
the
sky. Poisoning the sun, the vall-
-ey
yearns for warmth. I shall deliver.
The air rum-
-bles, and Haku descends.
He comes to be with
mortal men, and
deliver ‘divine’
punishment. May
my sword, strike true. Dust
kick up, and the
fog breaks at my charge. Haku swallows
the fog
in front of him. He will not
be stopped from reaching his prey.
Fear no
evil. I whisper.
Dirt kicks up as
Haku smash-
-es into the ground. I
choke,
the air cannot be breathed. My horse
top-
-ples, I am sent through the air. I
land onto
something hard, not ground or
dirt. Scale and hair. Ha-
-ku, can you feel
me? He can as he shakes him-
-self, try-
-ing to rid himself of me.
I can
see his head from where I am laying.
I grip onto his hair. His blood is
below me, I feel it pulse. A vein?
A nerve? A weakness...
Ring true, my blade.
Stab through the
scale, the hair, the skin, the
flesh.
Kill my enemy, make me a
he-
-ro. Save the desolate valley.
Bring me Death.
The dust will clear. I will
stand, a miracle
or fluke, it mat-
-ters not. The beast is fallen,
by my
hands, my horse
and my own bloody sword
I fear him, as all people should.
A foe one
hundred times greater than
I. I
cannot look away from him. The
valley of
Apsu. A battleground.
My horse, my
sword, myself. Death all a-
-round. Never pretty, but never dead.
He can-
-not see me, I am too small.
Yet, the sword is smaller. No light should
reflect through fog and
mist. Does he sense
its bloodlust?
A centipede crawls through
the
sky. Poisoning the sun, the vall-
-ey
yearns for warmth. I shall deliver.
The air rum-
-bles, and Haku descends.
He comes to be with
mortal men, and
deliver ‘divine’
punishment. May
my sword, strike true. Dust
kick up, and the
fog breaks at my charge. Haku swallows
the fog
in front of him. He will not
be stopped from reaching his prey.
Fear no
evil. I whisper.
Dirt kicks up as
Haku smash-
-es into the ground. I
choke,
the air cannot be breathed. My horse
top-
-ples, I am sent through the air. I
land onto
something hard, not ground or
dirt. Scale and hair. Ha-
-ku, can you feel
me? He can as he shakes him-
-self, try-
-ing to rid himself of me.
I can
see his head from where I am laying.
I grip onto his hair. His blood is
below me, I feel it pulse. A vein?
A nerve? A weakness...
Ring true, my blade.
Stab through the
scale, the hair, the skin, the
flesh.
Kill my enemy, make me a
he-
-ro. Save the desolate valley.
Bring me Death.
The dust will clear. I will
stand, a miracle
or fluke, it mat-
-ters not. The beast is fallen,
by my
hands, my horse
and my own bloody sword
That One Shot
My cleats dug into the matted grass and my hair was plastered against my forehead with sweat, dirt and wind. My legs were tired, burning from all the running I had done as the right-forward.
I remember I liked doing that, pursuing my opponents relentlessly. It gave them a scare, and made them wary of me as I came in to attack. I must have felt quite a rush because I would keep on doing it, until I overtook them.
I looked over to one of my teammates, who passed me the ball instantly. I felt the ball bounce lightly off the inner side of my right foot. I pressed forward, dribbling between two oncoming defenders.
I looked up and saw the net of the goal, and my laces made hard contact with that black and white ball, sending it flying and spinning. I did not care if people were shouting. I did not care that the rest of the defensemen were running towards the ball in the air, and I did not care that the goalie was staring at the ball, running to try and block it.
All I could hear and feel was the beating of my heart, and the pulse that coursed through my body, as I stared at the spinning ball, blurring towards the goal and the goalie.
What happened next? That does not matter. What does matter is that I was able to give a shot that would change the course of a game. There is at least one of these in each game, even if they miss. An incredible tension comes over the player as he watches the ball sail, as if it was now in God’s hands, and he had no more control over where it would go. I remember this feeling. I felt helpless as I watched, noticing it curve but not sure if it would miss the intended target or not. I almost gave up hope right at that moment.
Soccer is a sport that has been around my life for a long time. It has been a part of everyone’s life whether they like it or not. The United States has a soccer team that has been able to reach the final tournament, the World Cup. Even though, a good deal of the population may not be aware of it.
Then there are the countries where soccer is not just a sport or a game, but a way of life. It is a passion like no other. The victory of a soccer game, especially in a tournament like the World Cup, is like a victory in a war over another country. I grew up in a country like that, Mexico. I had friends who loved watching soccer, or even listening to it on the radio. There is pride in the game, especially when their country is being represented against the world.
When a soccer-loving country watches a game in a stadium, the cheer of the crowd is unbelievably loud and constant. Whether you are a soccer player or a fan, the sheer volume is enough to get anyone’s blood pumping.
When I watched the Mexican team play in the World Cup, I knew that I was not the only one. We all watched the game and supported the team as a country. We would watch the ball, while the player looked forward for an opening to attack or a fellow player whom they could pass their weapon. The other team would close in, blocking off and protecting their goal. Still, all it takes is one charge between the defensive players, and one well-placed shot to change the course of the game. At the same time, we would sit there, watching the game, our eyes on the tactics and the skills of each team.
It reminded us of our own soccer experiences, and our own well-placed shots that may have changed the course of the game. Sometimes we can change the course of the game in our favor, and sometimes we can give the enemy a chance to counterattack. It is the way the game is played. That one shot, chokes the air as it runs over it.
I fell to my knees, sighing in relief as I watched the ball slam silently against the net.
I remember I liked doing that, pursuing my opponents relentlessly. It gave them a scare, and made them wary of me as I came in to attack. I must have felt quite a rush because I would keep on doing it, until I overtook them.
I looked over to one of my teammates, who passed me the ball instantly. I felt the ball bounce lightly off the inner side of my right foot. I pressed forward, dribbling between two oncoming defenders.
I looked up and saw the net of the goal, and my laces made hard contact with that black and white ball, sending it flying and spinning. I did not care if people were shouting. I did not care that the rest of the defensemen were running towards the ball in the air, and I did not care that the goalie was staring at the ball, running to try and block it.
All I could hear and feel was the beating of my heart, and the pulse that coursed through my body, as I stared at the spinning ball, blurring towards the goal and the goalie.
What happened next? That does not matter. What does matter is that I was able to give a shot that would change the course of a game. There is at least one of these in each game, even if they miss. An incredible tension comes over the player as he watches the ball sail, as if it was now in God’s hands, and he had no more control over where it would go. I remember this feeling. I felt helpless as I watched, noticing it curve but not sure if it would miss the intended target or not. I almost gave up hope right at that moment.
Soccer is a sport that has been around my life for a long time. It has been a part of everyone’s life whether they like it or not. The United States has a soccer team that has been able to reach the final tournament, the World Cup. Even though, a good deal of the population may not be aware of it.
Then there are the countries where soccer is not just a sport or a game, but a way of life. It is a passion like no other. The victory of a soccer game, especially in a tournament like the World Cup, is like a victory in a war over another country. I grew up in a country like that, Mexico. I had friends who loved watching soccer, or even listening to it on the radio. There is pride in the game, especially when their country is being represented against the world.
When a soccer-loving country watches a game in a stadium, the cheer of the crowd is unbelievably loud and constant. Whether you are a soccer player or a fan, the sheer volume is enough to get anyone’s blood pumping.
When I watched the Mexican team play in the World Cup, I knew that I was not the only one. We all watched the game and supported the team as a country. We would watch the ball, while the player looked forward for an opening to attack or a fellow player whom they could pass their weapon. The other team would close in, blocking off and protecting their goal. Still, all it takes is one charge between the defensive players, and one well-placed shot to change the course of the game. At the same time, we would sit there, watching the game, our eyes on the tactics and the skills of each team.
It reminded us of our own soccer experiences, and our own well-placed shots that may have changed the course of the game. Sometimes we can change the course of the game in our favor, and sometimes we can give the enemy a chance to counterattack. It is the way the game is played. That one shot, chokes the air as it runs over it.
I fell to my knees, sighing in relief as I watched the ball slam silently against the net.
Red-Hooded Jacket
Eight years old and I was waiting for the bus in front of school. I was wearing my favorite red hooded-jacket, like I would any day, whether it was warm or cold. It was just a coincidence that it was cold that day as I waited on the school sidewalk. It had clouded up when school ended, and the skies would growl every so often, threatening to rain down on us. Still, we waited, like any other day. However, that day I was sitting next to a special someone. A girl that I had openly proclaimed my love to; an important and at the same time not very important proclamation for an eight year old who acted like he was four. We both had brown skin, black eyes, and dark brown eyes. We had the same racial background, which in that school was different from the rest. She was kind, smart, but maybe a little too rational to be in that class. Still, she was pretty and I liked her.
She sat beside me that day, and as it began to drizzle, I looked over at her and I saw her glasses placed upon her cute nose. “Your glasses are getting wet,” I said quickly. She probably knew that already. She was much smarter than any of us were, but all she did was turn to me and smile, before slipping them away from her nose and folding them up. She looked back up to me and said, “Thank you.” I smiled.
It was raining a bit harder. I looked over at her and noticed that she had no jacket on. I then unzipped my favorite red hooded-jacket, and slowly put it around her shoulders. She looked at me in…surprise or confusion, maybe both, but I replied, “To keep you warm.” She nodded and gave me that same smile, before looking away and closing my jacket around her tighter. After that, I am sure that I was proud of myself for being courteous to a girl without sounding like much of a moron. After that I am not sure how I got the next idea, but all of a sudden, my bare arm snaked its way through the rain and I felt my hand close loosely around her shoulder. Moments later, I felt the weight of her head against my shoulder. I looked in her direction, but I could only see her hair and I could barely see her lips. I wondered if she was smiling, and I wondered if it was because of me. If only I had had the chance to ask her…
The next school year, she disappeared without a trace. I never saw her again, but I will never forget her. I have always asked myself what it would be like if I had met her again now that I am older, and a bit more rational than I was before. I might ask her normal questions, to see if she had remembered me, or if she had even cared. Maybe I would ask if she remembered that time, when my red-hooded jacket was around her shoulders. She might say no, and she might say yes. Either way, after a long time, the only goal in my head with meeting her would be curiosity. I wondered and imagined how she would look as she got older. I could see her lovely dark hair grow longer around her face. And her round glasses placed snuggly on her nose. I cannot say how her face may have changed, but what I can say is that she must have turned beautiful. I know, that everything about her must have changed, save for three things. Her smile, her eyes, and my red hooded-jacket over her shoulders.
She sat beside me that day, and as it began to drizzle, I looked over at her and I saw her glasses placed upon her cute nose. “Your glasses are getting wet,” I said quickly. She probably knew that already. She was much smarter than any of us were, but all she did was turn to me and smile, before slipping them away from her nose and folding them up. She looked back up to me and said, “Thank you.” I smiled.
It was raining a bit harder. I looked over at her and noticed that she had no jacket on. I then unzipped my favorite red hooded-jacket, and slowly put it around her shoulders. She looked at me in…surprise or confusion, maybe both, but I replied, “To keep you warm.” She nodded and gave me that same smile, before looking away and closing my jacket around her tighter. After that, I am sure that I was proud of myself for being courteous to a girl without sounding like much of a moron. After that I am not sure how I got the next idea, but all of a sudden, my bare arm snaked its way through the rain and I felt my hand close loosely around her shoulder. Moments later, I felt the weight of her head against my shoulder. I looked in her direction, but I could only see her hair and I could barely see her lips. I wondered if she was smiling, and I wondered if it was because of me. If only I had had the chance to ask her…
The next school year, she disappeared without a trace. I never saw her again, but I will never forget her. I have always asked myself what it would be like if I had met her again now that I am older, and a bit more rational than I was before. I might ask her normal questions, to see if she had remembered me, or if she had even cared. Maybe I would ask if she remembered that time, when my red-hooded jacket was around her shoulders. She might say no, and she might say yes. Either way, after a long time, the only goal in my head with meeting her would be curiosity. I wondered and imagined how she would look as she got older. I could see her lovely dark hair grow longer around her face. And her round glasses placed snuggly on her nose. I cannot say how her face may have changed, but what I can say is that she must have turned beautiful. I know, that everything about her must have changed, save for three things. Her smile, her eyes, and my red hooded-jacket over her shoulders.
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