Flag
Fluorescent orange flag
At the top of the hill
screams for attention:
“I am dying!”
We glance
But no sooner we see it than
The flag has only its stem
Spokes of bones;
When it has disrobed its life
draped on the ground at its roots
10/91
Sleepy Day on the Water
I let
The boat
Rock me
To a
Dream state
When you
Caught fish
I woke
To see
Your smile
Think of
The tap
Of waves
On hull
Or beach
To help
Sleep now
Tonight
7/16/02
Tuesday, January 31, 2006
Saturday, January 21, 2006
A poem by a friend of mine - reactions?
Everything and nothing
Talk. Talk. Talk.
Comfortable silence holds the sting
Of love
Awkward and elegant at once
They fumble for words best left alone
Just a touch, nothing more
It can speak more than a library of books
And it's that couple that draws the envious looks
They enshrouded in their invisible bliss
Their hearts carry others' hopeful hooks
That they will also know such love and not miss
Talk. Talk. Talk.
Comfortable silence holds the sting
Of love
Awkward and elegant at once
They fumble for words best left alone
Just a touch, nothing more
It can speak more than a library of books
And it's that couple that draws the envious looks
They enshrouded in their invisible bliss
Their hearts carry others' hopeful hooks
That they will also know such love and not miss
Some more poetry
Fog
Fog lay high over the road
A bridge for the ghost pets
So they can be safe crossing
Turtles, frogs,
Cats, dogs
Even the snakes
Saunter over and disappear
With the sunlight
10/11/05
sme
In-between times
Stars still twinkling
Moon shining bright against the black center
But twilight sky has edges of palest pink
That hopes to become peach, then light orange
Morphing into the full arching
Warmth and blue of day
Sunset sky grays the light
Cools the air and brings up wet smells
Browns the earth
Gradually becoming blackness of evening
You and I live in those in-between times
A few minutes out of the twenty-four hour days
When the light on the horizon pushes the stars away
When the dark holds the moon until it is overwhelmed with sun
You can’t watch the twilight leave
Or the sunset come
It’s constantly moving, faster than we can see
sme
10/18/05
Fog lay high over the road
A bridge for the ghost pets
So they can be safe crossing
Turtles, frogs,
Cats, dogs
Even the snakes
Saunter over and disappear
With the sunlight
10/11/05
sme
In-between times
Stars still twinkling
Moon shining bright against the black center
But twilight sky has edges of palest pink
That hopes to become peach, then light orange
Morphing into the full arching
Warmth and blue of day
Sunset sky grays the light
Cools the air and brings up wet smells
Browns the earth
Gradually becoming blackness of evening
You and I live in those in-between times
A few minutes out of the twenty-four hour days
When the light on the horizon pushes the stars away
When the dark holds the moon until it is overwhelmed with sun
You can’t watch the twilight leave
Or the sunset come
It’s constantly moving, faster than we can see
sme
10/18/05
Sunday, January 08, 2006
Essay on being short
I wrote this many years ago and after looking at it today, it made me laugh. But it's still true. So enjoy, and viva las short people! - Shannon
A SHORT EPIC
I looked up at The David. The muscled marble towered fifteen feet above me. One oversized hand drooped gently on his leg, while the other hand sagged over his shoulder, holding the stone that would kill the giant. I marveled at the artistry for a moment. Then my gaze came back to the other tourists standing near me, and I smiled in satisfaction that everyone had to look up to the statue. They were all experiencing what I must every day - being short.
I was born 16 inches long, six pounds, four ounces. Dad could place my head in his palm while my feet barely brushed the inside of his elbow. My mother and aunt had to buy doll clothes for me, because there weren't any infant's clothes small enough.
Elementary school was difficult for me. Every day in second grade I remember running in from recess crying, because someone had been teasing me about my height. I could never think of anything horrible enough to say back to them, so I just cried. I didn't think there was anything I could do about being shorter than the rest of the class.
It wasn't until junior high that I finally got defensive about derogatory comments regarding my height. It had been so frustrating for so long that suddenly all I could do was strike back. I developed a stunning repertoire of smartass comments that always shut people up. Though I don't remember any of these comments now, I recall that they usually consisted of an inventive rumor about the object of the insulter's desire, some habit of their mother's, or a remark about the way they dressed. It was junior high. Insults didn't need to be fancy then - just very embarrassing.
In high school, I dreamt one night that I was tall – about 5'10" or so. I was the tallest girl in my class. My shoulders were wide, proportional to my waist and hips, but my head was the same size as when I was short. In the dream I was hanging out with friends by some lockers, and they were all ignoring me because I was towering above them, and they couldn't look into my face to talk to me. I was hideous. I vowed from then on to love being short, accent being short, even, because if I didn't, I might wake up one morning tall and horrendous. If I'd been fat during high school, I probably would have seen the dream as a positive sign, but as it was, I was a bony, shapeless 15-year-old. Being tall and thin would have been a living nightmare.
Worse than anything else are the questions I get. I'm so tired of answering the same old questions all the time. I think I'll have a t-shirt printed up that says, "I am five feet tall, and I weigh 100 pounds. I wear a 6 1/2 shoe, and no, I don't buy clothes at children's stores."
Some of the worst questions are, "Are your parents short, too?" (Not when I need money, they aren't). One thing I hear a lot from people of average height is, "I feel tall when I'm around you." I usually respond with something creative like, "So?" I also get a lot of, "So, have you ever gone out with a tall guy?" Yes, I have. It was hard to kiss him but we got over it. "Shorty" has been my obvious nickname ever since I can remember, along with "little woman," "midget," "welchkin," (when it was found out that I am of Welch ancestry) and the ever-popular short shit." But the worst statement of all is, "Boy, are you short!"
It was only recently, in an Dear Abby column, that I learned an appropriate response to "Boy, are you short!" A woman wrote in saying she was 200 pounds overweight and she liked herself that way. When people asked her why she didn't try to lose weight, she'd reply, "I just lost 20 pounds." That shut 'em up, she said. And to the really rude people who said to her, "Boy, are you fat!" she'd reply, "Boy, are you rude!"
I've never used this reply, but I did have the opportunity to a few months ago. While waiting in line to talk to a professor I knew, a guy I'd never seen before, walking in the hallway, stopped next to me and gasped, "Boy, are you short!" The fat woman's reply popped into my head, but I didn't say it for some reason. Instead I rolled my eyes (which someone told me I do professionally). The rude guy turned to Kurt, a friend of mine standing in line, and said, "That probably wasn't the right thing to say, was it?" Kurt shook his head, bugging his eyes in amazement at this guy's audacity. Apologizing and introducing himself, ironically, as David, the rude guy, tried to make it better by telling me I was very cute - for a short girl. Over his shoulder, I made a furtive face at Kurt that said, "Help me get rid of this guy!" Kurt only shrugged.
However, I defeated the giant by throwing the rock of superiority in his face. Just then, it was my turn to see the professor, so I went in, chatted with him, and got a favor out of him because we were old friends. I made sure all of this conversation was just loud enough for David to hear. Poor David had to wait in a very long line to see this professor, whom he didn't know, and who probably wouldn't do him a favor, when I only had to stand in line two minutes and got exactly what I wanted. That was sweet enough revenge for me.
I have found some definitive advantages in being short, however. No one ever asks me if I play basketball, or encourages me to do so. I don't have to worry about hitting my head on doorways. And I thank fate that adjectives like "lanky," "gangly," and "ungainly" cannot apply to me, nor can the nickname "beanpole," or the phrase "You've grown like a weed." I revel in the fact that my younger sister and my friends can no longer borrow my clothes or shoes, since they're all at least two sizes larger. I win limbo contests. I love singing "Kiss Off" to people who sing me the song “Short People Ain't Got No Reason." Ten bucks can usually get me drunk, no matter what type of alcohol I buy. I hardly ever use the whole towel to dry off with, and I can fall asleep - horizontally - in a recliner quite comfortably.
But I smile widest when I see someone taller than me grabbing a chair to reach the top cupboard in the kitchen. No one can say they have never come up short at some time in their lives.
A SHORT EPIC
I looked up at The David. The muscled marble towered fifteen feet above me. One oversized hand drooped gently on his leg, while the other hand sagged over his shoulder, holding the stone that would kill the giant. I marveled at the artistry for a moment. Then my gaze came back to the other tourists standing near me, and I smiled in satisfaction that everyone had to look up to the statue. They were all experiencing what I must every day - being short.
I was born 16 inches long, six pounds, four ounces. Dad could place my head in his palm while my feet barely brushed the inside of his elbow. My mother and aunt had to buy doll clothes for me, because there weren't any infant's clothes small enough.
Elementary school was difficult for me. Every day in second grade I remember running in from recess crying, because someone had been teasing me about my height. I could never think of anything horrible enough to say back to them, so I just cried. I didn't think there was anything I could do about being shorter than the rest of the class.
It wasn't until junior high that I finally got defensive about derogatory comments regarding my height. It had been so frustrating for so long that suddenly all I could do was strike back. I developed a stunning repertoire of smartass comments that always shut people up. Though I don't remember any of these comments now, I recall that they usually consisted of an inventive rumor about the object of the insulter's desire, some habit of their mother's, or a remark about the way they dressed. It was junior high. Insults didn't need to be fancy then - just very embarrassing.
In high school, I dreamt one night that I was tall – about 5'10" or so. I was the tallest girl in my class. My shoulders were wide, proportional to my waist and hips, but my head was the same size as when I was short. In the dream I was hanging out with friends by some lockers, and they were all ignoring me because I was towering above them, and they couldn't look into my face to talk to me. I was hideous. I vowed from then on to love being short, accent being short, even, because if I didn't, I might wake up one morning tall and horrendous. If I'd been fat during high school, I probably would have seen the dream as a positive sign, but as it was, I was a bony, shapeless 15-year-old. Being tall and thin would have been a living nightmare.
Worse than anything else are the questions I get. I'm so tired of answering the same old questions all the time. I think I'll have a t-shirt printed up that says, "I am five feet tall, and I weigh 100 pounds. I wear a 6 1/2 shoe, and no, I don't buy clothes at children's stores."
Some of the worst questions are, "Are your parents short, too?" (Not when I need money, they aren't). One thing I hear a lot from people of average height is, "I feel tall when I'm around you." I usually respond with something creative like, "So?" I also get a lot of, "So, have you ever gone out with a tall guy?" Yes, I have. It was hard to kiss him but we got over it. "Shorty" has been my obvious nickname ever since I can remember, along with "little woman," "midget," "welchkin," (when it was found out that I am of Welch ancestry) and the ever-popular short shit." But the worst statement of all is, "Boy, are you short!"
It was only recently, in an Dear Abby column, that I learned an appropriate response to "Boy, are you short!" A woman wrote in saying she was 200 pounds overweight and she liked herself that way. When people asked her why she didn't try to lose weight, she'd reply, "I just lost 20 pounds." That shut 'em up, she said. And to the really rude people who said to her, "Boy, are you fat!" she'd reply, "Boy, are you rude!"
I've never used this reply, but I did have the opportunity to a few months ago. While waiting in line to talk to a professor I knew, a guy I'd never seen before, walking in the hallway, stopped next to me and gasped, "Boy, are you short!" The fat woman's reply popped into my head, but I didn't say it for some reason. Instead I rolled my eyes (which someone told me I do professionally). The rude guy turned to Kurt, a friend of mine standing in line, and said, "That probably wasn't the right thing to say, was it?" Kurt shook his head, bugging his eyes in amazement at this guy's audacity. Apologizing and introducing himself, ironically, as David, the rude guy, tried to make it better by telling me I was very cute - for a short girl. Over his shoulder, I made a furtive face at Kurt that said, "Help me get rid of this guy!" Kurt only shrugged.
However, I defeated the giant by throwing the rock of superiority in his face. Just then, it was my turn to see the professor, so I went in, chatted with him, and got a favor out of him because we were old friends. I made sure all of this conversation was just loud enough for David to hear. Poor David had to wait in a very long line to see this professor, whom he didn't know, and who probably wouldn't do him a favor, when I only had to stand in line two minutes and got exactly what I wanted. That was sweet enough revenge for me.
I have found some definitive advantages in being short, however. No one ever asks me if I play basketball, or encourages me to do so. I don't have to worry about hitting my head on doorways. And I thank fate that adjectives like "lanky," "gangly," and "ungainly" cannot apply to me, nor can the nickname "beanpole," or the phrase "You've grown like a weed." I revel in the fact that my younger sister and my friends can no longer borrow my clothes or shoes, since they're all at least two sizes larger. I win limbo contests. I love singing "Kiss Off" to people who sing me the song “Short People Ain't Got No Reason." Ten bucks can usually get me drunk, no matter what type of alcohol I buy. I hardly ever use the whole towel to dry off with, and I can fall asleep - horizontally - in a recliner quite comfortably.
But I smile widest when I see someone taller than me grabbing a chair to reach the top cupboard in the kitchen. No one can say they have never come up short at some time in their lives.
Tuesday, January 03, 2006
Reflections on a year of change
A year ago I was miserably unemployed, heading into my last semester of graduate school with no clear idea of what I wanted to write a thesis about, wondering if I would ever be truly happy again. I am glad to report that I've made the necessary changes in my life to get past all of that, and I am well on my way to a life that I love to live. There are things that are still to be wrapped up but most of it is good and I am grateful for people who take a chance on me...grateful for new friends, old friends, supporters and a little faith thrown in for good measure. As I sit here looking over the bills I have due, I am actually not overwhelmed for once, and I can count on several people who I could call right now who would be happy to hear from me. I have a closetful of clothes which at the moment are all clean, the house is not a wreck, my roommate and I are quietly communing with each of our computers and I actually worked out today for an hour. I had a relaxing weekend with my new computer and about a half dozen movies...along with meeting new friends and enjoying the company of those I have known for years. I have a long way to go still and I am a work in progress. But that's okay, I always have been.
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