Sunday, November 16, 2014

Food Service Epic: Catalog


 “Sandwich – what kind of bread? A white hoagie?
What would you like on that? You want turkey?
Would you like anything else with that? Some ham?
Is that everything? Some bacon? Damn
We don’t have that today. Calm down. There is
Other stuff. All the meats? These sandwiches
Are bad. They drip in oil and grease. What cheese?
Some pepper jack? Alright.” “Yeah, toasted please.”
“It’s done. Now what kind of veggies would you
Like on your sandwich? Look at the menu,
Alright?” “Lettuce, onion, well, uh, let’s see.
How about tomato? Or possibly
Olives.” “None.” “Well. Banana peppers and
JalapeƱos.” “So much Greed that I’m mad.
They can’t hold back. What sauce do you want?”
“Chipotle and some ranch.” “Done. Such treatment.
The customers are so very mean and rude.
Why can’t we all have a good attitude?”

Wednesday, November 5, 2014

Food Service Epic: Epic Simile

Part two of my epic where my teacher asked me to look at an epic simile. In the case of this simile I am relating it back to Dante's Inferno.

Epic Simile

In service there are nine arenas for
The dashing hero to pursue. The lore
Of which derides from fire as if the nine
Circles of hell; a duplicate design.
The meal checker, a lonely post, is first
In Limbo lies an area not the worst.
To-go comes next, Lustily the hero lies,
Blown back and forth in wind so strong your cries
Cannot be heard. Escape to dish in slush
He sighs, so vile and foul and thus must rush
To Greed. In deli joust between two lines
Call back and forth. Demons cannot read signs.
What do they want, they do not know, so off
To Anger we must go. But out we cough
The swampy water. Filling station—Wrath
We feel, we gurgle. Off we flee. A path
Opens to Heresy, in flaming tombs we grill
Then switch to Violence. Stomachs we must fill.
The bistro line holds boiling blood and sand
So hot and blasphemous that we can’t stand.
The Hypocrites are next to punish, they
Who walk with listless stupor, stumble day
And night to clean the tables. Monitor
Moves next from Fraud and must reconsider
His Treachery, were he must freeze in lakes
So cold, to deal with salad and with cake.
The whining customer doth want his ranch.
This hellish place, the poet knows there’s a branch
Held out in compromise, then pulled away.
The customer will not be held at bay. 

Food Service Epic: Theme and Invocation to Muse

For one of my classes this semester I have to write parts of an epic. I chose to do it about food service and in the case of this specific poem I am using the dining hall, Braiden, on the Colorado State University campus as a reference as this is where I currently work and have worked for the past for years. This is the first part.

Theme and Invocation to the Muse

Thoughtlessness—that envelops all who come, within
The hallowed halls of bounty we begin.
Incompetence from visitors amuses
The God to whom we drink our nightly booze.
The God to which we sacrifice to make
Better our place of worship—thus we take
Our spoils to the dish room God who hates
The mindless actions of the newcomer late
To his first shift. Our God, we sing to change
Thoughtless newcomer—strong and tall and brave.
In second year the newbie starts to work
Believing that it’s nothing hard, a smirk
Adorns his face. A job in food service
Is not too hard. But as a freshie curses
Were flung his way. He cannot see what he
Had done to workers who worked hard like me.
To dish room God I sing, to teach this boy
What hardship means. Naivety destroy.

Thursday, October 16, 2014

Words of Others

Words of Others

The truth of the matter
That others can observe
Is that even when I’m silent
I keep my precious words in reserve.

Speaking doesn’t come that easy
So I’ll wander through my mind
And I listen oh so quietly
And see what I can find.

The words of others echo
In circles in my head,
The fear that I won’t get them out
And the fear that they won’t be read.

So obvious, so plain in me
The things that I can feel,
I carry close this empathy,
Others emotions I conceal.  

Wednesday, October 15, 2014

Words Hurt

Words Hurt

Words hurt.
You can try to deny it but if I told you how
And worthless you are
It would hurt.
More so if you care about me and my opinions.
If I am a peer,
A coworker,
A friend,
A daughter,
A lover,
My words could do catastrophic damage.
I could tear out your soul and crush it in my fist.
You’d claim you’re okay, that “sticks and stones, man.”
But inside you’re still bleeding.
Denying it doesn’t change a thing.
Doesn’t change the fact that words
Are like spider webs.
They stick to the corners and won’t go away
Because every time you clear them
The spider comes back and rebuilds.
The web is still there.
The threads interweave through the recesses of your mind and the first time I say something harsh and cruel
It sticks
And it stays,
And it reverberates through your mind.
Each time you clear it, it may move back, further in your mine, but that doesn’t change the fact that
Waiting for you to remember and hurt all over again.
Physical wounds hurt
But with time they fade
And you forget.
I have scars that I don’t remember where they came from.
But when my heart hurts, it hurts for a long time.
For years
My whole life.
Going to college and being an English major,
A writer,
A poet,
I know the value of picking the right words and which emotions they invoke.
Words have power.
Words have strength.
You can deny it all you want
But it
Words still hurt
And you cry inside like a child who knows just what words can really do.
Bullies take advantage of this deception.
You try so hard to pretend like it doesn’t hurt
Until it’s too late
And the pain in so vast that even the ocean can’t hold it
And you drown.
You sink to the very bottom of the abyss struggling for a breath of air and all you can hear are those horrid
words ringing in your ears until
Locked into an ever declining spiral because you couldn’t tell the effect someone else’s words had on you.
Your own ignorance distanced you and now
You can’t find a way back.
Words can also heal.
When someone reaches out and pulls you out of the ocean of your own emotions,
When they drag you back to the light of day and say
            “You aren’t ugly,
            You aren’t worthless.
            You are beautiful
            And you are smart.”
You can come back from that abyss and find your way home.
Words hurt,
But words can also heal.
Words are important.
Don’t forget that.

Words are a Tool

Words are a Tool

My sister who does not share my blood
Lost her father one cold and empty February.
It may have been only a year so,
But since then, it’s been an eternity.

The one thing I noticed on those lonesome days,
Were the certain words people chose to say,
They caused me great frustration
Because there was no feeling in any way.

“I’m sorry,” people muttered quietly
While my friend stared out at the cold.
That phrasing has been used so often,
From the young, and by the old.

Some days later, I brought this up
Wondering what she thought,
“Why must people always apologize
When they share no blame for what’s been wrought?”

She replied, “It’s just what people say,
When they don’t know what words to use.”
“But that really doesn’t make much sense,”
I aggressively accused.

“If you’re always using words that way
They eventually lose what they mean,
The feeling is lost by frequent use,
I’ve learned this from what I’ve seen.”

Lightly tipping her head to the side,
With my heartfelt words she did agree.
Without much thought, words cease to feel
And this I don’t understand, why others can’t see.

“I promise,” “I wish,” “I’m sorry,”
“It isn’t all that bad.”
Constantly used, consistently ignored,
And there are many more to add.

Words are tools with special meanings
That contribute to who we are,
But if we keep using them like we do,
We won’t go very far.

Words and Knowledge

Words and Knowledge

Words scrawled in Black ink across a sheet of pristine paper.
But without Knowledge, the scrawls of Black ink
            Mean nothing.
Without Knowledge, all these words are, are
            Black scrawls.
Black scrawls scribbled haplessly across a page
            Of pristine, white, paper.
A mess of Black ink that without the correct Knowledge
            Is illegible.
Without Knowledge, words mean nothing.
But without words, how do we communicate our Knowledge?
Words are essential.
But are words Knowledge?
I do not know.

White Whisker

White Whisker

A single white whisker
On the floor
Lies, where no cat treads.
Where did it come from?
Why is it here?
Did I carry it in
When I walked through the door?
Where else could it come from?
A shadow cat?
A whispering wind?
Where? Where-
Did the white whisker
Come from?

Tuesday, October 14, 2014

What's In a Name?

What’s In a Name?

What does it mean
When you say something’s name?
Is that what it is?
Are they one and the same?

If that is true
Then is a flower a rose,
A plant, a vegetable,
And are all birds crows?

Does that mean if you call me a demon
That is what I am?
Or just because you say it,
Does that make me one of God’s lambs?

How do you know
What something truly was?
If you can’t see it
And you don’t know what it does?

A name doesn’t define you
And may not be true,
But people still believe it
And cannot get a clue.

A demon may not be a demon,
A song may not be sung,
An adult may be a child,
And a whip might be a tongue.

Just because we say it
Doesn’t make it so,
But words still are powerful,
And this is something I know.

Even if it isn’t true
Those words can still sting,
Sometimes you can’t ignore it
And keep living like a king.

So be careful what you say
Because a word’s a powerful thing.
But what’s in a name?
What harm can it bring?

What Matters

What Matters

Writers only need to know
What matters at that time,
What matters to the story,
What matches with the rhyme.

Every other little thing does not
Really have a meaning.
All of it is worth only
What matters to my breathing.

Science does not matter if
It has nothing to do with
The subject matter of my life,
My story or my myth.

At the moment, it matters not
If it doesn’t match my reality.
Mathematics is a waste of time
As is the world of philosophy.

I know what I know,
I see what I see,
But everything else
Doesn’t matter to me.

Two Views of the World

Two Views of the World

I look at the world from the Outside,
A part of it, yet not.
I view the world,
One among many.
People stand next to me
Yet we do not connect,
We stand together, but apart,
Uncertain of what we share.
We do not ask for one another’s views,
We do not ask after one another’s interests,
We do not ask about one another’s feelings,
We do not ask…
We stand separate,
Lost in our own worlds.
My views may not match yours
So I do not bother,
You do not bother…
For we stand separate.
We look at the world differently
And my views match no ones
They are mine alone,
For I look at the world from the Outside,
Wondering about it, but not experiencing it.

I look at the world from the Inside,
A part of it, a member.
I know all the people next to me,
The stranger I spoke to,
The man down the street,
My family in Europe,
My friend next door.
We all share views,
We all share interests,
We all share our feelings,
We all share…
I share everything and listen when needed.
I have my world, and you have yours,
Will you share with me?
I love to talk to others,
I love to view others worlds
So I can learn more about my own.
I stand together
With my family,
My friends,
And strangers alike,
Sharing my views with all who will listen.
I look at that world from the Inside,
Experiencing it, marveling at it.

True Love

True Love

Every single one of us
Will someday find the one we love.
But the details of the time and place
Will all be determined by the hands of fate.
The question I ask is simple and true,
And it’s a question I know is in your mind too.
Where is the one I truly love,
The one who’ll fit me like a glove?
How long must I quietly wait
To possess that most precious date
In time where I will find the one
Who’ll help me fly toward the soaring sun?
I’ll wait forever if I must
But at this time I want to thrust
The hands of the clock forward
So that I will move toward
The one I truly love,
Who’ll help me fly like a dove.

Monday, October 13, 2014



Time is the one thing
You can’t get back when lost.

Time is the one thing
We waste the most.

Time is the one thing
That is most precious.

Time is the one thing
That most people disregard.

Time is the one thing
That should be hated the most.

Time is the one thing
That will always repeat itself.


The Traveler

The Traveler

The bright sky was burning
And the ocean still turning
As I stood there, wondering, yearning,
For my home along the shore.

But then my heart was torn asunder
As the village below was plundered,
As soon I began to wonder,
If of the light, they will ever see more.

Again, I moved away pacing
With my mind forever racing
About the people I saw placing,
Spacing their dead out on the floor.

I turned my face quickly away
As my thoughts again began to stray
Back to my home on that dreadful day,
The day the rain started to forever pour.

The day I left, I do now regret
But soon I shall be forced to forget
As the vile villains that had beset
The villagers came and knocked me to the floor.

My wish to go back to my home town
Was smashed as again I was pushed to the ground
As I begged for a shred of pity to be found,
But they laughed and pushed me as before.

As I lie here crying, bleeding
For my family and friends my soul is weeping
Nevermore their trinkets shall I be keeping,
Leaving their memories within my store.

As I close my eyes in bliss and silence
All the useless noise and dreadful violence,
Not to mention my habit of willing compliance,
All slowly wither and show no more.

The Trap of Creativity

The Trap of Creativity

The minds of the Creative,
The minds Trapped most often,
For they are the ones who are Mad.
The Superfluous Storytellers,
The Imaginative Actors,
Most often lose their minds
To the sands of Time.
The Creative get lost,
Trapped in their world,
A world that others
Just can’t understand.
The Creative folk
Are most often Alone
For this gift, they give something grand.
Emily Dickinson,
Walt Whitman,
Who gave something up,
Who lived life Alone.
The Creative give
Their life for the gift,
For in Creativity we are Trapped. 

The Silence

The Silence
Date Unknown

The silence is unbearable,
In the dark and lonely night,
I sit silently bundled up
As I long to turn on the light.

My eyes keep wandering
As I worry in my head,
My fears of the next day
Are what keep me in my bed.

I try to keep it hidden
In the total darkness,
But I want someone to find me,
And show me my true bravery.

The silence is a phantom thief,
Quietly stealing my mind,
I’ll just lie in the darkness,
Hoping for a sign.

I lay screaming in the blackness,
But nobody can hear me,
I can see the search light,
But me, no one can see.

Sunday, October 12, 2014

The Road I Travel

The Road I Travel

Hills and valleys,
Buildings and cars,
The places I see,
I’ve traveled so far.

This new road I travel
Terrifies me,
But if I don’t walk it
I’ll never be free.

So I continue on
Putting one foot in front of the other,
And keep on moving,
So I can move further.

I put the past behind me
As I search for my goal,
I follow my path
And try to be whole.

I must find myself
As I struggle each day,
I look toward the future
And make my own way.

The future is blurred,
Unfocused and uncertain,
But I will force myself forward,
Until I close my own curtain.

The Locked Door

The Locked Door
Date Unknown

I stand in an empty room
With only but a door,
Is this to be my doom?
I know I need much more.

I can’t stand this any longer,
People don’t know how it feels,
I wish I was so much stronger,
To escape this room of tears.

There is nothing in here,
Nothing at all,
Only my own fear,
My mind about to fall.

I sit down in the corner,
Wondering what to do,
I need to get out sooner,
Please help me find a clue.

I don’t know if I can make it,
Will I make it through?
My mind is falling into a pit,
I don’t know what to do.

This room is horribly dark,
Oh please let me out,
I have only but a broken heart,
I don’t even want to pout.

Just let me out of this fantasy,
I miss hearing the rain pour,
I can’t believe this catastrophe,
Please open the locked door.

The Human Zoo

The Human Zoo
Unknown Date

The Human zoo,
Is locked up tight,
From day to day,
From night to night.

The guests that come
Are covered with fur,
They shake the cages
And disappear with a blur.

Different displays
Tend to show different traits,
Like white or black,
Football or skates.

They also have a museum,
That show the things we had,
Whatever they could scavenge
Or whatever was in fad.

If you have yet to realize,
This isn’t just a tease,
This is really how humans act,
In our zoo, things are a breeze.

The Gypsy and the Pilgrim

The Gypsy and the Pilgrim

One summer
I spoke
With my Grandmother
And she told me stories
Of her time
As a child
With her sister
And father,
Who was an Italian Gypsy.
All I really recall
Where stories of a house
In the grass,
And playing with her sister,
Who she no longer knows,
Because one day
Her father disappeared,
Leaving her
And her sister

But my Grandma also told me
About her adopted family,
And stories of their history.
Of how her adopted Grandmother
Met her adopted Grandfather
But they were both travelers
Going their separate ways.
They were not meant to be
Although they fell in love.
So when their children,
My great-grandmother
And great-grandfather,
Met by happen stance,
They fell in love
And righted the balance.
Then they adopted my Grandmother
Who birthed my father,
Who made me.

Though my Grandmother identifies
As an Italian Gypsy,
She was raised by a family
Who descended from Pilgrims.
Two vastly different peoples
But two similar ways.
Two families of travelers,
Two people who had no home.

But who am I?
A Gypsy or a Pilgrim?
Do I have Gypsy soul or not?
The answer?
I am Both.
I have a Gypsy soul
As well as
A European frame of mind.
I am a Gypsy and a Pilgrim.