Chutes and Ladders

Grasping the grout of brick
Walls,
The ascension of adverse
Waterfalls:
With an uphill journey, therin
Lies
The epitomy of the ostracized.

I'd devour time faster to
Satisfy a climax
If the denoument, in turn,
Satisfied a relapse

Tragedy: gone with the wind,
In a perfect world
Where there is no sin.
Doves: cloud-clearing,
God-fearing,
Searching for their pulse
In the wake of orthodox
Autonomy,
Wishing to revolt

I see a star pass overhead
And dream about the sky;
I dream a star falls in my hands
And see about the tides

Black and blue are but colors
Stricken with a curse,
Forcing patient, quiet men
To live life in reverse.

Divorce

Rain-forced reservations
Have dampened disposition
Into nonchalant indignation
And solemn resignition

Not a wave on the water,
Nor a splash on the mouth:
There is a fight for a father
And a war in the south

A turn for the slope
Can break the bind on dry,
While the young guns elope
And we say goodbye

In Decay

I

For a fleeting moment almost gone
And a yearning for a sing along,
I swallowed fright
And acted right,
In my attempt to thwart the wrong.

II

After years of life, your nonchalance
Is half-hearted wisdom, lacking wants;
No sound, no fury,
Apprehension to hurry,
And reason to blame the oens who taunt.

III

In fear of words that you might say
Being listened to the wrong way,
Silence prevailed,
From clouds came hail,
And Ravens watched us in decay.

Reverence

Bent branches draping stringent moss
Over the barren nest of the Albatross,
Housing a lonely shell
That, when Time tells,
Should struggle to get a point across.

In a plastic land,
The shift of sand
Never falls through the slender neck,
While the opposite age,
The previous page,
They read and then soon forget.

Prescibed on scrolls and tablets,
There lies ancient cures to modern woes,
Denied by "revolutionaries"
As archaic meanings set in stone.

With the intent of hearing echoes
That ring in octaves slightly higher,
They fail in being audible
Over the skillful picking of the lyre.

Ode to a Redwood

Redwood trees - let's make believe - wear rings and
Hum the songs birds sing; yet, without wet tongues
And able lungs, silent choirs lose their
Leaves.  On stagnant soil, logs lie, wishing
For an alibi, hoping for solemn
Dismissalls, or a chance at what was cast
Aside: playful inquiries of what is
Beyond the trees - the green of other past-
ures, the sky under the sea; but said rings
Mean nothing to primary objectives;
The pressure of time to be carefully
Selective: the songs not sung, the bells not
Rung, the Redwood rings that bear no voice, all
For idle trees that wished they had a choice.

White-Knuckled

I decided to try my hand at iambic pentameter. :)

 

Empty spaces filling plastic chairs: the

Epitomy of loneliness washing

Out your hair only to dry your blank scalp.

Scampered about, one sleepless night, scaling

Bridges and losing fights, only to gain

What you have lost, hiding under the snow,

Under the frost. Piled in white, ivory

Maybe. One last dance with your fair lady.

Call you a king; a prince won't suffice, or

Account for the prison created by

Ice, or when we dare give a name to white

Quicksand, it's snow; kings prize crowns, and learn to

Let go. They sink in snow, growing somber,

God, can heaven wait a moment longer?

Dreams Are People, Too

Emaciated dreams,
I'd love to take you out for dinner,
But I cannot afford it.
Four years and 40,000 dollars
Will only get me a piece of paper, a robe, and a hat.
What will I do with all of that?
Scenery. Decoration. Pizzazz.
All viable options,
None satisfying.
So what shall I feed you?
I gave you my childhood.
Eighteen conscious, cognizant years you spent
Feeding on me until this point. My peak.
How awkward:
No empathy is rewarded to those scaling mountains
By those who have scaled mountains.
Mistakes are hereditary. . . like blood.
Please pass the steak, if you can spare some.
Cook it rare.
I'm hungry, too.
I'd like to eat at the round table of stability, but
First I'd have to pass the dimly-lit trenches of uncertainty.
I'll take my dream with me; she hates to be left alone.
So do I.
Any and all noises, large or small, pierce the air
In dark rooms with pointy objects
Invisible to untrained eyes.
I've walked into them a hundred times.
I would do it a hundred more. . .
For you, my dream.

Screen Doors On Brick Walls; I Build Both

Broken bones.
They don't bend the way we'd like them to.
Can I bend you?
Not to your breaking point,
But almost.
I don't know that part of you.
Not yet, but I'd like to
Explore it.
Just a taste.
Just so I could see what shakes you.
I would never shake you,
But I want to see you shaken.
I don't completely understand it.
I don't completely understand you.

Like sleep.
I like to sleep.
It's neccesary,
But what do you do when you sleep?
Why can't you stay still?
I woke up and found you contorted,
I woke up and found you
Bent.
But I never saw how you got there.
I want the process.
The whole process
Why you are you.
I want to know what bends you.
You'll just have to trust me.
I might bend you,
I will never break you.
Promise.

Around and Down, but Never Over, Never Over Me

Rain, rain. Don't go away.
I have a crush on you,
Though you are awfully unpredictable.
Always coming whenever you wish,
Never leaving until you are done,
Why are you even here?
Why? Hmm. . .?
If you don't mind me asking.
I know I ask too much of you, but
You never answer me.
Tell me your story.
Where did you come from?
Was it rough growing up?
You give me no choice but to ask
Because you smother me.
I look right;
You are there.
I look left;
There, too.
Dare I turn around?
I don't have to.
I feel you trying to drown me,
Dropping on me and seeping through
The small opening between my neck
And the fabric under it.
What are you trying to prove?
That you can get inside of me?
Or under me,
Or over me?
Should I let you?
If I let myself become vulnerable,
Let myself become overwhelmed by you,
Just for a moment,
Would I cope more easily?
No. Not at all.
Decitful, you are.
I'm on to your little games,
Your thievish trickery,
And your tricky mockery.
Saying "I dare you, Daniel.
I dare you to stand up to me,
To not fall down when I surround you
In the pity-party of sky-fallen tears."
How rude.
I do like a challenge, however,
So I accept.
Dear rain,
May I have this dance?

Feeling Philosophical. . .

If attention was cheap, we would never have to pay for it. If attention was free, then it would not mean as much as it does. Everyone knows that I am a talker. I talk to you, you, her, him, them, them, all of them, and myself. One trait I have always tried to master was listening. Talking and listening are like complimentary colors. They make each other stronger. I do not have much to say today, but I have much to hear. That is the trick to becoming a successful conversationalist. Moderating and alternating between talking and listening provides for a well-rounded colloquial experience. Experiences make the man (or woman).

Random other thoughts in sonnet form:

Turning the pages to pass the time
Dante's Inferno is on my bed
I'd love to read funny rhymes
But I chose this book instead
What makes a book a classic?
Archaic words in old syntax?
All of these books are tragic
Reading them is relapse
They always seem to die
None by natural causes
What drama interests the eye
Gathers all the appluases
If I never live another day
At least I got to live today

 Haiku time:

I wrote this morning
I can not name my sonnet
Name it for me, please =]

P.S. Do something fun today that you would not usually do. Anything really. Get carried away ;]

Playful Rhyming Just Because

I don't know why I wrote this, but I just felt like messing around with words.

I show my teeth when I smile.
I'm just lost in the clouds.
Dazed and confused
By the colors so loud;
Because I've got a secret,
And I know you can't know,
But it's so hard to keep it
Hidden under the snow
When you live in Florida,
And the weather is a teen
Who exaggerates the feelings
Seen on TV screens.

I grow used to the sun and then it disappears
Hiding in other hemispheres for what feels like years.
Plus, that secret I told you that I said I wouldn't say
Went up over your head on the sunniest of days.
You looked up as if to catch it, but I was surely wrong.
All you noticed was a pack of clouds and how they belong.
Then I repeated my secret; I said that I liked you,
So you looked at me and answered, "Boy, that sky is blue."

Woe, Is Not Me

Woe. If it is not yesterday's blunders or tomorrow's uncertainies, then it is our constant hunger for acceptance and approval. Not just with others, but with ourselves. They (whoever "they" are) say that the most harmful words are the words we say to ourselves. It's a fact. Who knows you better than you? No one can condemn you more than you can, and, conversely, you cannot bring yourself up as high you wish. We gather and collect woe over time and store it within ourselves, not paying attention to how much space we actually have to put it. Woe, like dirty laundry in the bedroom, begins to clutter and find its place deep within. Time passes; you forget the woe. Then, all of a sudden and without notice, we feel down. "What could that possibly be? Ugh, not this again." It reaches the surface again like the stench of the clothes hidden under beds for far too long. Do some laundry. That horrid odor in our gym shorts and the treacherous woe in our lives will not just dissappear; it needs cleansing. That cleansing can invlove almost anything. Maybe there are people who we need to apologize to, or maybe there are people who we need to forgive. Maybe it is time to tell the truth. Once we "clean out" that woe, we realize that we have so much room for happiness! Self-acceptance and approval becomes easier when we make space for it. Wallowing in self-pity is not a valid option. All the time wasted on harming ourselves and bringing ourselves down takes from the time we could be spending bringing ourselves up.

They (the same people from above) also say that the best way to feel better about yourself is to do something for someone else. Altruism is more personal than philanthropy. Give money if you can; give time if you can not. Either way, the selflessness involved in giving is so potent that you feel as though you have made a difference.

Personally, the best way to block out woe is to smile. Never will I forget the first time I went to Puerto Rico with my family. Bored and tired, I found myself sitting down outside a chapel. I wanted to go home, my feet hurt. Suddenly, however, as if someone decided to send me some sunshine, a noun walked by. Our eyes caught each others, and she just smiled. I'll never forget that smile. The way that Nick Carraway describes Jay Gatsby's smile applies here. Her smile caused me to smile. It is not a slippery slope; it is a water-slide! After that pleasant encounter, I began to smile at everyone. I hope my smiles have caused at least one other person to smile.

The point is that negative energy can cloud us from our happiness. We say "woe, is me" and other self-deprecating phrases that forbid us from learning from our past and experiences. Empiricism requires us to forgive ourselves.

Forgive yourself. You deserve it.
Say to yourself: "Woe, is NOT me."

=D

Optimism is Realism

Hey! I am Daniel, an eighteen year old high school senior from Orlando with a brain that is bursting at the synapses with ideas. If my brain was a shirt, It would be a graphic tee, color print, with visual imagery that appeals to happiness. That being said, I am an optimist, and, by extension, a realist. If realism can be described as the tendency to view or represent things as they really are, and optimism is a disposition or tendency to look on the more favorable side of events or conditions and to expect the most favorable outcome, then they are synonymous.

Think.

We have all had experiences where our confidence was absent; we have all had experiences where we did not think we were "good enough." Often times, these situations end up failing in meeting our standards or expectations. We fall short. We lose. We miss. We fail. Without realizing it, we set ourselves up for failure by doubting our ability to succeed. We get it into our head that we are not good enough, and this negative perception of ourselves causes us to squander our potential because our confidence retracts like tiger claws, disallowing us to perform well enough to be satisfied.

It is truly a skill to be able to self-affirm yourself.

I remember the first time that I took a class online. At first, I had apprehensions and doubts that I could, being the colloquial person that I am, succeed in a solitary learning environment, a place where my teacher had a voice, but no face. I thought to myself, "how could I possibly get an A? How can I do my best so far out of my comfort zone?" And it is out of my comfort zone. In class, I generally earn good grades, even in honors and college level coursework, but I am considered the "class clown." Thoughts and connections and analogies quickly flood my head, and I usually call out answers, call out questions, and call out random, abstract thoughts that, in the words of Bilbo Baggins, seem quite "queer." Without a classroom, a teacher, and classmates, I am lacking a stage, a director, and an audience. I was alone. My attitude was pessimistic; my grade was not meeting my goal. Something had to change. After five stages of anger and avoiding my true problem, I knew what needed to be done. I began to believe I could get an A; I began to believe I was "good enough." My grade improved in a positive way. I began to look forward to independent thinking and succeeding in my uncomfortable, challenging environment. I passed the class with an A! It took optimism and perseverance, but the negativity dissappeared. I guess, to be cliche, I had it in me all along.

Whoever you are that is reading my first blog entry right now, you have it in you, too. The key is optimism. It IS completely realistic to think positive thoughts and expect positive outcomes. It is also realistic to fail in achieving your goals, but pessimism only lowers your chance to succeed. It's not even spiritual; it's pragmatic. My first message in my soon-to-be series of blogs would be that optimism truly can produce realistic outcomes. In my opinion, optimism and realism are hidden synonyms, misunderstood friends. They are the couple that you would never expect to get married, but somehow make it work.

Stay positive, friends.

Love and dreams come true,
Daniel E. Ruiz