Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Poetry blog
For those interested in my poetry work, please go to the following URL: http://fallingrottentree.blogspot.com
Sunday, April 26, 2009
"The Parting Shot"
"The Parting Shot"
Everyone thinks about it, but no one likes to talk about it. Maria is 32 and is recently separted from her husband, Paulo. Paulo has been working odd jobs to make ends meet and has not had much success holding down a steady job. Maria, on the other hand, has other worries on her mind. Pregnant with her first child, she has seen less and less of Paulo. This is especially the case late nights on the weekends when he comes in stumbling through the door, reeking of vodka and cheap perfume.
It is Sunday morning and Maria is awakened by a sudden loud bang on her door. "Jesus," she says as she gets up startled out of bed, "who could that be at this hour?" Another loud bang and she quickly slips a sweater on over her nightgown and makes her way towards the door. "Coming," Maria says impatiently, "I hope Paulo is alright," she mutters under her breath.
"Yes, may I help you?," Maria asks tenatively as she opens the door. Elizondo Morales, a childhood friend, stands in the door way, clearly looking flustered. "Where is he, mi amiga?," he asks flatly. Maria raises an eyebrow. "Mi amor no esta aqui ahora," she said. "What do you mean Paulo's not here?," came her friend's angry reply.
"Well, you know how he is," Maria said quietly as she headed for the couch and sat down. "Please, tell me why you are here, Eli," she said. Elizondo wiped his brow and sat down beside her. "I got a call from my father last night saying that he seen Paulo passed out again last night at the bar."
Maria stifled a laugh as she smirked. "Probably walking it off somewhere. Pendejo," she replied. "I do love him but sometimes I wonder, Eli," she said aloud nervously. Elizondo sat up now and leaned closer. "About what?," he asked imploringly. "Whether or not he still carries a torch," she said. "That gringa? I would've had my doubts, but his heart is here," her friend replied.
Maria allowed herself a small smile. "He used to come home with her, you know," she said. Her eyes glistened as she reached for a cigarette. "Knowing that he was doing things with her that we used to," she said as she took a long drag from her cigarette, "wanted a part of me to take a butcher knife to his manhood and let that be the end of it," she finished as she reached out for Elizondo's hand.
"What should we do now, then?," he asked. "Wanna fuck?," Maria suggested as she got up. "What about Paulo?," came the tenuous question, a lump stuck in Elizondo's throat. She smiled and took Elizondo by the hand. Maria let go and coolly walked toward the bedroom. "Do you have any time?," Elizondo asked worriedly.
"Yes," Maria said as she disappeared from view and into the bedroom. Elizondo followed cautiously and stopped in the hallway, the bedroom door ajar. Maria slowly undressed for him. "Enough for us," she replied triumphantly with a gleam of satisfaction in her eyes.
Copyright: 2009, by Raymund Diaz Delizo
Everyone thinks about it, but no one likes to talk about it. Maria is 32 and is recently separted from her husband, Paulo. Paulo has been working odd jobs to make ends meet and has not had much success holding down a steady job. Maria, on the other hand, has other worries on her mind. Pregnant with her first child, she has seen less and less of Paulo. This is especially the case late nights on the weekends when he comes in stumbling through the door, reeking of vodka and cheap perfume.
It is Sunday morning and Maria is awakened by a sudden loud bang on her door. "Jesus," she says as she gets up startled out of bed, "who could that be at this hour?" Another loud bang and she quickly slips a sweater on over her nightgown and makes her way towards the door. "Coming," Maria says impatiently, "I hope Paulo is alright," she mutters under her breath.
"Yes, may I help you?," Maria asks tenatively as she opens the door. Elizondo Morales, a childhood friend, stands in the door way, clearly looking flustered. "Where is he, mi amiga?," he asks flatly. Maria raises an eyebrow. "Mi amor no esta aqui ahora," she said. "What do you mean Paulo's not here?," came her friend's angry reply.
"Well, you know how he is," Maria said quietly as she headed for the couch and sat down. "Please, tell me why you are here, Eli," she said. Elizondo wiped his brow and sat down beside her. "I got a call from my father last night saying that he seen Paulo passed out again last night at the bar."
Maria stifled a laugh as she smirked. "Probably walking it off somewhere. Pendejo," she replied. "I do love him but sometimes I wonder, Eli," she said aloud nervously. Elizondo sat up now and leaned closer. "About what?," he asked imploringly. "Whether or not he still carries a torch," she said. "That gringa? I would've had my doubts, but his heart is here," her friend replied.
Maria allowed herself a small smile. "He used to come home with her, you know," she said. Her eyes glistened as she reached for a cigarette. "Knowing that he was doing things with her that we used to," she said as she took a long drag from her cigarette, "wanted a part of me to take a butcher knife to his manhood and let that be the end of it," she finished as she reached out for Elizondo's hand.
"What should we do now, then?," he asked. "Wanna fuck?," Maria suggested as she got up. "What about Paulo?," came the tenuous question, a lump stuck in Elizondo's throat. She smiled and took Elizondo by the hand. Maria let go and coolly walked toward the bedroom. "Do you have any time?," Elizondo asked worriedly.
"Yes," Maria said as she disappeared from view and into the bedroom. Elizondo followed cautiously and stopped in the hallway, the bedroom door ajar. Maria slowly undressed for him. "Enough for us," she replied triumphantly with a gleam of satisfaction in her eyes.
Copyright: 2009, by Raymund Diaz Delizo
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
"101"
"101"
Devin had it all. Tall, single, and blessed with devastatingly good looks with the world seemingly at his feet. Sandy, on the other hand, is struggling to put her life back together. She, at the age of 26, is on the verge of becoming undone. Working at a dead end job for five years, Sandy hates what her life has become.
Lately, Devin has become increasingly distant. He knows in his heart that he still loves Sandy, but he has lost all patience for the little details. No more midday calls at the office, no more flowers waiting on her doorstep. He even barely says "I love you" anymore.
The alarm clock blares as Sandy gets up. Groggy, she rubs her eyes and mutters, "Not this shit again," as she gets up and walks over to the window and looks out. The rain from last night has subsided and she is alone again. She goes over to the foot of the bed and sits. "Strange, he left his cell phone," she says.
There is a knock at the door. "Be right, there!," she said irritatedly. "Oh, hey! What's going on?," Sandy said excitedly. Wendy, her mother, gives her daughter a hug and raises an eyebrow. "Kinda bare in here, isn't it?," Wendy says. "You know how things are, Mom. No matter how many times I tell him, he just doesn't seem to have a clue," came the reply.
Wendy takes a seat at the kitchen table. She reaches for her purse and fishes for a cigarette. "Do you care if I...?," she asks, eyeing her daughter as Sandy takes a seat across from her. "I thought that you quit," came Sandy's incredulous reply.
"I thought you should know," Wendy began slowly as she lit up a cigarette, "that I'm getting married again," she finished as she took a drag from her cigarette and exhaled. "Don't you think it's too soon?," her daughter asked, the concern evident in her voice.
"Your father was a good man, sweetheart. He was hardworking, strong, and he was always fond of you," Wendy said. "But you two were never in love, you said so yourself the last time we spoke before he died," Sandy replied, her voice shaking.
Wendy shook her head with disdain. "Your father did love you. Whatever issues he had with me really didn't matter. It was you that kept everything from being ripped apart," Wendy said as she reached for Sandy's hand.
"When I caught Eddie with another man, I decided just to let things be. I thought that, if I spent more time with him and showed him my appreciation, things would cool down and we'd be in a better place, the both of us, to talk about what happened," Wendy said with a rueful laugh.
Sandy shifted nervously in her chair. Her mother sensed the young woman's tension and smiled. "So how are things with Devin?," Wendy asked, changing the subject. "Things have gotten weird, lately," came her daughter's anxious reply.
"How so?," Wendy asked curiously. "Well, he's just been all over the place here lately," Sandy replied. "I never liked the boy," her mother stated coldly. Sandy managed a smile. "The bastard was always asking how big my boobs were or making snide remarks," Wendy said disgustedly.
Sandy got up as her mother watched and calmly finished her cigarette. "It's 101 degrees outside today Mom," she reminded her mother as Wendy got up and walked toward the door, a gleam of satisfaction in her eye.
Copyright: 2009, by Raymund Diaz Delizo
Devin had it all. Tall, single, and blessed with devastatingly good looks with the world seemingly at his feet. Sandy, on the other hand, is struggling to put her life back together. She, at the age of 26, is on the verge of becoming undone. Working at a dead end job for five years, Sandy hates what her life has become.
Lately, Devin has become increasingly distant. He knows in his heart that he still loves Sandy, but he has lost all patience for the little details. No more midday calls at the office, no more flowers waiting on her doorstep. He even barely says "I love you" anymore.
The alarm clock blares as Sandy gets up. Groggy, she rubs her eyes and mutters, "Not this shit again," as she gets up and walks over to the window and looks out. The rain from last night has subsided and she is alone again. She goes over to the foot of the bed and sits. "Strange, he left his cell phone," she says.
There is a knock at the door. "Be right, there!," she said irritatedly. "Oh, hey! What's going on?," Sandy said excitedly. Wendy, her mother, gives her daughter a hug and raises an eyebrow. "Kinda bare in here, isn't it?," Wendy says. "You know how things are, Mom. No matter how many times I tell him, he just doesn't seem to have a clue," came the reply.
Wendy takes a seat at the kitchen table. She reaches for her purse and fishes for a cigarette. "Do you care if I...?," she asks, eyeing her daughter as Sandy takes a seat across from her. "I thought that you quit," came Sandy's incredulous reply.
"I thought you should know," Wendy began slowly as she lit up a cigarette, "that I'm getting married again," she finished as she took a drag from her cigarette and exhaled. "Don't you think it's too soon?," her daughter asked, the concern evident in her voice.
"Your father was a good man, sweetheart. He was hardworking, strong, and he was always fond of you," Wendy said. "But you two were never in love, you said so yourself the last time we spoke before he died," Sandy replied, her voice shaking.
Wendy shook her head with disdain. "Your father did love you. Whatever issues he had with me really didn't matter. It was you that kept everything from being ripped apart," Wendy said as she reached for Sandy's hand.
"When I caught Eddie with another man, I decided just to let things be. I thought that, if I spent more time with him and showed him my appreciation, things would cool down and we'd be in a better place, the both of us, to talk about what happened," Wendy said with a rueful laugh.
Sandy shifted nervously in her chair. Her mother sensed the young woman's tension and smiled. "So how are things with Devin?," Wendy asked, changing the subject. "Things have gotten weird, lately," came her daughter's anxious reply.
"How so?," Wendy asked curiously. "Well, he's just been all over the place here lately," Sandy replied. "I never liked the boy," her mother stated coldly. Sandy managed a smile. "The bastard was always asking how big my boobs were or making snide remarks," Wendy said disgustedly.
Sandy got up as her mother watched and calmly finished her cigarette. "It's 101 degrees outside today Mom," she reminded her mother as Wendy got up and walked toward the door, a gleam of satisfaction in her eye.
Copyright: 2009, by Raymund Diaz Delizo
"Obsession"
"Obsession"
Helena has always had trouble when it has come to love. She's a successful 30-something: got a thriving job which earns her a six figure salary, lives in a splendidly furnished three bed, two bath condo by the ocean and has a trusted group of loving family and friends.
However, three years ago she was hit with the news that she had breast cancer.
It's now 12 a.m., and she's been going through a few old scrapbooks of photos. She pulls one out and carefully traces her fingers over her face, imagining she's 16 again, when everything in her world was so simple and so uncomplicated.
"Oh, I was so beautiful then," she said to herself wistfully. Just then, there's a knock at the door. "God, not this, not now," she mutters, uttering an exasperated breath. She heads to the door, head hung dejectedly. "Oh, it's you. Hi, umm, please come in and sorry all the clutter. I've been a complete wreck lately, Janine."
Janine Roth, a longtime friend, has known Helena ever since she was 10 years old. "You haven't called in a few weeks and I've been worried," she told her friend with a nervous laugh. "You know how cancer is," Helen countered, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Oh, yeah, I've almost forgotten how bad the chemo and radiation was," Janine said with a frown.
Helena went over to the tiny kitchenette and began to pour some wine. Janine wrinkled her nose in protest. "Thought you quit drinking?," she queried quietly. Helen raised a defiant eyebrow. "Wine for now, to be polite. If the pain drags on like my periods used to, I've got Smirnoff or Jack Daniels to take the edge off," Helena said as she walked over to the table. "Come over and stay a while," Helena said warmly, gesturing to the vacant chair. Janine nodded and sat down opposite her at the table.
Janine took out a pack of Marlboro's and coolly lit up. "Do you remember when you caught me kissing your cousin?," she asked quietly. Helen's eyes sparkled as she took a sip of wine. "How could I forget, J?," she said, almost wistfully. "I was so pissed that I didn't speak to you for almost a month," Helena said with a sly grin.
Janine sat back and took a long drag of her cigarette and sighed. "Things with B have not been so good," she said ruefully. "Why, what's the matter? Did he finally grow a set?," Helena replied and as she leaned forward intently. "Well, yeah, I guess," Janine said waveringly, "but he still sucks at sex," she said disgustedly.
"What man really does know how to please a woman?," Helena said sharply. "You'd have better time if you ever found a hooker with a penis," she said with a laugh as she got up.
"Where are you going?," Janine asked. Helena stopped in her tracks and turned around. "It's Saturday night dear, I'm going out to get drunk and find me a good time. Maybe I'll even get lucky tonight if I play my cards right," Helen said as she disappeared from view.
Janine felt her pulse race as she quickly followed her into the bedroom. She stopped and stood in the doorway, watching. Helena slipped on a short black dress and pulled her hair back. "You still got it, you know," Janine said with a mixture of jealousy and lust. "Now, now, dear. You know the rules, if you want to get me where you want me, you need to buy me dinner and some drinks first," Helena said with a gleam of satisfaction.
Janine let out a sigh and felt butterflies in her stomach. "Can I come with you?," she asked desperately. Helena grabbed her purse and led her friend by the hand, "That is so Glenn Close, J," she said as the two women walked out into the sweltering night.
Copyright: 2009, by Raymund Diaz Delizo
Helena has always had trouble when it has come to love. She's a successful 30-something: got a thriving job which earns her a six figure salary, lives in a splendidly furnished three bed, two bath condo by the ocean and has a trusted group of loving family and friends.
However, three years ago she was hit with the news that she had breast cancer.
It's now 12 a.m., and she's been going through a few old scrapbooks of photos. She pulls one out and carefully traces her fingers over her face, imagining she's 16 again, when everything in her world was so simple and so uncomplicated.
"Oh, I was so beautiful then," she said to herself wistfully. Just then, there's a knock at the door. "God, not this, not now," she mutters, uttering an exasperated breath. She heads to the door, head hung dejectedly. "Oh, it's you. Hi, umm, please come in and sorry all the clutter. I've been a complete wreck lately, Janine."
Janine Roth, a longtime friend, has known Helena ever since she was 10 years old. "You haven't called in a few weeks and I've been worried," she told her friend with a nervous laugh. "You know how cancer is," Helen countered, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Oh, yeah, I've almost forgotten how bad the chemo and radiation was," Janine said with a frown.
Helena went over to the tiny kitchenette and began to pour some wine. Janine wrinkled her nose in protest. "Thought you quit drinking?," she queried quietly. Helen raised a defiant eyebrow. "Wine for now, to be polite. If the pain drags on like my periods used to, I've got Smirnoff or Jack Daniels to take the edge off," Helena said as she walked over to the table. "Come over and stay a while," Helena said warmly, gesturing to the vacant chair. Janine nodded and sat down opposite her at the table.
Janine took out a pack of Marlboro's and coolly lit up. "Do you remember when you caught me kissing your cousin?," she asked quietly. Helen's eyes sparkled as she took a sip of wine. "How could I forget, J?," she said, almost wistfully. "I was so pissed that I didn't speak to you for almost a month," Helena said with a sly grin.
Janine sat back and took a long drag of her cigarette and sighed. "Things with B have not been so good," she said ruefully. "Why, what's the matter? Did he finally grow a set?," Helena replied and as she leaned forward intently. "Well, yeah, I guess," Janine said waveringly, "but he still sucks at sex," she said disgustedly.
"What man really does know how to please a woman?," Helena said sharply. "You'd have better time if you ever found a hooker with a penis," she said with a laugh as she got up.
"Where are you going?," Janine asked. Helena stopped in her tracks and turned around. "It's Saturday night dear, I'm going out to get drunk and find me a good time. Maybe I'll even get lucky tonight if I play my cards right," Helen said as she disappeared from view.
Janine felt her pulse race as she quickly followed her into the bedroom. She stopped and stood in the doorway, watching. Helena slipped on a short black dress and pulled her hair back. "You still got it, you know," Janine said with a mixture of jealousy and lust. "Now, now, dear. You know the rules, if you want to get me where you want me, you need to buy me dinner and some drinks first," Helena said with a gleam of satisfaction.
Janine let out a sigh and felt butterflies in her stomach. "Can I come with you?," she asked desperately. Helena grabbed her purse and led her friend by the hand, "That is so Glenn Close, J," she said as the two women walked out into the sweltering night.
Copyright: 2009, by Raymund Diaz Delizo
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
"Small Talk"
"Small Talk"
The room is austere in its plainness. The walls are unadorned with windows and a couple high ceiling fans. Christine, or CJ, as her friends call her, is lying in bed with her boyfriend, Nick. CJ is the stereotypical young woman in college: young, single, pretty, popular and extremely intelligent and responsible for her age. She is a vibrant 19 year old.
Nick, on the other hand, is at a crossroads. Dark haired, muscular, and aloof. He is the type of guy that scares the daylights out of people, but attracts attention anyway and knows how to keep friends and lovers through a combination of charm, a dry, biting sense of humor, and emotional sabotage.
Nick and CJ have been going out as a couple for eight months now, although CJ has been distant lately, which makes her typically morose boyfriend stand up and take notice. The time for small talk has ended. Reality is poised too take its toll.
CJ awoke the the blare of the alarm clock. "Eight o'clock already? Fuck," she said. She pushed Nick on the back several times. "Time to get up, sleepyhead," she said. She got up and ran her fingers through her blonde hair.
"Whuu..?," came the response. CJ rolled her eyes and stood beside the bed, arms folded. "C'mon, it's Monday morning. I need to get ready for work." Nick sat up in bed and rubbed his eys sleepily. "You still have an hour, honey. Why don't you come back to bed?," he replied slyly.
CJ laughed, "Why do guys always have to have their minds in the gutter?," she asked half jokingly. Nick smiled and raised a questioning eyebrow. "What's a matter with a little quality time with the woman I love?," he asked with mock cynicism.
CJ went to the bathroom and quietly undressed and turned the shower on. "You don't really love me like that, Nick. You just love my ass," she yelled back at him with a hearty laugh. Nick frowned and yelled, "You know, I wasn't always that way," he said discouraged. At that moment, CJ looked down at her breasts and muttered, "Ain't that the truth. At least he's got his hand if he ever gets lonely."
Copyright: 2009, by Raymund Diaz Delizo
The room is austere in its plainness. The walls are unadorned with windows and a couple high ceiling fans. Christine, or CJ, as her friends call her, is lying in bed with her boyfriend, Nick. CJ is the stereotypical young woman in college: young, single, pretty, popular and extremely intelligent and responsible for her age. She is a vibrant 19 year old.
Nick, on the other hand, is at a crossroads. Dark haired, muscular, and aloof. He is the type of guy that scares the daylights out of people, but attracts attention anyway and knows how to keep friends and lovers through a combination of charm, a dry, biting sense of humor, and emotional sabotage.
Nick and CJ have been going out as a couple for eight months now, although CJ has been distant lately, which makes her typically morose boyfriend stand up and take notice. The time for small talk has ended. Reality is poised too take its toll.
CJ awoke the the blare of the alarm clock. "Eight o'clock already? Fuck," she said. She pushed Nick on the back several times. "Time to get up, sleepyhead," she said. She got up and ran her fingers through her blonde hair.
"Whuu..?," came the response. CJ rolled her eyes and stood beside the bed, arms folded. "C'mon, it's Monday morning. I need to get ready for work." Nick sat up in bed and rubbed his eys sleepily. "You still have an hour, honey. Why don't you come back to bed?," he replied slyly.
CJ laughed, "Why do guys always have to have their minds in the gutter?," she asked half jokingly. Nick smiled and raised a questioning eyebrow. "What's a matter with a little quality time with the woman I love?," he asked with mock cynicism.
CJ went to the bathroom and quietly undressed and turned the shower on. "You don't really love me like that, Nick. You just love my ass," she yelled back at him with a hearty laugh. Nick frowned and yelled, "You know, I wasn't always that way," he said discouraged. At that moment, CJ looked down at her breasts and muttered, "Ain't that the truth. At least he's got his hand if he ever gets lonely."
Copyright: 2009, by Raymund Diaz Delizo
Disclaimer
This is goes without saying, however, it is worth mentioning: All material on this blog is of my own creation and is therefore copyrighted.
A small opening
Today marks my own personal journey into the unknown. Though I've done poetry on and off since 1992 with my first piece, "Flood," it's been a long tough road, filled with creative starts and stops and countless ups and downs.
This new blog, "As The Mirror Fades," represents a creative and personal departure for me since I'm treating it almost like a diary. The only exception is that the people that you'll meet will be entirely fictional.
I'm in no way abandoning my other blog, "Falling Out Of The Rotten Tree," but I wanted to set up a more random blog when poetry proves to be simply much too confining.
This new blog, "As The Mirror Fades," represents a creative and personal departure for me since I'm treating it almost like a diary. The only exception is that the people that you'll meet will be entirely fictional.
I'm in no way abandoning my other blog, "Falling Out Of The Rotten Tree," but I wanted to set up a more random blog when poetry proves to be simply much too confining.
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