teacher man

we wake up
to walk

in the light
of the early morning
you look like
half mirage
and half real

half ghost
and half
ghostly incantation

and I think
sometimes
maybe
I made you up
in this dream
where

everything you want
is everything you need
is everything

so I look at you
half disbelieving
and half
believing in
little else

pausing
in the sigh of the earth
waiting
for you to say something

and it makes me laugh
and you ask me
why

and I laugh again
so hard and so loud
that
it catches the both of us
off guard
and you think
it's the joke
(which it is)
but
it's also the life
the you and I
the laughing to be laughing
when you can't do
anything else

when it feels
this good
to be
this happy

and I can't help it

I can't help thinking
what a man you are
standing there

mud flecked on your shoes
cranberry muffin in your beard
your eyes
brimming with fire
lamenting
your students

and you are a man
who teaches

which is to say
you are a man
who is a man

and I wonder all the time
about what
you will teach me?

and I wonder
what you will be teaching me
in the future
always
everyday
tomorrow
and the day after that?

teacher man © 2010 ChendaWrites

You make me do silly things.

They say
there's no such thing as a good
love poem.
Or maybe, they say

every good poem
is about love.
Either way
I'm falling

for you, babe. So I'll write this
whatever
cheesy thing comes to mind
put it up on this blog
for anyone to read
think of you
thinking of me
and don't give a shit
cuz
you make me do silly things.

like
stay up late to write
bad poems--believe

I would say
in love
but maybe
what I really mean to say is
in life
in

people
how far
we can come
and go
the possibilities
of possibilities

so jump! if I jump
never let me go
hold me
like you mean it
with both our eyes
completely open.

You make me do silly things © 2010 ChendaWrites

Randy.

In a phrase
I would say
that being with you
simply feels
just like
coming home.

Randy © 2010 ChendaWrites

Happy new years, everyone!

Note to Ex.

I miss you. I think about you often. And it makes me so sad to think about what we once were. And how we are now. And how two people love and then leave and then never talk.

The thing is, I've let so few people in. And for a time you saw the real me. And that was a hard thing for me to try to do. And then let go of. And I wished it had been different. I wished it had been enough to hold you.

But it wasn't. And that is okay. It's really good even. Because I know that we weren't meant for each other. That we were not quite right. I hope you know that too.

Because what I'm trying to tell you is that...I've met someone.

And he's nice and kind and sweet and fun. And I know that you would really like him a lot. If you ever met him. You two would be great friends. I really wished that I could talk to you about him. Though I know it's cruel. But I can't help it. Because I want to talk to you about everything. Because you were my best friend.

I know you would be happy for me. To know that I am happy. I want to tell you that I am trying to let him in. Because I think that he's asking me to do that. And I want to do that. To try. For him. Because I think he might be worth it.

But still, there is this part of me that feels like being with him is a betrayal to you. Somehow. Is it?

I know you let me go and asked me to move on. But I also know that you'll be sad to read this. Sad to know that I'm dating someone else. That I am doing what you asked me to do. That in a way, I'm breaking your heart. I know these things, though I feel too shy and awkward to tell you directly. Because I've said too much already. And yet, not enough.

But this isn't about the past. I don't want to dwell on the past.

I only want to talk about the future. Our future. Yours and mine. I hope that one day we can move past all this. That you'll deal with your issues and I'll deal with mine. That we'll finally be able to talk again. Openly and freely. That we'll be together again.

As friends. The best of friends. Brothers even (well, you know what I mean :-)

I wrote you this note because we haven't talked in a long time. Though I wished we did. Because, I think you still read this blog from time to time, though you never say anything about it, and don't write or call.

And all I wanted to say was...if you happen to read this note...I guess what I'm trying to say is...Merry Christmas. Hope to talk sometime soon.

-Chenda

camping

inhaling

you
smell
like smoke
        lingering
like
last night's soup
my tongue
 
our fingers
interlock
like latch to gate 
new spaces
feeling
oddly
familiar
 
like
house
or haven
I think
that man
 
walking alone
on the side of the road
knew
something
 
the woods
speak
truths
god guides
us
by the breeze
 
through trees
your arms
like a ring
like a rail
by the fire
 
and the moon
is an urge
the sky
exhaling constellations
breathing in
deep

coming

like
glitter.

camping © 2010 ChendaWrites

daybreak.

time passes
in universes
expanding
or quick
like beats gone

this strange journey
and
startling feelings
of déjà vu

God
I feel so odd
and so old

life...like flying
or falling
like puking up
blueberry cobbler
on Thanksgiving day
the colors all
muddled together

and Austin feels
just like Mars
sometimes

from the earth
looking up at the sky
pinpoints of light
rushing out
from a billion years ago

Daybreak © 2010 ChendaWrites

For the Boy with the Grey Eyes.

I see you

across the way
etched along a pink skyline
silhouette
like gold on black

--in the shimmering dusk
your proportions distort
long and spindly
misplaced
and strangely
appealing

you ask me
for such a simple thing

--a chance, a path, a way

knowing
the hands of the past
scurry across my chest
like centipedes

--a thousand tracks in the sand
my veins like hourglass
my eyes wide like silver dollars

I am scared
of you
and your patience

I want your teeth
sinking into my areola
in rain and thunder
breaking skin
lightening
across our chests

I want the stories
yours and mine
told in unison
or one-by-one

But tonight
I'll sit

alone
reading, thinking
swirling jasmine to watch
the amber color
sink in

contemplating
two people
circumstances
the quiet orbit of our lives
the peace
and terror
of solitude

waiting
for my hands to steady.

For the Boy with the Grey Eyes © 2010 ChendaWrites

Just an update on life!

Hey all!

Just thought I'd give an update on what's going on with me since I haven't written in a while. Well, for all those curious, I am doing well. I am writing and working on my manuscript. Although I feel funny about revealing details on the story that I am working on, I will say that it is set in Texas in the late 1960's/early 1970's, and focuses on following a brother and sister and their family dynamic. That's all I'll say for now. I may (or may not) post an excerpt of the story on this blog in the future when it is more complete. I am excited! The story is shaping up to be one that is pretty lengthy (novel length) so I am excited that the story is complex enough to have kept me captivated to continue writing it. Although I'm scared each day that I don't have the proper skills (as a writer) to tell this story the way that I see it in my head, I am excited that the ideas for the story are still coming to me...

Anyways, the reason I haven't been posting much is because I am trying to actually DO things instead of just talking about them! So it's a good thing! I think I've just gotten to the point where I don't really want to "talk" the talk anymore. So, to anyone else hustling their craft, work it! And keep on keeping on! Love!

Check this: Charice!

I have to do it. I just have to. I have to admit that lately, I've been obssessed with this child-prodigy singer named Charice (Pempengco) from the Philipines. Not only because she's the only Asian singer to break into the Billboard Top 10 with her self-titled debut album Charice, but mostly because her voice so undeniable. Also, her rags to riches story is really inspirational as well, especially to anyone trying to achieve their own dreams. SO (in case you've been living under a rock these past couple of years) here is a fan-made breakdown of her rise to fame from youtube to Oprah. (I DARE you not to be floored when she sings "Note to God" at the end.) Get more info on her, her album, and her upcoming guest-starring role on the second season of Glee at: www.charicemusic.com:

Charice - The O Road to the TOP - Pt.1


Charice - The O Road to the TOP - Pt.2


Charice - The O Road to the TOP - Pt.3


Charice - The O Road to the TOP - Pt.4


Charice - The O Road to the TOP - Pt.5


Charice - The O Road to the TOP - Pt.6


Charice - The O Road to the TOP - Pt.7


Charice - The O Road to the TOP - Pt.8


Charice - Pyramid [featuring Iyaz] (Video)

Check this: Remembering 9/11

"First Writing Since" by Suheir Hammad

1.there have been no words.
i have not written one word.
no poetry in the ashes south of canal street.
no prose in the refrigerated trucks driving debris and dna.
not one word.
today is a week, and seven is of heavens, gods, science.
evident out my kitchen window is an abstract reality.
sky where once was steel.
smoke where once was flesh.

fire in the city air and i feared for my sister's life in a way never
before.and then, and now, i fear for the rest of us.

first, please god, let it be a mistake, the pilot's heart failed, the
plane's engine died.
then please god, let it be a nightmare, wake me now.
please god, after the second plane, please, don't let it be anyone
who looks like my brothers.

i do not know how bad a life has to break in order to kill.
i have never been so hungry that i willed hunger
i have never been so angry as to want to control a gun over a pen.
not really.

even as a woman, as a palestinian, as a broken human being.
never this broken.

more than ever, i believe there is no difference.
the most privileged nation, most americans do not know the difference
between indians, afghanis, syrians, muslims, sikhs, hindus.
more than ever, there is no difference.

2.thank you korea for kimchi and bibim bob, and corn tea and the
genteel smiles of the wait staff at wonjo the smiles never revealing
the heat of the food or how tired they must be working long midtown
shifts.thank you korea, for the belly craving that brought me into
the city late the night before and diverted my daily train ride into
the world trade center.

there are plenty of thank yous in ny right now.thank you for my
lazy procrastinating late ass.thank you to the germs that had me
call in sick.thank you, my attitude, you had me fired the week
before.thank you for the train that never came, the rude nyer who
stole my cab going downtown.thank you for the sense my mama gave me
to run.thank you for my legs, my eyes, my life.

3.the dead are called lost and their families hold up shaky
printouts in front of us through screens smoked up.

we are looking for iris, mother of three.please call with any
information.we are searching for priti, last seen on the 103rd
floor.she was talking to her husband on the phone and the line
went.please help us find george, also known as adel.his family is
waiting for him with his favorite meal.i am looking for my son, who
was delivering coffee.i am looking for my sister girl, she started
her job on monday.

i am looking for peace.i am looking for mercy.i am looking for
evidence of compassion.any evidence of life.i am looking for
life.

4.ricardo on the radio said in his accent thick as yuca, "i will
feel so much better when the first bombs drop over there.and my
friends feel the same way."

on my block, a woman was crying in a car parked and stranded in hurt.
i offered comfort, extended a hand she did not see before she said,
"we"re gonna burn them so bad, i swear, so bad."my hand went to my
head and my head went to the numbers within it of the dead iraqi
children, the dead in nicaragua.the dead in rwanda who had to vie
with fake sport wrestling for america's attention.

yet when people sent emails saying, this was bound to happen, lets
not forget u.s. transgressions, for half a second i felt resentful.
hold up with that, cause i live here, these are my friends and fam,
and it could have been me in those buildings, and we"re not bad
people, do not support america's bullying.can i just have a half
second to feel bad?

if i can find through this exhaust people who were left behind to
mourn and to resist mass murder, i might be alright.

thank you to the woman who saw me brinking my cool and blinking back
tears.she opened her arms before she asked "do you want a hug?"a
big white woman, and her embrace was the kind only people with the
warmth of flesh can offer.i wasn't about to say no to any comfort.
"my brother's in the navy," i said."and we"re arabs"."wow, you
got double trouble."word.

5.one more person ask me if i knew the hijackers.
one more motherfucker ask me what navy my brother is in.
one more person assume no arabs or muslims were killed.
one more person assume they know me, or that i represent a people.
or that a people represent an evil.or that evil is as simple as a
flag and words on a page.

we did not vilify all white men when mcveigh bombed oklahoma.
america did not give out his family's addresses or where he went to
church.or blame the bible or pat robertson.

and when the networks air footage of palestinians dancing in the
street, there is no apology that hungry children are bribed with
sweets that turn their teeth brown.that correspondents edit images.
that archives are there to facilitate lazy and inaccurate
journalism.

and when we talk about holy books and hooded men and death, why do we
never mention the kkk?

if there are any people on earth who understand how new york is
feeling right now, they are in the west bank and the gaza strip.

6. today it is ten days.last night bush waged war on a man once
openly funded by the
cia.i do not know who is responsible.read too many books, know
too many people to believe what i am told.i don't give a fuck about
bin laden.his vision of the world does not include me or those i
love.and petittions have been going around for years trying to get
the u.s. sponsored taliban out of power.shit is complicated, and i
don't know what to think.

but i know for sure who will pay.

in the world, it will be women, mostly colored and poor.women will
have to bury children, and support themselves through grief."either
you are with us, or with the terrorists" - meaning keep your people
under control and your resistance censored.meaning we got the loot
and the nukes.

in america, it will be those amongst us who refuse blanket attacks on
the shivering.those of us who work toward social justice, in
support of civil liberties, in opposition to hateful foreign
policies.

i have never felt less american and more new yorker,particularly
brooklyn, than these past days.the stars and stripes on all these
cars and apartment windows represent the dead as citizens first, not
family members, not lovers.

i feel like my skin is real thin, and that my eyes are only going to
get darker.the future holds little light.

my baby brother is a man now, and on alert, and praying five times a
day that the orders he will take in a few days time are righteous and
will not weigh his soul down from the afterlife he deserves.

both my brothers - my heart stops when i try to pray - not a beat to
disturb my fear.one a rock god, the other a sergeant, and both
palestinian, practicing muslim, gentle men.both born in brooklyn
and their faces are of the archetypal arab man, all eyelashes and
nose and beautiful color and stubborn hair.

what will their lives be like now?
over there is over here.

7.all day, across the river, the smell of burning rubber and limbs
floats through.the sirens have stopped now.the advertisers are
back on the air.the rescue workers are traumatized.the skyline is
brought back to human size.no longer taunting the gods with its
height.

i have not cried at all while writing this.i cried when i saw those
buildings collapse on themselves like a broken heart.i have never
owned pain that needs to spread like that.and i cry daily that my
brothers return to our mother safe and whole.

there is no poetry in this.there are causes and effects.there are
symbols and ideologies.mad conspiracy here, and information we will
never know.there is death here, and there are promises of more.

there is life here.anyone reading this is breathing, maybe hurting,
but breathing for sure.and if there is any light to come, it will
shine from the eyes of those who look for peace and justice after the
rubble and rhetoric are cleared and the phoenix has risen.

affirm life.
affirm life.
we got to carry each other now.
you are either with life, or against it.
affirm life.