Sunday, January 29, 2017

Writer's Block-A Poem

By Miriam B. Medina (Copyright)

Am I poet, or am I writer?
I just can't differentiate between the two.
Sometimes I'm good with poetry,
There are articles and short stories I also like to do.

Every so often writer's block visits, my uninvited guest,
Hindering the writing process, that usually flows at its very best.
Self-doubt creeps upon me, self-worth drags me down,
The more I try to write, the larger the paper mound.

The plot gets too twisted, leading characters too grotesque,
My story becomes too dark altogether.
Eventually one thing leads to another, and
There you go, a day's work for the house-keeper beneath my desk.

A habit was forming, watching pages get crumpled and thrown,
Undeniably it's a sad journey in creative writing,
All writers must travel alone.
No matter how much I try, my waste basket keeps getting filled.

Oh woe is me, what a waste of creative time,
I've gone from skilled to feeling unskilled.
Writer's block makes me angry; inspiration doesn't come quick enough,
Words that once flowed easily freeze, making it impossible to strut my new stuff.

I'll try my hand at poetry; maybe I'll be lucky then,
So I can put an end to this writer's block and sweetly say amen.
I've searched and searched for rhyming words,
Fluttering all around inside my head.

My mind keeps getting twisted, unemotionally fed.
Thoughts that keep me from sleep and a comfy bed.
Screaming to be released, requesting to be heard.
All trapped inside like a miserable caged bird.

Some of these words are wise and linger,
They're the sweetness of fruit, why should I hinder?
Others will take me to heights intense,
Everything is possible, yet together do they make sense?

Ugh, poetry in whatever shape or form does not inspire me,
It's written in a way to confuse and ruin my tranquility.
So where do I go? What can I do?
The answers were there, which I very well knew.

Play background music, burn scented candles,
Slip away to a quiet place and walk.
Visit a crowded cafe, sip coffee, and
Hear some interesting gossip talk.

Nothing is wasted, that is for sure,
For writer's block, there is always a cure!
So back to my keyboard once again,
The time I spend there, will not be in vain.

The Bully

By Miriam B. Medina(Copyright)


There he stood,
6 feet tall
All large and strong
In his head covered hood,
The bully of Roanoke High
Pompous Bastard,
Who does he think he is?

His face like stone
Flexing his muscles
Rubbing his fist
Proud as an eagle
He was the King of his turf
Surrounded by his subjects
All following him, like his shadow.

Ever in search of prey,
Many trembled when they'd hear his name
Or pass him by in the hall,
Not one battle did he yet lose
No matter how small or tall in size
I'm the King, he shouted with glee
He snapped his fingers,
And the gang drew near
Their eyes following the direction
Of his finger.

Coming his way
Was a short, thin boy
As he came closer, he looked at the group
The King noticed his eyes were slanted
He raised his hand and ordered the attack
The gang jumped on him and knocked him down
They kicked him in the face and body
They grabbed him by his backpack
And dragged him over to the king.

The King punched him in the face
Blood squirted everywhere
He cried "stop, stop; you're hurting me."
The King suddenly threw his head back,
Roaring with laughter
"Beat him up again," he commanded.

Like puppets they did his bidding
The gang kicked him and punched him some more
They threw books at him
His face was all bloody as he lied still on the ground
Just as the group turned to walk away
The young Chinese boy managed to get up and run
He was hurting, badly
He said if I don't get out of here
They will kill me.

The young Freshman kept running
Until he got home feeling safe.
He was scared, he screamed and banged on the door
His mother opened the door and saw her bloody-faced son
He collapsed in her arms.
She was hysterical crying "What happened?" she said.
"I don't know Mama. I was on my way to school
This gang attacked me.
I don't want to go back to that school," he said.

"I will talk to your Uncle Henry."
"He is a Martial Arts teacher; I know he will help you."
"How can he help me, Mom?"
"He will make you strong and show you how to defend yourself
Against many."
Peter listened to his mother.
He went to live with Uncle Henry and changed schools.

For three years he trained day and night with Uncle Henry.
Practicing techniques, improving his skill.
Uncle Henry was pleased With Peter's progress;
He worked very hard
Now Peter Chin was ready.

He went back to Roanoke High to even the score
Waiting to meet the King eye to eye.
Once again the King appeared with his followers
And spied the Chinese boy
"Hey, that kid looks familiar," he said to his gang.
"Isn't that the kid we beat up three years ago?"
"Where has he been all this time?"
Peter stared back boldly at the King.

The King felt jittery
The gang began to circle the young man
Peter only had a stick in his hand.
Do or Die rang in his head
The King laughed out loud
"Get him," He shouted.
One by one Peter knocked them down
Only Peter and the King were left,
All alone.

The King lunged toward Peter
Trained well, Peter moved quickly
Giving him a Karate kick to the chest
Leaving him breathless on the ground.
There he lies, alone, humiliated and destroyed
The once upon a time
Bully of Roanoke High.
Peter turned and walked away.

Ice Cold Sweaty Beer On A Hot Summer's Day

by Miriam B. Medina (Copyright)


He was a blonde, muscular, tall construction worker in his mid-thirties,

Who had acquired muscle mass with relative ease.

Not accustomed to working in such extreme heat,

Thirst consumed him from the inside out.

Repressed anger turned his face scarlet; he wanted so badly to shout.

His tongue clung to the roof of his mouth; His chest gulped air,

He needed something cold, anything that might ease his despair.

"AH, beer is what I need," he said, "not water, that's for sure."

Beer is so unique, with its frothy foam and undeniable allure.

"Indeed, BEER is for the bold!

It slides down smoothly, especially when it is cold.

My shirt clings to me in this scorching heat,

I wish these trees would offer shade so I could crawl beneath.

It keeps growing hotter and hotter; my body screams for deliverance,

This terrible blur of a blazing sun is leaving me with such a bad experience."

To his boss he said: "I'm taking my lunch break now.

Whether you approve or disallow.

When I get back the job will be done,

I assure you I'll end what I have begun."

Off of his co-workers he mooched some bucks here and there,

Promising to bring back something to ease their same despair.

He drove around and stumbled onto a topless bar named 'Titties'.

He had been there before with one of his co-workers called Smithy.

It was the only place that was near,

And he was desperate for a cold beer.

He loved the bar; it was his kind of place,

Just the word 'Titties' put a smile on his face.

He stepped from the blazing sun into the smoke-filled darkness

Rubbing his eyes, he saw the place was still sleazy-looking and airless

He ignored the dank dark air and headed straight to the bar,

The light reflecting a path from the door that he'd left ajar.

He remembered the young women rubbing their scantily clad bodies

All over aroused men, trying to pry away lecherous dollar bills...

"I'll be damned," he said smiling to himself,

"I'm amazed at their great marketable skills."

His eyes were riveted on the new go-go dancer before him,

He found it hard to suppress his feelings, so he made his face seem grim.

She was seductively bumping and grinding, stripping to near nudity

Every inch of her body was under laser focused scrutiny.

They kept feeding dollar bills fingering them slowly inside her G-string,

A faceless guy yelled "Ooooh Wheeeee you're hotter than chili; I want you to be my wild thing!"

She opened her legs wide, scissoring them around the pole,

He heard someone else shout, "Let's share some fun times honey, let's let them roll!!"

He watched how her firm breasts would heave and bounce,

Dancing to hip-hop remixes, moving her body where it counts.

He wanted desperately to explore and savor her beautiful tits

To feel her passion burn beneath his fingertips.

He watched her intently, blood rushing into his cheeks,

He was perspiring profusely, feeling dizzy and weak.

His erection reached its climax, trying to escape his jeans.

He was suddenly awakened from his sensuous dream.

'Ahhh... ' He liked that one and wished he could give her a ride,

To consume her, inhale her, use her up and cast her aside,

But after all, he wasn't here for such fleshy fun;

Thirsty, he had wanted desperately to get out of that scorching sun

He was holding on tightly, clinging to his borrowed money,

Though he really wanted to spend it on this sweet honey.

"Hey bartender," he shouted, "Give me a cold draft beer.

With this blazing weather I'm parched and I feel kind of weird!

If you don't believe me step outside and feel the sun's rays bake,

At 99 degrees where I worked all day, making my back sorely ache.

Now I'm tired of sitting here and singing this same worthless song,

Just saddle me up a beer and make sure it's cold and strong!"

"I only have a short lunch hour with no time to waste!

I need a cold beer right now to pacify my taste.

I'm sitting here fuming with a couple of dollars to pay,

So until you serve me that frosty brew, I'm not going away!"

He sighed and he moaned, staring at the barkeep

As he waited for the bartender to serve him his beer

An annoying drunk plopped down next to him

With a hard-luck story, he didn't want to hear.

He said "F$#@" off man; I'm not here to drink to your health

or give you three cheers,

Nor am I your therapist, paid hourly to hear your woes

And watch your cheeks get flooded by bittersweet tears.

Don't ask me for money, 'cause I'm clutching on to my last penny,

Hoping the bartender doesn't remember that I still owe him myself

The go-go dancer was a big star at 'Titties', she loved the spotlight

It was where she sang Karaoke each and every night

Whenever she wasn't squirming half nude for stiff dollar bills,

She would hustle up drinks for a tip,

Some guys would schmooze her; others would give her the slip.

The construction worker's time was up; he had to get back to work

The bartender ignored his request though he needed to amend

What flaws between them still may lurk.

"Hey, bartender, I have cash. I need two six-packs and a couple of beers!"

To which the bartender finally replied,

"I've been waiting a long time, lucky me, we happen to coincide... "

"We sell the coldest beer around, just not to all.

You see my man; many patrons visit this place,

But one thing's for sure, I never forget a face.

Sorry, mate; with me, you don't have good credit,

In fact you still owe me a hundred from before!

So if you want a beer here, you might as well forget it.

Before I give you even one drop more, you best

Pay up right now or get thrown out the door."

Immediately four bouncers showed up in response to a signal,

Judging by the bouncer's physiques they weren't there to mingle.

So, empty-handed, he quickly turned and said:

"Let me out of here before the sidewalk becomes my bed!"

I need to walk out of here with dignity, to walk, not crawl.

As he passed dour nameless beer-drinkers, he cursed them all

He quickly jumped into his truck, spinning tires chewing up tar,

Putting as much distance as he could between him and "Titties" topless bar.

The Workaholic- A Poem

By Miriam B. Medina (C)



From the first moment he saw her
He was hooked, sunk and smitten.
Passing the chic design dress shop on the corner
He saw stunningly beautiful large hazel eyes, she was
Tall and slim, had a certain wispy elegant beauty
In the way she moved about the window showcase.
She was wearing a silky smooth pale blue dress
Complimenting her figure and long legs.
A strand of blond hair kept falling onto her forehead
Covering her eyes, she kept pushing it aside.
Surrounded by fashionable mannequins
That she arranged in different poses around her.

She sorted out the various decorations
Hanging them one by one until the design was complete.
Stepping back, she examined her work and was satisfied.
Susan Edwards was an established visual designer
Of displays, store windows and sales floors.
Oblivious to anyone watching her
She continued to decorate the storefront window
In her signature style, but in holiday fashion
And she was gathering quite a crowd.
It was incredible how eye-catching her display was.
She knew it would be the talk of the neighborhood.
Day after day Brad walked past that corner to catch his bus.

He was so engrossed in business matters that
He hadn't noticed this goddess before,
That was, at least until now.
Stepping out from his office building he meandered
Down the street until he paused, right in
Front of her showcase window.
He watched her for a few minutes,
Engaged by the grace and beauty and creativity,
As she carefully moved the mannequins about
Engrossed with her display, she didn't hear him enter
When he spoke, Susan jumped, apparently startled
That anyone would interrupt her, invade her world.

"Hello, I love your exhibit. You have created a warm atmosphere.
Your neutral colors are stimulating and inspirational.
I love the way you accented the area with throws,
And with these cushions and flowers and paintings.
'Why did he have to interrupt my concentration?' she thought to herself.
She didn't ask for his opinion or appreciate being interrupted.
"I'm sorry, but I am busy. Perhaps we can talk when I'm not so harried."
He wanted her from the moment he had looked at her.
She was beautiful, intellectual and ever so classy,
One might even say that she was a bit sassy.
Not accepting a rebuke, he said "Have you noticed
Every holiday revolves around food? Stop what you are doing!"

Accept my dinner invitation in the name of the Holidays!"
"My name is Brad, Brad Williams." He said immediately. "And yours?"
Speaking in a buttery smooth yet commanding voice,
His white teeth showed in a reckless boyish grin.
At age 49 he looked delicious with his salt and pepper goatee,
Dressed in an expensive dark suit wearing a very expensive watch.
A diamond ring consuming his finger.
Yes indeed, he was delicious, she said to herself.
The one thing that riveted her attention was the unmistakable smell of money.
The designer was unable to resist his charm.
"My name is Susan, Susan Edwards," she responded with a smile.
"And you look like you won't go away until I say yes," she told him.

"So my answer is Yes, I do accept."
There was a triumphant ring in his voice as he said, "Great."
Her stomach started to growl like a caged beast.
"I haven't had a break all day, so I appreciate the invitation," Susan said.
"There is a real good restaurant not too far from here." she suggested.
Without giving it a second thought Brad agreed.
Grabbing her coat, she reached for his arm.
As they stepped outside she wrapped her cloak tighter around her.
It felt like snow was coming. "Brrrrrrrr... " she said as she
Snuggled against his warm body to hide from the wind.
Dizzied by her closeness, Brad inhaled the sweet scent of her perfume.
To their relief, they finally arrived at the restaurant.

Brad immediately called over a waiter to take their food and drink orders.
This dinner invitation was the first of many that followed.
He knew he wanted to marry her,
She would be his trophy wife!
He needed her to enhance his image amongst peers and strangers
And to move up the corporate ladder
She fit perfectly into his plans,
Like a mannequin on a holiday throw rug,
But he wouldn't make any effort to be a part of her life
Little did she know, there wouldn't be any more time for fun or frolic
Life with her would change him into a workaholic.
Susan was falling in love with Brad,

She loved the steady surprise gifts of jewelry.
She was willing to forsake her career
In place of marriage to this wealthy man.
After several months of courtship,
She accepted his proposal of marriage.
Then began her private hell, with frequent outbursts of jealousy,
Accusing him of having affairs with other women
Demanding that Brad should spend more time with her
And the children than he did.
The annoying endless rounds of social events,
The hypocritical smiles she was forced to display,
His rattle of compliments did not even make her feel appreciated.

They had two sons but he had no idea how to love a child.
The cold suppers that wasted in wait for him
As his excuses increased day after day,
Disappointments after disappointments,
A closet full of bored evening gowns and a lonely mink coat
With nowhere to go and nothing to do
She became often cold and unfeeling,
Always in a bad mood, complaining, complaining...
She didn't want an absent workaholic or life-of-the-party guy,
She just wanted her own idea of Brad.
Brad was now President of 'HCL Technologies.'
His response was always the same, time and again.

"Have I not provided well for you and the kids? Look at this Fifth Avenue apartment,
The life of luxury you lead! You have a maid that cooks and cleans, the best schools for the kids."
"Do you ever say you love me? Or prioritize ME?" Susan sobbed. "I'm lonely."
"Then go back to your window designing and keep yourself busy. I can't be making money
And hold your hand all of the time. I thought you understood."
Brad raised his voice, not caring if the neighbors heard him.
"Damn it Sue, nothing I do or say ever pleases you. You should count yourself lucky.
I am the President of my Company. I achieved that with a lot of hard work.
I didn't have a magic wand to make it happen. It was sacrifice, time and discipline."
"And what about me? Didn't I benefit you among your peers?" she cried.
"You have everything any woman can want and still it is not enough."
"I was only a toy for you to show off." Susan sobbed

"I am tired of this shit, your constant whining," Brad screamed.
"I am not a workaholic because I love my work so much,
It's because I despise the rest of my life with you."
"I'm leaving." he snapped, opening the door. "You'll be hearing from my lawyer."
He slammed the door loudly behind him, not waiting one more
Second to hear her response for he truly did not care.
Susan stood there shocked and speechless, not believing he had left
Her two children were crying as they clung to her, confused and scared.
Brad's relationship with his wife had deteriorated beyond repair,
The glue that held them together had finally dried up, no longer holding vows together.
Thus Brad's greed for power and his Workaholism killed their seven-year old marriage.