Thursday, July 16, 2009
Emily Johnson and Julia Leef moments after participating in the WLIU panel on the latest Harry Potter movie, with Bonnie Grice.
Lauren Perugini, Asst. Producer (SUNY SBS intern) and commentator for the show that day with the YAWP students and Bonnie.
Not only did you have a far superiour critical perspective than the party line from the webmistress at Leaky Cauldron, but you contributed points about the books versus the movie that got our minds whirring as quickly as Harry on a broomstick.
If you missed us on the radio you can hear a replay of the show at www.wliu.org
Friday, July 10, 2009
Beanie Babies, their coats being worn out from so much use sit right next to the Barbie Dolls, some of them missing clothing and others missing body parts. They stand side by side as one. It is a remembrance of the past, as they lay in hiding for someone new to use them instead.
And then there are the old books that line the shelf; the ones where there are only pictures instead of words, and colors instead of fonts. Their pages being torn and folded over, not realizing as a young child the importance of chapters in your life and how each one needs to be treated with delicacy and care.
The petite sized t-shirts and sweaters that would fit better on the Beanie Babies and dolls then they would on you, stay in there as well. The old play make up that would be neon pink or turquoise blue that none of us would think about wearing, now stay stored away underneath the clumps of clothes.
Memories of jump roping contests and tea parties with friends we thought we would never forget get warped in as well, plastering themselves to the walls of the room. But where did the people go and did they bring our innocence with them?
Baby shoes, jewelry, yo-yos, stickers and signed baseballs from our favorite teams. Crayons, markers and a stack of white computer paper. Most of it got lost amongst the room, paper that had an assortment of colors and scribbles all over, symbolizing the highs and lows of life. They are drawings that changed from our moods as a child, some black with X’s and others pink with hearts. It is the blank paper that is left, the blank paper that is found, waiting for more scribbles to be drawn because with growing up, comes our new experiences.
What you put inside comes out differently, or might not come out at all. It might stay in this lost and found forever, collecting dust, waiting for someone to walk in and pause. For even though everyone grows up, you should always pause to relive the experiences that you have stored away and never ever forget them. Memories are sometimes lost, due to aging, a process that we try to stop but never succeed to do. Because just like growing up, aging is a natural process as well. And it’s all about growing up, digging, uncovering, and storing away. It’s about reliving, experiencing the new as well as experiencing the old.
Another problem with Southampton’s clothing stores is a serious poverty of manners. Poor unfortunate high school students suffer through the slave driving antics of both employers and customers. Just like Cinderella, it’s work, work, work, nag, nag, nag, without hardly a please or a thank you to get through the day. A friend of mine had such problems recently, when a woman came into the store to make a purchase. She took several outfits with her into the dressing room, decided that she felt much too claustrophobic, and so then proceeded to toss the articles of clothing one by one out over the top of the dressing room door. My friend, being the wonderfully mistreated employee that she is, then went to pick up the pile of neglected clothing and folded them all up again, without hearing a single apology for such savage behavior.
Like any high school student, the only reason teens undergo that kind of torment is to earn money so that they can pay for college, save up for a car, or buy those really nifty shoes sitting in the display window. Judging from their salaries, after a few weeks of saving up, they may have just enough to buy the shoelaces.
In our current economy, I can’t afford to pay the outrageous prices demanded of me. It’s just not possible. If my Prince Charming never comes along, I hope he brings a big, fat paycheck with him instead of a lousy old shoe.
Playing softly through my speakers.
Faint through the closed door.
Scratching to be let in.
Of hinges as I oblige.
As she asks to be let out.
Of my hand against the paper,
Of the pen as I write these words.
As I read them.
Thursday, July 9, 2009
“Lost and found.”
The words have been scrawled quickly, carelessly,
Almost as if their creator hadn’t cared for them much.
My hand rests on the thick wooden door.
My curiosity, of course, grabs hold of me
Opens the door, and pushes me inside.
I stumble into the bright, florescent lights
And take in my surroundings.
Shelves of broken hearts
Rows of friendships once strong
Boxes of torn teddy bears
Envelopes of notes passed with secrets,
All covered in a fine layer of dust.
But then I notice the walls.
The walls are covered, every inch, with pictures.
As I examine each, I expect their memories to return.
But they don’t.
I wait for a feeling of loss to set in.
But it doesn’t
So I step back, out of the door
Out of light’s reach
And continue on, in my dark
From across the room
And in one moment
My train of thought
Crashed and burned.
The person I was talking to
Waved his hand in front of my face
I shook my head.
“Um. I need to sit down.”
He looks at me, baffled.
And I walk away.
Just like that
The weekend spent by the lakeside,
When we sat under the stars,
Making and dissecting s’mores.
When we laid on the beach, telling stories…
Our almost jet ski adventure.
Then, as fast as it began, summer was over
And so were we.
You blew me a kiss.
And it all came back.
Are neither the same
So this I claim.
Release those secrets of time and space
and we will meet them face to face
Leaving thoughts of questions with confusions behind
To open now with a new mind
Knowledge is what we crave
It is our only desire
Grant it to us now
Before we tire
A time when everything was black and white
When the worst that happened
Was a broken doll
A lost toy
Gone are the petty fears
In the Lost and Found
Covered in dust now,
Behind the creaking door,
The laughing dolls
Dressed still in Christmas finery--
The games in the park--
The cartwheels on the lawn--
Piled there are the “Dress-up” clothes of a Wild Imagination
That now struggles and gasps to survive in a stark real world
Plastic swords clash
And spring horses creak as their masters ride them into battle
Here now the childish whispers as they hide in the closet fort
See the freedom as they run down the street, laughing:
At the butterflies
The cats and the puppies
Visiting poet, Julie Sheehan, talked to us about poetry and listened to our poets, as well! She was impressed:)
Sunshine graced the afternoon, but we didn't get back outside to enjoy and now we have clouds and rain.. C'est la vie.
They walk by, eyes pointed forward
Crowds move by and I stand
The stairs shake as they move by, unaware of my presence.
I am unseen and free
Moving unheard past unseeing eyes
To them I am not here
I watch them
Yet they are blind
In my unacknowledged presence
Eyes scan over where I stand.
Am I seen? I stay still, not daring to move—
The gaze moves on
I breathe again
Forbidden things are open now
Social conventions abandoned.
A world opened
I am alone
Outside, looking in
Never acknowledged, never know
Peering through windows
Standing in doors
As people continue their work
An empty stair—mine to explore
So too a crowded room
Eyes pass me; ears do not hear me, me and my plea for life
I am invisible
An unknown outcast in an oblivious world
So I watch a girl walk through the grass
Watch a man work
Resigned to my empty fate.
A man leaves the elevator.
“'Scuse me,” he mumbles as he passes me.
I am known
Let them in
Lay a path to the now open door
Clear a way
Build a bridge
Let them enter
Let them see
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
To walk without being seen.
It’s really quite incredible.
If you just know what I mean.
I pass people through the halls,
Their eyes on all but me.
All kinds of people shorts and talls,
Just standing there to be.
And as I stand alone, but one,
Watching people pass me by.
I cannot help but yearn for one,
To look me in the eye.
And say, there, I see you.
Why do you hide within the walls?
Why don’t you come, and start anew,
Among these crowded halls?
And standing there, looking round,
I cannot help but wonder,
If others like me, are to be found,
Who do nothing else, but ponder.
What if this hall was filled fully,
With silent unseen people.
Just like me, and totally,
Ignored by other people.
If I called out, would they hear me,
When no one ever could?
Can it be, that they would see,
What no one ever would?
Come, I say, Come here my friends.
Gather, as do birds of a feather.
Let’s be a group, and share new ends.
Let’s be invisible, together.
I wish upon the world,
A thousand days and more,
Full of bliss, joy, and happiness,
Can you help me with my wish?
Can you help me make it true?
When you see a friend in need,
Or a stranger, if you will,
Say these magic words,
Can I help you?
Please, let me see,
The pains you’ve kept inside,
Hidden from the world,
And its unforgiving glare.
Let me see.
Let me help.
These simple words I say,
Hold a magic of their own,
Of a love that can be shared,
If only it is known.
What would you find, in a place of the forgotten?
A place that always remembers,
And holds what you have lost.
I have been to such a place.
A time not too long ago,
And as I glanced about the room,
Filled with things from childhood days,
I wondered what I would take,
Had I a basket of Recovery,
With which to hold these treasures once more.
A tiny sweater, lost from younger years,
When I was careless, small, and free.
A wetsuit, still sandy from its sun-filled days,
That would hardly fit me anymore.
An old pillow, sewn with care from forgotten friends,
But their names are still there.
A lonely dice, separated from its tumbling partner,
Never to roll again.
A friendship, frayed and weathered by distance,
Which I would gladly mend and renew.
Innocence, the one thing every child has lost,
And which they can never hope to get back again.
Memories, like grains of sand,
Too many to retain within cupped hands.
My Reserve, vanquished by time and friends,
Which I quietly put back on the shelf.
What would you find, in a place of the forgotten?
What would you take?
And what would you leave behind,
To gather dust where the lost is found.