Open Mic Night

So sorry it took so long to get back online… I found myself a life! :0

So somewhere or another, I posted something once about a Spanish poetry competition I entered… Hmmm…

Well, ever since then, I’ve loved Spanish poetry. I mean, I’ve always loved Spanish and poetry, but never together…

I was recently inspired to write a poem in Spanish of my own, after spending quite a while reading the works of others. This, I preformed at Open Mic Night (last Friday), dedicated to the foreign language teachers (namely one, because the other had left by then).  It’s entitled “Por Qué Cerramos Nuestros Ojos,” or, “Why We Close Our Eyes.”

So Open Mic Night turned out to be a big hit. My friends and I managed to tape most of it, with many technical errors involved, and with any luck, I might have some videos up… Within the next few years…

Anyways, my poem:

Cuando cierras tus ojos  El mundo es lo que tú deseas Y no tienes que ver la verdad. Cuando cierro mis ojos Estoy feliz Y finjo que todo se queda bien. Cuando cerramos nuestros ojos Nos encerramos Para que nadie más puede entrar. El mundo nunca ha sido gran. No pretendemos que fue. Imaginamos lo que podía ha ser Y lo que nunca fue. Cuando cerramos nuestros ojos La vida real es demasiado para suportar a veces. Cerramos nuestros ojos para escondernos Y para pensar. Deseamos creer lo que es falso Y sólo por uno momento Cuando cerramos nuestros ojos.

When you close your eyes  The world is what you want it to be And you don’t have to see the truth. When I close my eyes I am happy And I pretend everything will stay fine. When we close our eyes We lock ourselves away So no one else may come in. The world has never been great. We do not pretend it was. We imagine what could have been And what never was. When we close our eyes Real life is too much to bear sometimes. We close our eyes to hide And to think. We want to believe what is fake If only for a moment When we close our eyes.

This was my second act, by the way. To start, Cali and I preformed a cover of Davedays’ parody of Feliz Navidad. Must have been interesting to see some kid sing about not knowing Spanish, then appear with original poetry in the language…

Again, very big hit.

Oh, and this year, j’ai français Un aussi, mais j’aime mieux l’espagnol. One of our first French assignments was to write an introduction of ourselves (in French, oui), so I wrote that I like Spanish, poetry, and Spanish poetry. Of course!

HARSH

I haven’t blogged in such a long time… Sorry! Thanks go out to all the strange internet people who make my views spike… XD

I can’t believe I haven’t posted this sooner! So over the summer, I wrote a poem entitled HARSH. I wrote it especially to recite at Open Mic Night, which my school’s Writing Club hosts a few times every year. It’s a little bit of a nonsense thing, but it has a good message… I think. It was inspired by my biology class…

Seven miles below the surface of the sea, in the Marianas Trench, an ordinary foraminifer is burrowed in the sand.
Millions of miles into the barren Sahara, a single eragrostis reaches for the sky, atop a common transverse dune.
Directly at 0°, 0°, a lone purple saxifrage bloom stands, contrasting against the plain, white tundra around it.
–
“They” say life can occur anywhere.
“They” say life is tough enough for anything.
I’m guessing “they” never went to high school.
–
High school, with it’s unbalanced food chain.
High school, where dog eats dog.
High school, the place I call home.
–
I don’t feel tough.
And I certainly don’t feel alive.
But I am, aren’t I?
–
Yesterday, I had a run-in with a gossip.
Today, I was caught in the airless vacuum of the hallway.
Tomorrow, I’ll probably be poisoned by toxic waste on the cafeteria trays.
–
Maybe I’ve adapted to this environment.
Maybe evolution has something to do with it.
Maybe living here is supposed to be this easy.
–
Or not.
This could all just be chance.
I’m still at the bottom of the food chain, aren’t I?
–
But what if “they” are right?
What if I’m really on top?
Does that make me alive?
–
Inhale, exhale.
Woah, how is this possible?
Am I breathing?
–
Inhale, exhale.
It works!
I must be breathing!
–
I can breathe! I can see! I can smell!
Okay, who cut the cheese?
Was it you?
–
Wait a second…
You’re breathing, too!
Are we the same?
–
You kind of look like me…
At the same time, you don’t.
What are you?
–
What kind of creatures are we?
To survive in this harsh place.
How is this possible?
–
You know what?
Maybe this isn’t so strange.
After all…
–
Seven miles below the surface of the sea, in the Marianas Trench, an ordinary foraminifer is burrowed in the sand.
Millions of miles into the barren Sahara, a single eragrostis reaches for the sky, atop a common transverse dune.
Directly at 0°, 0°, a lone purple saxifrage bloom stands, contrasting against the plain, white tundra around it.
–
They say “life” can occur anywhere.
They say “life” is tough enough for anything.
But I’ll let you decide if you’re really alive.

As an afternote, I realize I never once use the word harsh in the poem. Sorry?