The Orange Curtain

by Lilian Bui 12/4/2009

Hey, you over there!
Yeah,
You.

The one with the Kanye glasses,
The roofoveryourhead,
The Benz,
The flat screen,
The savings plan,
The diamond-studded diamonds on your
Favorite Coach handbag.

What right do you have to feel sorry for yourself?

He says,
"My parents won't ever get me,"
Swiping Daddy's credit card.
"I can't afford my membership,"
Ever thought of getting a job, working hard?

She says,
"My boyfriend left me yesterday"
Well, he wasn't good enough.
"I feel so lost and lonely"
Join the fucking club.

Children of the Middle Class -
Because you are just children -
Times are hard for the rest of us.

Self-pity
Is your biggest
Luxury.

from 1263

by Emily Dickinson

(on books)

There is no Frigate like a Book
To take us Lands away,
Nor any Coursers like a Page
Of prancing Poetry –
This Traverse may the poorest take
Without oppress of Toll –
How frugal is the Chariot
That bears a Human soul.

Lunch

written 12/3/2009 about summer 2009

Ya shoulda seen me yesterday;
I ate my lunch alone.
Instead of Ivory Tower,
I resigned on Ivory Throne.

Ya shoulda seen me yesterday;
At odds and out of tune -
I left the cafeteria
To sit in Women's Room.

The pinstripe men of morning
(And the high-heeled women too)
Were such lackluster company
I opted for the loo.

Don't judge or dare to discount
My taste in lunch locale.
I'd sooner ingest feces
Than feign a high morale.

They chit-chit chitter chatter
As they talk about themselves
Who-slept-with-who and whoknowswhat
Within the personnel.

I can't believe my 9 to 5
Renders every ounce of gall.
If you had to work here, people,
You'd be down in the next stall.

The Square Root of Three

by David Feinberg
made famous in Harold & Kumar go to Guantanamo Bay

I’m sure that I will always be
A lonely number like root three

The three is all that’s good and right,
Why must my three keep out of sight
Beneath the vicious square root sign,
I wish instead I were a nine
For nine could thwart this evil trick,
with just some quick arithmetic
I know I’ll never see the sun, as 1.7321
Such is my reality, a sad irrationality

When hark! What is this I see,
Another square root of a three
As quietly co-waltzing by,
Together now we multiply
To form a number we prefer,
Rejoicing as an integer

We break free from our mortal bonds
With the wave of magic wands
Our square root signs become unglued
Your love for me has been renewed

the way to hump a cow is not

by e.e. cummings

the way to hump a cow is not
to get yourself a stool
but draw a line around the spot
and call it beautifool

to multiply because and why
dividing thens by nows
and adding and(i understand)
is hows to hump a cows

the way to hump a cow is not
to elevate your tool
but drop a penny in the slot
and bellow like a bool

to lay a wreath from ancient greath
on insulated brows
(while tossing boms at uncle toms
is hows to hump a cows

the way to hump a cow is not
to push and then to pull
but practicing the art of swot
to preach the golden rull

to vote for me(all decent men
and wonens will allows
which ifmthey don't to hell with them)
is hows to hump a cows

I, Too, Sing America

by Langston Hughes

I am the darker brother.
They send me to eat in the kitchen
When company comes,
But I laugh,
And eat well,
And grow strong.

Tomorrow,
I'll be at the table
When company comes.
Nobody'll dare
Say to me,"Eat in the kitchen,"
Then.

Besides, They'll see how beautiful I am
And be ashamed--

I, too, am America.

I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings

by Maya Angelou

A free bird leaps on the back of the wind
and floats downstream till the current ends
and dips his wing in the orange suns rays and dares to claim the sky.

But a bird that stalks down his narrow cage
can seldom see through his bars of rage
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with a fearful trill
of things unknown but longed for still
and his tune is heard on the distant hill
for the caged bird sings of freedom.

The free bird thinks of another breeze
and the trade winds soft through the sighing trees
and the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright lawn and he names the sky his own.

But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams
his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with a fearful trill
of things unknown but longed for still
and his tune is heard on the distant hill
for the caged bird sings of freedom.

To Henribald in October

(written for Henry Pham a.k.a Henribald, partner in crime)

A raisin in the sun
is as good as done
a cooked grape ready to eat.

A Jew in the oven
Devoid of all lovin'
Leaves stains and plaque in your teeth.

Is baby blood nutritious?
Who cares - it's delicious!

Wash down your sins with a brimming glass
You're damn sick but you've still got class!

You never know
at this rate
The Devil might be your dinner date!

For our appetite
We'll be had
But good to know
if you're there too,
Hell won't be so bad.

Dinner Guest

(This is your brain on chai tea lattes.)
written in Silver Spring, MD

Silence enters through the back door -
Unannounced -
And sits down at dinner.
It is an inconspicuous guest,
Though we cannot ignore its arrival.
It waits until the food is out and then
Begins to feast,
Not on our plates
But rather on us.
Snakelike, it slithers around us in a feigned embrace
And then constricts our throats,
Stealing our voices.
Our eyelids drop
Until our downcast eyes can only stare deep into our hollow bowls,
Forcing us to look emptiness straight in the face.
Reminding us that we consume
To fill that emptiness.

The Day I Said, "The World Can Wait"

started at Busboys & Poets on 10/12/09
finished at work on 10/14/09

The day I said, "The world can wait,"
The clocks froze in their tracks.
The Minutes retired silently;
While in vain the Hours fought back.

Conversations paused mid-sentence
A painter dropped his brush mid-stroke
One hopeful lover said, "I do,"
The other ceased, half eloped.

A fly buzz was the last refrain
Heard for a thousand miles
A widow's dirge cut short,
Her pain half-reconciled.

A hunter cocked his gun,
The bullet stuck inside.
His game stood still - fixated -
Staring Fate straight in the eyes.

The stoic captain firmly stood
Feet anchored, mouth tight lipped.
The deck had tilted sharply
On his halfway sunken ship.

The china lay in pieces
While a couple griped the cost
If I hadn't begged the world to wait,
What else would have been lost?

A sewing needle had begun to mend
The lace of a wedding dress
The hum of Mother's lullaby
Would have eased her child's distress.

The sight of that day's sunset
Would have left the dead inspired
The words scrawled on a napkin
Might have changed the world entire.

Good news to tell by telephone
The number just half dialed;
The frown on someone's lips
Had almost curled into a smile.

What caused me to imagine
A plan so lost, depraved?
Think - if the world had waited,
What else could have been saved?

Out on the pier where I first believed
Sits a dream deferred, a soul bereaved.
The sun sinks alone and thaws in the sea.
The remains - bathed in dust - picked up by the breeze.

Reality bites hard
But you build a tougher skin
From the callouses

I must apologize -
For I am more comfortable with oceans between us
Than swimming in the waves of your attention.

I love from afar
Because it warrants much less pain
And keeps my wrists and ankles
Far from ball and chain.

Can't you see that I can't belong
To anyone but me?

Oh, stop your dribbling and your sniveling!
Ain't you ever seen a bitch before?
Yeah, this is what heartbreak feels like.
Been there, done that.

No, I don't have time to
"Talk it over"
or
"Work it out."

You keep flapping those lips,
You'll produce enough wind current for a sailboat.

The alarm's going off.
Time to grow up.

I had almost forgotten that I kept a shell -
To remind me
What sunsets felt like.

I kept it tucked away
And upon discovering it again,
I considered it.

With its ridges and its serrated edges
It cut through my consciousness
And chastised me

For taking it so far from its Belonging.

At the end of the day,
I sometimes feel as an empty shell
Hollowed, dried, and mislaid.

The Age of Not Believing

Vintage wisdom from Bedknobs and Broomsticks

When you rush around in hopeless circles
Searching ev'rywhere for something true
You're at the age of not believing
When all the "make believe" is through

When you set aside your childhood heroes
And your dreams are lost up on a shelf
You're at the age of not believing
And worst of all you doubt yourself

You're a castaway where no one hears you
On a barren isle in a lonely sea
Where did all the happy endings go?
Where can all the good times be?

You must face the age of not believing
Doubting ev'rything you ever knew
Until at last you start believing
There's something wonderful
Truly wonderful in you

Lauriol

In certain cities,
A man will look you up and down
Before he looks you
In the eye.

I Know my Soul

by Claude McCay

I plucked a soul out of its secret place
And held it to the mirror of my eye,
To see it like a star against the sky,
A twitching body quivering in space,
A spark of passion shining on my face.
And I explored it to determine why
This awful key to my infinity
Conspires to rob me of sweet joy and grace.
And if the sign may not be fully read,
If I can comprehend but not control,
I need not gloom my days with futile dread,
Because I see a part and not the whole.
Contemplating the strange, I’m comforted
By this narcotic thought: I know my soul.

The Emptys Cuming Back

have you ever sat by the railroad track
and watched the emptys cuming back?
lumbering along with a groan and a
whine--
smoke strung out in a long gray line
belched from the panting injun's stack
--just emptys cuming back.

i have--and to me the emptys seem
like dreams i sometimes dream--
of a girl--or munney--or maybe fame--
my dreams have all returned the same,
swinging along the homebound track
--just emptys cuming back.

by Angelo De Ponciano

You Can't Go Back to Childhood

by Lilian Bui
written August 2, 2009

No, you can't go back to childhood
The road doesn't go that way
It's overgrown with brush and woods
The gates are locked, decayed.

You can't go back to childhood
There, your head would swell
Drunk with liquid memory
Obscenities dispelled

You can't go back to childhood
Where Father lowers you to bed
And the noxious smell of libraries
Accounts for "what if's" in your head

You can't go back to childhood
Where bare feet seek the lawn
And autumn twilight listlessly
Turns constellations on

You can't go back to childhood
Where candy stains the tongue
And shopping carts make sturdy ships
For misadventures sprung

You can't go back to childhood
I am myself convinced
There is no place quite like it
Never before nor since

You can't go back to childhood
The river has run dry
You can't go back to childhood
However you may try.

Farragut

by Lilian Bui

I lifted my calloused heart
With apologetic hands
And, curling away, tucked it back under my sleeve.

The eyes on the train never twitched,
Forever fixated on their own reflections in the window.

8:15AM in the Mo(u)rn.

by Lilian Bui

After the monks were gone
There was silence.

Ringing
Lingering
Deafening
Silence.

Silence tilting cough drop wrappers
On his study table;
Silence that congests
A closet full of pin-striped dress shirts,
Woolen vests, and linen pants never to be worn again.
Silence that pauses in front of picture frames
Before heaving a sigh.
Silence over 45's left to gather dust
And model airplanes that will never fly.
Silence stalling typewriter keys from
Their metric lullaby.

Silence that absorbs
The musky odor that tears leave
After they crust and flake
Silence that exposes a vacant, hollow core.
Silence that amplifies
The hands of time
Ticking
Tocking
Mocking those that remain.

We are as dispensable
As the incense that we burn
While wait our turn
To also crust, to flake.

Death - a memory without pain when life departs
But pain in surplus for beating hearts.

Do Not Stand at my Grave and Weep

By Mary Frye

Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there, I do not sleep.

I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glint on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you wake in the morning hush,
I am the swift, uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circling flight.
I am the soft starlight at night.

Do not stand at my grave and weep.
I am not there, I do not sleep.
Do not stand at my grave and cry.
I am not there, I did not die!

Remember

By Christina Rosetti

Remember me when I am gone away,

Gone far away into the silent land;

When you can no more hold me by the hand,

Nor I half turn to go, yet turning stay.

Remember me when no more day by day

You tell me of our future that you plann'd:

Only remember me; you understand

It will be late to counsel then or pray.

Yet if you should forget me for a while

And afterwards remember, do not grieve:

For if the darkness and corruption leave

A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,

Better by far you should forget and smile

Than that you should remember and be sad.

Because I Could Not Stop For Death

By Emily Dickinson

Because I could not stop for Death,
He kindly stopped for me;
The carriage held but just ourselves
And Immortality.

We slowly drove, he knew no haste,
And I had put away
My labour, and my leisure too,
For his civility.

We passed the school where children played,
Their lessons scarcely done;
We passed the fields of gazing grain,
We passed the setting sun.

We paused before a house that seemed
A swelling of the ground;
The roof was scarcely visible,
The cornice but a mound.

Since then 'tis centuries; but each
Feels shorter than the day
I first surmised the horses' heads
Were toward eternity.

When We Two Are Parted

Written by Lord Byron

When we two parted
In silence and tears,
Half broken-hearted,
To sever for years,
Pale grew thy cheek and cold,
Colder thy kiss;
Truly that hour foretold
Sorrow to this.

The dew of the morning
Sank chill on my brow
It felt like the warning
Of what I feel now.
Thy vows are all broken,
And light is thy fame:
I hear thy name spoken,
And share in its shame.

They name thee before me,
A knell to mine ear;
A shudder comes o'er me
Why wert thou so dear?
They know not I knew thee,
Who knew thee too well:
Long, long shall I rue thee
Too deeply to tell.

In secret we met
In silence I grieve
That thy heart could forget,
Thy spirit deceive.
If I should meet thee
After long years,
How should I greet thee?
With silence and tears.

For Whom the Bell Tolls

By John Donne

No man is an island,
Entire of itself.
Each is a piece of the continent...

Each man's death diminishes me,
For I am involved in mankind.
Therefore, send not to know
For whom the bell tolls,
It tolls for thee.

Winter of Our Discontent

By Lilian Bui

There was a time when laughter was king
When summer prevailed, when youth would sing
But now it's winter.
Winter.

There was conviction in your prime
But your ambitions wrinkled through time
Will you ever feel warm again?

Oh, you'll try to fight it
Because you can't keep quiet
But you'll lose.
We all lose.

Swallow

Symptoms:
A minor discomfort of the mind,
Tension that puts your teeth on the grind.
Your elevated pulse is merely a sign
That the best of your senses have resigned.

Prognosis?
A case of cold, hard reality.

Perspective is a bitter pill,
But still - you swallow it dry with the rest of your fears.
You eat your words and regurgitate curds of
Shapeless succor,
The acid taste sweetened only by your unhinged tears.

There's a moment.
When you're on the table with all your cards out
Stripped of your reason, beyond your doubt,
Your thoughts - they trail; they're wayward bound.
They throb, they string, they burst, they pound.
But before the lilting pain subsides
You take a breath and you decide

You cannot conquer Time.
But your armies can go down fighting.

The realization that makes you wise
The sensation starts to metastasize
You infect a whole new strain of courage.
The pandemic can only do us good.

By Lilian Bui

My curves are begging for your hands to get lost in them
And I'll make damn sure
To burn every map there is.