Month: July 2014

‘Got a Match?’

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Match

Rivaling the other

The heat if feels like no other

Yesterday we were brothers

Today you’re just another

Another player another layer

To this already bulky thick blanket

This blanket of heat i tear off the sheet

To play on concrete is like no other feat

My feet they burn, they cringe they’re sore

But I wish to play well it’s at my very core

A burning desire hotter than this asphalt floor

Poor i grew up

But older now i yearn for that Cup

Over and over i was told ‘shut up’ we cant afford lessons

I fought i begged, i used all aggression

But not to vandalize to terrorize to burn

i channeled this flame , this here was the turn

Pointing to the sun my flame it grew bigger

It was now time, i knew i had to pull that trigger

Chasing the sun, up the hill through the heat

The summer it swelled it showed on my feet

Each day I’d make the trek up the hill through the heat

On my bike i’d hear a shrill from some crazy dude Pete

Up the hill through the heat, still chasing my sun

My flames they grew bigger

‘You’re crazy its August! go play in the pool!’

I heard this daily yonder, and was tempted to ponder

The pools, lakes the pond I yearned for the break

And once in a while I would, I’d dip do a little shake

Shake off the water, at it again

Hop on my bike it was time to dive in

Dive in to the match the game the competition

For tennis is my love, my inner flame the heat

This here is admission

This heat was my fuel i did not own a car

All i needed was my passion, lessons werent

Too terribly far

Me and my bike, 5 days a week

To the court i’d crunch, sometimes skip out on lunch

My mom would call me in ‘its time to eat to sleep!’

I cant mom not yet! I am taking a leap

A leap of faith a leap over the pond

A leap across the lily pad

I never met my dad

But my mom did her best, she was raising us two

‘Mom i wish to make you proud there’s a hole in my shoe’

This hole it shines it’s a badge

For all my summer’s hard work

Around the corner the bullies did lurk

They sneered they jeered they to this day bully

But never completely did i know them fully

I was doing tennis it was and is my life

I never felt the need to carry a Swiss army knife

My bike it was defense, my overall abstinence

From bullies , but not bullfrogs, i always made time

For play in the thick summer air

These times they were rare

But play i would with the bullfrogs n the lily pads

I’d hop skip n jump , n often wonder bout me dad

Whats he like would he be proud? It ignited

a flame

i wanted to shout loud

‘Dad where are you i want you to see me play!’

I’d often think day to day

But with my mom by my side, my hero that cant

be denied

I shied from the bullies stayed clear stayed on track

This to myself i made a pact

A pact to shine , i want this sun i want it to be known

Never did i wake up to lessons with any kind of groan

For i was thankful, i was on scholarship, my kind coach

He reared me he honed my skill

it blocked out crazy Pete’s shrill

Over the hill and through the woods

To my homemade pyrotechnics

My goal to set the court on fire in this

summer heat ignited by my desire

Desire to win desire to play

Desire to survive

My match it awaits

As does my fishin baits

and match i will this heat so long as Earth

lets me stay on my feet

this urban jungle can prove faulty

so thirsty i’d even drink the ocean salty

But this is the day the time the moment

since i could walk ive always been hell bent

hell bent on winning on championships this fire

this heat the flames i endure them i swim in them

the flaming august is my stake at which i burn

i refuse to repeat any past mistakes i cont to learn

Joan of Arc i will burn i will flame

a martyr i since have become for this very game

 

© Tara Bowen, 2014

Window- the Widower, the ‘other one’, Hitched and the Young

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4 men. One married, one too young, 2 newly single- you holla’d at me. sometimes i holla back but not to hang

i do not wish to bang

i am not that kind of girl

my hair it has lots of curl

i wanna hang out as friends thats cool- some thats all you meant n thats fine

i am glad i do not have to draw a line

i am flattered ya’ll thought of me at all!

For male attention is something for which i used to fall

got duped, got me heart broke

Sometimes i prefer it in a choke

hold

your breath dont get uptight

my status was not to make light or cause

any fight

just a mere observation of a bizarre alignment of men

texting my phone, none of whom were named Ben

Kronberg is one of my favorite comedians

He was just on Seth Meyers i watched while

nomming on Breyer’s icecream

you scream

we all scream

and from the top of my attic window the sun beam

wakes me in da morn

i feel its warm glow its a good way to wake

versus that time in Reston, VA i felt the earthquake

that was cool too who can say they experienced that?

it was 3pm i’m glad i was not gettin a tatt

Oodles of love i feel for you i feel for many, i for the

life of me, dont know how people drink Henny

I hope to run in to ya’ll one day at a Denny’s, my cab

driver once, his name was Kenny, he asked me out

to the Catskills to go antiquing

what did he hear in the back seat

none other than my laughter leaking

‘whats so funny?’ he said

i said ‘nothin honey, i could be your granddaughter but here’s

the money’ i paid my fare went up the hill

there was no Jack but then again…….. my names not Jill.

The End 🙂 mwah.

 

© Tara Bowen, 2014

An Open Letter to The Onion

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Dear The Onion,

This here is your bastard child daughter, the chopped onion. I am writing because I need to know your authors’ names. Shame they don’t get the proper credit they are indeed due. Take for example this Onion: http://onion.com/dshDWu. Or this one: http://onion.com/cCPNhb. These are positively hysterical and brilliant. If I knew who wrote them it would make it THAT much more admirable and genius and what have you. Like when you watch a great film, are you ever in question of who directed it, or an album you listened to. Okay there.

You get the point, please please PLEASE all I ask is you start listing your authors by article, is that too much to ask? And ethically speaking, from a journalism point of view, how could you not? Where is the justice there. While this is satire it’s still fine journalism and should abide by basic code of ethics: LIST YOUR AUTHORS PLEASE! Thanks!!!

Chop Chop

 

© Tara Bowen, 2014

New York

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Moving to New York City is a bit like getting married. (or LA).

It’s highly exciting there’s a huge adrenaline rush to both moving and living there. And people expect it to end, there’s the flipside as the statistics of leaving are so high. It’s definitely its own form of romance where moving home or just leaving is a form of divorce. And does not surprise many people.

I dont stay though to prove a point. I stay because I experience a magic here that hasnt ended (yet). I hope it never does. I am still on my honeymoon with New York, sure we have spats now n then, nothing/ no one is perfect, but the highly complex system of bridges and trains all connecting everything on this tiny island, the characters you meet almost daily just on the street, the yummy food you feel less guilty about cos you know you’re just going to walk it off (no cars), the dollar stores that carry literally everything (Manhattan’s “Walmart”), the many hats you will wear, b/c living in NY means hustle and it brings out the ‘artist freelancer’ in you and unleashes your creative artist, whatever form that may take, and it will take many. NY is a mirror in to your creative genius, there may be something you havent tapped in to yet but living in NY is like being an archaeologist of yourself. Many self-discoveries will take place and you’ll learn things about you you didn’t know you were good at or even existed. You’ll learn things you suck at and learn your place and then you will strive to get better at them. NY puts it all in to perspective. Your place, where you are, where you were, where you can be. All pretty quickly.

NY is filled with creative energy that’s contagious. No one encourages you to go work in an office, often you’ll meet a painter in the bar or a live sound engineer in line getting pizza that will lead to a live sound engineer assistant position or posing for a painter. These things happen pretty frequently. Its not uncommon to work in maybe 3 different industries you never imagined yourself, but being open and meeting these people and a simple willingness to try new things is the name a the game. Its not that marriage isnt work. This marriage is a lot of work, but it’s the kind of work, the creativity and discoveries that go with it that doesn’t make it work at all and is probably why I still feel I am on my honeymoon with this City.