Poetry: Happy Poem

Happy Poem

Small city big clout
My beard is falling out
All done has been said
Worry’s the only dread

About face the music
Abrasively soothes it
No lies stand me up
No ledge high enough

The truth I can handle
This or that end candle
Stillness fun velocity
Kills all my atrocity

There’s no time or the place
The rabbit hole run race
Miss Plath’s pain pangs
And caged bird’s fangs

I’m ready to be famous
Call Andy but not Amos
Send my ghostly regards
And posthumous star scars

Color me so damn sappy
I wanted but needed happy
Sold sexy Sisyphus legs
For all the alums it begs



Prose: Schmerz – Part 4


The precursor for that obtuse and acute guttural audible that connects the neurons that are the golden threads between the head and heart. The hitting of epidermis changes decibels with every implement, from skin to metal to wood to leather to plastic to etcetera. The outcry from time to time brings tears and it is in the form of pleasure and or pain – a polarized separation of juxtaposition, coming from one or the other. His pain, another’s pain, my pain, our pain.


The abrasive syncopated slapping of flesh on flesh. In a myriad of velocities and tempos, marked by a chorus of uncontrollable sighs and moans and grunts and gasps. This provocative orchestra that reverberates through the city’s thinnest walls that keep only a transparent layer of opaqueness over the mystery of strangers. Up and down and to and fro and hither and tither the opening and closing of the in and out unrelenting until the high note apex – then solemnly the aria of denouement proceeds. The exhaustion, the longing, the regret, the reddened skin. The pain of it almost being over.


The unheard of racket screaming in the mouth. Trapped inside of a warm wet place where the body’s most sensitive and resilient tissue lies. Colonies of cells waiting to replicate and replace, being heinously shed by the makings of the necessity of age sprung from youth. The aching waking homage to perhaps the most tenuous physical grief there is.


The apparition that harmoniously haunts the soul. That shocking school of pangs that are seemingly unavoidable even at the most distracting times when you have all the environmental factors lined up like anxious and willful dominoes, ready for the cause and effect to cascade – each and every piece of the stoic black and white bridge creating a grey sense of doubt of how the outcome will fall. Some pieces support and propel, but perhaps there will be that misstep amongst the conformed quadrilaterals if one solitary part of the puzzle is misplaced. That would end the effortless journey of it all falling down. The pain of having to pick them all up and start over again.



Their pain brings a cloudiness over pains of my own. The loud WHACK startles the THROB of my perpetual antagonist – the main antihero character of my epic novel of the world of life that is my daily stage. The piercing SMACK calms me, knowing that it brings others delight in this pastime of pain and I thrive on the jealousy of not being afforded the opportunity to dole it out benevolently on my own with a suitable giver or receiver. The THROB brings me to tears in almost the worst way. I was never really busy with taking care of someone who wasn’t myself, so the humble reminder that I too am not impervious to harm, to hurt, to ungodly amounts of physical distress all caused by a tooth no larger than my fingernail – it is something to behold and appreciate I suppose; the physical  pain distracts one from the emotional version. The SOB comes when I am at my wits’ end. In all of the tumult and in all the times I’ve learned more and more about the word,  I still don’t know how to explain further (when asked), “Ich mag nicht Schmerz.”


Schmerz – Part 1

Schmerz – Part 2

Schmerz – Part 3

List: Happiness

I am focusing on the things that make me happy…(in a particular order): I suggest you do the same.

  • Writing
  • Working
  • My Awesome Friends
  • Eating Hard Cheeses
  • Reading/Research
  • The Arts
  • Cooking
  • Masturbation
  • Comedy
  • Cleaning
  • Wine
  • Giving Good Advice
  • Flirting
  • Long Walks
  • Teaching
  • Solitary Moments
  • Watching Children Play and Laugh
  • Drawing
  • Interviewing People
  • Paying it Forward
  • Relinquishing Ghosts
  • Learning New Words
  • Discovering the Passions of others
  • Singing out loud
  • Listening to Music
  • Studying French
  • Fashion
  • Sex

Process: Playwriting

Almost as important as being earnest, I learned the utmost import of having a staged reading for a theater play. My first reading was about 6 years ago and started as a one act that has now been expanded into a two act, much guided by the general reaction to the initial one act that was performed.

I am always grateful for the priceless value of hearing the words read by actors before an audience. While there is that slippery slope of falling into that outside influence trap, there are more things to be considered in the realms of more technical nuances including cadence, diction, syntax, and other grammatical and reverential issues.

This reading was a big departure in terms of audience – as I had to pay strict detail to certain cultural issues that could have easily gotten lost in translation, as in this international city of Berlin, English is the bridge language and for most not their native one.

For example, in the original text, I used the American word “Server” instead of “Waitress”. An actor posed the obvious question during one of the rehearsals and I obliged in removing the word as it was negligible in terms of the context in the story, but a necessary change for overall comprehension.

I use technology a lot to record most of the artistic process (I have days and days of footage from most of my rehearsals and when I am working in other mediums). With the librarian background, it serves not only as a resource but it is an artifact of archive.

Listening to the script, following along with the script, reading the script, listening to the script without following along – these four methods have spawned different necessary corrections. Then just watching (in that difficult feat of trying to be entertained by my own work instead of critiquing the shit out of it) helps me to get an overall view as to what it is I want to convey – and actors always add some type of discovery that can be adjusted if necessary too.


(c) Melissa Pond

(c) Melissa Pond