This Act of Faith - Poetry Puzzle #8

This Act of Faith

He does not hurry, for he has no destination

Losing and finding himself is just another habit

A certain untidiness [crept] [into] him 

Normally, he goes clean shaven into the world 

But the promise of a Saturday liquid with sunshine draws him away

There grows within him, however, a vague unease

He sees three young men and a girl

The girl is better looking than she should be for such companions

She is long legged and wears a white turtleneck sweater that accentuates her breasts

She casually walks over to him 

He slips her a ten-dollar bill 

He has left no message for his wife

So intent is he upon the future 

That he dangerously ignores the present

He is inexperienced 

He is nervous

He is suspicious
So he turns around, towards his home

Frank's Red Hot Sauce

I stare at Frank's Red Hot Sauce. Even though Frank wasn't there, I could feel him burning holes into my eyes. I lifted the cup up to my nose; a quick sniff was all I needed to know. The fiery aroma penetrated my nostrils. I stuck my finger in the sauce to check it out. I could almost feel the heat radiating off of it. Not to thick, not to thin, just right. I could almost hear the beast within. It growled and gave me a roar daring me to drink it. Challenge accepted. I chugged the hot sauce down. A whirlpool of lava filled my mouth. Tears filled my eyes, but I held them in. Just ten more seconds. The burning sensation was almost unbearable. But this was just the beginning. I swallowed Frank's demonic sauce. It's as if Frank planned all this out. He was saving the pain for last. Frank is as cunning as a fox. The hot sauce ignited in my throat. I held in my scream of shear pain, in fear that others would think I'm weak. But finally it was over. I let out a sigh and wiped my forehead. Damn Frank; damn his hot sauce; damn this assignment.

Nomes? Nimes? Names. - #9 Satire

Throughout my entire life in school, I have had to deal with the mispronunciation of my first and last name. It's understandable that a teacher might pronounce it wrong the first couple times. But after I have had the teacher for a month or so, they should be able to write it, and say it, properly.

Summit, Summet, or even Some-meat, there are endless ways to mispronounce my name. But my name is Sumeet. S-u-m-e-e-t. If by chance the teacher does say my name right, they will end up writing it wrong. I have not even had one teacher that can both say and write my name correctly. It is a scarring experience. And it is not just me, all of the brown boys go through this. What the teachers do not know, is that we do not forget. Every single mispronunciation is etched into my skull. You would think that we wouldn't be able to pronounce white names. But we can say them perfectly, it's not that hard. So why can't the teachers, and students as well, SAY OUR NAMES CORRECTLY? Honestly if you just read it out, like a normal person,  you would be able to say it just fine.

For 13 years I and many others, have had to endure this pain. For 13 years I have not said anything. And now, I have stepped up to the plate. I am the first one to speak out, and many others will follow my path. We will no longer stand for this injustice!

Letter of Concern

123 Main Street
Penticton, British Columbia
V2A 3WI

March 8, 2012

Mr. Kleats
Central High School
123 Main Street
Sportstown, British Columbia
V2A 1W3

Dear Mr. Kleats:

I am the parent of Karmpreetinderpaljeet Singh Tattla, the assistant captain of your hockey team. I am writing to you to address some concerns that I noticed when I attended some practices and games.I would like to offer some suggestions, which you might take into consideration. It would mean a great deal to the kids who want to improve their hockey skills.

I noted that you do not always arrive on time, perhaps we could organize practices at a time which will suit you better. Also it seems you come up with drills on the spot. If you want, we (the parents) could come up with drills, and help you out during the practices. My son was complaining that he recieved very little playing time. As he is one of the star players on your team, I think he should get a little more time to play. It could possibly explain the lack of wins of your team. And even though my son is on the bench, I've seen you yell at him specifically, even though he hasn't even done anything. Perhaps if you lowered your voice, the children will be able to understand you a bit better. If you could tone down the emphasis placed on winning, maybe the kids could relax and have a bit of fun while they're playing. They are children after all, and it's the house league.

If you could take all these little notes into consideration, perhaps our team could make it into playofffs. If not, well then what can you do? These kids just joined the league to have fun. If you need help from us, the parents, then please email me back at, pissedoffparent@hotmail.ca, that would be great.

Sincerely,

Sumeet Tattla

Moral Decision

John Doe
123 Green Ave,
Penticton, B.C.
V2A 3W1

February 10, 2011

John Smith
Mayor
City Hall 568 Main Street
Small Village, B.C.

Dear Mr. Smith:

I am surprised that you are asking me for advice, out of all the people in our village. But since you have, I will express my thoughts thoroughly. I think we should cover up this evidence, it is for the greater good. Families in our village rely on Gunter Grass to provide for them. Without him, many of these families will fall into poverty. He has donated large amounts of money to charities. I think we need to acknowledge that he is a model citizen, in the present. If he had meant any harm to our village, he would have done so earlier.

Of course victims of the concentration camp, of the entire holocaust will want him exposed. But you cannot judge Gunter Grass from his past. Everyone has made mistakes, just on different scales. He is obviously trying to make amends for his past deeds. No matter what a man's past may have been, his future is spotless. He treats many of our citizens very well. He has built a profitable factory, where many of our citizens work. They are well paid, and the working conditions are great.  

Also, he has three children, and many grandchildren. If we exposed Gunter Grass, his entire family would be judged, and that is unfair for them. It would be extremely embarrassing for all of them. We should also respect his deceased wife. He is 92 years old, it would be useless exposing him now. We should just let him live the rest of his life peacefully.

Sincerely,

Sumeet Tattla

Cliche's

George looked up from shoeing the horse to see the outline of Curley's wife in the doorway of the barn. They were alone. She leaned against the doorway, and bit her lip. "Hey there George." she whispered into the barn. George looked over at her. "I'm looking for Curly, have you seen him around here?"  She asked innocently.
                "Haven't seen that bugger." George replied shortly.
                "Whatcha' doing there?" She asked, staring straight at him. Her eyes pierced him like a thousand daggers.
                "Make like a tree and leave woman," George answered in a monotone voice. Curly's wife walked into the barn, and walked toward George. Butterflies were fluttering about in George's stomach.
                "All of you boys never want to talk to a beautiful woman like me," she said angrily. She sat down on the hay, and pouted.  "I guess boys will be boys," She started to fiddle around with the hay. George ignored her, and started walking towards the exit of the barn. "Awe George, where are you going?" whined Curly's wife.
                "For Pete's sake." Yelled George. He turned around and glared at Curly's wife.
                "I can see it in your eyes George, you want me," She started into George's eyes and winked. "All's fair in love and war." She spoke softly. George ignored her, and stood there. "What's wrong hun, cat got your tongue?" Curly's wife giggled.
                "You are beautiful, but I don't want nothing to do with you," George looked the other way as he spoke. "Beauty is only skin deep." He said quietly.
                "You can't judge someone until you've walked a mile in their shoes," Curly's wife responded.
                "You're crossing your limits."  George said with a straight face. "You'll be lucky if I don't tell Curly about this, now get back to your house."
                "I guess you're right, better safe than sorry." She walked past George and out of the barn. She blew a kiss towards George.
                "I'm damned if do, and damned if I don't." George mumbled to himself.

Grade 12

As I ran up the stairs, everything was a blur. The excessive smell of LG perfume still lingered in the air. I gagged in disgust. I picked up the speed, as if Satan himself was on my heels. Dodging, and weaving through the clusters of little boys and girls. They should move for me, I thought angrily; shaking my head. I got to my locker and did a quick 360 degree check, and twisted my lock to the right combination. I sighed in relief as I got it on the first time. My binders, barely able to keep shut due to the massive amount of homework sheets, were the only things visible. I stood there glaring at the fiendish binders. Quickly, I grabbed them, shut my locker, and sped to the nearest blue recycling bin. As I unzipped my binders , papers were already flooding out. The rings were forced open, and a storm of papers rained down into the bin. I laughed maniacally, and ravaged the other binders. Relief filled me, replacing stress and tensions, I fell to my knees. Biology 12, Chemistry 12, Law 12, and History 12. All finished. The alarm on my watch went off, telling me that I had to get to my first class. The second semester had started, and I knew that I had English Literature 12 first. Just another boring English class I assumed. From what I heard, this was going to be like a jungle full of monkeys. I headed toward the classroom, when I got into the classroom, Mrs. Searcy greeted with me with a warm smile. An unsure smile escaped my face. I put my backpack and binders on the desk, and sat down, still wondering if I should drop this class. As my friends starting filling up the room, one by one, I knew that this class would be great. Epic sword battles, medieval banquets, and just goofing off. I wondered, what else could a grad ask for as his last class? Last, but not least, grad pranks. English Literature 12, truly is the savior.