Point of View: The Poetry and Short Stories of Joelle Driver

Cookie Face

noreply@blogger.com (Joelle Driver) — Mon, 10 May 2010 18:45:00 +0000

Hello cookie face
with those blue
eyes filled with sunshine
and hair standing up
like a squirrels tail

Sesame Street on the little
black TV
in the kitchen, see
the redwood tree
and the birds nesting
in the gutter

The shapes between the leaves
are like the clouds
floating magically in the sky;
shape shifting into stars,
elephants, mermaids, castles….

Four different wallpapers,
no doors on the cupboards
stacks of “how to cook…”
and phonebooks

The grey doorframes
the grey carpets
everything is grey with dust;
dust upon dust
like frosting

Eyes of blue grey
sag closed
into the blackness
hearing the chatter of puppets
and the creak of the highchair

Crumbs on the floor
grease on the stove
stickers on the fridge
burnt out bulbs
unmade beds
growing mildew
chipped plates
stacks of dirty clothes
moldy bread
clogged toilets
socks on the floor
torn curtains
missing buttons
dripping faucets
tarnished silver
splintered wood…

“Thanks for watching…”
knock, knock, knocking
of little fists
squealing between budding teeth
Cookie Face

Dog Pee in the Sea

noreply@blogger.com (Joelle Driver) — Mon, 03 May 2010 17:27:00 +0000

the sand under our toes
shifts and sinks in the cold
waves

I let mine wiggle in the
gritty soup

you wore tennis shoes
you dope

my jeans our wet
and my Crocs
dangle at my sides

the sea
caresses me,
wanting me to
come closer

you stand off
like a guard,
hands in your pockets
your eyes hiding
under sunglasses

come to me,
it isn’t cold anymore
my feet are numb

my eyes are closed,
sing with me,
humming a made up tune
the wind carries it
and makes it mute

the feet pull out with
a sloppy plop
and I walk like
a dancer on
the shore,
toe to heel

following, dodging sheets
of waves,
the rocks are shiny and slick
slowing growing smaller

I think I’m sunburnt,
and I keep thinking
about dog pee
in the sea

Deep

noreply@blogger.com (Joelle Driver) — Sat, 12 Dec 2009 08:38:00 +0000

I know I haven't written in a while but life just seems to get in the way of writing anything creative, especially because I'm severely depressed. Life is just changing so quickly, to the point where I'm losing my insurance and have to make some complex adult decisions. What really sucks in I can't move out of my parents house and just
try to live my own life. It really is counterproductive to creativity when you live with your parents, I just don't know what to do with life, especially when I have barley lived it.

So I'm glad I finally wrote something down. I think it's a reflection of what I'm feeling and it's been very hard to do that, especially when I'm still frantically searching for my missing cat Pie http://www.missingpie.blogspot.com Here is the website if you want to help me find him or just want to know whats up.

Anyway I really do need to start writing again and wouldn't mind hearing some feedback, even if it is just you saying Hi, I just need a nice hi right now.

Thanks.

My soul is a cave
dark, quiet,
sunlight is unknown

Like water,
everything is still
ebbing away at the walls
dripping down solid cones

There is life here,
blind, surviving
on the black quiet

Light will come
through the cracks
slowly creeping
its cautious beams

But everything is blind,
stiff and cold,
barley living in
the pitch

Digging deeper
into the earth
my breath will hide

Fearing the suns rays
raging above
my thick skin

Surviving
in the deep.

Earth Mother-Beginning

noreply@blogger.com (Joelle Driver) — Sat, 05 Sep 2009 02:45:00 +0000

The baby cried, cried and cried on the mountain, into the twilight lit sky sinking into the violet darkness. She heard the calls from deep within the earth and she knew what the cries said, she knew every language of the earth. The babe was hungry, cold and afraid, stretching her arms roots lifted and boulders rolled aside as she crept below the dirt rising slowly to reveal a pregnant female figure. She was always pregnant because the earth was always giving birth to new forms of life and this newborn wiggled and wailed before her mud brown stomach.
Her arms, like vines, stretched down to pick up the baby, she knew she could not feed it; her breasts were full of sap not milk, so she called to the wind to send her the goats of the mountain. They came to her and she commanded them to giver up their milk, because in her arms was her mortal child. Bleating in protest she promised them no death would come to them until this babe was weaned so they agreed and circled the earth goddess.
She knelt and drank all the goat’s milk until her breasts ached with the heaviness, blessing each one and their future kids she bid them leave until she called again. The cold babe suckled on her breast and the goddess thought about where they should live and remembered the cave hidden behind thick grass and bush. It was dark inside and out of the cave so she bid light come and it lit the dank and revealed a dry earthy space. A stone bed, table and chair lifted though the ground and the goddess removed the dirty cloth from the babe.
It was a girl, with a snake like scar on her back, “So this is why they cast you to the hills, have they forgotten about me?” Her face twisted into disgust and the roots tightened with her anger. She kissed the babe and lied with her whispering, “They will remember the power they have forgotten and you will be my messenger a warrior daughter.”

Thinking about Doing a Podcast

noreply@blogger.com (Joelle Driver) — Mon, 10 Aug 2009 05:17:00 +0000

I've been writing for a long time, since childhood, and lately it's been really difficult to keep myself motivated. Then I thought to invent a podcast in order to keep myself on my toes and have my poetry and stories out there on the air. It would keep me writing and let me know how much I suck.

Dragon

noreply@blogger.com (Joelle Driver) — Sat, 08 Aug 2009 06:17:00 +0000

The dragon poem I wrote, edited since the 2000 publication
The air around me is think with heat
and has a sulfur taste.
I turn around and see the dragon;
my sword falls with an empty
sound.

No roar of hatred
or warning flames,
just a glare
from his diamond eyes
of peace
beckoning me.

I am not afraid;
watching his scales gleam
the moonlight
into a rainbow
of jewels, gold and silver
clinging to his breast,
making it an armor
as fine as a crown.

Wings of velvet blood
touch as mountains
reaching for the starry sky.
How and why my king
wanted this beauty destroyed,
is memory.

Suddenly a claw reached
and grabbed me.
My screams pierced
the hallow halls
and I looked atop
a wood of horns
becoming a queen.

Down into barren,
twisted tunnels
until finally into
the cool night sky
where the stars
twinkle with laughter.

I look and see the earth
my home
so tiny compared
to the new world up here
in the clouds,
but they keep their secrets
even as the wind whispers
through my hair.

Fairy Glen

noreply@blogger.com (Joelle Driver) — Thu, 06 Aug 2009 22:23:00 +0000

The firelight dances upon the rocks
and people sleep within their homes,
but the fairies are wide-awake
until the sun has shown.

They dance about on the air
with wings that sparkle from the moon
and their joyous voices ring about,
for the night shall be over soon.

Fireflies ring about the glen,
shedding light onto the ground,
and the fairies dance without
the fear of being found.

Feet of light grace move about
across the grassy plain,
leaving nothing to show
for any human that might of came.

Dancing stops, voices mute,
the light is early in the sky,
and fairies turn to run
until the next night when light has died.

Eternal Internal

noreply@blogger.com (Joelle Driver) — Thu, 30 Jul 2009 23:04:00 +0000

The angelic fire
erupts the earth
to open like the Red Sea
parting at Moses’ hand
revealing the earth’s tower

Eternally high
and phantoms low
it is inverted and reverted
to a no-form matrix

It thinks not-always
does astronomical-nothing
conducts variant-jaded
everything to be or not to be questions
realism of the touch nerves electrifying
hairs to points on a parabola arching
above the rainbow of dust vagabonds
screaming on a tail comet
breaking electrons of atoms
moving flaming to friction…
apart

Two cells
two billion
two times infinity
to you

Blue Christmas

noreply@blogger.com (Joelle Driver) — Tue, 21 Jul 2009 02:48:00 +0000

The cookies were hot from the oven, plain, golden brown Christmas tress, bells and angels sat side by side waiting for sweet frosting and sugar sprinkles. She ran past me, yelling and screaming in her pjs, pushing me aside, she was so loud, I wish she would be quiet sometimes.

She was always first, loudest, with theses sisterly blue eyes shining like the lights on the tree. “Mom…Mom.” She tugged at our mother’s apron, spotted with burns and flour stains, I stepped into the kitchen; long and filled with pine cupboards ending to a sliding door to nowhere, the floor was white plastic, the tiny holes filled with dirt, never truly clean.

My blue pjs feet stuck to the floor, leaving a sticky sound behind me, our mother slapped my sis’ hand, “Those are hot.” She peered over at the cookies, her nose just over the edge watching the waves of heat drift up to the ceiling. Mom came over and hugged me, “Hello cookie face.” I smelled her, a sweet smell of cookies and Tide mixed in my nose. I smiled, proud of my two missing teeth. “We have to wait until the cookies cool or the frosting will just melt. Who wants the beaters?”
We both looked at those frosting covered beaters; luckily, there were two, mom sometimes thought ahead. “Me!” She said, I just smiled and mom went to unlock the beaters from the mixer. Our hands twisted around the tiny ends, the beaters looked like leaves with only the veins left, and we licked away the frosting looking out the icy window.

She would breathe on the widow and let her nose streak, leaving a snails mess of frosting and boogers. “Don’t you wish we could lick those icicles outside?” She said. I don’t like being cold and I couldn’t imagine flying to the roof to lick those icy shards. “You’re leaving a mess on the window.” Mom sighed and picked her up, wiping roughly on her face.

The cookies cooled, the frosting stuck and we giggled to bed. She hates the window looking out at the trees; she says they make shapes looking like demons and monsters. I’m not scared, I know trees are trees, but she snuggles close, and I don’t mind the warmth. Drifting off I imagine snow sliding off the trees into the moon glow settling down in heaps, looking like graves.

Shooting up I feel chill instead of my sister and look around the dark room. A light from the hallway peeks out, so I slid out of bed and walked down the lit hall, through the dark living room, and into the kitchen. The light was on, snow fluttered through the open sliding door where a chair stood empty. I walked through the kitchen, cold with my feet sticking to the floor, the snow was melting quickly and I pulled myself onto the chair and looked into the night.

Trees stared back, heavy with new snow; a soft plop filled the emptiness. The icicles were solid from the freeze and I looked down deep through the snowflakes and saw a glimpse of red between snow and ice. I pushed back and fell off the chair sending wet bricks of melting slush as I scrambled through the kitchen onto the fading red carpet. The living room suddenly lit up with the Christmas tree where the angel looked around for Jesus all the ornaments buzzed with a shine. Every gift glowed with happiness and hope for a wish come true, and I blurred past, reaching down the hall with my voice, “Dad, dad, dad, dad, dad…” The tears were hot against my cold red cheeks as the dark door to my parent’s room flew open. “What?” Irritated, thinking it was just a nightmare.

“She fell out the window.” I screamed pointing. He pushed me aside and I looked to my mom who was already dialing on the phone. I stood shaking, wet and forgotten as the door slammed shut. I didn’t look; I knew it was Dad, “Yes? My daughter fell out of a window into the snow…Now we don’t know how long…my husband is getting her now….” She let the phone drop and ran into the living room; I followed and saw her frantically try to start a fire.

Dad rushed through the door and laid her on the couch, her face glowed white and blue under the moon, she looked like a snow fairy asleep after the snowstorm. Dad ripped her clothes off and the fire finally roared, Mom left to the hallway again and I head the closet door slam, she ran back in, looking like a blanket monster. “Put her by the fire, put her by the fire…” Mom screamed over and over again, Dad slammed in front of the fire with my naked sister, frantically rubbing her skin with a blanket and wrapping him around her. “Please, please…” He mumbled.

The blue and red lights flashed through the windows as I sat on the couch and watched people zip my sister away into a black bag. The blankets were forgotten, the fire was dying slowly, Mom was talking too one of the strangers and Dad sat on his knees, folding the blankets into a sloppy mess. I was still wet and shivered, looking at everyone, wondering if my sister would be home for Christmas, “She only wanted to lick the icicles.” I said, “She only wanted to lick the icicles.” I spoke louder and my hands were firsts, “She only wanted to lick the icicles.” I pounded on the couch, “She only wanted to lick the icicles!” I yelled at everyone, nobody was listening to me, I knew why she was in trouble, but if I said it enough it would bring her back.

Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen...Wait for DVD

noreply@blogger.com (Joelle Driver) — Tue, 30 Jun 2009 19:12:00 +0000

The Transformers I remember are not the ones from the early Eighties, but the radical computer generated shows Beast Wars and Beast Machines featuring the decedents of the Autobots and Decepticons, the Predacons and Maximals. It had wonderful plot, groundbreaking graphics and memorable characters.

Even though the story itself was somewhat dark in Beast Machines, I applauded the bravery of the writers and animators who decided to treat their pint-sized audience maturely. It’s one of the last shows I remember being decent before I entered into my teenage years.

Some dedicated fans were very upset because the Transformers turned into auto-animals, not machines, but since the Maximals and Predacons were on prehistoric earth, what did you expect? Furthermore, seeing Megatron as a t-rex was awesome, even if it was purple.

The show also stuck to the deep history of the Autobots and Decepticons. Like the landing of the Ark on ancient earth, the Prime legacy and the general annoyance of having to protect humans, it's there don't ignore the facts. Bad Michael Bay!

I also liked the series because it focused on the struggles of the Transformers, not a human’s reaction to an alien race. I believe this hurt fans feelings, “I’m represented by a prehistoric primate! That’s so insulting!” No offence but humans are little pink marshmallows compared to the rest of the animal kingdom.

So when I saw the first Transformers movie I was impressed, but I also noticed the Transformers had no home base on the face of the Earth, this posed an extreme problem in Transformers: The Rise of the Fallen, the Autobots became the militaries dog.

In the movie they sat in their disguised, hardly every allowed the time to relax in their undisguised selves. It left them without a home and with the fewest lines in the movie, because how can you have a character speak when it’s always in disguise?

Poor Bumblebee, reduced to a puppy like status when he cannot speak, again, even when Ratchet fixed him in the last movie and it seems he “is suffocating” in the garage from lack of combat. It was a weak cover and an insulting one.

Why were the writers so afraid of having a deep conversation between humans and the Transformers, the good guys anyway? It’s as if they were denying the audience from emotionally attaching to aliens who act so human, but were machines with a spark, so they could focus on the humans more.

No offence, but the movies is called Transformers not Humans with Giant Robots, the main characters should be the Transformers, it’s what the audience came to see, not Mom and pot scenes, or the dog humping scenes, or other sexual references in a supposedly advertised children’s movie. The interaction was impossible because the Transformers did not have a home base like the Ark or crash-landed ships like in Beast Wars; they were under the mercy of the U.S. government.

I did not like any of the new character, at least on the Autobot’s side, who arrived. Twiddle-Dumb and Dee, The Twins, were flat moronic characters added for comedic relief. They were not funny, just add-ons for mechanizing. In addition, the motorcycle girls were wimpy, lame and looked like Japanese rip off because of their attempts at feminization.

I just want one female character, just one, like the manipulative genius of Blackarachnia from Beast Wars. For goodness sakes Optimus sent out an open call and only one female, Arcee, came? Why couldn’t she be a tank, a truck, a mini-van? I just want one strong female in the bunch, that’s all. Not three bikes sharing one subconscious. AH!

Also, who was the Fallen? I’ve never seen Megatron work for nobody, he has his own plans and doesn’t have a master live Darth Maul from Star Wars. I do not think the Fallen was a previous Megatron, but he maybe a servant of Unicron…I don’t know. I just hated the idea of Megatron being a servant rather than an accomplished strategist.

And what was up with the Terminator 2/ Species bot who wanted to probe Sam? It was a cheap add-in and a blatant sexual innuendo. I did not need to see the tail come out of her panties and I did not want to explain half the sexual garbage to my ten-year-old niece.

I hated having to go through two hours of bad writing to finally enter into Night at the Museum: Battle of the Smithsonian, where it becomes bearable with the meeting Jetfire and the actual plot. Why did the audience have to go though all of the human emotional garbage to reach the awesome coolness? Humans are boring pink marshmallows, but because of how the Autobots do not have a home base and were forced to be in disguise most of the time, there was hardly any chance of a budding relationship between human and alien race.

The movies had nice eye candy, but it lacks plot, developed new characters and it downsized the original Transformer characters into robot toys humans can play with. I honestly don’t care about Sam, sure, he was the vessel, but how do the Transformers feel? We have no idea because there were no intimate conversations between human and alien race. I want to see the Transformers like in Beast Wars, characters who aren’t afraid of interacting with alien life through emotions.

They are already ripping off the pod idea, Optimus’ sudden dual-sword action, the matrix, from Beast Wars, so they should just go all the way and steal the character development too, it will do the story good.

So if you haven’t watched the Beast Wars and Beast Machines series, you should, it’s not the 80s and it doesn’t feature people, but it’s the standard of storytelling I expect from the Transformers and hope to see again, despite Michael Bay’s like for shiny things.

PS Hugo Weaving, you were awesome as Mr. Smith in The Matrix and really pissy in The Lord of the Rings but you are not Megatron, the only Megatron I know and love is David Kaye. Yes.

Happy Death

noreply@blogger.com (Joelle Driver) — Fri, 22 May 2009 22:54:00 +0000

We were happy when she left us, daddy bought us anything we wanted: candy, My Little Ponies, Gameboy games, it was like a curse left us and we could enjoy the beautiful kingdom again. The birds sung, the rivers sparkled, everything smiled, but she would always come back red faced and angry like a black cloud full of lightning. “You didn’t do anything round here.” She struck.

The laundry was clean, folded, the kitchen cleared of cans, dead plants, the dishes smelled like lemons, the dining room table cleared of papers, cleaned of sticky gunk and random hair accessories, everything was a mess.

She piled her boxes high and higher, locking us in the house, away from friends, “Sorry you can’t come over to our house until it is clean.”

Sighing and wondering about her eyesight, she wore coke-bottle glasses making her face look like a caffeinated owl and had a stomach bloated like a frogs neck. “You’re all useless.” She said, but she insisted on doing all the dishes beating us if we tried to help, “Are you all retarded?” She sneered.

We cried, yelled, screamed or walked away, it didn’t matter, half the time she would transform into a Popeye armed demon, jutting her jaw out like a cannon and her eyes bugged out threatening to roll on the fifthly kitchen floor, “Do you understand me.”

We thought in our heads “No. We don’t understand.” Sometimes we said it, and she charged at us, tearing through once-blue carpet, concrete and tile, while we cowered, curled up like rabbits, she grabbed us and dug in her claws, we screamed, she laughed like a big bully twisting our heads off.

She reminded us everyday how we are the real problem for the house being dirty, her Diabetes, the clothes having bleach stains, her blindness. We are worthless, un-teachable brats, who just sit and watch Jeopardy, do their homework or hide-and-seek in the huge backyard avoiding her lists of imaginary responsibilities. “I want you to fold the laundry.” She was in the living room where ugly blue patterned couches sit sagging into the floor, there are shelves of jars, books and a black crooked chimney.

“Ok.” We always say, until she comes in and tears through the clothes, letting the paired socks roll off the couch.

“You never do anything right.” She shoves us aside into the unfolded pile, “Get off the clean clothes you.” We look at her and think, “You pushed me.” And leave her to her own mess.

“Where do you think you are going?”

“Outside.”

“Oh no you don’t.” Dropping a half folded towel, “You are helping me.”

“Why, you don’t really want our help.” Her face begins to sweat, the eyes enlarge, the claws begin to grow.

“What did you just say to me?”

I said, “I’m not helping.” My sister was crying and all my dad could say was, “Charlene.”

She looked to my sister, “Be quiet or I’ll give you something to cry about.”

Yanking me by my hair I screamed and attempted to claw at her. Reaching for my neck, my father yelled, “Control yourself.”

“What are you going to do Phillip?” Her words were slimy, an ill spell cast to freeze my father in place. My neck burned against her hot touch, through my eyes I saw my father hypnotized by her voice, My sister started to yell, “Stop it, stop it, stop it…” crumpling into a ball on the stairs.

“Shut up.” She growled, yanking my hair harder. I’m thinking about how I could grab a knife in the night, sneak into her room and kill her. I see the blood flow through the sheets as my daddy rolls over sleeping still. There wasn’t any sound, just me stabbing deep into her huge stomach and through her hard skull. I’m clean of all the blood splatter, standing in a blue princess nightgown, with a tight braid, my toes gripping the dirty carpet.

Dropping the knife by the bedside I walk though the hall, past the piles of boxes, papers, plastic empty containers, blocking all the exits. The red kitchen tile, cracked from the 1989 earthquake, was sticky. Piles of cooking books littered the counterpace with the hundreds of cans piled in door less cupboards. The living room had a piano, like the ones from old western bars, three keys are broken, so it just sits in dust along with the white couches and old family pictures.

The hall was dark, there are nails sticking out between the carpet, but I know where to step. My door creaked, my sister doesn’t have a door for her room, and I shut it silently…These thoughts never came true and I wanted to die.

Cold Therapy

noreply@blogger.com (Joelle Driver) — Wed, 06 May 2009 22:18:00 +0000

The blizzard shut Tala and her pack deep in a rocky cave. Three sets of paws intertwined in a warmth orgy and the fleas tried to jump in the middle of the pile biting relentlessly, reminding the wolves, they were still alive enough to feed a family of five hundred.

Nuzzling her closest packmate, Alex’s eyes drooped open slightly, I want space heater. He groaned. He looked like a rejected mix between a Golden Retriever and a German Shepard because he eyes were too big to be threatening and his body was a clumsy mix of brutal strength and cuddliness. She smiled letting her ears twitch, listening for the bellowing spirits of the storms song. We get out of hellhole.

Masud’s ears perked up. Food. Wiggling out from under the other two, the fleas screamed in protest, his claws scratched on the frozen rocks and he started to dig at the freezing snow. Tala shook her brown-tan-spotted-mutt-fur and let her thick fluffy tail stretch out. She trotted over to help Masud, Alex furiously scratched at the retreating fleas in his soft fur whining and grunting.

Wet frozen club paws poke through the flaky snow and Masud pushes his huge head through kicking back a wad of white in Tala’s face. Shaking it off, she lets it plop on the dark stones and looks cautiously at the ray of sunshine. Alex nudged her and started to squeeze through the soft tunnel. Fresh air whiffed by her nose, removing the stench of heat and stale fur from the cave.

Bounding through the new snow, Masud’s scraggly black coat looked dim under the pale sun. She rolled around in it herself, letting the cold scratch out all the itches and cleans off the stinky stink. Alex sniffed the air and trotted around looking for the fading trail they were on before the blizzard hit. Looking to Tala with sad brown eyes, Gone.
Expected. Great. She grounded her teeth; Masud stopped and flattened himself to the ground eying a skinny rabbit scarcely hiding between twiggy bushes.

Ask spirit? Alex’s bushy eyebrows rose.

I dunno, just ask and tell me.

The rabbit froze. Masud crept over slowly letting the snow glide around his legs concentrating on the bloody bite of meat. Leaping in the air, the rabbit blasted through the bush cracking twigs, and he followed leaving deep holes though the snow.

Tala looked to Alex, they were all hungry, and they ran after Masud through the thin pine trees. The rabbit zigzagged atop the snow easily as the wolves forced forward shelves of snow from their tired legs. Splitting up, Masud directly followed the rabbit; Tala took the left as Alex steered right.

From the corner of her eye, Tala saw another rabbit and another; they had run into a warren of rabbits. Gaia gives good. Masud smiled at this newfound buffet and started to chomp down on the panicking prey. Tala laughed and chomped down on a rabbit for herself.

The rabbits were gone deep into their holes already forgetting the three missing from their ranks. Alex closed his eyes before biting into his twitching kill, shivering from the raw meat sliding down his tight throat. Eat Alex. I find tree spirit and force talk. Tala licked her red muzzle and started to sniff around for a sleeping tree spirit.

The pine trees were so cold the oxygen lifted like a mist off the sun touched cakes of snow heavy on the creaking branches. All the spirits were tired within the trees, the blizzard hit hard and they were exhausted from holding onto the frozen earth with their roots. Her nose alerted her to a familiar smell below the snow line and she dug into it like an axe as the scent frantically pieced together who, what, when, where, why from the fading ammonia smell.

Four feet of snow later: male, wolf, week ago?...an image of a timber wolf etched in her mind, it was not her husband, Anoki, but he was definitely from the Wind-Walker Clan. She snorted in anger and rushed out of the hole she made and looked up to the tree, Are you awake? A branch crashed just short of her tail making her growl at the tree.

YES. The voice of the tree sounds like the crunching of pine needles with the stretching of pinecones while roots crack through icy stones, not at all pleasant.

Who peed on you?

Everything.

Wolf, before the storm? She growled.

Yes.

Where it go?

Away. Irritated it let another branch fall shaking the ground with a warning. She bowed respectfully and thanked the tree for the short conversation.

Masud looked over to her bounding through the snow, Any luck?, she nodded.

We’re close to the camp. Tala looked at the looming white hills and noticed a billowing stream of smoke. Sniffing the air, a faint tinge of sulfur scratched her nostrils. Snorting, Wasn’t there before storm.

Volcano? Alex looked to Tala.
Probably, maybe that’s why The Wendigo called Anoki.

Walking through new snow is like dragging yourself through very cold and wet sand. It covers up pitfalls and tires out the leg muscles quickly and the icy winds weren’t helping either. Tala stopped and looked at her two packmates whining encouragement to move on through the chill. The sky was fading into a bruise purple and navy blue, forcing the distant black cloud to fade, almost invisible in the coming darkness.

Sulfur and smoky smells surrounded them as they padded along through the night-tinted snow. Alex looked miserable his golden coat was soaked; Tala whined and went to him. Licking his frozen nose, Almost there.

Masud looked back too and sighed, Me carry him?

Yes. Alex shivered.

Masud nodded and shifted into man-wolf form he picked up Alex on his shoulders. Masud started to dance around like a Chip n’ Dale stripper, Alex tried to bite Masud’s hand yelling Hey, stop!

“What? It’s all the fashion.”

Tala couldn’t help but snort through her chilly nose and shook her head. So not serious. Tears were in her eyes and she looked away from ridiculous two. It hurt so much to laugh, it was an under developed muscle for over the past two weeks since Anoki disappeared and the baby…
Tala tried to keep the smile going, but it faded quickly beneath the stinging tears. “Are you ok?” Masud walked beside her and kneeled; Alex stopped trying to struggle and looked at Tala with a worried face.

It just hurts. Pinecones started tumbling down like grenades and the needles hit the snow like tiny darts. All three looked up to the trees and saw shadowy figures leaping down the branches and into the snow. They were man-wolves, huge shadows of muscles against the skinny trees and their saturating scent of blood, fire and bone made Tala’s muscles tensed up and her fur rise with aggression. One stuck his spear into the ground and walked forward directly to Tala, “Well, you’re here. Mato isn’t going to be happy.” It was Notin, Anoki’s twin brother, smiling as usual a stupid innocent grin.

Instantly her muscles and fur relaxed, she could feel the warriors energy shift to neutral. Your father never happy. Alex was shaking from the cold and the surprise ambush, Shelter?

Notin kept smiling and tugged out his spear from the ground, “Not much because we were attacked by a very angry volcano demi-god. And Anoki is fighting it.”

Tala’s eyes widened in terror, Taken by the Wendigo to fight monster, she instinctively shifted into man-wolf from, “What the hell are you taking about Notin?” Masud attempted to put a hand on her shoulder, but she yanked away from his grasp.

“Let’s go to the camp first, you need the rest, we can speak in the morning.”

“He better be okay or I’m going to find the Wendigo myself and rip his heart out.”

The camp was located on an Indian reservation and was about fifty miles from the nearest town. Luckily, there was heating, electricity and modern housing, if it were still standing anyway. Smoke engulfed all of their nostrils, everything was burned entirely or barley standing on a Swiss cheese foundation. The largest cabin still stood even though most of its windows were broken and now covered with furs it looked undamaged from the fiery attack. “When did this all happen Notin?” Tala asked.

“Yesterday, right after the blizzard.” Angry shouts rose above a noisy generator pumping in electricity to the large community cabin.“Your son better solve this problem soon Mato or we will be engulfed by the flames of that monster.”

“The Wendigo has him, he will succeed.”

“The only success I see is twelve dead, seven injured and one cabin left standing.” A stomp shook the ground, “This one!” Yelled another.

“Will you keep your voices down? Children are trying to sleep!” An eerie silence followed the stern female voice. Shadows shifted beneath the animal skins covering the large entrance to the cabin, “Let us continue this discussion elsewhere.”

Notin stopped just short of the entrance as the Mato and the two Wind-Walker Elders stepped out into the deepening night. Notin kneeled before them: Mato was a large black structure of muscle compressed into an eight-foot body, the other two elders looked like twins, grey, shrinking, skinny and very much older then Mato, but there was an aura of magic about them, demanding respect. Mato himself was the alpha of the clan, everyone answered to him and his growl was law.

Mato looked at his son and then to Tala, Masud, and Alex still atop Masud’s shoulders. “Notin.”

“Mato.” He moved past Tala, not even noting her presence, and the elders followed. Notin walked into the cabin holding the thick furs open for Tala and her packmates. Inside: beds tightly packed together with many lumps of clan’s members sleeping, a stainless steel kitchen near the back and doors to rooms and bathrooms. Notin pointed to some chairs, Masud put Alex down, “Can we get some food?” Masud whispered.

Notin nodded, Masud left and Alex changed into his human form, a skinny-pale nerd type with dark hair barley past his ears, “If you don’t mind Tala, I just want to sleep.” Alex yawned.

“That’s fine. I’ll give you the info later.” Tala also shifted back to her human form and cracked her knuckles. “So, Notin, tell me what is going on here.”

Masud came back with some turkey-cheese sandwiches and water and Notin told an elaborate tale of how a long, long, long, long, long, long, long time ago the Wendigo chose a warrior for his physical form to seal up a volcano and save the Wind-Walker ancestors from fiery destruction. The very pissed off spirit escaped just a week ago and was wrecking havoc against the forest and the camp, so the Wendigo chose Anoki to be the possessed warrior. In the original tale the warrior went crazy and the tribe killed him releasing the Wendigo, “What?” Tala exclaimed.

“That’s the legend anyway. Mato doesn’t want to kill Anoki of course, but if he attacks what should we do?” Masud was trying to keep awake, he shifted into his human form and waved lazily at Tala, who nodded, and he went to look for an empty bed to sleep in.

“I don’t know. I’ve lost so much already.” Again her eye-ducts betrayed her, she tried to tuck them away, but her nose just started to fill with liquid and run down. She rubbed her hand across and snorted, her brown hair twisted around her arm. Masud flopped down on his cot; it creaked under his muscular weight and eased when he shifted into a human.

“You should sleep, you have never got enough, it’s like your escaping a nightmare.”

Tala smiled, “I’m not doing very well at escaping badness. I think it decided to stick to me like an old band-aid.” Masud was silent, waiting, hoping for the hidden story of the baby just dead two weeks ago she felt the pleads tugging like a string caught on a hook. “I just can’t talk about it.” She crossed her arms against her stomach and fell to her bed silently screaming for sleep.

In the middle of the night, Tala felt an icy hand enclose her throat, trying to scream, her eyes popped open to the daggered teeth of Mato centimeters from her face. “Hello rat-fucker.” His muscular man-wolf was tense from the pleasure of her helplessness. She did not squirm, she was silent, and could only glance at Alex and Masud. They were sound asleep and shrouded under a thin veil of mist created by Mato to keep their heavy conversation private. His weight was starting to crush her, it was hard to breathe, he grinned and his grip tightened, “Do not interfere. Clear rat-fucker?”

Tala glared at him, she hated him and could do nothing to stop him from making her feel cold and dead inside. Her chest started to move shallower and shallower as he pressed more of his weight down. His fur stood up, almost begging him to destroy this bitch-taint from the Wind-Walker memory, but he knew better than to kill a princess from the Concrete Clan. They have long memories and hot tempers. Tala risked a reminder by growling low and deep and everything disappeared, her neck frozen from the steely grip Mato left on her throat and his laughter whispered around her ears. Glancing around quietly she felt a steady vibration shake her bed, everyone’s beds were moving, banging, shaking into each other.

Children were screaming as everyone unsteadily jumped from their beds. Many began to shape-shift into their werewolf from and looked around for the presently invisible enemy. Alex stood in human form wide eyed from all the confusion and noise, Masud was picking up children left, right, leading them to the nearest exits, Tala stared at the closest wall watching the wood bend and grind against each other and explode into a fiery mess of nails, glass and splintered logs. A creature with flaming blue paws, engulfed in the middle of the mess, knocked over blue thin cots, its massive claws scarred the floor leaving an icy sheen on the floor. It smelled like a wolf with a scent of pine trees and hot campfires melting snow in winter, standing ten feet, its horns were crooked and gnarled, the frosted fur blew back against and immense heat bellowing through the new massive hole.

Another monster crept, melting, burning, scaring, blazing, a black path, bright as the sun, smelling of burnt ash and sulfur, the eyes glowed red as sunsets, its six legs were molten rock muscles, and the tail pounded like a hammer. The molten-lava-god roared brimstone at the icy wolf and it howled baring its frozen teeth. Alex lifted up the tattered cots in his werewolf form and came running to Tala, who was staring at the ice-wolf-god before her, “Wendigo, Anoki.” The Wendigo charged at the fiery lizard digging its teeth into one of its rock legs. Another leg kicked The Wendigo off and the lizard hissed whipping its tail into a furry face. Shaking his smoldering head, The Wendigo, scratched across the fiery back with icy claws, the lizard flinched, The Wendigo smiled and tackled. They both rolled over half-baked houses and trees.

Screams of anguish mixed with thudding-running feet attempting to follow the train of destruction. Trees fell into ashes, cracked into spikes, snow melted black, the lizard’s jaw clamped around The Wendigo’s leg and he snarled in pain, biting back hard against the molten skin. A searing crackle sizzled through the air as both locked in a death grip. Tala ran in front of the crowd with werewolf Alex at her side, the air shook with the battle, her eyes blinded from foreign heat and fixated on the steely cold, and The Wendigo’s yellow eyes dug into her human green ones. Her brown hair stood on end letting the bubbling scent of flesh and fur exhausted her nostrils and her face glowed red against the fires of the biting lizard. “Alex, I want you to entangle the fire-lizard in the roots of the trees, snuff it out.”

Alex nodded, “I’ll try.” Closing his eyes, he let his furred arms stretched out before him and began to whisper a spell of will to the trees. The ground beneath the combating two became a muddy muck of melted roots and snow and they were sinking as the surviving tree roots began to encase the lizard in a knot. It wriggled like a fish, flinging mud against trees and the Wendigo leapt up as the angry trees engulfed their fiery prize.

“Now.” A bellowing voice slid off a tongue like ice, it was Mato. There was a circle of Wind-Walkers surrounding The Wendigo who growled at the growing spell, snapping, biting against an invisible barrier. Tala ran as bolts of blue electricity snakes through the air grabbing at The Wendigo, she shifted as she approached Mato and twisted her body into a focused punch...stopped in Mato’s grasp and her eyes glinted a hot green under the wolf yellow, “I thought I told you not to interfere Rat Queen.”

“What the hell are you doing to my husband?” The Wendigo howled against the chains of energy chanted to life by the enchanting voices. The trees were calming down settling back into the deep winter sleep, the night was dark, the moon, already fallen behind the black mountains left only dimming starts to witness the entrapment of a god. Mato stood tense and alert, smiling smugly, singing voices continued, blue bars enclosed The Wendigo, who attempted to gnaw through the enclosing magic. “He is an asset to the tribe now.”

Tala looked at Mato, horrified, there was no intention of letting Anoki go, Mato planned to use The Wendigo as a weapon against anyone who opposed his leadership. “No…no…no…NO.” Her rage bubbled, her fur shot out from her skin, muscles clamped and grew, she grabbed for the longer fur dangling from Mato’s neck. Her claws dug in, the blood flowed, spotting the ground, Mato was laughing. Masud was mumbling something, “Alex…break…circle…”

“Then do it.” Mato was still laughing, her hand was pulled away effortlessly as he faced her with his black fur slick with blood, Tala attempted to rake his face with her claws, dodging easily he folded both hands behind his back. “Father what are you doing?” Notin stood there amazed at the site before him.

Mato grabbed Tala by the neck and lifted her, “If you love him so much then free him.” Lobbing her like a rag-doll, she tumbled through the air, passing above Masud’s futile attempts to break the circle of chanters, falling hard on the frozen ground she came dangerously close to the imprisoned Wendigo, it’s jaws wide with contempt, as it snapped at the wind, shaking small icicles off it’s fur, it looked directly at Tala. The eyes spoke sadness, fear, rage; she froze at the diminished might of the wolf god. The wind stilled, sound faded, everything was within those yellow eyes of power, “Please…please let him go.”

Thoughts of the dead infant came, sweet blue eyes, soft, pale, the tiny pointed ears, fatty hands, feet and an upturned nose. Tears were pouring down her face striking the ground like hot steam, the flames around The Wendigo’s paws were shrinking to little candle flames about to go out. She remembered the days spent alone after Anoki disappeared looking at the moon, screaming at Gaia why, why, why, her stomach stretched out, breasts aching, her eyes turned into an angry glare, “Why?” she screamed, “Your mission is finished Wendigo. You stole him from me, give him back.” Her muscles were tense and every part of her body felt heavy against his immense physical strength and wondered if she could win.

“No. Not finished.” He laughed.

“Wolf-god, I will not let you take my husband from me, he needs me”

“I know, that is why he was chosen, loosing a child, pain gives strength.” His mouth stayed closed and crescented into a smile, “Mato caused that pain, Anoki wants his vengeance too.”

"What do you mean…Mato…cursed…”

Her knees wanted to buckle but something held her up, his eyes twinkled with a tricksters grin “Revenge for you in time, not now, but in time…”, slowly time shot back, a cackling sound faintly tingled through the air and the barrier broke. Blue lines struck the ground as if snapped bridge wires, the circle broke and screams rippled through the cold air. The Wendigo was free and Mato roared charging through the falling werewolves directly at Tala. His spit spewed through the air, claws raised, eyes wide, Tala turned to face him and she smiled, “You bitch!”

The enormous jaws of The Wendigo encased around his chest like an iron maiden, blood leaking everywhere, covering Tala with wet splotches. The horns of The Wendigo fell to the ground, the icy coat melted into a black and white timber-wolf, the flames were completely gone from his paws, Anoki stood, clenching his father’s throat growling, shaking his father’s torso, No threaten Tala again. Dropping Mato to the ground, Anoki stood beside Tala, covered in blood, eyes sparkling, Missed you. Tala ignored his happiness, “It’s my turn.”, she stood over Mato, helpless, bleeding and placed her clawed food heavy on his chest. Mato chocked for life, “You cursed me, The Wendigo told me don’t lie to me.”

He choked a bloody laugh, “You taint...” Tala pressed harder feeling the cracks of ribs shake through her legs. Her body was pumping adrenaline and it ignited her anger further. “The only taint here is you. This is for my dead son.” She spat on him and reached for one of his arms, “The doctors said he was in such pain from the fever and seizures…”

Anoki wrapped between her legs and looked up to Tala, He not hurt again. Killing weak wolf, shameful. Those soft yellow eyes melted her warrior’s resolve, removing her foot, she transformed into her mutt-wolf form. Right, we meet again later Mato. She left him in the cold snow, Notin ran and kneeled by his father’s side calling for others to help, Masud kicked Mato hard in the ribs, Mato groaned, “The bastard will be fine.” Sighed Masud. Alex was still lying in the snow unconscious and half frozen in his human form, the sun was beginning to rise settling gently on the blood soaked snow, the birds were slowly returning, observing with their beady eyes, quietly chirping messages to one another like scared lovers.

Anoki sat down staring at the sunset, wagging his thick tail, he whined at Tala who followed slowly and stood by him. He licked Tala’s nose, she snorting she shook her head, and leaned against him, We need therapy bad.

What a Waste of Time: Short Rant Essay

noreply@blogger.com (Joelle Driver) — Mon, 06 Apr 2009 19:20:00 +0000

I cannot begin to understand why a person majoring in a BA in Creative Writing should be forced to read poetry or novels and then have to write an intense critical paper. I can see how you could analyze your own craft if you were to read published works from very famous authors, but I believe you can achieve the same goal through writer’s workshops.

It is a waste of time to sit here day after day, writing critical essay after essay while my own writing sits abandoned under the critical papers for class. Classes should develop your creative writing not constantly debate the modernist perspective of Hart Crane or why did Phyllis Wheatley write positively about slavery even when she was captured from Africa, it should be about learning how to write, how to be published, how to find an agent, how to make a career from your writing. So far I do not see a career, but a dead end job regardless of how much information shoved in my brain about Ann Sexton.

There are many different thoughts about how to fix education and I think this is an excellent example of how much extra fat is attached to classes in college. Cut the fat, let the students take less classes to earn their degrees, or at least take classes absolutely relevant to their chosen path. Of course creative writing is only one example of the waste of time spending class. I’m sure many other majors should go though a major diet plan in order to make is useful in the modern age.

The world does not care if you know what year a poet was born, how many books were sold, or if you can interpret the madness of “The Red Wheelbarrow”, it only cares how well you can bull-shit your resume. In short, I believe most of these classes required for a BA degree in Creative Writing are useless and should be replaced with a more realistic agenda focusing on how to make a living as a writer.

Robin-Egg-Blue

noreply@blogger.com (Joelle Driver) — Wed, 11 Feb 2009 05:20:00 +0000

The child is alive
tube-tied to poisons needling in between
pores
screaming like the old breaks in a
stopping car.
Whaling, “I’m here!” to an empty room
boxed and sealed like a Fedex package
to a plastic bucket cage.
Blind for life,
even if the robin-egg-blue eyes are open,
the blurs are nothing to see.

Stovetop Symphony

noreply@blogger.com (Joelle Driver) — Mon, 02 Feb 2009 19:45:00 +0000

This is an edited version from 2007s Red Wheelbarrow, De Anza College, Cupertino, CA

Every tear boils in the pot,
the hair sticking to my face,
my eyes close, feeling the heat,
every breath tingles with herb magic…

The gimpy hag
mutters wicked curses under her breath
“It’s all your fault…it’s all your fault…”

Her knife notes soak through,
leaving melodies cold and wretched
in the steam.

Freezing to the center,
dying and stiff,
my sister is a raw
caged chicken
crumbling away with her every
toothpick finger prick,
bleeding…

Enough!

Windmill arms fire crash uncooked
spaghetti and sugar,
flying like fairy dust.
The bass pots and woodwind spoons
rage like a drug possessing me,
blood pouring, dripping…
I laugh,
as an infant
twisting a wicked face.

The tones collapse on red tile,
broken and askew,
in a playground of stovetop fire.
Sugar burns away harmony
bleaching my lips snow white
in crystal paradise.

“Now precious…you don’t want
your sister to become your dinner?”
The chained wolf inside of me
growls in my sugared blood.

The hags jingling keys of iron
sing “freedom…freedom”.

Grabbing,
pulling her string-wired
hair in a screech of noise,
like a sudden crash on a violin,
I crash her face
onto the stove.

Hissing fire spirits coil my hands,
licking up the sugar-blood sacrifice,
scarring and spitting
delicious screaming rhymes.

The blood-tie sealed in phrase, verse and chorus,
crackling blisters fumble with the keys
as a hag-effigy of fire rolls
in the burning pasta,
leaving the sick smell of sweet-carcass behind.

For the Love of Smack

noreply@blogger.com (Joelle Driver) — Thu, 29 Jan 2009 19:39:00 +0000

I was so happy to feel my mother’s hand slap across my face. I just dropped a dish on the floor and it broke into itty-bitty pieces.

My mother growled and barked at me like a Doberman, “What did you just do?”
“I’m sorry.” I frowned like a puppy, but inside I smiled, waiting for her hands to strangle me.

“Those cost money!” I pretended to be frightened; she likes it when I’m frightened.

Covering my face, I hid my shaking joy from her eyes and closed mine to feel the roots of my hair scream with ecstasy. My face was so close to hers I felt her spit tingle on my skin. Her teeth clenched and I could see the hateful fire in her eyes. My neck arched and snapped sideways from the force of her hit.

My breathing was shallow and fast. I could hear my skin baking from the impact, but it quickly cooled under my tears of pleasure. She dropped me like a rag doll and I started to pick up the pottery with my bare hands. I wanted to bleed for her; to show her I was happy because of all the suffering she would blast me with after small accidents.

I threw the pieces away in the trash. My mother was in the kitchen, still angry red as a demon in the face with her teeth ready to pop out of her skull.

“Get away from me!” Pushing me off, I fell to the ground, bowing, I cried, cried, and silently begged for more of her loving touch. “Just shut up you.” Her back turned into a towering wall with a large closed sign hung by her shoulders.

I crawled away, my nose drug on the tile covered in salt and sticky syrup, and I tasted the flaky refuse through my soggy nostrils. My tear-drained boogers left a snail-trail through the hall of filthy blue carpet and I kept saying in my sweetest voice, “I love you.” Again, again, again, again, again, again, again, again, a prayer for every day I tasted the burning heat of her hands.

Pictures

noreply@blogger.com (Joelle Driver) — Thu, 29 Jan 2009 17:12:00 +0000

I'm ripping our pictures down.
Letting the tacks fall around my feet.
You are late,
I forgot about you,
the memories are fluttering to the floor.

Human Wolf

noreply@blogger.com (Joelle Driver) — Wed, 28 Jan 2009 20:14:00 +0000

This poem was published in my high schools literature journal, The Scribe, in 2000.

Onto the hunt

hear my cry

into the night

of the moonless sky.

I want to join

with the wolves

and taste the blood

of a fresh kill.

Fear that runs

bring me strength

I have no time

for holding back.

The mind is free

as my gentle tone

that dances with trees

when they’re alone.

Water splits

beneath my feet

as I travel

on the chase.

Spirit be swift,

soul be strong,

for within this night

a death shall be born.