Impulsive Poetry: Napkins, Matchbook Covers, and Bathroom Walls

© 2005 Annabelle A. Udo
(published in "Listen & Be Heard" Weekly - June 30, 2005)

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Writing poetry on bar napkins was a ceremony that a good friend of mine and I would do when we went out drinking back in the days of pre-gentrified San Francisco. Although a lot of it was inebriated scribble, for the most part, it went beyond Creative Writing 101. He would write something and I would add on to it. If others were joining, we’d pass it around the table. Yea, it was a lot of fun.

I’m happy to announce in this day of modern technology, that the age-old art of napkin writing continues with its other famous siblings—matchbook covers and bathroom walls. Still, when the impulse strikes to write down what you absolutely know is going to be the poem that will allow you to quit your day job, you’ve got to grab what you can—a parking ticket, a beer coaster, a piece of cardboard. . .anything! It certainly beats trying to get someplace and log onto a computer to sign in with your password and user ID to get to your blog. Although, as a sidenote, I do have to say that one of my favorite blogs is called “Writing on a Paper Napkin” (http://writingonapapernapkin.blogspot.com/)

Facets, an online literary publication (www.facets-magazine.com) posed the question: “What is the best writing advice you’ve ever got?” of which one poet wrote: “My father was a writer and one of the things he told me was that if I wanted to be a writer, I should be writing all the time, noting thoughts and impressions on envelopes, scraps of paper, and napkins.”

And so, with the innumerable pieces of material that are part of our societal consumption—could there ever be a shortage of writing materials? Well, some you can’t take with you—for example, a bathroom wall. Nevertheless, thoughts that come surging out of the mind can’t wait to find the perfect stationary to be placed upon. The poem inside you that needs to come out is like a birthing process and needs to arrive wherever it can.

That some cultures in America are so fascinated with the writings on the cave walls of ancient times, yet dismiss graffiti as a form of communication in modern times, always baffles me. Writers, poets, artists of all kinds have been finding instantaneous methods to express ourselves—be it the ubiquitous napkin or a fallen leaf of an oak tree—the impulse to write will always remain.

Alien Genitalia

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So, I'm watching a documentary about things alien and monstrous, more specifically the alleged cover-up that went down at Roswell, NM in 1947. Of which, by the way, when I went to Roswell 7 years ago, I was told by numerous people, "Didn't anyone tell you? The whole thing is a farce to just try to get people like you to come over here!" Well, though the journey was not a success with regard to alien sitings and such, it was quite an experience to see the most beautiful lightening show I'd ever seen in my life--with bolts of thousands of wattage touching from the sky to the earth. Magnificent!

So, anyway, I'm watching this documentary where it's showing the "controversial" autopsy tapes of an alien that was found. So this here alien is laying dead on the table, filmed in black and white, "scientists" in white protective outfits and as they're showing shaky cam footage in the vein of "The Twilight Zone" meets "The Blair Witch Project", they're blocking out the area which would otherwise be alien genitalia. The mere fact that there were blurry squares all around it brought more attention to it than we otherwise would have been seeing in the first place. I think most people were compelled to see what the scope of the autopsy was versus a mere perverted curiosity to see what alien testicles might even look like. This sci-fi censorship has now only posed the question: "What does alien genitalia look like?"

You tell me.

Every Day is Mother's Day

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Everyday during lunchtime I call my mother on my cell phone. She is always there. She is there just as often as there is air in this universe to breathe and she is there as an everlasting sun that brings endless amounts of light during times that I felt as if a shadow in the night. I picture her as many mothers are--the roots of this planet--extending far into the earth bringing sanctity to the ground we walk upon. She reminds me that my past is my present is my future--a continuum of life undocumented in our books at school. Her stories are always refreshing tales of childhood dreams and I can hear the laughter on the playground where she grew up in the Philippines. Our conversations--a ceremony of dusting off the volumes of Time in order to awaken me--give me perspective--unravel riddles.

So good night to the birds and the bees for now and bring another day of life, laughter, and breath. To my mother and to all mothers who have been the cosmic egg of Life--I salute you--I celebrate you--365 days a year.

Changing Lanes

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Time goes by fast when living from paycheck to paycheck--it's waiting for that day to arrive but forgetting all the other days in between. I often dream of rent-free days as a child, riding in the front seat of the shopping cart in the grocery store and being pushed around reaching for items that I couldn't buy because I was only 3 years old and had no real purchasing power. I reflect on the constant bad hair days of being a high school student in the '80s, and I frown at my college days of bad eating habits in Verducci Hall at San Francisco State University.

My life has transformed significantly and I share upon those who are stuck in the hamster wheel who endeavor to reach the medicine wheel that there is life outside of Corporate America. Having recently left my job of 8 years, I found the sky to be bluer than the eyes of angels and the earth to be as soft as the balmy winds of summer. "You look happier these days" are the comments I've been receiving versus "You have dark circles under your eyes."

I have learned that respect for myself extends to consciously respecting others and that strolling isn't walking too slow, but extending the leisure of time. I wake up from the night feeling refreshed and I depart from the day with new experiences.

So for those of you hunting and gathering for your next step, it's right under your foot. There are drivers and there are passengers--if you can look back and see that there's nothing else coming up from behind--maybe it's time to step on the gas and change lanes.

Para la gata

The moon has its glow,
The cloud has its sky,
The night has its day,
The day has its night.
You can never be alone,
My friend,
When you allow yourself to be seen
Treating yourself like a queen
With your feet dancing upon the earth,
Knowing all of what life is worth.

Autobiography

I am who I am,
and you are who you are,
Often wishing upon a star,
A fly on the wall
I am an observer of life,
always finding wonder in all
things.

Chevron o' Rama

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Travelling from Upper California to Lower California via car is truly a gaseous experience. Really. It is all about gas. Each city seems to have its own prices which also seems to reflect the cultures of each town in this one state of California. In addition to the fluctuating gas prices, I was wondering how these Chevrons manage to find staff to work at these places that really are in the middle of nowhere. That can be baffling after several hours of driving.

On my way down south I took advantage of Chevron's gas card perk that offered 5 cents off per gallon when you use their card to tank up. There were certainly no shortages with Chevron stations along the once lonely strip of the interstate--they're everywhere. Oh, and there's now one Starbucks Coffee stop just before you hit the Grapevine.

So, amidst the train of 12-wheeler semi trucks delivering goods along the same route as the Pony Espressos of yesteryear, here is the estimated report from the road most travelled--that is, I-5:

*Chevron prices listed are for Regular Unleaded
Start > San Francisco: $2.35/gallon - Tanked up 8.945 gallons with $21.10
Firebaugh: $2.59/gallon - Tanked up 9.021 gallons with $23.45
Wheeler Ridge: (where am I?) $2.49/gallon - Tanked up 9.407 gallons with $23.51
Coalinga: $2.79/gallon - Tanked up 5.004 gallons with $14.01

Nevertheless, life on the road this past weekend was really about revisiting the magnificence of living in California--to be able to drive along the coast at a moment's notice and pulling over along the edge of the earth--just because we can.

The Mad Squad

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So, I'm listening to "Katusha", an old Russian war song, when suddenly the usual sirens of a firetruck go whizzing down the avenue. . .and then a police, and then another, then another, then 3 on the motorcycles. Unbeknownst to me, outside my window is some sort of an accident that is creating mayhem at the intersection. From my window I can't see what has happened so I step and scope it out. Nothing. A VW Bug (one of those new ones) is frozen in a left-hand turn while other vehicles pull aside to be interviewed by several officers--hand gestures and loud mumbling are all I gather from here. Something serious must have happened but I have no idea--no dents, no scratches, no blood--perhaps, it's a good thing that nothing happened but is it worth blocking off an intersection of an already congested thoroughfare? At the same time, the stopped traffic creates a relieving silence outside my window. Still, people are driving like idiots no matter what the gas prices.