Thursday, January 31, 2013

Throwback Thursday: A List Poem



Jobs of Key West (past and present)

            A marine biologist that swims with yellow-blotched turtles, an artisan of thick Cuban cigars, a three-time winner of the Ernest Hemingway lookalike contest at Sloppy Joe’s (that also feeds the six-toed cats cans of tuna on the side), a writer looking for a new muse and  finding it in the form of fuchsia corals, the sunset and waves, in slices of Key lime pie and the pretty girls with Hibiscus in their hair, a local band that only knows the chords to one song (Jimmy Buffett’s Margaretville), a fisherman that catches everything from pink shrimp, whiskered lobster, mahi mahi, mangrove snapper, kingfish, red grouper, and shark, and makes trade with a local restaurant for bottomless shots of Bahamian rum, a scuffed-up  railroad worker (that tells the exotic ladies of the night that he’s the real eighth wonder of the world, the real steamy locomotive, not Flagler’s toy train), a drunken bum that falls asleep with the Atlantic wetting his toes and awakes with crab bites bruises that he thinks are love marks, an on-foot only tour guide that stops in front of Elizabeth Bishop’s house on White Street everyday and recites, “Florida—the state with the prettiest name, the state that floats in brackish water…”

-Amelia Badri

Tuesday, January 29, 2013

New work or No Work?

I started this blog to get myself back into writing, and at least post new work once a week (every Tuesday). I have yet to write anything. So, I owe myself and this blog 2 new pieces. To be continued...

Monday, January 28, 2013

Lazy Days

Nothing like a beach day in the middle of Miami winter.

Thursday, January 24, 2013

Throwback Thursday: A Patoum



Purple Hydrangeas


Her hand is cold and wet from holding his drink for so long.
The smell of rum and Coke normally bothers her but the light watering into the room distracts her.
She wants to say something to him about how pretty the purple hydrangeas grow this time of year.
She reads his face carefully as he scrunches up his nose, struggling to knot his black tie.

The smell of rum and Coke normally bothers her but the light watering into the room distracts her.
She knows for certain not to mention the flowers; it would only lead to an argument.
She reads his face carefully as he scrunches up his nose, struggling to knot his black tie.
He always tells her not to wear purple around him; it’s a color of death in his family.


She knows for certain not to mention the flowers; it would only lead to an argument.
It’s her favorite color; it’s also her only salvation from his controlling ways.
He always tells her not to wear purple around him; it’s a color of death in his family.
She read in Reader’s Digest that purple, like a hue of lavender, gives off an aura of calm.


It’s her favorite color; it’s also her only salvation from his controlling ways.
In secret, she wears a shade of purple or a shade close enough to it, to rebel against him.
She read in Reader’s Digest that purple, like a hue of lavender, gives off an aura of calm.
She wears a bra with little polka dots of it here and there, a charm bracelet with a tiny heart of amethyst.


In secret, she wears a shade of purple or a shade close enough to it, to rebel against him.
He turns to her and tells her “that’s a nice dress, you look good in red”, and leaves the room.
She wears a bra with little polka dots of it here and there, a charm bracelet with a tiny heart of amethyst.
The near empty nail polish bottle hidden in the back of the drawer is like her soothing friend.


He turns to her and tells her “that’s a nice dress, you look good in red” and leaves the room.
She puts one leg up at a time on the dresser, painting her toenails as if it’s some sort of military tactic.
The near empty nail polish bottle hidden in the back of the drawer is like her soothing friend.
She admires the purple sheen on her toes, quickly pulls dark stockings over her legs and joins him outside.

 
She puts one leg up at a time on the dresser, painting her toenails as if it’s some sort of military tactic.
She wants to say something to him about how pretty the purple hydrangeas grow this time of year.
She admires the purple sheen on her toes, quickly pulls dark stockings over her legs and joins him outside.
Her hand is cold and wet from holding his drink for so lon
g.

-Amelia Badri

Tuesday, January 22, 2013

New Work Tuesday

...will have to be completed tomorrow because I'm sick.

Thursday, January 17, 2013

Throwback Thursday: A Movie Inspired Poem



Grandma’s Address Book

She likes the black and white Bollywood movies
with the actresses that have faces as round as clocks,
the ones with big eyes rimmed with dark liner
set off with small red dots
on their foreheads and thick braids to their waist
that toss back and forth when they walk.

She likes to imitate the movements of the dancers,
especially when she’s wearing a skirt or a dress
that flaps. She’ll spin in slow circles and twist her hands
as if she were screwing a light bulb, or picking watercress,
moving to the movie’s flute-and-drum-pulsing-songs
until she has to lie down, panting, and out of breath.

She likes to sit on the couch with a knife and bowl
of plantain, carelessly chopped into strips,
enthralled by the screen’s company and console.
Sometimes she pretends she’s the pretty, young girl that runs
shyly away from her handsome lover, until he grabs hold
of her arm, and walks with her into the sunflower field.

She likes to see the same ones over, and over, and over again
until she can watch them without the subtitles and note
the words of her favorite phrases and the names of characters and pen
them onto the blank lines of her address book,
possible names to give to her unborn grandchildren
and the ducks she feeds in the backyard.


-Amelia Badri