Iskoola Pota

The guru cleared his throat
and watched his subjects:
Some are restless,
and some in trance.
And he made his scratchy voice
a bit louder,
but the noise radiated dominance.
tapped the surface of the desk
of a bored student.
His mouth worked
on a gum he was chewing
covering his mandibles
with a big handkerchief.
She bent down, nodding,
hair dropping,
eyes on paper,
intent in writing.
The sleepy pupil
turned his head to the clock
and raised two of his fingers
for a time out.
And the teacher took his little white device
to write a few questions on the chalkboard
plus some words and instruction.
They complained,
to seatmates.

And one scavenges his bag
for a piece of paper.

They followed.
Silence captured the room
as they answered
the unannounced quiz.

(c) 2003
Vivien Marie Lopez

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Created October 15, 2003, 1:54PM.


I lay inside a dark chamber

A secret place

Where I wait

For a beginning

The moment passed

And a thin flicker of white

Invaded my dungeon


And I can see

The white washed all over me


As if time’s yet to arrive.


I opened my eyes

And saw the world

My petals, lifting slowly

In protection, in beauty.

I faced the sun

And the green ornaments

Adorning the niche

A creature walking in the air

Perched upon my hair

And took my multiples

Then it flew away.

I enjoyed the contemplation

The wind caressing and caressing my body

Beings that visit and visit

Rain showers and baths

When the sun disappeared

Behind the fluffs of white.

For I am a flower in bloom.


(c) 2003

Vivien Marie Lopez

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Three Toasts from The Year 2003

1. Little Emma 

Vivien Marie Lopez

I first met her when I saw her sitting and crying at my favorite spot in our school garden. When I asked why, she told me she was hungry but she didn’t have any money left. Her luck. I was supposed to hang out with my group at the Pizza Galley, but I begged off to see my boyfriend- only to find out that he had basketball practice. So I bought her ice cream, and while we sat together, she told me stuff about herself and instantly we became friends.

She came from the middle school at the other block. She’s only nine years old, quite petite for her age, and she was fun. I never really liked kids, actually, but she’s different. She talked and thought like a grown-up: mature.

Her name was Emma.

The following days we talked together every afternoon, if I’m not with my friends. They thought I was crazy. It was hard picturing out the campus hottie together with a little girl. I told them to say whatever they want. Emma might want my opinion for fashion and dating tips; she might grow up into a lovely chick.

“You don’t understand, Summer,” my boyfriend, Jagger, objected. We were near the basketball court, arguing again.

“No- it’s you who doesn’t understand,” I shot back. “Why would you always act like that? I’m sick of you being jealous.”

“Summer, I don’t want anyone to take advantage of you,” he snapped. He grasped my shoulders with both hands.

I threw my hands up and whisked his hands away. “Take advantage? Are you out of your mind?” My voice cracked a little.

“Maybe I am,” he said bitterly. “And if you don’t want to listen, fine. Go out with Jake. Go with him and let him screw you.” He glared at me and then turned his back. He left without even looking back.

I slapped my forehead and ran my fingers down my hair in surrender. God. I loved Jagger so much, but he’s just nuts in keeping me for himself. He thought he owned me. We have already discussed this a million times before, but now look at us.

I headed for the garden, my sanctuary. I don’t want to go anywhere too noisy. And I needed someone to talk to.

A hand tugged my tank top. “Hey!” I cried, startled. I spun around.

“You look ready to cry,” Emma commented. She crossed her arms.

“You scared me,” I confessed. I noticed she was wearing the shirt I’ve given her for her birthday. She looked really cute.

We settled down the bench. I buried my face into my hands, and for a while we were silent. Finally, I looked up and she said, in a low murmur, “You can share it with me, Summer.”

I straightened up and tucked my hair behind my ears. I let out a long sigh.

“But if you won’t,” she added quickly, “I saw it all, anyway. That guy’s a jerk.”

I chuckled softly at her comment. “Right.” I shifted my position. “I want to cry, Emma. Honestly.”

“Told ‘ya,” she said. “It’ll pass. I’ve seen those situations in those corny movies.” She looked at me, made a face, and smiled.

“I hope so.” I forced a smile back. “But I won’t cry now, thanks to you.”

“I love you, Summer,” she said.

“I love you too, Emma,” I replied. “You’re a real friend.”

“Well, now that you have told me what happened and if you’ll just always tell me how you feel, you don’t have to be sad anymore,” she said.

I did not see Jagger the next day. Who cares?

Well, I did. I just hated to admit it. I missed him, and I wanted so much to see him. Just a glimpse of his damn, mesmerizing face.

My prayer was granted just before I stepped out the classroom at the end of last period.

“Summer Sheldon,” Mr. Farren, our Math teacher, called. “I got something for you. He held out two sheets of paper.

I took them, and saw that it was homework for tomorrow. “But I already got a copy,” I protested.

“No, that’s for Jagger,” he said. “I know you knew him. If you could just give it-”

“Sure,” I agreed immediately. I was about to shout, “Yes!” but it would be embarrassing. “Sure.”

“I’ll give you extra credit,” he offered.

I climbed down my Porsche and drove through Parkside Drive. The long way to Jagger’s. Why? I guess I just wanted to think about what to say when I get there. I don’t want a lousy conversation later. He might still be angry.

Wait- I haven’t told Emma I’ll be away. Gosh. She might be waiting for me the whole afternoon. Where was she, anyway? I haven’t seen her. If I had, I would not have forgotten to tell.

I parked my car a few houses away from Jagger’s. I didn’t want him to know I drove all the way through.

I nervously walked towards his house. My hands were cold. Brr. What if he’ll reject me? No… definitely no. He’s crazy over me. He’s just overreacting.

His parents’ Sedan was nowhere to be found. They probably had a business trip.

I pressed the doorbell and waited. My hands clutched the papers carefully, tightly, that it ached. I pressed again. After several minutes that no one answered, I went in myself.

He wasn’t in the den. Nor in the kitchen or in the pool. I headed upstairs.

The sound of cold water was crisp, absolutely clear. Great. So he was in the shower.

I knocked twice at the bathroom door and got in. The shower curtain was closed. “Hey, Jagger,” I called out. “I brought something. It’s for you. And I have an appointment to keep, so you’d better get out of that shower fast.”


“Come on, Jagger.” I looked at my reflection in the mirror. I looked good, perfectly stunning.

“Jagger…” I called out playfully. He still did not answer.

Playing games, huh? “I know you’re there, Jagger. And if you won’t speak, I’ll open the curtain myself,” I threatened. Still silent. I laughed.

Oh, well. He’s in it now. Typical of Jagger, and we do play a lot. “You won’t say anything?” I said out aloud. “Here I come!”

I pulled the shower curtain apart – and screamed.

A chill shriek escaped my throat.

Jagger was lying on his back. Blood was all over him, the water slowly washing it away. His throat was open. I saw flaps of butchered skin in his chest, his abdomen. He was all cut up. And there was a stump of blood clot and a grayish mass above his head, as if a sharp, heavy object had smashed it.

I gagged. “Oh. Oh God… no.” I wanted to embrace him and get him out of here. But I stepped back, scared. The papers crumpled. Hot tears fell down my cheeks.

Jagger – dead. Oh God. This couldn’t be true. But it was.

I felt dizzy. I felt like throwing up, so I clamped a hand on my mouth.

And that’s when I saw the red paint. Or was it blood? Right there on the wall beside the shower. I saw my name, and it caught my attention. I read the words, slowly, trying to absorb everything: So did you get my point, bastard? I warned you before. I told you not to hurt her. But you did. Summer’s mine. I love her so much. I’ve been having fantasies about her. Sometimes, erotic dreams. I’ve been longing to kiss her the way you did when you made out last time. I’ve been wanting to make her mine. I know I can’t. But you hurt her. Call me a maniac. But I love Summer. She’s hot. She’s mine.

I blinked. I felt so sick. Who had written it? Who?

A loud crash followed. I spun around, shocked.

And I saw my boyfriend’s executor. Little Emma, blood all over her clothes – the ones we shopped together last Christmas – a knife in her hand, her eyes staring menacingly at me.


I am twenty-nine now, but I can’t ever forget that day. The police never believed me; instead, I was the one who went to jail and spent the rest of my adolescent years there, when I should have been falling in love again, skinnydipping with friends, partying, enjoying youth. Instead, I was plagued with nightmares, and the worst of all, I was plagued with her.

I’m out of the jailhouse now, but she never disappeared in my life. She always calls me her “special friend” and that she’s waiting for me.

She would visit me in my dreams, in my jail cell, outside my apartment, just waiting for me to come with her.

And she never grew up. Still nine years old, still with her big brown eyes. But no, I don’t ever think I find her cute, not anymore.

Oh my god, there she is again, outside my window as I am typing this story.

Maybe I should come with her now, just to end. Or I can put a bullet inside my brain.

After all, I’ve told you about me, and most especially about her. You have been warned.

If you see a nine-year-old girl with jet black hair and brown eyes and…..

(c) 2003


2. Short Taxi Ride

Vivien Marie Lopez

Written in class, circa highschool

“You really look great in your outfit, Clara,” Mindy Watson commented. She was the richest kid in our school and the president of a VIP’s-only group, Club H. I was one of the members, one of the Big Persons On Campus.

I was dressed in designer flared jeans and a very very cute camouflage tank top.

Marc Holmstein approached me, holding a pizza. “Your party’s so cool,” he said in his cute macho voice. “And you got an enormous house.” He waved a towel in front of me. “Mind swimming with the jock?” Marc actually plays football in our school and his team had won a lot.

“No, thanks.” I adjusted my top. I gave him a flirtatious smile. “The pool’s… crowded.” I looked at our family’s Olympic-size, leaf-shaped pool. Three guys were tossing some Baby Ruth bars around. The Baby Ruths sank down the pool as soon as they hit the water. Then the guys all dived in, trying to get the Baby Ruths back.

“So… I’d better go get some Cokes,” Marc said as he headed for the buffet table. “And, oh, by the way, I want a really hot date next time,” he called over his shoulder. “Invite me, okay?”

I just grinned. Suddenly someone kissed my cheek.

“Hey!” I cried out, startled.

“Nice going, Clara,” my boyfriend Gary McCullough whispered.

I gave him a playful shove. “You pig!” I teased.

He put his arms around my waist and drew me close to him. I placed my hands behind his neck. We kissed. A long, sweet, lingering kiss. “I love you Clara,” he said sheepishly when we finished.

He slowly stroked my hair. I was so lucky to have Gary. Most of the girls have major crushes on him, dying to go out with him. But of course, he’s already taken… by me.

I rested my cheek on his broad chest. I could really feel his warmth, his love… that he really cares for me…

“Claridad!” A voice boomed. “Nanu ka nga timbang ka, gadamgo ka naman! Ga tinamaran ka? Abi panghugas na to plato kay damo ka pa di lalabhan! Si Jessa late na sa school wala mo pa naplantsa iya uniform!” (What kind of a housemaid are you? you’re daydreaming again. are you being lazy? go wash the dishes now, you still got a lot of laundry to do. Jessa’s late in school and you haven’t ironed out her clothes yet!)

Ay teh… guba na man damgo ko. “Oo ma’am, ra na.” (omfg, my daydreaming’s been disturbed again. “yes ma’am, i’m here.”

Kag nagdali-dali man ko ya hukas sang akon hairdo-hairdo kag uba sang bag-o nga t-shirt ni Jessa nga ginhimo ko costume-costume. (And I hurriedly took off my hairdo and Jessa’s new shirt that I used as costume.)

(c) 2003


3. The Kinder Wicked

Vivien Marie Lopez

I whispered my goodbyes finally
Don’t bother to drive, I’ll get my keys.
(Will you get yours and follow me?)
I know my taillights will give you clues
To where I’ll go when I don’t need you
(That’s what I said, will you stay true?)
And maybe I’m driving with my death
You know the shit and all my secrets
(Will they know what I’ve done or you’ll keep them?)

I won’t stand these games anymore

Will it cost you scars if I’ll be gone?
Will you be honest ’bout having fun?
(I hate it when your friends ask if I gave you some)
I thought I’m safe ’cause I played then too
You got what it takes to make me lose.
(Will you tell them that I’m crazy for you?)
I just don’t know if I can make it
Close to safety intact and in one piece.
(You got my dad’s cell number on your fridge).

And you told me “So far, you’re my best girlfriend.”
Did I get what is stealth or what is honest?
There are a million things I could rather do than “I can be your worst ex.”
Don’t tell me you’ll gamble love, I know I’m the bet.

I saw your phone in your hand and my heart’s in flames.
(I know you’ll wash your hands and point someone else to blame)
I started the engine and you just smoked out at the back of your car
(Why won’t I just drive fast into the far?)
You know i’m trying too hard.
You know YOU’RE trying too hard.

(c) 2003

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Fang Shui

 And I saw him there. He was trying to get away from me after he saw that I didn’t want him to touch me. He was partially hidden in the blue shadows, camouflaged by his dark clothes… but he can never fully hide himself. And I would never forgive him for entering my territory. For discovering my secrets. For capturing me in the act by a camera. I hate people who are like that. People who are too curious about what happens around them. I heard it’s for a documentary, a film showing of how I live. Fuck you. I felt intruded. he has no respect for me. And I must kill him.

     A must. Not really. I wanted to, that’s basically it. For discovering what he knows now, he would be my next victim. He chose a time that he wouldn’t like it at all. The time when I was hungry for flesh and thirsty for blood. Ah. Just the thought of it makes me crave for more.

     I lurked behind him like a murderer. Like a murderer, you say? I am a murderer but it’s by nature, because nature has a way to make things amoral and justified. But I am unlike the others. I eat my victims. I love the taste of viscera and blood and human flesh and blood and bones and blood.

     I saw him turn sideways, panicking.

    This would make this all easy. 

    I was inches before him. Then, in a flash, I grabbed him by the neck. He opened his mouth in a silent scream. His face was distorted, terrified. I wondered how does that feel, for I am with a cold heart, for what I only feel are instinctual cravings and my hostile tendencies. 

    I shook him and shook him. His body convulsed, then went limp. Trick or treat.

   I bit off a huge chuck of skin. He struggled, convulsing again, and the sour tang of red juice floated in my mouth. Then I started to devour him inside out. His guts spilled out. I ripped his veins and crushed his precious organs so I could get the juicy parts. I feasted on his body, chewed carefully.

    Then just as quick as it all started, he was no more but a dismembered body. Headless, his insides scraped off. I left it alone for the small fries to eat, and swam away.

     Small fry. Big fry. Big fish. 

     Satisfied, I went back to my own colony, propelled my fins home, to belong with the other killers, the other sharks.

(c) 2002

Vivien Marie A. Lopez

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Two-Face: Vest of the Soul (Acrostic poems)

Author’s Note: A fourteen-year-old’s poetry for the self, in two versions. 

Vest of the Soul Pt. I 

Idly watching bended dreams

Vagabonds of life’s endless virtual realms

I have to discover wisdom yet

Eager eye and willing ear, pillows and sunrises and sunsets – and

Neither wealds nor walls shall stop myself.

Mellow emotions flood a dreamy state

A yacht, lingering West while the sea nymphs wait

Roaming beneath clouds that sculpted skies

Indefatigable, strong, Hercules’ spies:

Enchantment uncovered through opened eyes.

Lullabies of childhood memories cradled, close

On a silent feedback only time itself has told

Perpetual hope and a prayer to the holy ghost

End angst, let the fallen heroes rise from the past

Zephyr of moments that shall tell my story fast.

(March 4, 2002)


Vest of the Soul Pt. II 

Ink of ire to write

Veiled secrets of an unpredictable life

Ill-fated dreams sought only once

Eternal hope sustained by repeated chants

Naked and nesting in open palms.

Mirror of a sinful soul

Am I who I am in this unholy role

Rogue routes and uncharted territories, crossed

In friends and foes and betrayal and paradise lost

Evenings three of confused, discouraged no-no’s. 

Lord, I seek for a proof of your validity.

Odes and ballads and epics, all picturesque and all mythology.

Pleas to blue-white clouds reminiscent of a pre-molded sky

Endow me this gift that only in the heart will it live, sleep and die

Zealous serenity, art of chaos, art of love, essence of life. 

(March 11, 2002)


(c) 2002 Vivien Marie Lopez

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Three Little Pigs

Another threesome from the early 2000’s. Short crap.

Wilson (c) 2004 

Written for the author’s seatmate. 

There’s this boy whose wealth is a blue envelope

So that his confidence can cope

And the girl beside him wrote in untrue nostalgia

This stupid, idiotic, and eccentric stanza.

Haiku (c) 2001

I watched the swallowed moon that night

Burying my feet into the sand.

Incomplete Whatsit (c) 2001

I suspect. I doubt. My hands were cold from the blood I had taken from him: he, who had purposely laid down his life for my unnecessary webs of incompletion. I beg thee to give me this serenity: let me suffer. I had forsaken the love destined for me, and because of this, I must dwell in this hot and painful broil inside my chest. Where hast my love been?

I had been selfish, thinking that i will still have the being who will cast the infinite light of love upon my own darkness.

Vivien Marie Lopez
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No Salvacion

Something I wrote when I was 12 or 13 and losing my religion.


I’m no angel of the heavens high

Angels with wings of silvery white;

Feathers, of identity that glorify

Glory that lives in strength and might.

I don’t belong in the heavens above.

What is heaven, sinking into pillows of neon light

Possession of cherubs and seraphs

As stars, Polarises of the night.

I’m here, in a world of the damned.

A fractured shield demons trespass

Stupid, unlofty


Here upon evil dwell

Of mortals, not eternal.

When darkness starts to blacken the endless sea

And a crow starts to sing

A feather on the ground, I wish to see.

We’re only humans, no such wings.

(c) 2001

Vivien Marie Lopez

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