A poetic journey through my mind

Archive for July, 2013

What U Said

Didn’t you hear what we just said?
We don’t care, we’re in your head,
We’d care less if you were dead!
Didn’t you hear what you just said??

What exactly did you think you’d find?
A look into your twisted mind?
There’s just a coffin, satin-lined.
What exactly did you think you’d find?

Didn’t you hear what you just said?
Twisted thoughts dancing through your head?
just give up and go to bed,
you’ll be quiet, once you’re dead.

My Sister

I want to take this opportunity to formally state how much I appreciate and am grateful for the services provided to me by my sister during my week-long bout with food poisoning a little while ago.  The things she did went above and beyond what anyone could expect from even family, let alone family that doesn’t even like you.  She will most likely assume that this is sarcasm, but I would like to assure you it is not.  I would most likely have been in more severe condition than I was, were it not for her care.  

Of course I’m out of my mind…it’s dark and scary in there!

Jekyll and Hyde, is this my good side,
or is it the one I’ve got left?
Far from the light, deep in the night,
robbery, murder, and theft.

Hide in the darkness, Hyde in the darkness,
dark eyes flash over wicked grin,
flash of knife and drip of blood,
then fade to green again.

Awake in an alley, dirty and spent,
a hangover someone else feels,
or maybe a bed, all bloody and red,
things the cruel light reveals.

Hide in the darkness, Hyde in the darkness,
dark eyes flash over wicked grin,
flash of knife and drip of blood,
then fade to green again.

Flashes of memory, bits of control,
are all he allows you to see,
making you wonder, not for the first time,
are you in control, or is he?

Strange Fruit

(I have -no- idea where this one came from…I love the song, but I wasn’t thinking of it, wasn’t thinking of anything that would lead to this…just one that was sitting back there wherever poems come from, and decided to come out, I guess.  *shrugs*)



What strange fruit is this, back in the woods,
hung in the trees by ghosts in white hoods,
fruit raised in hate, in sorrow and fear,
but draw close, my children, and a story you’ll hear.

A story of love, of pride and of strength,
a historical tale of unmeasurable length,
of warriors and tricksters and those who would wait,
to tell the tale, in the midst of the hate.

We tell the tale, to big and to small,
to rekindle the fire in the hearts of them all,
to outshine the fires of hate, and of death,
a fire that burns from the first to last breath.

So hark to the tale, and hold it inside,
the answers you seek, the tale will provide,
dream of the day when all will be free,
and no more will strange fruit hang from the tree.

A Lifetime

In one of Neil Gaiman’s “Sandman” comics, I believe it was in Brief Lives, featuring his creations, the Endless, there is a story that I think of right now. It talks about people, normal people, who live longer lives than other people, but they just don’t tell anyone. They just live their lives, glad to have them. One of these, I think his name is Bernie, lives as a “normal” accountant or something…even though he can remember the smell of wet mammoth fur, and hear the sound of the hunt.
In this world, Death is one of the Endless, a family of brothers and sisters who represent/are the basic elements of life. In no particular order: Dream, Destiny, Destruction, Desire, Despair, Death, and the youngest and my personal favorite, Delirium. Death, in Gaimans world, is a beautiful young girl with a taste for gothic clothing (or are the goths dressing as her?) and a gentle and kind of quirky attitude and behavior.
In the story, when Bernie-the-accountant finally dies, from a wall falling on him, Death comes for him, and he looks at her, confused and frustrated. “Is that it? Is that all I get?” Death looks at him and smiles. “You got what everyone gets…you got a lifetime.” For some reason, that comforts me, right now. Not sure why, but it keeps coming up, and I always smile, which right now is rare…so thank you, Mr. Gaiman.


Intimidate? Really?

(Edit:  I truly apologize to anyone who was subjected to that “unidentifed individual”s rant this morning.  It took me a bit to get past the hurt and once again, privacy invasion…and remember that I have control over my own comment section.  So, problem solved, and my last bastion of privacy and self-expression defended.  *sighs*  On the bright side, I went from 6 vph (views per hour) to 21, so in the long run, she actually did me a favor!  *g*)


I’ve been told that I intimidate people. My 8 yr. old nephew is so afraid of me that his psychiatrist has forbidden him to be around me. What?? I want to be a 5yr. old, or a little pup or kitten….no matter what I do, in situations where my body can’t be seen, I get called cute, adorable, etc. How does that intimidate?

Easy. Because out here, I weigh over 300 lbs., and my family, 4 step-siblings, inherited my dads slight, short, size. I was 3 months old when my mom married my father. My real father? Well, there are three or four choices, but the one that is the most logical, both from ethnic similarities and from time and availability options, is pure Hawaiian. So, my size is genetically logical, and since I helped nature along at the age of 14 or so after a particularly bad thing happened…

So…now I intimidate people. Like I needed another reason for physical people to dislike me. I mean, I thought disgust, I thought disdain, I thought simple amplitude resentment…(I understand that one…two seats on the bus, too big for amusement park rides, etc.) But I am so…timid. I’m -very- afraid of authority figures…and to me, that means everyone down to the cashier at the checkout window…anyone…well, normal. Anyone who has been able to be normal long enough to have a real job, in a real place, has so much more real life, so much power over the world, that I am petrified of dealing with them. And don’t get me started on anyone who’s had children…the power there…*shudders*

If it’s my size…how do I stop intimidating people? Never go around anyone? Stay locked in my windowless room, tapping away at my real world? I don’t know what to do. I can’t stand the thought that my physical presence -scares- people. That people are -afraid- of me. I’ve never dealt with that…ever.

My family fought…I mean physically fought…a lot. My dad has what I like to call “Little Man Syndrome” or LMS for short. This generally reveals itself in overdoing of substances…in my dad’s case alcohol and now cigarets…and a horrendous temper. Unfortunately, my step-siblings inherited that rage, and they like to express it…a lot. Now that we’re older (43 – 32?) it tends to come out more in words than fists, but when we were younger…whew. Not a window, screen, wall or door was safe from the kicking squalling ball of fury that was my siblings and I (in absence of parents, obviously).

But although they were so much “smaller” than I, and skinny to my already burgeoning thick…they beat the crap out of me, because I was afraid to hurt someone. I feel it, whenever I hurt someone. You know that stupid saying about “This is going to hurt me more than you.”? Well, unfortunately, for me, it’s true. And so now…I’m hearing that I scare people. I’m so confused…. *sighs*

new stuff

Just in case the blog has hidden them from view, I wanted to let people know that there are two posts beneath the lyrics one.  One fairly decent new poem, and the second part of the fan-tribute to Stephen Kings Firestarter that I wrote previously.  Hopefully you all can find them, and the blog hasn’t eaten them for lunch.  😉


Lyrics…Julia Ecklars “Daddy’s Little Girl/Firestarter”

As promised, here are the lyrics to one of my favorite filk/fan songs by one of my favorite singers, Julia Ecklar.  Her things can be hard to find, but well worth the search. Enjoy!

Daddy’s Little Girl
grew up one night last Fall,
when mommy died beneath the kitchen stairs
and now they cry in anger
’cause we won’t come when they call
and they won’t let us find peace anywhere
oh, but if they ever hold us,
I fear what I might hurl
for though they’ve never told us
Daddy’s girl can burn the world

fire fire fire
from the baby in the pen
fire fire fire
is the lady’s only friend
and if the dare the darkness
and try to hem us in
daddy’s little girl
forgets the past
they’ll find their firestarter’s
grown up fast

Stallions running madly
with manes and tails aflame
pounding through my dreams
a nightmare herd
just running always running
not outdistancing the pain
but daddy’s girl could end it
in a word
but I never want to hurt them
for I know that would be bad
but they push and hate and scare us
they don’t know all I have…

I have fire fire fire
to bring monsters in the night
oh, fire fire fire
burns my life in hellish light
burning hands and burning hair
must I burn all I see
fury and the fire are close friends
and the firestarting nightmare
never ends

So a year is spent inside
learning how to wield a burn
light your match
before your eyes could see
but now something’s going wrong
and we’re trapped around each turn
locked within a cell without a key
oh there’s nowhere left to run to
and there’s nowhere left to turn
and there’s nothing left to run for,
but there’s something left to burn!

Oh, fire fire fire
warms the willow trees at night
Oh, fire fire fire
will make everything all right
destroy my life and family
as if you all were gods
but you taught daddy’s girl
that game, you fools
and firestarters don’t play
by the rules.


Charlie (Firestarter tribute, part 2)

I know it’s been a while, but I had a bug to work on some more of my little tribute to Stephen Kings Firestarter, one of my favorite books -and- movies of all time. Definitely worth watching/reading.  Also, if anyone has the time, look up a song by Julia Ecklar, called “Daddy’s Little Girl”…it’s pretty hard to find, but has an awesome take on the story as well. (Edit…don’t you just adore the internet?  Follow the link above to hear the song on Youtube, or just wait for my next post, which will be the lyrics.  Yay, internets!)

Charlie noticed her father as he left the store, frowning as he stumbled, leaning against the sliding door a moment to catch his balance. Leaving the creaking sails and shouting voices of fantasy behind, she moved to open the passenger door.
Looking away from the brightly lit store a moment, she didn’t notice her father drop the bags in his hands and begin a stumbling, panicked run toward the car. “Charlie! Get back! Get back in the car, lock the doors! Now!”

As she turned toward him, quick as lightning it seemed, a hand landed on her shoulder. Her mind registered the distinctive ring, and the pattern of scars, just as she frantically pulled away and slammed the door on the arm attached to the hand.
A hoarse exclamation came from the owner of said arm. It was quickly followed by another as she opened the door just a bit and brought it in again, a bit harder. Her mind was so focused that she barely reacted to the “THUMP” on the drivers side door, merely glancing in that direction then back. As the arm was finally withdrawn with a curse, she quickly slammed and locked the door, only then turning to the other door of the sedan.

Looking at the door, all she could see was the back of her fathers blue work-shirt, pressed against the window, and she stopped, torn between her fathers last command and the current reality.

Outside the door, he struggled with the large dark-skinned man, his exhausted state and mental fatigue making the job difficult, if not impossible. His head and body both screamed with pain, but with a groan, he took a deep breath, and…”reached”…at the man. He shoved directly at his opponents mind, straight for the pain centers, a portion of his talent he’d sworn never again to use…but for the sake of Charlie, for his little girl…

With a scream, the big man snatched his hands away, backing away from Paul at a speed that could almost be mistaken for a scramble, eyes wide. With a heartfelt groan, Paul scrabbled behind him, reaching for the door handle just as Charlie slammed it open.

Falling into the front seat, he barely noticed that the car was already running, or the other large man attempting to break the passenger-side window. Mind on auto, he pushed down on the accelerator, maneuvered his way through the maze of trucks, and out onto the dark highway again before allowing the tears of pain to leak from his eyes.

Charlie, meanwhile, watched the scene unfold behind her. Watched the man with the ring frantically attempt to get his partner to stand from where he crouched. He pulled, pushed, and finally kicked at the other man before giving up and pulling what looked like a cell-phone out of his pocket.

Once they were on the open road once again, and her eyes had readjusted to the darkness of the car, Charlie looked at her father, tears of her own streaming from her beautiful blue eyes. “I’m sorry, daddy…I’m so, so sorry…”

Startled, he glanced over at her, then took one arm from the wheel long enough to pull her shaking body against his. Feeling her tears wet his shirt, he took a deep breath to clear his mind before speaking. “Sorry? For what, baby? None of this is your fault…I promise. And you know I’ll never lie to you…don’t you?”

Sniffing, hard, she spoke into his shirt, her words muffled but the pain in them still clear. “But, daddy…you -know- what I mean. You know. If I hadn’t done…the bad thing…the bad men would never have found us. The…what happened…the thing…would never have happened! It -is- my fault, it is!” Her sobs overtook her words, and wordless himself, he simply held her tightly against him as they continued their seemingly endless escape into the night.

No-when and Never-been

They say “stuck in the 80’s”, “lost in the 60’s”,
“Generation Me-my-x-y-z”…
As if they’re all places, things you can go to,
but then, where does that leave me?

My “style” is non-existent, my “mojo” even more so,
and people look at me as if my brain was in my torso.
I’ve never bred, I never will, and to some, that makes me less,
what it means to me, they’ll never know or ever guess.
My age is vague, like shifting smoke, it changes with every breath,
and so it will, within my will, until destiny or death.
My heart is words, my mind is song, the rhyme that rules the world,
and yet my voice is never heard, and cannot be unfurled.

I live in my spaces, my in-between faces,
a liminal creature, time-free,
between no-when and never-been, that’s where
you’ll find what’s me.

Blog question

Here’s one of those annoying “asking for an opinion” entries…but I can’t help it, I need to know.  First off, can everyone see (except for my new followers, hi guys!!) the blog change?  Secondly…do people like it?  I’ve noticed that most of the writers blogs I follow tend to the “blank white” or “white background on color” schemes.  Would y’all prefer that sort of thing, or is this ok?  Any opinion will be welcomed…*hugs*


Listening to the distant fireworks tonight, I thought about the fact that in some places, some countries, those might be frightening sounds. Sounds of war, or at least confusion or trouble. Whereas here, for me at least, they make me smile. Not really for any patriotic reason, but for the memories. Memories of gathering blankets and picnic food, of packing into cars or if you were lucky, walking, to get to the “best” view. Maybe it was big sponsored show, or a smaller city-run show, or even, if you could find a good height, the whole thing spread out in front of you. Waiting for dark, running in the dusk, kids tied to parents by invisible strings of excitement and anticipation; is it dark enough yet? are they starting? when-when-when?? Then somehow knowing it was time, somehow sensing the migration, everyone running through the dark to curl up next to a parent or sibling, maybe snag that last piece of lunch, all eyes to the sky. The time between that first waiting and the first small, far-off “poomph” was an eternity…but once it started, it didn’t stop. Stars and wheels, showers and fountains, balls that fell to flowers that fell to sparks…and all the while the noise. Half bang, half boom, half the whisper-roar of the crowd, squeal of small kids and yell of larger, startled but trying to pass it off as excitement. Parents/adults laughing and watching and waiting, trying to guess the next set…is that the last one? Is that? Wow, that -must- have been the last, they can’t top -that-…but they always did, until the end. Until the sky was alight with stars, booms and bangs and thumps coming so fast there was no differentiating them, just one tremendous roar of noise and light and the being on the ground, all hearts beating in time with the lights, feeling the explosions on your skin. Then it was done, just a few sad sparks falling from the heights, kids refusing to leave until the very last star winked out, then bundling sleepily into cars, or carried home, tired parents listening to a replay of every little bang or boom, and you were separate…but for a while, there, you were one animal…one being…one child, watching in wonder and awe as the stars danced, and fell, for you.