A poetic journey through my mind

Green mouse ice cream!

Wired

crossed wires bind around my throat, beneath my skin, within my mind.
wires down which angels float, and all the hells unwind.
words are lost within the screams of countless teeming hordes,
instead of lullabies I hear the clash of fiendish swords.
rush of blood inside my veins, the whir of ancient clockwork,
the soundtrack to my failing life, by some demonic store-clerk.
blood red tears, cliche at best, are pouring down my cheeks,
evidence of grinding gears, subconsequential leaks.
slipping chains and clashing cogs and wires tangled always,
I hear the whine of bodys end, down all the future pathways.


A Woman of the Word

Waiting for the Kingdom, living for the now,
Finding comfort and guidance in His holy word,
Faith in Him, in community, in family and friends,
A shining example of those who Witness, making sure His name is heard.

Saplings  grown to mighty trees,
Loving sons of a loving mother,
Phone calls, visits, love so strong,
A resilient cord, from mother to brother to brother.

Living in this world, preparing for the next,
A lifetime of community, a network of friends,
Family and the word, song and story,
Sharing the news of the days when joy will never end.

(For Miss Annette Marcus, with love and thanks for sharing so many things…so much more than just a roommate, I hope I can call you a friend.)


Sky, falling

I remember the scratch of the wall at my back and my cheek when I woke up. The cool soft of its solid made me smile.

Sky bits decorated my warm paper cloak, melding faces and words, facts and lies, all into one soft shell that hugged me tight.

The sky fell and fell and fell, a tympani of pain in jungle green and neon blue. I looked for her, and the grin crawled onto my face with spider toes.

She crouched over the pond that feet had made on the step, squeezing tiny fish from the colors in her hair.

Each little brightness grew as it fell toward the pond, and landed with a splish of color and sound, before sprouting teeny fragile wings and flying away into the falling sky.

She wasn’t smiling. She never smiled. But her two-tone blue and green eyes twinkled like jewels as she followed each of her creations up and up and up.

She glanced at me, and nodded, as her dirty fingers worked another once-bright neon rainbow plait of hair, releasing another spark of color to its journey.

“They’re only going back…” She said. “Soon you will too.” She looked away, but a crooked smile twitched her lips, for just a moment.

Her voice knife rasped through my brain, and I shivered, and coughed. “Oh.” I said, and watched until the last scrap of color faded into sky.


Box

Mind melter,

idiot shelter,

bane of my existence,

Hold them back,

keep them numb,

don’t let them see the distance.

Trickle trash into their heads,

filled from ear to ear,

Shake them and no rattle sounds,

it’s hardened through the years.


Pointless

Not wanted, dead or alive.

What do I do, now that I’ve lost the point?

So many heroes in the world, 

So many villains,

So many many many extras, 

background noise in the Big Picture 

that so few can afford to see.

And me. 

Sir Not Appearing In This Picture.  

The Nun of the Above.  

The Maiden China, breakable, do not fold,

swindle or mutilate.

Was there ever a point?  

If so, what was it pointing to?

And why?

Points are sharp.  

Ugly things that rip and tear.

Off the edge of the map, 

deep in Here There Be Dragons land.

How do we know that the Devil That We Know

is better?  

Who says? 

Maybe we should all get The Point.

Just dive off the Cliffs, 

and the Clints, 

and the cliches, 

and impale ourselves on 

someone else’s Points of Reference.

What is The Point of Order, anyway?  Who decides?

Never Mind.  

It’s a bad idea.  

It leads to thinking.

I think, therefore I thwim.

Keep your head above water.

Head and shoulders above the rest. 

Never rest.

It’s another bad idea.

Sleep is for the week.

And we are the weakened.

The ragged jagged remnants of 

the once discrete Points of View.

All poured and stirred in the Melting Pot.

Melted, melded, gelded, shorn.

Doesn’t it feel better, 

now that all that heavy thinking is gone?

Just rock away in the Cradle of Humanity, 

and babies, you can sleep while I drive.


Ripper (sample of wip)

(This is just a bit of a story I’m  working on, thought I’d throw it up here and see if anyone thinks it’s worth keeping.  ;p)

“…what I’m looking for…” The phrase drifts, a scrap on the wind, the ancient melody almost completely obscured by the whine of ‘Dogs antique gennies grumbling to life. “Yo,’Dog! You seen Tea?” Seadog turns his bullet-eyed glare from the grease-covered hulk in front of him, making damn sure I feel the sting before he speaks. “No.” Convo over, he turns the gaze back to the recalcitrant metal, which I swear seems to wriggle with shame before its heat. “Umm..right. Well, uh, if you do..” An impatient grunt is my only answer, which is anyway better than I expected.
‘Dogs moniker comes from his temper, rather than any oceanic experience… he’s Seadog cause he likes to jump salty at any time…so I know better than to expect any further clarification. “Thanks!” Dodging the random machine part that flies in my direction, I take off again through the yard, eyes peeled for my sister-bae. “Tea! Hey, Teabag! Wake up, damnit! We gotta get stripped, it’s fight night!” An irritated grunt from behind a pile of scrap heralds the appearance of a scarecrow-gurl…hay hair sticking out from under a grease mottled cap, shaking black-nailed (grime, not paint) hands shading red rimmed blue eyes in a streaked white face. The voice, when it comes, matches the affect. “Ahh, crom. Seriously? You’re not pulling one?”
I groan. “Tea…man…tell me you didn’t go partying the night before a fight…” The scarecrow shakes her head…although the face she pulls then says she regrets it. “I didn’t go partying the night before a fight…it was two nights ago.” She looks up at the sky as if she might spot a calendar up there somewheres, and grimaces. “…I think.”


Ouch

Untreated chronic pain causes depression, exhaustion, anxiety, irritability, and general whinging.  Just saying.  😦


Songline (for VisDare)

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I can still feel his warm strength as we curled together on
the couch that morning. “You know I have to go, right? It’ll only be six months. Not long. And when I get back, we’ll get married. Promise.”

I turn my head to smile up at him. “My spaceman.” He grins, and his arms
tighten around me. “I just can’t believe I got in! In my last year!’

I keep the smile on my face as best I can, until
the door closes behind him, and he’s gone.

I still dream the countdown. The numbers harsh in my ears, behind my
tightly closed eyelids. If I’m lucky, I wake before zero. I didn’t even
watch him go.

My ancestors followed the songlines, and found home. So I play. I play
a songline for him. And one day he will hear it, and hold on…and I
will lead him home.

(This is written for Angela Goff’s weekly Visual Dare prompt, my first offering, hope it works. I also wrote a longer piece, just to get the story straight in my head…I think it stands alone, and I’m going to put it here (in another post) in case anyone wants to see. ;p)


Enough Is Enough ~ A Semi-Rant

Mrr. Sing it, sister!

joannebest

writer1

I’ve run out of excuses.
Yeah, I know, legitimate or not, excuses are just that, excuses. And they’re getting me nowhere fast.
I mean really, I’m resorting to clichés on top of it all. What’s up with that?

I am like the moon.

Not only do I go through phases but I’m also rather loony on occasion. See previous moon comparison, I’m a damn Cancer with an emotional rollercoaster attached to my feet and the very few who know me well enough know I hate the whole moon comparison. It’s a joke actually, only not so much with the funny these days.
I’m scatterbrained beyond belief lately and my brain has more holes in it than Alpine Lace Swiss Cheese. You know, the really tiny holes that lets the mustard seep out onto the bread making it soggy.

My brain is soggy.

My phone rings on an average day anywhere…

View original post 501 more words


#Hermitbookclub

Hmm. Could be fun… 😉


A Silly for AFP

A Doll is a Doll, no matter how small,
or a Bride, no matter how tall,
and a sweet british dude
who knows how to be rude,
is the very best Thing of all!


Safe

Never write a poem in chalk,

or scribe it in the sand, 

Nor carve it deep into a stone,

Or scribble in your hand.

Never tie a poem down,

With paper and scratching pen,

Or imprison it in bits and bytes,

To never fly free again.

Paint your poem on my heart,

In word and tear and sigh,

And it will fly forever there,

Beneath the endless sky.


Nailed It

http://xkcd.com/334/


Reply

Little sister, small and fair,
why ask for knowledge you will rue?
But, for the Oaths that we did swear,
three times three I’ll answer you.

One for Crow boys, tall and dear,
perched atop a garden wall,
I heard them laughing and crept near,
I heard his lies…I heard it all.

Little sister, small and fair,
why ask for knowledge you will rue?
But, for the Oaths that we did swear,
three times three I’ll answer you.

Second for the power that glows
within a tattered crow-black skin,
the skin our faithless crow boy chose
to keep his crow-shape safe within.

Little sister, small and fair,
why ask for knowledge you will rue?
But, for the Oaths that we did swear,
three times three I’ll answer you.

I’ve clipped his wings, no more he’ll fly,
the power mine now, strong and new,
and from my hand he will not die…
but only for our Oaths so true.

Little sister, small and fair,
why ask for knowledge you will rue?
But, for the Oaths that we did swear,
three times three I’ll answer you.


The Question

pooka girl, changeling girl,
foxes eyes, red mane acurl,
tell me, tell me, tell me true,
three times three I ask of you.

First is for the love we share,
his midnight eyes and crow-black hair,
his handsome face so fine and fair,
where have you taken him, fox-girl, where?

pooka girl, changeling girl,
foxes eyes, red mane acurl,
tell me, tell me, tell me true,
three times three I ask of you.

The second is for magic, deep,
that through our veins does rise and leap,
a power bought with price so steep
I feel it cry out, in my sleep.

pooka girl, changeling girl,
foxes eyes, red mane acurl,
tell me, tell me, tell me true,
three times three I ask of you.

The third time is for loyalty,
for oaths by moon and star and tree,
oaths of blood I shed for thee,
I ask you, sister, three times three.


Rage (sligt trigger warning,, contains “bad” words…oh, and aso blood. lots blood. )

Do you want to reveal my true personality,

Reach down inside and switch on the duality,

Run screaming in fear from the horrid reality?

See the dog bitch that hides in my insanity,

Face down in the dirt cause she don’t got no vanity,

Covered with blood cause she lost her humanity.

Tearing her chest with her blood covered fingers,

To tear out the heart where the memory lingers,

Till they shut her down quick with their zap guns and stingers.

And then that bitch died, 

Yeah they shoved her inside,

And she tore her way down to a dark place to hide.

And that’s where she’ll stay,

Cause they locked her away,

With curses and words and the shit that they say.

But sometimes she growls,

And sometimes she howls,

Or screams in those words that got nothing but vowels.

That’s why I sing,

Why I let the words ring,

Because calming the beast is a wonderful thing.

So I sing about dignity, valor and might,

 I sing at the Moot, and I sing in the night,

And my blood sings a song in the midst of the fight.

And the bitch settles down,

Crawls back deep underground,

I feed her with sound.

And that’s who I am,

Call me out if you can,

And I’ll take what you like to think makes you a man

So don’t mess with this bitch,

Unless you got the itch,

To be lying in pieces, in some muddy ditch.

 

 


Alice in Pundit-land (Trigger warning…may cause inappropriate giggling)

I feel as lost as Alice felt,
deep in the Tulgey wood,
not even knowing what size to be,
or whether I’m bad, or good.

I’m running as hard as I can run,
but I’m getting nowhere fast,
and as I run past them, the cards all stare,
their mouths all agape and aghast.

I’ve lost my train ticket,I don’t even know
if the track’s running forward or back,
or just who is whispering deep in my ear,
and do they hold the meaning I lack?

I’ve so many names that to simply lose one
is no sort of trouble at all,
and if the tea party weren’t totally mad,
I should tell them just who they could call.

My old friend Humpty is up on his wall,
adjusting his cravat and tie,
as the creatures shout words to be sure they are heard,
and the white knight goes galloping by.

The White King wrestles with paper and pen,
as he writes nonsense words on the pad,
it’s not his fault, you know, my dear…
it’s the pencil that’s being so bad.

The Red Queen is playing games out in the field,
and everyone gives her her way,
and as all the nonsense flies into the air,
I find just one last thing to say:

“Off with her head, off with her head, by order of the king…you heard what she said!”


Also this…

http://www.smbc-comics.com/?id=2473#comic


This…

http://www.smbc-comics.com/?id=2651#comic


Trigger Warning

 

 

invasion

tab A into slot B

tab a, b, c, d, e, fu

 

smells, sounds, tastes

smell of power, smell of fear

taste of pain, disgust and hate

sound of screaming

 

But how can she be screaming with her mouth full?

How can she be screaming, with her mind full?

How can she keep screaming, with her face full??

 

Lift, hoist, propel

Stumble, protest, complain

Fist, propel, maintain

Through the grass, to Hell.

 

 


Aside

With Respect

the graceful Puck
he trips amok,
amok, amok, amok…

amok among the lilies,
amok among the dells,
amok along the rivers bank,
and where the red rose dwells,
amok along the rivers bank,
amok among the dells,
amok among the lilies…
ware the tales he tells!

the graceful Puck
he trips amok,
amok, amok, amok…


You and Me

dandelion wishes        belladonna nightmares
and honeysuckle dreams       and asafoetida dreams
wild clover for a pillow sham     dank mildew for a coverlet
and the lullaby of streams        and toadstool scented screams


“Distraction is distracting” or “The Case of the misnumbered Chapter!” (aka “50 + 2 = ? ;p”)

You know I’m teasing you with the title, bestest Twin-o-mine, right?  I apologize in advance for any what-the-hecks that have wiggled their way into the story, but let us simply state that strong pain medications added to pills with a strong sedative affect make for an (I hope) interestingly “woogie” writer.  Okies…so.  Most of you know this, but for those of you left behind, I’ve been playing in someone elses playground for a while, writing one chapter of a story, doing whatever I want with the story and plot, and handing it on to the next player…lucky them.  >.<

At this time we are considerably up-and-down with the whole thing.  Up, when it comes to words…approx. 700-1000 word chapters, 53 of them, equals quite a lot of words.  Down, when it comes to writers.  Of the original fantastically wonderful writers, only the originator, TRG (aka Boss, aka The Reclining Gentleman) is left.  Joanne Best and I were relatively late-comers to the dark corners of the playground, but it’s been a lot of fun.  (Can’t speak for Joanne (loveya, twin!) but I think she’s had fun too.)  We miss all the original architects, who I am far too lazy to list (and afraid that in my woogie tangent I’ll miss one, and then I’ll cry) so I’ll just have to send you over to the Homepage of this weirdness called the Fiction Relay (cause we can’t title it till we see how it comes out, sillies!) to see for yourselves.  (I recommend it…and then check out their pages, cause you won’t be dissappointed…their greatness is sorely missed)  That all taken care of, let the curtains part (can’t tell that I’ve been reading Tommy and Tuppence novels, can’ya?) and gaze upon the glory of this, our Chapter 53! (for reals, this time)

 

Unfortunately for Jose/Elijah, no matter how careful the ninja, gravel under sneakers makes a distinctive sound…so Blue and Spence were ready almost as quickly as he reached them; which was good, as so was Raj. With a whining snarl that echoed through the lonely dark, he abandoned the mystery of the box and jumped at the approaching form, snapping and pawing to get loose when Melissa grabbed him around the neck and held him tightly. Blue and Spencer wrestled Elijah to the ground and kept him there. By this time even the slower members of the team had become aware of the scene, and turned with various statements of dismay or anger in their voices.
Meagan, still acting as the clear center of the group, carefully closed Ephraims hand around the little (glowing, humming, throbbing) box, and winked to him, before turning to the trouble. “Hello, Elijah…or do you prefer Jose, now? I know -I- do…after all the trouble you caused us, and all the trouble you bring with you, why should we welcome you now? Why shouldn’t we just let Raj go, let him tear you to shreds, as he so obviously wants to?” She gestured, toward the snarling, snapping full-grown coyote…with his sons eyes.
“Raj? No…no! You’re just trying to trick me…just like these two, with the smell of the mountain! And you, changing places with her!” He gestured with his chin toward Melissa. “I’m on to you! I saw, in the mountain! I saw Her give THE CUP to you! She promised! She promised to pass it to US, not to you…” His voice trailed off as his head fell back, and his eyes closed. With a grin for Blue, Spencer lowered him, unconscious, to the gravel.
*Nice one, babe! Vulcan Neck Pinch for the win!* *Don’t call it that! You know I hate that…* *Yup* *Smug bastard…* *Yup*
With a quick glare at Spence, Blue sat back on her heels, looking up at the adults. “Sorry, Mom. He was talking too much…not getting us anywhere.” Her glance included the whole group, even Raj, who had calmed down as Melissa squatted beside him, still holding him. “I love you, but right now you’re…you -all- are…thinking like civilians. Like you still have all the time in the world for earth-shattering revelations, and clever power plays. You don’t. What you do have is a war to fight. A war that Sanderson…or whoever he is…has been fighting and training and planning for…for a very long time. And that’s where we need to meet him. A war on the level of Mountains, and Gods, and Spirits…we can’t win. But a war with people (alright, and coyotes) we can find a way to handle.”
She stopped, with a quick smile up at Spence as he moved to stand behind her, hand on her shoulder. “She’s right. Before you all panic and start spouting about Gods and Mountains and Epic Quests, think about this. Sanderson has been training an army. Thousands of young men and women, chosen for their strength and intelligence, and manipulated into almost fanatical loyalty…and that’s not even counting the outsiders, the witches, to maintain the Coyote forms…why? If he’s such an all-powerful Spirit, God, whatever…what use can he have for an army? Why spend all that time and effort, if he could just magic-it-up, as Blue would say?”
At first, watching Blue and Spencer shift from “grumpy-chick and her boyfriend” mode, into “calm and in charge soldier” mode, what Meagan mostly felt was sorrow. Sorrow for her little girl, who she had left so long ago. Sorrow for the boy, grown up so fast, and so lost. Sorrow for -all- the children lost to soldiers, and now thrown into a fight with elements they could -not- defeat. But as she listened, sorrow changed to anger. Anger born of fear, of anxiety and overwhelming concern for her loved ones. Anger shared, she realized, as she glanced around the members of -her- army. Her soldiers. “Yes, Sammy and Spencer are correct…in essence. The presence of the army, of the footsoldiers and commanders, however magical, cannot be ignored. However, neither should we turn and ignore…well…that!” All eyes turned toward Ephraim, as she gestured, and she heard a collective gasp.
Ephraim heard, but felt nothing but confused. Glancing down at the hand that held the glowing box, he blinked. In his hand, floating above the box,  was a tiny golden…or was it bronze?…cup, or goblet. Or maybe cauldron…or box? The object shifted restlessly on the top of his closed fist, the image or whatever it was moving to stay on top and rightside up at all times.
He slowly opened his fingers, palm up, and the image stayed, pulsing above the now quiescent box, rainbow shards splitting the night. His voice was soft and almost reverent as he spoke… “What…is that?”

 

An answer to which will hopefully be upcoming, as the now much the worse for wear baton is passed to the Boss of FR, TRG himself!  (At least I hope he’s himself..sometimes he’s not, and then sometimes he’s someone else entirely, and it all ends up in a dreadful tangle once the two of him get home.  So here’s hoping!)

Your Woogieness, signing off…

KC


Little Healer

The Little Healer

The Little Healer

This one is for…well, it’s pretty obvious, actually.  He’s a pretty remarkable little guy who’s touched a lot of hearts when he shows up with his mommy, here at Palm Gardens rehab.  So enjoy, or not, but no matter what…this one’s for

SHADOW

little Shadow, dog of light,
with silken coat in pearly white,
never cautious, always bold…
as long as there are arms to hold.

You share your boundless love,
with those who need it most,
cuddled in the lap or arms
of any willing host.

Shadow is your name, but still
you walk in beams of light,
sent from gentle loving eyes,
through swiftly fading sight.

you warm the coldest room,
make soft the hardest heart,
with antics meant to draw the eye,
you play your biggest part.

laughter is a healing gift,
within these painted halls,
and watching you, the laughter peals,
and shakes these solemn walls.

little Shadow, precious boy,
give your love and take our joy,
a present from the grateful few
whose aging hearts were warmed by you.