A poetic journey through my mind

Important!

Edit: Very Important Question

 

(Hmm.  8 “likes” and no comments.  Guess that’s a “no thanks” to Patreon for now.  🙂

Okies, back to  “work”…maybe something will be worth supporting in the future.)

Heya! Got a question for y’all. Ever heard of a thing called “Patreon”? It’s part of the whole crowd funding scene, a place kinda like Kickstarter but with two notable differences: A) It’s just for artists, but for artists of all stripes and types…and B) Instead of one time donations, it’s a recurring thing, allowing folks to be, basically, patrons of the arts…at whatever level is possible for them. From a dollar a month to…well, as far as you wanna go.

The fun thing is the reward system. For each level of payment there’s a reward, contingent on the particular artists choice and type of art.

For instance, for visual arts it might be anything from being able to see works in progress before anyone else, to being entered into a monthly drawing for an original piece!

Also, like Kickstarter, there may be goals to be reached, depending on the artist in question and their needs.

I’m seriously considering starting a page, for two purposes. I’m still really intent on organizing my stuff into book form, or maybe even two…one for the “social commentary”/awareness sort of ones (that one will be a not for profit project, but it won’t, unfortunately, be free to make…) and one for my mythology based work, both the poetry and maybe even some short stories.

I’m also moving, soon, from Florida back out West, to Salt Lake…and I want to build a tiny home. My severely limited mobility really cuts into my creativity, as chronic pain leads to depression and anxiety. I’m basically living in one room now, and one under 400 sq. ft. space with no doors or stairs or other nonsense sounds like my idea of paradise…not to mention it would be my first actual space entirely of my own…at 47, that makes it about time.

So I guess I’m asking for advice…does it sound like something worth doing, and should I put the effort into it?

Don’t worry, my new stuff will still come here (hopefully more often than recently…the more I write the more they come, I’ve found.) and it will be free as always.

But folks who want to follow me over to Patreon will have to let me know what sort of thing you might like for a reward…some of the ideas I’ve had are a chat/text group just for y’all, to talk about whatever…(in case you missed it, I LOVE to talk…😝) or maybe personal suggestions/requests for poems, toss me a random poem prompt, stuff like that? I’m even up for challenges…give me (almost) any three words and an adjective (funny, horrific, romantic, etc) and I’ll find/construct a piece for you. If any of these sounds good, just leave me a note in the usual place, and maybe we can make this happen!

Love,
KC


The Child

Ok, so I lied…this one snuck in there and insisted to come play, so here it is.  I hope you like it, and Merry Christmas/Holiday to everyone!

a child is born, to parents poor,
his cradle is a manger, small,
in stable dark beside the inn,
in wind that whistles through the wall.

yet at his birth, the heavens sing,
the glories of a stars bright light
eclipse the lanterns of the inn
and make the sky a beacon, bright

shepherds follow, drawn by light,
and angel voices singing sweet,
gifts they bring, a blanket warm,
the rhythm of a drums soft beat.

and from the East, the wiseman come,
men of learning, traveling far,
gifts they bring, to lay before
the glory born beneath the star.

and in the heavens, angels chorus
till all the world can hear the ring,
peace on earth and mercy mild,
and glory to the newborn king.

 


Silent Sky

in his silent world he sits, and gently rocks away the day,
or sometimes, suddenly, he hits, his stare confused and far away,
each worrying claw and bite and slap seem to be beyond control,
and just as suddenly, he’ll stop, retreating to his safe, dark hole.

his eyes at times hold secret worlds, depths no other mind can plumb,
the children most especially, and so they laugh, and call him dumb,
and when he doesn’t understand, or even really seem to care,
they escalate, as children do, to pushing fists or pulling hair.

he has no tears, no loving glance, he will not look you in the eye,
locked inside his silent world, a world with neither sun or sky,
no rain, or wind, or painted wall, or happy voices raised in play,
he sits inside his tiny world, and softly rocks the day away.


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.  😉

 


Sour Grapes

I really am nuts, y’know? Not a little bit, not relatively, just…nuts. Not “insane”, I don’t think. Well, technically, I suppose, but that’s -such- a broad spectrum, honestly. Just vague and diffuse…like the law…a net spread to catch the biggest fish, but tight enough to catch the tiddlers as well…when the Fishers want them. *shrugs*

But that’s beside the point. Back to “nuts”. I like that better. It’s perjorative, and offensive…unless you are, and you use it about yourself. Well, in -my- rules, anyway. Such as they are. Normal. Silly word, silly place, let’s not go there. *nodnod* Most people (“most”…another nonsense word) want to be normal. Correct? People want to fit in wherever they are, in whatever living environment they find themselves in, this time around. But some people don’t. Some people feel that it’s impossible to ever fit in, so in a sort of sour-grapes scenario they decide that being “normal” isn’t anything worth striving for. Just the opposite, they decide. Let’s be as -abnormal- as possible, and revel in that…in our separate uniqueness…just like everyone else.

Then there are the nuts. They…we?…just live. Well, try, anyway. It’s really very difficult to swim downstream in a world of spawning salmon. When the race is to be uniquely different but in a way that fits in with ones chosen social group in such a way as to not outlaw the possibilities of being fertile within said grouping…people who for whatever reason don’t have/want/use that drive can be easily lost in the crowd and drowned.

One of the horrors of being…asexual? ish?…is the absence of touch. People were designed to need touch. Physical contact of even the simplest kind…a hand on a hand, a touch on the back…people without these things will become ill, and can even be driven insane, or become so depressed that they die. Not suicide…just die. Most people don’t think of these things because for them, they are touched every day. One way or another. A quick “snack” during the day. A handshake, a quick hug between friends, even a bump from a stranger on a bus or subway. And a full meal, at home. The loving touch of family, birth or found. The surety of knowing that you have permission…you have the right…to touch and be touched. That you will not be winced away from, or avoided, or rejected, dismissed, or reviled.

However, when people touch, something is transmitted, from skin to skin. A basic assumption, a sort of signal, that no matter the relationship, age, or physical condition, says the same thing. “This person is capable of physical love…this person is normal.” You’ve seen what happens when someone in whom that signal is missing or corrupted touches someone…or attempts to. There is an almost automatic repulsion, an anger that borders on fear…because they feel “wrong”. Instinct says “This person is an evolutionary dead-end…a thing to be avoided”.

Of course this is all hooey…straight out of the “Sour Grapes” file that lives in my twisted little mind. I mean, really. I told you I was nuts! But think about it. Watch for it. And if any of that hits home to you…don’t let it. Fight it. Work for what you need…or what another needs. Thank you.

The Nutter

 


Song

what good are words when I can’t even tell that the mind in my head has gone numb, I can’t taste the world, I can’t feel the pain, I sing while I sleep, and they come.

I can’t feel at all, or maybe too much, an overload bearing me down, I try to distract, to make a new track, but I sing a sad song, just a clown.

the words come at night, at sleep and at play, they dance and they sing through my mind, I sleep all the day so I don’t have to hear all the people who try to be kind.

they can’t understand, they can’t feel the pull, the rhythm insistent and clear, they say write it out, just put it down, and they don’t know that’s just what I fear.

what good are words when I can’t even tell that the mind in my head has gone numb, I can’t taste the world, I can’t feel the pain, I sing while I sleep, and they come.


Fear

I need to make it clear,
the deadly way I feel,
that all the while I’m here,
this world is not quite real.

The floor beneath my feet,
the walls that box me in,
the voices on the street,
the screams beneath my skin.

My eyes within the glass,
my heart within my chest,
my too abundant mass,
a long unwelcomed guest.

I strain to breach the wall,
to shatter all the lies,
but still the wall stands tall,
and the world wears its disguise.

My fight will never end,
my dawn will never come,
my signal never send,
my voice is locked, and dumb.

The words come from my mind,
and from the deepest well,
and every line is signed,
with love, to you, from hell.


For Rowan, on her Fourth birthday

“…and though she be but little, she is fierce.”  William Shakespeare, “Midsummer Nights Dream”

little wonder, precious child,

tiny princess, sweet and wild,

silly angel, rainbow pearl,

oldest sister, great big girl,

all these are the things you are,

but not all that you will, by far,

for as you grow and reach so high,

one day you will reach the sky,

and spread your branches over all,

my Rowan tree, so strong and tall.

I love you, baby-girl…Image

 


Follow up on the Reblog (warning, belief systems enumerated)

photoIf this makes anyone stop following me, I understand. I’m a very open-minded person, so much so that things fall out sometimes, but I hate negative emotions because I have so many of them. Hate, guilt, shame, anger, pain, loneliness, etc.etc.etc. So, that over, on to what I wanted to say.

The card is basically Eve and the Snake, but in a good way, a life-affirming non-guilt-ridden don’t be afraid of the Snake because she/he is only one path to power, way. And I like this, because in the story, it was the power of knowledge, the loss of innocence, that got them “kicked out” in the first place. I prefer to think of them as “released” once they had the tools it took to live out here. To live and breed and hurt and die…and in doing so, become one with the One.

And to answer a question in my mind, here is what I believe. I believe that -all- the stories, of gods and Gods, Godess’ and godess’, spirits, creatures, etc. are true. If the God/ess is all-knowing, all-encompassing, all-powerful…why couldn’t he/she be whatever he/she needed to at the moment?


News and other such stuffs

So anyway, there was this Friday Fictioneers thing, and I wrote this little story for it, and some people liked it, and I liked some peoples, and there was much liking all around.  The end.  Or really, the beginning, cause I now have two new toys to keep me busy, on -top- of trying to satisfy all of your ravishing appetites for my marvelous poems.  Oy, how will I ever manage?

So yeah, the toys.  First of all, The Reclining Gentleman has generously allowed me to play in his playground, along with 5 (so far) other lucky people.  They are writing what they term a Fiction Relay, which I will just link to the page of because I am much too lazy to explain it except to say that every…ummm…6 weeks or so, I will be posting a piece of story that may not make much sense to most of you (unless you are my smart readers as I know you are, in which case you will have started reading along as we play.) but trust me, it is, in itself, part of a larger whole.

Aaand the other toy.  Said Gentleman (herewithin referenced as TRG) wrote an awesome piece for the Friday Fictioneers, with a character I immediately fell in love with (which in under 100 words ain’t easy!) and mentioned that I would love to use him (in a story, you dirty minded peoples) and just like that, he gave me permission!  Squee!

So, with that all said, linked, etc…the next post you see will be a teeny little thing, a sort of se/prequel if you will, of Kava’s story…finishing off where TRG left him, and starting him on his way to me.

KC