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Wednesday, August 24, 2016

To see or not to see...

The hubris of sight

The blind are blind
Not by design,
Nor choice
Not a matter of finding
The voice of their eyes
As if sight came about
By practice
Sheer will
Clearly defined
Followed to the line
Planned to the T
Goal oriented maps
Laid out to find your way to sight
Are you fucking kidding me?
Blind is blind
What good is a technicolor
That can only be used
If you can see
Before you tried
Think this too dramatic
Not in the least
This was simply an anology
An example
Clearly defined
To show you
How little you see
Even though you have sight

Chris McQueeney ©2016

Shadow wrote, when I read She spoke

Those moments were important to me...

Life at times
Becomes scarce
When day blends into day
Is it Wednesday
Or was that
Yesterday, or tomorrow
You borrow from yourself
Just to live another day
Only thing is
You don't know what part
Of you
You borrowed 4:45 to 6:38
And like buns in the oven
They rise to the occasion
Those borrowed parts of a life
Filling the holes quite close
Leaving me relieved
Because closer then I'll be
To the end of the day
When life has its way
After it is done with you
Had its say
You think, dam! Not so bad a day
Not knowing what going where you went
Taking borrowed parts
Left a mint
Of wreakage in its wake
One day
Purely out of desperation
Couldn't tell you why really
You walk backwards
How many
Day after days
Actually went past
Then you see
A conversation
That did not end
It was borrowed
By me
No clue what there could be
More important you see
Than the reply
Expected from me
But knowing me
Just keep breathing, being, living,
Seeing one more day
Was probably why I borrowed
This conversation
From me
Returned it when I could
And me
Standing there
Thinking for all this time
It was thee who failed to respond
Not me
How fickle
Life can be
Were I to have the chance
To go back the months and years
To that day
I the borrower came to take that
Conversation away
I would do the same
But on my hand
A tattoo would say
Don't lose that conversation
I loaned to me today
Because I treasured
All those moments
Talking and typing with
Amy May
Hello my friend
It's been many a day
Since I read your words
And I felt this way
How's your daughter
How's writing
How are things
On that end of the bridge
Not really so far away
On the off chance
Maybe this time
Remind me
When it's my turn
To say
Hello there,
How was your day?

Chris McQueeney @just saw this, Wednesday 8/24/2016

Shadow wrote a poem and She spoke of a friendship that abrubtly ended, no word, one day quite some time me feeling sad, and remorseful because I was on the other side of that poem long ago on that day...I found a string of emails that I had archived to save, because they were important, because who they were from, what they contained... Before my life was destroyed that day or the next, things are broken in my memory of that time. Disjointed, we spoke while I was camping, and away in New Mexico, her daughter and a friend had pizza and a sleepover in there somewhere amidst talk of children and words and soul treasures to be protected, stored safe below the tempest above the tidal wave, like an avalanche in my mind after digging in the mine only to find it was me that didn't respond when I was out of my mind, not an excuse just a mitigating circumstances beyond my experience...I never meant to violate you...neither by lack of reply, or contact so far away from the last I contacted you...I hope you read this, that it helps eased the hurt I caused...maybe, I truly hope, You will comment, or call, or email, so I can say I am sorry, missed you, it has been a long time Ms. May, hello, how the hell are you today?


Thanks Shadow for the reminder, your words were haunting, painful to read, for some reason, the arch of your neck, I clicked on your image then followed the link to Your blog and read the words, the words You wrote, but heard them as if She was the author, even though her writing is pros, She never got the chance to share her poetry with, look at that, a bunch of run on sentences with overly expressive grammer, haven't written pros in quite some time, almost 3 + years...not well at least...I have to pick up where I left off with
 Having Met Me After I Was Already Dead...that is a story that needs

Monday, March 21, 2016

Be smiling

Bobby Fischer
Ain't got nothing on me
I ain't even playing
But from my glare
You can see
That dumb motherfucker
Made the wrong move
I put my fucking money
On him
I would play
But I am a girl
And blond as can be
No one would play
Let alone place money
On the line
The likes of me
Some day that little shit will
Be smiling
As my documents he'll
Be filing
At the law firm I'll be running
You'll see...

Chris McQueeney©2016
check out the Mag

Thursday, January 7, 2016

Tater, my good friend, bravo to you!

TaterA few years back I decided to try something that I had always wanted to do, make hasheesh! There are several ways to process cannabis into hasheesh, but I did not like any of the options. Some of them are very dangerous, some not so much. I decided to use my own method... I am not going to describe how I went about that but suffice it to say that you can not find it by google, and was very successful! The yield was higher than I had anticipated, and I had an abundance of hi-grade hasheesh... That's not what I want to write about though. At one point I gave a good portion to a friend, with one step left...I had no idea how much I gave him, and the funny thing is that he had no idea what to do with it, he didn't need it, but hell, who turns down random hasheesh falling from the sky? Flash forward three years, and that friend tells me that he was going to use the Hash for something, as an alternative treatment modality for a friend with stage 4 cancer! He said several times that he would not have been able to do that, help his dying friend, without as he put it  "your generous donation"; I felt then, as I do now, that I had simply given a good friend something I had no use for but thought was really cool. My friend, I will call him    "Tater" to maintain his anonymity, prepared the hasheesh for his cancer treatments. Twenty one days, one gram, three times a day, holy shit, sixty three grams...good fucking yield! I went over to his house while he was preparing the hash and it reeked. I didn't say anything, I have manners like that. A little while after I got there he looked at me and said "smell that? That's your hash." Then he told me his plans for it. I took him at his word, but was dubious that it would be of benefit. Cancer is a killer. That was the last he said about it, till about an hour ago. Tater's dying friend was just pronounced cancer free, three large tumors gone! Wow, about blew my fucking mind! And still Tater offered me credit for being a part. But the reality was that it was his idea, and his alone, and any good that arises from it should be heaped on his very deserving shoulders! Now, I can not claim that it was the cannabis that brought about this miracle, but the amazing findings about the very real anti cancer properties that are coming out are telling! I am glad that something good may have come from such a bad time in my life...good job Tater, you are the hero today!

Chris McQueeney 2016

Sunday, January 3, 2016

the mag, some number

Just such as mine

The seas in the streets
This night
Were wide and deep
As I made my way to you
What bravery it must take
For me to slake
My thirst
On you
All you see
Is me standing there
Cheeks rose
Wind tussled hair
And just a glint
Of a grin
Tugging my lips
Slip past
The first glance
I traveled miles
And miles
All the while
You sat in comfort
Not knowing the effort
That was made
But this kiss
We have
I would have missed
And sadly I'd have been
Had you not stayed home
Warm and safe
Here to answer a call
Just such as mine

May I come in?

Chris McQueeney ©2016