Day after Day

Good morning, good afternoon, good evening!!! Another year has gone past and I have survived with at least some of my sanity intact. This was a tough year, but throughout it I had the support of friends and family.

 I would like to give special thanks to a few of those. Christopher H. thank you my friend for all the many hours of time you invested in me this year; you said you feel that you haven't done much, but my friend you have done more than you will ever know! Jenny C., my sister, I love you so very much, and I am grateful for the hours you have spent listening to me and for opening your home to me in my time of need; you may say that is what family does, but that isn't always true. Jason C. thank you as well for making me feel welcome.

There are many more that I could thank on a personal level, but I don't have time now to do that. so to all the many people that have helped carry me when I could not walk, thank you!

Ok so this is my final post for the year 2011, have happy new year, and be safe.

This poem is one of my favourites,

Day after Day

He went by day after day

Living life and loving that way

He went by day after day

Until the day

He didn’t go by

No living No life No loving that way

Where is he now,

Why didn’t he stay?

You ask this

At least you think you do

It was not he who left

Instead it was you

He still goes by day after day

Wishing you could have stayed

Chris McQueeney  2011….

I Am humbled to except  the perfect poets award from the poetry palace     click here                      And I would like to nominate  Robin

Books.....

This post has been inspired by a post from a fellow blogger by the name of Ben Ditty, Nice old spice is his blog and I have had a lot of fun reading his work, and seeing his responses to comments. Although he does have a strange fetish with small cone shaped hats....

Fantasy comes closer to reality.

                The other day in class we were discussing an essay and the instructor( Crumrine, 4/15/2011) made a statement (I’m paraphrasing, and possibly completely butchering) that people give fiction altogether  too much power; that they believe fiction will influence people to act in a way they normally would not.  While I agree with him for this particular situation, I don’t believe fiction is given enough power. 

                 When I say fiction, I’m speaking of fantasy, and science fiction, but I would like to think that my beliefs hold true in all realms of fiction.  One small story can have the power to change your life. I started reading fiction in about the sixth grade. At the time I didn’t realize it, but I think it saved my life.

                The Smallest Dragon Boy (McCaffery, Get off the unicorn, 1973, Del Rey) was my first venture into the world of fiction; I was in the sixth grade, and the year was 1989. For the past six years I had been in anger management, because of fighting, and outbursts in school. My life was a living hell. My mother and stepfather beat me on a regular basis. My teachers treated me like I was slightly retarded. The other students verbally and physically abused me. I had suffered sexual abuse from a family member.

                I still remember that day. I was sitting in class after being called into the principal’s office; the principal had spent fifteen minutes or so telling me what a horrible child I was, and that my life wasn’t going to amount to anything. I felt hopeless, and small, and to top it all off my teacher wanted me to read. I didn’t have the will power to get into trouble again so I opened my book up.

 A picture of a boy and a small dragon were what piqued my interest.  I started to read. In the time it took the rest of the class to read I had read it three times. The story spoke to me. No, the story shouted to me!  You may be small, you may be a dork, and the world may use you as a punching bag, but in the end you will end up with a bronze dragon. I started actually reading that afternoon, and I haven’t stopped since.

I’ve read thousands of books, tens of thousands of stories over the last twenty years, and that one short story has had the most impact. I think in fiction the authors can be more honest. I think they can tell the uncomfortable, the ugly, the sad, the scary, and the beautiful truths that they couldn’t tell any other way. 

Chris McQueeney 4/2011

Creased by you

Creased by you

Walking through the tangled

Tatters of my belief

Steeling my-self for what is to come

Christmas lights and warm décor

Honestly festive atmosphere

Lacking but one thing

You, You rumple me

My starched and stiffened self

Creased by you

Chris McQueeney  12/21/11 2:59PM

This was inspired by three word Wednesday http://www.threewordwednesday.com/2011/12/3ww-ccli.html

As far fetched as can be

                                                          image by Mostafa Habibi



As far fetched as can be


Can you give me a hand
I have a long way to go
And no way to get there without your help
If you look closely you will see
I have everything just so
Oars prone
Beaching stable
A sky oh so to my liking
But it seems I have run into a snag
Strange as it may seem
As far fetched as can be
It is just slightly possible
I may have had a bit
Couldn't have been more than that
Far fetched as can be
strange as it may seem
I might have had a tad to much to drink

Chris McQueeney 12/18/11 11:32 PM


This is a poem inspired by http://magpietales.blogspot.com/2011/12/mag-95.html

Vissage akimbo

Vissage akimbo

All the lines just so

No one’s visage akimbo

How then to hide in plane site?

With pillar and shoulder as shield

You drink with a wary expression

Your shield is serving twin purposes

For while you hide in plane site

The glassed one can see

All your lines just so

Your visage definitely akimbo

You do not fit

Lunch, George Tooker, 1964, Columbus Museum of Art

This poem and post inspired and linked to http://magpietales.blogspot.com/2011/12/mag-94.html

Again I find my self thanking Christopher for opening avenues unexplored by me!

#2

                This is hard for me, I have a hard enough time when things are familiar; just give me a Coors at ______s and a fight on the tube and I’m good to go. Amy has been telling me I need to expand my horizons, and that I don’t have to catch a Greyhound to do that.

                I’m not writing this to fulfill some personal need to live on…Amy, Amy is the reason. Amy is my wife. Ten years ago we met at the antique store in Waldport. You know those P.B.R. neon signs, the ones they had in the 70s?  I was looking at one and thinking how cool it would be to have it mounted on the wall above my keg fridge. Turning to ask the clerk to pull it for me I ran into her. She was so small I almost knocked her over, but was able to catch her.

                 “God I’m sorry”!

                She laughs “don’t worry about it. I shouldn’t have stood so close, but that thing is so butt ugly I couldn’t help myself”

                “I know right.” oh, yeah did I say she is beautiful…that bump started my life.

                Three weeks ago Amy called me crying and I thought someone had died. After an intense moment she said two words “We’re pregnant”. As an adult I had never cried until that moment, “We’re pregnant”!

 Yesterday Dr. Ross called to tell me I am dying…..

Chris McQueeney 12/4/11 8:56AM

This thing I became after

Having only met me after I have died

Maybe you can see me, the real me from this story, having only met me after I have died. I was real once, had a pulse, felt love, breath, and the raised goose bumps of a special moment. I lived. This me you may have come to know, this thing I became after…well you know, or maybe you don’t, dying takes a lot out of you.

                I live in Toledo Oregon. Beautiful little town, quaint, rustic, and I definitely would have left ten years ago if not for my wife.

                Am I supposed to do that? This whole dying thing has got me all fucked up. Am I supposed to talk about things like they are in the here and now? I know you won’t read this until after I am dead. Is this one of those places where there is an unspoken rule that says no referring to things in the present tense you dead fuck you’ll make them uncomfortable? Here is the other question, who the fuck are you to hold that over me, I’m dead you dick, don’t you think I deserve a free pass from the guilt train?

........................................

 I just wanted to through a teaser out there...I may post this as a cereal, or not, I'm not sure yet.

Chris McQueeney 12/2/11 1:23AM

As….as….a…ah...balloon

I was sitting at McDonald's today pirating Internet. Good pastime that…I jump in the ss minnow and head over to the local swill dealer and don my eye patch, just for free Internet. What one will do to get free stuff!

 So I’m sitting mindlessly reading other blogger’s work when I heard a strangely familiar noise. Now if I was a better writer I would be able to write the sounds for you, but I’m not so I won’t. Within a short space of time I realized the two boneheads across from me were doing whippets!

Ok, for those not familiar with whippets I’ll explain.  A whippet is nitrous oxide in a little canister normally used for whip cream. Using a device called a “cracker” a canister is cracked open and the nitrous (otherwise known as hippy crack) is expelled into a balloon; known to the discerning whippet aficionados as….as….a…ah...balloon, yeah a balloon man.

I was less annoyed that those two boneheads were sucking down whippets in the middle of a busy McDonald's like they were going out of style, than by the fact that the fucking cracking is loud and annoying. Is that wrong?

So after that for some reason my mind turned to something more morbid. What would you do if you knew you were going to die? And when I say “Knew” I mean you have like a month, or six left and you had no question that it would happen. Think about it, and then put that thought on the shelf for a few minutes. Walk away, look from another direction, than pick it back up and think about it again. Is it still the same? 

This train of thought will be the basis for my next post, a short story about someone who has just got the news

The phone rings.

“Hello” a voice from the end of miles of wire says.

“Mom”

“Mike is that you?” the woman says with a hint of concern “Mike?”

Hushed wracking sobs could be heard from the phone.

“Mike what is wrong?” the hint has turned into a hurricane “your scaring me. Mike just say something!”

“Mom, Mom I’m dying…..

Chris McQueeney 11/28/11 11:23 PM

Thinning

Stephan King writes about the thinning of reality in his Darktower series. I think I experienced that this weekend. Reno, the biggest little town in Nevada. This is a place where the veneer of humanity has been rubbed so thin that you can see the cancerous lesions just under the surface! I was so excited to go, my first trip in seven years, and it sucked!

Just off the plane I turned on my phone to check my messages and I had two heart crushing txts from my sister. My niece and nephew (12 and 10) didn’t come home from school. The time stamp was 9:30, the phone said 12:03 and I almost puked! After calling my sister and the Caldwell police station I spent the night spinning on the situation, it has been three days and I don’t think I am fully over it. The kids are fine; they showed up in the morning.

Maybe this tainted the whole trip, maybe. I don’t think so, I think Reno is one of those places that is just thin, it asks, no calls for things like this to happen….

Born on wings

Rustling past

The sound of wind on wing

Stretched taut, extended

Nerves firing

Adrenalin flowing along channels

Dug for only that reason

I knew I would never

She shouts, lifting her face to the sky

I knew….I knew I knew I knew!

I knew wrong

She whispers into the silence so deafening

With a snap

Her reverie is broken

Born on wings she screams

I fly!

Chris McQueeney, 11/21/11 9:50PM

We Will!

I read a wonderful poet yesterday and I tried to post a comment on her site and my computer would not let me! I can’t fucking believe how stupid my computer can be at times, this wasn’t the first. I know it wasn’t her blog, it is my computer. I had a poem I was warping in my mind, I felt the muse dancing along my fingertips. For the first time in a while muse was in a good mood and wanted to write about feeling humbled. I tried to reply to her poem and…NO GO! Ok, I’ll try another way…NO GO!  After an hour and a half of this I got fed up and saved my comment on word, closed my computer, and left. No poem written; no positive expression. Oh well, I have a long writing life left to me; muse and I didn’t dance yesterday but we will again. We will!

Here is the comment maybe Eve could forward it to her @ http://nevine-sultan.blogspot.com/2011/10/superlative.html     This was in response to her poem Superlative.

I am continually amazed and so grateful that my friend got me into this blogosphere. The things I have found have changed the way I believe about things; changed my perceptions of poetry, and written expression! Your poetry is amazing, I am humbled. 

With sights of things not real

This is an offering to three word Wednesday, a mid week experiment on inspiration here is the link to that site....threewordwednesday.

With sights of things not real

I drank

I sooo drank

Wobbling and tipsy

With a hitch in my step

And a slur in my speech

I’m quitting! I state

With the certitude only a drunk can muster

Six pack in hand

Mikes hard lemonade to warm my way

On the long cold journey

Fortifying myself for what was to come

At the end of that three block trudge

Through snow and cold and drink

Waited shakes And vomit And pain

Delirium driven ravings with sights of things not real

Three days

Three days was all I could make it

I drank

Chris McQueeney 11/9/11 8:07AM

The events that inspired this will be in my book. Oh yes, did I not tell you? I have officially started my first book. I have the outline for twenty seven chapters, the intro, and a good chunk of several chapters written! This has been in the wings for twenty two years. the dust is thick on some parts, but I have some lemon pledge, a rag, and some elbow grease!

Cadavs

So I was on this blog Old spice is nice thumbing through some of his recent posts and I come across a post about making a poem out of, or around the almost words from the word verification. I liked the post so I commented, when I got to the word verif screen the jumble sparked something in me.

Cadavs

The cadavs piled up

Cord wood like in my brain

Stacked toe to chin

Looking at me with flaccid grins

And dull eyes

Chris McQueeney 11/8/11 9:31AM

whatever

today is the day after my father's birthday. I thinkl I am emotionally hung over! So, hi, or whatever:-)

Haunted

As a child I had an alter ego, his name was Michael. I wished I could be like him. Michael wasn’t scared. Michael could stand up for himself.  Michael was always safe, and when he wasn’t safe he made it safe.

In the third grade I was supposed to write a paper, a short story, about something scary. It was Halloween and it was in Miss Silvers’ class. I wrote a story about Michael's step father beating him one more time. Only this time Michael fought back. He hurt the step father; hurt him so bad he would never harm Michael again. At this point I have to put a disclamer in here, I couldn't wright so all I turned in was a paper covered in gibberish.

It is Halloween, and to this day there are times I wish I had been Michael. Then I wouldn’t be haunted.

Haunted

Hiding under the blankets

Their voices so loud

You want to cry?

I’ll give you something to cry about!

Why can’t you be more like your brother?

The cries from down the hallway

Louder and louder

Don’t worry

I’ll keep you safe

Michael whispers

Don’t make any noise

Or they will come for you

Chris McQueeney 10/31/11 3:50PM

The road lied

The road lied

That old blue truck

Smelling of dad

Grease and petrol, not overwhelming

Just the way things should be

The Blue Mountains spread out before and behind

The pass inclined severely ahead

As far as the eyes could see

Yellow and red lights glared their displeasure at the moon

Safe as the smell, safe as the feel of dad’s presence, not vulnerable, secure

The safety of the road a figment, not real

The road lied, the truckers didn’t

Black ice as far as the eyes could see

Red and yellow warning the unwary

Chris McQueeney 10/27/11 8:07AM



Thank you all for the comments. I need to find a Better way to reply, if I do it from my phone it goes as an email, from my computer I have to jump through hoops like this wasn't my own blog. Oh well, such is life. That pass, and that truck have special meaning to me. looking back I can see how scary it should have been, but at the time all I felt was safe, and sad. Sad because yet again I was having to leave my true home, and the security of my father. That eight hour drive would be the last I would see of him for about four months.

Update on the cigarette situation.

I have had NO cigarettes for over six days….over the hump!!! I am still using the patch. It took about three days to drop the smokes on the patch. Fuck man, I gotta say quitting is tough. A good portion of my life has revolved around supporting my habit. The mental obsession to smoke is a powerful one to overcome, but this time something is different. My body may want, but my soul doesn’t. Today I have a lot of gratitude, the shackles have been lifted! What a birthday present to myself, one week off of cigarettes.

Ok, enough about cigarettes. I am having some peace and comfort in my life. It has been a long time, and I have been feeling a bit hope less about it, but I guess just like Oregon, wait five minutes and the weather will change. I have a friend who has asked me to help him with his writing. I think he thinks he is putting me out by asking me, he is not. Again another thing to be grateful for, one year ago I couldn’t even write, and now I am in a position to help someone else.

Have a good day people, may your wanderings be fruitful.

Chris McQueeney 10/17/11 9:15PM

Out

I was organizing the files on my computer and realized that I have 37 poems. In less than 6 months my life has changed dramatically. Of the things I feel good about the poetry is towards the top of the list. Going back through them has been a journey; I wonder how I will feel about them in a year, or ten.

Out

Eternity throughout to learn

In time fires from heaven will burn

In the eyes of the ever present watchers

Time slowly fades

One minute your here 

The next your there

Then gone

Eternity throughout to learn

In time fires from heaven will burn

Will burn

Out

Chris McQueeney    I’m not sure when I wrote this, rewritten  10/15/11 11:12 AM

Iron belly

Iron belly

Dust devils spin

Stirring the imagination

If I was that small

If it was that high

Would I fly?

Around and around

The world fading from view

Wind swept debris

Filling my sight

At this point

In my musings

My stomach flips

Even in dreams

I get motion-sick!

Chris McQueeney, 10/11/11 3:45PM

Whisper so soft...

I have a poem that was inspired by the name of a blog that I follow. Her posts are dark, and beautiful. I am adding a link to her blog, please visit.

Whisper so soft

Screaming whispers so soft

Thundering along my nerves

So strong the force

You should see

Blinded by your malice

Your restless discontent

You cannot

I rage, I beg, I plead

I scream as if the volume will crack through

The driven nature of your ignorance

Finally, heart broken, soul torn

I whisper     

Please

Please stop

please stop you’re killing me

Chris Mcqueeney, 10/7/11

Here is the link to her blog....
http://ascreamingwhisper.blogspot.com/

I am linking this to dVerse poets pub....I think if you like poetry you will like their site.

Blah blah blah

Good morning. I dont feel any poems brewing. Nor any bouts of self introspection. I guess I will go bowling and rest.

God rest a giant.

"The Wheel of Time turns, and Ages come and pass, leaving memories that become legend. Legend fades to myth, and even myth is long forgotten when the Age that gave it birth comes again. In one Age, called the Third Age by some, an Age yet to come, an Age long past, a wind rose. The wind was not the beginning. There are neither beginnings nor endings to the turning of the Wheel of Time. But it was a beginning." - Robert Jordan

James Oliver Rigby Jr. 10/ 17/48 – 9/16/07, Born twenty nine years and one day before me, otherwise known as Robert Jordan. James was best known for his books in the Wheel of time series, passed away four years and two days ago.

I remember the day I first bought one of his books. I walked into the IGA just down the street from my house hoping they had replenished there book supply. On the top shelf in the si-fi section (I say section and you may imagine a vast selection of books to be had, alas, that picture is not so, the selection consisted of six books) sat The great hunt. Yes, I thought, after weeks of mining the same shaft, a strike. On the cover a man holding a horn was watched by a strange creature and a beautiful woman, this intrigued me. I hurried through the check-out line, and rushed home to devour that 600 page book. Three days later I started reading the book for a second time.

Fast forward fifteen years. I had been trying to keep up on James’s battle with cardiac amyloidosis, poorly because I had almost no Internet connection. I opened up the Internet and went to his home page and learned he had died. I cried. I remember feeling as if I had lost a part of my soul.

I am now writing and have been writing for about a year; almost my whole life this voice of mine has been trapped, stuck behind doors I couldn’t even see, only feel. James was one of the reasons I held onto hope. The beauty and intricacy of his work compelled me to seek, to continue seeking that voice.

Thank you James, lovingly known as Robert Jordan, may God rest your soul.

(The following poem has no ties what so ever to the above story)

Senselessly  

Senselessly you walk through the door

Trampling those you have sworn you adore

Stopping here and there

To examine the fruits of your labor

Blithely you stop and stare

At your handy work laying there

What’s wrong you ask

Without any real care

The falseness behind your eyes

Stark and bare

Senselessly you walk back through the door

Leaving those trampled you have sworn you adore

BY Chris Mcqueeney 9/18/11

Is Away

This life is a trippy thing. But it is the only one I have and I would do almost anything to keep it. The same is true for my children, the onetime something almost happened to my son I would have ran through a brick wall to get to him. In fact, had I the need….

On a key chain

Dangling there

Maybe a conversation piece

Dyed a garish shade of blue

You may have a paw

But the rest of me

Is away

Evil

Evil, 9/4/11 12:18 PM

 I have been doing a lot of thinking lately, kinda easy to do when you’re lonely and alone.  And the thought of evil popped into my mind. Now this is a new thought for me so I haven’t delved into it too deep yet. What if the most evil thing on earth is apathy? Why does it matter; what good would it do anyway? This line of thinking has allowed all kinds of preventable things to go on in our world. I would like to hear your thoughts on this matter. I want to go into this more as I have time to digest this idea; please tell me what you think!

Pervekntable, this goes to show you what a marvel the modern computer is, I mean truly a marvel. I was trying to spell preventable (up above), can you believe that, and the spell check read my mind and knew what I wanted!

Jennifer I cannot post on your blog, maybe you could check your settings on comments and allow anonymous comments.

Good night all. After a hard and emotional week I am going to get some rest and go jump off a cliff…into water for sure. My mom liked to ask “if your friends jumped off a cliff would you?” and my response would be “only if the water is deep enough”, ha-ha I was such a smart ass!

Viewed through the eyes

As tall as the sky

Standing on the end

A little boy yells

Let me jump

Viewed through the eyes of a child

So simple

Let me jump

So simple, let me jump!

He jumps

This moment frozen

Locked in memory

This moment

Years have gone

The way they do for everyone

Still that memory

Viewed through my eyes

Dad, let me jump

I shouted

Standing on his hand

Let me jump!

My sister asked me to write a poem using the title from a poem of my father’s. I don’t know that I can, at least not now. I tried and it wouldn’t flow. About ten lines were written, than discarded. Some things, at some times, are just too big. This one gives me a feeling that the time for its expression is not now, maybe not even for me. Who knows? What does Who know? I don’t know, that was why I was asking you

8/29/11 11:42 PM

I don't know

How to talk to you

I don't Know

Tongue twists

Out pours emotional vomit

In place of the gentle discourse

You can do this to me

Only you

This is probably why

I still try

I hope life finds you well. I had a difficult day. I don't understand how conflicting emotions can occupy the same space. My life should be ripping a hole in the time space continuum, bang, existence should sputter, falter, than blink out! Maybe it has, existence just hasn't figured it out yet.

Eulogy to a dream

Eulogy to a dream

My life has changed in a real way. And I want to scream: fuck, world, why? Was it me, was it her, does it matter, probably not.

At one point in time I had a dream. It was safe and warm, comfortable. The wheels were on the truck.

Now not so much!

My family and friends are probably worried. This is something I should not be able to survive, not the me that was two years ago.

That dream I had has not been real for some time now, its ok, I’m ok.

This is me in print

Steak and flag

My steak and my flag 8/21/11 9:29 pm

He was so good at science

So good at science they named an elephant after him

One slip of the tong and I pounce

No attack, no ridicule

Ideas swirling and spinning

That is all it takes, one slip

Jumping in with my tong I say

This is mine, I lay claim!

With my steak and my flag

Spiked into your words

As if I have any rites to the syllables

Graciously you say “Ok, sure”

And laugh

Possibly at the arrogance of the un-tried

Or the exuberance

Or maybe, just maybe

The just plain crazy

Christopher I have to say from the bottom of my heart, thank you! You have opened a whole new world for me to revel in. Not just this pros/poetry world, also the world where it is ok for me to open myself up and be vulnerable with another man, hell another human being. Having laid my claim to your mistaken utterance with the intent on coming up with some witty maybe funny poem, the writing decided to take me to my own foibles instead. So now, I give back to you that which was not mine to lay claim to in the first place. My request would be that you write an intro about the man that generated the content for this slip. Of His contributions I would like to hear.” The man who was so good at science they named an elephant after him”

What's up?

I haven't posted on here for a while, life gets in the way sometimes. I decided to save some poems to see if I could get published. Some publishers need the work submitted to be virgin, and my blog is considered "published"

so I will be writing more often. Thank you fam and friends for your support and love, without witch i would not have survived life to this point.

with love,

Chris

I hold you in my heart

Hulk

What is your earliest memory? I think mine is Of Christmas. I couldn’t have been older than three. The snow had started falling and the street light became something magical. Under the tree an Incredible Hulk piggy bank sat like an ugly green lump. I had no Idea what a piggy bank was for. In the back of the Hulk’s head was a slot for coins, I’ll get back to that shortly. I remember feeling warm and safe. I didn’t have the Hulk for long. Having no idea what a piggy bank was for, and not being interested in the hulk at all, my interest was consumed by the slot. I spent hours and hours trying to figure out what it was for. Eventually I stuck a butter knife in the opening to make it larger, I wanted to see what was inside. Nothing, absolutely nothing, that’s what, so disappointing.  Having that mystery solved I proceeded to stuff anything I could into the back of Hulks head. David Banner said “Mr. McGee, don't make me angry. You wouldn't like me when I'm angry.” Within each of us, ofttimes, there dwells a mighty and raging fury, was a title card from the Hulk T.V. show circa 1977. What they should have said is, If you shove a butter knife in my coin slot you will see that I am empty, and you can fit a lot of crap in there.

Quotes and saying from http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0076190/quotes, thanks.

Edgewise 8/5/11

Ramblings of a desperate mind

Over and over the thoughts

Rolling down lanes well-trodden

Stopping not at all

The wheels on this cart don’t fall off

The horse following behind

Can’t get in a word edgewise

Another one, thank you Christopher

This thing

I hold it in my hands this thing so fragile

Tenuous

I can with one twitch

Nerves fired racing through channels

Long established for just that

Crush it, tear it, rend it

Fragile this thing in my hand is

Tenuous

With one impulse I can

Racing nerves quieted

Seldom used But for this

Caress it, nurture it, breath life

Into its farthest recesses

This thing so fragile, tenuous

Chris Mcqueeney, 7-29-11

       On a job site recently I caught a humming bird in my hands; it had got caught a large wall of bay windows. Giving to you the poem, that was not inspired by this incidence, I leave This you to ponder the outcome.

Half Life

      There is this moment after about a week of drug induced spinning that makes you wonder if it is day or night. The front door is a very daunting thing at this point. All the windows have been covered; they may be watching. No I’m sure they are watching, and waiting for one glimpse of what is going on in the home with lights going twenty four hours a day for weeks on end. I know this from the bottom of my drug induced brain. They are out there, waiting.

      All the clocks have been disassembled. I know, oh yes I know, the bugs have been planted. The wall plugs have been pulled apart, and inspected, than re inspected. All the nail holes have been plugged with toilet paper to block there cameras. They are watching, and waiting. I can hear the whispers through the vents. They are planning something, something big, and I know the plan has to do with me.

     The clocks don’t work, so I don’t know what time it is. But I’m out, and the itch is on. Three hours of pacing, debating, rethinking all the angles, but I’m out. I have no choice, hand on the door knob, I turn, look back into the cave I have been holed up in, the door opens……..

Chris Mcqueeney 7/24/11  

The Rain King

The Sun God could visit

It would be a nice thing

We could sit on the patio  

Talk of this, that, and other things

Reliving days gone bye

Also days yet to be

Alas, the Cloud God is camping

Hanging with his cousin Rain King

The ground is wet

The sky is grey

Brining back to me

If the sun god could visit

It would be a nice thing

Maybe then I wouldn’t have to worry

About the f’ing Rain King

7/17/11

It is funny how much of my life has been consumed by rain. Growing up every time my sister and I returned to oregon it would start to rain, as if to say hi, how the hell are you. The smell of rain still gives me joy; this may sound strange to some but for me it feels natural. Apon leaving the rain king would harrold our departure. He would welcome us home with tears of joy, and see us off with his grief. Now when it rains his conflicting faces tug at my heart strings.

Edges

My friend a man with a view has an interesting spin on things. Until recently I did not read nor write poetry, not at all. I had this pre set, red neck bigotry as far as poetry was concerned. Needless to say my views are changing, although I still get twinge every time I read my own writing. It is hard to put it out there, to expose the edges of my soul in such a way, with no control over who can see them or how they will be taken; this exposure is good and exciting and very unnerving. Having said that I would like to share a poem that was penned in response to a poem that I penned in response to a poem he shared on his blog(he wrote this one and also the first one if you didnt catch my drift).

Thanks man.


The Edge Of The World

I cannot show you
this shore, these breakers thrashing
the sandy chaos,
roiling far more than
buried life can bear for long,
the rocks upthrust, sharp,
with small damp caverns
and craters where wild things grow.
The edge of the world
is damp and salty,
like dilute new blood, pale light
like early morning.

http://northernwall.blogspot.com/2011/07/call-grieving-god-reprise.html

Lack there of

Stress, It can generate a lot of actions, some good, some bad. There are those who thrive on it, and those whom are crushed. Many get sick, driven down by the overwhelming pressure to accomplish all the things expected of them, some by others, but mostly by them- selves. Then there are those that have the talent to generate a fulfilling life from stressful situation. Now having not researched this on a large scale I am no expert, I just go by the people in my life and there experience that I hear about and see. I don’t want my life to lie in either category. I want the middle road, the life with fulfilling and not overwhelming.

Shit happens they say

Where were you? That was the gist of the conversation I had with a co-worker this afternoon. Standing on a deck in the west hills of Portland Oregon, both of us looking at Mt. Saint Helens, Andrew asked where I was when the mountain blew. This got me thinking about the major things that happen in people’s lifetimes and what they did on those days, or weeks after.

Where was I on one of those life changing days? I was in bed when the phone raing; I almost wish that I hadn’t answered it, my life has not been the same since.

Shit happens they say 

Free will

Mine or theirs

Makes no matter at all

The result is the same

Shit happens they say

Fuck that

We happen, that’s what

We happen, every day

We sit thinking

How can I change this

How can we tweak that

How to navigate the floaters

Left when shit happens

That is the goal, or reward

Maybe

Shit happens they say

Fuck that I say

Again I say

Fuck That

Chris McQueeney 7/2/11




I linked this to dVerse poets where Brian asked us to contemplate choices 

You are, I am.

You are sideways, I’m upside down

No, wait

Sideways is what I am

Upside down is for you

Either way the view is off kilter

You get to dance on the ceiling

I get to hop over doorways

Stumbling on the trim I fall

Through the window into the outside

The sun is out

Maybe you could join me

Instead of just watch

Good day sir

Hello blog world!

No deep thoughts from me today. I have been told that I have been too grim lately. Ok, this just may be true, no, it is true. The sun is out, my children are healthy, and I have been blessed with two years of sobriety. So for today I will be light, frivolous, and joyful.

Again I say hello, hi, how are you, and as Bilbo once said (just with a different tone) good day sir.

Inspire me, post fun things, poems, stories, and videos.

Also to my viewers in Germany, talk to me; tell me how you found me. I spent nine days in your country and loved it. I want to hear from you……..

Sadness becomes me 6/21/11

Through my forest

Cold wind blowing

Tempting the few stragglers

Holding on as if

Life will flow

If only

If only it could

If only I could stretch

My winter bare arms in the sun

Dig my roots into the loamy soil

For now this cannot be

The sun is hiding

The ground is hard

Waiting for spring

Spring is not now

So for now

Sadness becomes me



This is has been a tough day, week, and year, but this is not a wholy down poem. There is hope yet, hope for spring, for life returning, and new blumes sprouting.Wandering down this path is a journey; around the next corner, on the other side of that hill lies hope. Or at least the hope that hope lies somewhere near.

One night I was having trouble sleeping, and I did not have a book to read, so I flicked on the boob tube. On the Sundance channel, for some reason, a documentary caught my attention. It was about Norwegian black metal and some of the history and infamy behind the movement.  I have included a link to the movie web site; on the link you can watch the whole movie and extras, please watch. One of the people involved, Varg Vikernes, committed murder, at least that was what he was convicted of; either he is the best sociopath I have ever seen, or he is telling it how it happened.

                Here is some content from the movie’s Facebook page,

"UNTIL THE LIGHT TAKES US is a stunning, voyeuristic window into the morbid world of Norwegian black metal, the most malevolent musical genre in existence, whose surprisingly articulate founders hold complex sets of extreme nationalist, anti-Semitic and anti-Christian beliefs. Unlike musical purveyors of evil who do so only for the sake of showmanship, these young friends actually practice what they preach, engaging in rampant church burning, suicide, and – as notoriously chronicled in the European media – murder.

Co-directors Aaron Aites and Audrey Ewell spent two years living in Oslo, where they procured the trust of ringleader Varg Vikernes (a/k/a “Count Grishnack”), architect of the criminal movement. Along with other influential members of the “Black Circle,” Vikernes gave the filmmakers unprecedented, intimate access to their shadowy world. UNTIL THE LIGHT TAKES US chronicles the true story behind the music and mayhem, and reveals what happened when these complicated young artists could no longer control the dangerous scene they had created. Featuring interviews with outspoken black metal fan Harmony Korine, musicians Gylve Fenriz Nagell, Varg Vikernes, Hellhammer, Faust, Abbath and Demonaz, Garm, Faust, Frost and more, and the music of Black Dice, Boards of Canada, Burzum, Darkthrone, Enslaved, Gorgoroth, Lesser, Mayhem, Múm, Sunn 0))), Thorns, and Ulver. (USA, 2009, English, 93 minutes)”

Untill the light takes us