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