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Friday, December 30, 2011

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

Tuesday, December 27, 2011


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

Wednesday, December 21, 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 d├ęcor
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

Saturday, December 17, 2011

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

Tuesday, December 6, 2011

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

Sunday, December 4, 2011


                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

Friday, December 2, 2011

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