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Monday, December 24, 2012

A Christmas flight

“Damn!!” Alphonse swore under his breath.
One hundred meters ahead the Gnomes crested the rise Alphie was scouting. Alphonse “Alphie” Acornshield quickly scrambled to his waiting fox. Alphie had the dubious luxury of being a scout in the specialist core assigned to the third battalion, seventh division, of His Most Illustrious Elfin Army. Normally that luxury was far from dubious…Being a “specialist,” as they liked to call themselves meant good food, fine drink, and feems, the finest feems in all of farie.
As his fox sped through the dense foliage Alphie thought back to the previous evening’s staff meeting….

Laughter rang throughout the tent as Alphie entered.
“Those pitiful gnomes will never learn will they?” Shouted a drunken red faced elf…his pointed ears even redder then his face, and the buttons of his uniform straining against his prodigious girth…”We will trounce them handily!” The ultimate commander of the Unified Elfin Army’s deep and commanding voice was at odds with his comic appearance.
“At most they will send a few battalions of those summer scum from the west! Every year it is the same thing on the front…we form up the day before Christmas, they throw a few thousand Scummer gnomes at us, we stomp a muddhole in um, and then we party Christmas day…this year will be no different!” the officer in charge of the specialists stated scornfully. His appearance couldn’t have been more at odds with the Ultimate Commander’s if they had tried. Tall and trim he cut a fine image for a young officer. His pristine uniform well fitted and crisp, all his medals lined up smartly. Where the Ultimate commander’s face was bright red and bulbous the Specialist officer’s was angular and tan. Colonel Oakenbrand was a fine officer.
“Scout Acornshield, come here lad,” colonel Oakenbrand snapped sharply, “go to the northwest end of the front and sit for the day; you have earned a rest…don’t want to let the feems down tomorrow…and we can say we covered all our bases”

Those words echoed in his memory as the sound from the present shook him to his bones.

“Thrum, Thrum,Thrum
We march to the beat
Of our drums
We’ll take their meat
And then we’ll eat
From their
Kidneys and livers
And Lungs…”

The chant thundered across the valley as tens of thousands of Winter Gnomes crested the northern rise, effectively flanking the elfish Army. Alphie flailed his fox for more speed, with very little hope of being able to prevent the massacre about to be visited upon his fellows.

“And their kidneys
And livers
And lungs!”

Merry Christmas friends and family! This Short fiction piece was written in response to a prompt By Ben Ditty over at Nice Old Spice  , although Ben was nicer to his characters then I :-)

Chris McQueeney    12/24/12    2:22 P.M.

Thursday, December 20, 2012

the walk

commencing this
Journey? path walk, destination
in a place that will be the same
place I and Mine

Where you and yours may
to some day get
the solute
bang bang
bag pipes and trumpets
a flag just so

The grass green
sights laid out just
so so so
morbidly preening
that spot is a better
place to sit for a long, long

sleep aludes me
so I trod the well worn paths
where my children play
jumping from stone
to stone...writing all over the place
brings lives pinpoints times
magnifies how csprecious
fickley fate can be

Chris, McQueeney

Brian has asked us  to take a walk, for dVerse poets pub. Aross from my house is a cemetary...the kids love it, and a small scar forms as I read the children's stones. I actually want a traditional Indian above groud  buirial, or a ground level rock carn..leave my  my remans to feed the animals...they fed me long enough

Sunday, December 16, 2012

Upon a night

Just so

The lamplight
Struck Your face
Just so
Time stilled
Just for an instant
Indelibly struck
Molding my soul
The feel of you
Won’t let go
Aimlessly at times
I wander
Searching to find
Trying to get back
Inside that moment
The lamplight
Struck your face
Just so

Chris McQueeney    12/16/12    3:43 P.M.

Friday, December 14, 2012

See you again

I awoke

I dreamt a poem
As I awoke it
Went away

A number of years ago I had been sober for a time, then relapsed. I had just got a rather large bag of rock cocaine…I had an awesome dealer (I thought he was awesome), he had consistent product, strong, and he always answered his phone…and I was driving home to get fucked up.
Driving up my road I saw three of my sober friends standing on the road in front of my home. Fuck! I was loaded, drugs in pocket, and the only reason for those three to be together and at my house was to do an intervention. Now if you don’t know what in intervention is, it is where friends or family and sometimes even a professional confronts an addict and tries to get them to give up, get sober, to live. Jeff, Red, Mike, all standing there waiting for me. As soon as I saw them I thought about just driving past and going somewhere else, but my street is not big and they would know I did that. I loved all three of them, they were good friends, so I decided to stop and talk to them.
I parked the car and got out…picture this, it is dark, the street lamp lighting us just enough to make out each other’s faces, I was all fucked up, they were sober…and walked over to them. Now unless you have ever done an intervention you wouldn’t know how strange they actually are. Everyone knows each other well, usually, but no one is comfortable. The sober parties are apprehensive because even though they know the addict they don’t know what they are walking into; addicts aren’t known for rational behavior (I laughed as I wrote that; the truth is that addicts are insane). The addict will be uncomfortable for a host of reasons. Hell those sober people may try to stop them from getting loaded.
None of those guys really knew what to say, I think Jeff said something like “how you doing, you getting fucked up?” I laughed, no shit was I getting fucked up, “yes.”  “Ok, do you have drugs on you?” “Yes.” “Why don’t you give them to us and come hang out.” “Nope.” “So you are going to do the drugs, and not come with us?” “yup.” “Are you planning to do anymore driving while you are all fucked up…will you give me your keys?” “Sure,” knowing that I had a spare set, “here take them.” “Are you sure you won’t give us the drugs and come with us?” “Yes I am sure, I am going to get good and fucked up, but I will get sober tomorrow. I’ll give you a call tomorrow.” I said as I was walking away from them to go inside. There was more, but like I said I was fucked up so that is the gist of the conversation.
They all talked, they all tried to talk me out of going inside with the drugs. They did all they could.
I proceeded to smoke the coke all night long, leaving at one point to get some more, and got all fucked up. The entire time I was getting high I was in my bedroom. In some ways I probably resembled Gollum if not on the outside, for sure on the inside. I was consumed by the drug, feeling euphoria not obtainable any other way. And being consumed mind body and soul.
I smoked like six hundred dollars’ worth of rock that night, and it was good. But inevitably the drugs ran out, and I started coming down. I still had money, but I told Jeff I would get sober that next day, so I called him.
I can’t remember if Jeff picked me up, (and to tell you the truth, I think it was the next day, it might have been a week later…drugs will do that to you, a day turns into a month pretty easy) or if I drove over to his place. At that time Jeff lived with Rick, another friend of mine who was in recovery as well.
Rick let me detox in his spare room. Detox from Rock Cocaine is tame when compared to alcohol, or heroin, or benzos. Mostly you feel like shit, I mean really like shit! Coke eats up all the endorphins in your body and inhibits its production. So in reality you can’t feel good without more coke, or time. I slept for a couple of days, smoked cigarettes, and talked to Rick and Jeff. I have no idea what they said. I’m sure I can guess though, they talked about recovery. I do remember that Rick took me to a meeting at the Grotto in NE Portland.
That was many years ago, and I stayed sober for a few years because of the things those four men did.
About two months ago Jeff gave me a call…Rick was drunk and not doing well. Jeff and I went to Rick’s house, Jeff having moved out quite a while ago, to do an intervention on Rick. We got there after the ambulance and fire truck. When the police found out we were sober and in recovery they let us deal with Rick. His wife was drunk and balling. His daughter was drunk and trying to tell Rick what he needed to do.
All Jeff and I could do was have the same conversation with Rick that was tried on me. “Why don’t you come with us.” “Nope.” “Why don’t you give us the booze.” “Nope.”  “You are going to keep drinking?” “Yup, but I’ll get sober tomorrow.”  As I left Rick got up and gave me a hug, “you’re a good man Chris, I love you.” “I love you too Rick”
     Two Days ago Jeff called me to talk about his granddaughter, and a book cover he is designing for me. Towards the end of the conversation Jeff told me why he really called. In the background this stupid fucking show called The Amish Mafia was droning on, I hadn’t turned it off when he called. “On a sadder note, Rick drank himself to death. He was found this morning in bed dead.”
A good man died, was sentenced to death, and his only crime was that he couldn’t quit drinking.

See you again

With tears in my eyes
Tremor in my voice
I say good bye to a good man
A friend
A loved one
Sleep well my friend
Rest with peace
And when I go
I hope to see you again

Chris McQueeney    12/14/12

Rest in peace

To the families of those lost today my thoughts and prayers go out to you, which may be of small comfort, but it is all I can give. Please if you comment leave the argument about guns for a more appropriate time and place, show some respect for the dead and wait at least a few days.

This is being linked to Friday Flash 55 at Mr Know it all"s my 55 is broken in two pieces, I awoke and See you again title and verse come to 55

Tuesday, December 11, 2012

Guest Post by Ben Ditmars on his Book, Haiku in the Night

Hello, everyone! It’s Ben Ditmars again. Chris McQueeney has agreed to let me do another post on his amazing blog. It’s been a few months and I bet you wonder what I've been up to. No, it wasn't a safari. The closest I've got to wild animals was playing Oregon Trail and I’m partially responsible for the decline of the American buffalo because of it. What I have been up to is equally exciting. I have a new book out titled Haiku in the Night. It’s a collection of free-verse and traditional haiku. I had a vision, ladies and gentlemen, or conversely jezebels and hooligans.

I wanted to really explore haiku and show its versatility. You know, break down rules, stick it to the man? I think I succeeded in sticking it… in the most platonic way possible. I don’t think poets should be turned off of it because of its rules. It’s a beautiful form of observation and succinct emotion. Syllables are not near as important as the meaning behind them. I think this is true in the Japanese tradition as well as the American. My organization for the poems is four colors, an homage to Basho’s by season. Please, check it out or read a sample. For just pennies a day you can keep this poet off the streets. Maybe I'll even send you a drawing to prove they haven't sold me into prostitution. Here's a few favorites I'd like to share with you:

Twilight spins
Spider webs of hope
Lost to sight.

We are slaves
Bound to this
Wild West of love.

I swam inside you
Becoming waves and ripples
In your heart-shaped lake.

Monday, December 10, 2012

Been a bit off lately.

easily break

This loss of mine
Makes it hard to find
to keep some piece of mind
Where would I be though
Without this loss
in a life of ease
They say a rolling stone
Gathers no moss
All I can say
Just one day
One week, one month
a year
Can I be a brick
or block
a tile or stone paved way
They all may get walked on
For all of that
They don't easily break

Chris McQueeney 12/10/12

Saturday, December 1, 2012

Friday 55

As they bite

Fuck you
You don’t know
The pain inside
Because it’s right here
In my face
In my life
It is impossible to hide
Those tiny little gears
Are all I hear
As they grind away
At my soul
As they bite
With their teeth
They take more of me than
I’ll ever care to know

Chris McQueeney    11/26/12    3:16 P.M.

FF 55 flash fiction friday in 55 words as per request :-)

Thursday, November 29, 2012

The 14th member

Thief in the night

I sought through
Profanity and discord
To rob that dragon
Of his hoard
This two handled cup
Is mine
And I’ll rightfully say
He may be Smaug
But I still had my way

Chris McQueeney    11/26/12    2:50 P.M. 

Tuesday, November 27, 2012

dVerse Poets Pub link and Charity Parkerson book release of The-Adonas

The Sky knew

Even from the dawn of time
The sky knew
Its only reason for being
Was you

And from then until this day
It waited forever
For me to say
I love you

Chris McQueeney    11/20/12    2:28 P.M.

 This poem will be linked to dVerse Poets Pub

Also below you will find a press release from author Charity Parkerson, and A short Q & A.  Please check out her links…she has been a very fun person to get to know.

Charity Parkerson


Grecian Fantasies hosts one of the hottest balls in town, a naughty Nobody-Knows-Your-Name masquerade that is not only exclusive, but is also not for the faint of heart.
Pleasure, fantasy, fetish, and vice are all on the menu at this ball. The only thing not up for grabs is the notorious woman behind its creation, but that is about to change.


“I’m Weston,” he said as he wound Rob’s ribbon around his neck, tying it in a neat bow, and making himself appear as a giant unwanted present. “What’s your desire?” Rob started to tell Weston that he desired for him to go away, but a bright yellow feather caught his eye once more, and his gaze found the Goddess across the room.
“I need you to fetch someone,” Rob answered, deciding to use the awkward situation to his advantage.
“Oh, yay, a threesome,” Weston cheered. “May I suggest Mike over there,” he said, pointing to a gigantic man wearing a plain black mask. “He has lumberjack hands,” Weston added cheerfully.
Rob paused. Lumberjack hands? No, he was not going to ask. “What are lumberjack hands?”
“You know, he can wield his . . .” Weston began before Rob waved his hand, cutting him off.
“Never mind, I get the picture.” And he did, too. He would never be able to wash this moment from his mind. Getting back on track before things got out of hand, Rob pointed across the room. “Bring her to me,” he ordered.
Weston’s face fell as he caught sight of the woman to which Rob referred. “I cannot,” he stammered, sounding horrified.
“What the hell? I thought you were supposed to fulfill my desires or some shit?”
Weston seemed honestly distraught over Rob’s aggravation. “I’m sorry. If you ask me to fetch anyone else for a bit of fun, then I am at your service, any service,” he added, raking Rob’s body with his eyes. “However, that is Theadonis and I cannot do as you command.”
“The Adonis,” Rob repeated, sounding ridiculous even to his own ears. “I thought Adonis was a man. That is no man.” As the words left Rob’s mouth, he found himself tilting his head to one side and studying the woman closer just in case he was wrong.
 Weston rolled his eyes. “Not ‘the Adonis.’ Theadonis. That’s her name. She is the owner of Grecian Fantasies.”

Bio: Charity Parkerson was born in Tennessee, where she still lives with her husband and two sons.  She is the author of several books including twelve Amazon bestsellers. You can like her at Be sure to visit her at  and you can read her blog at
Her “Sinners series” was voted one of the top ten best books by an Indie author in 2011- Paranormal Romance Reads
She was named as one of the top three Indie authors of 2012- The BookConnection 
She is a member of The Paranormal Romance Guild, is a Goodreads moderator, a member of Coffee Time Romance, and co-host of The Melissa Craigand Charity Parkerson show.
She won author of the week in August of 2011, and is a three-time winner of The Mistress of the Darkpath.
You can follow her on Twitter @


Q & A

When did you read your first book and realize half way through that you never wanted it to end? What book was it?
I’ve loved reading for so long that I can’t remember the first one that made me feel that way. I can remember the first romance that I ever read. It was “Velvet Angel” by Jude Deveraux.

You have a fairly strong presence on social media, twitter, facebook , and on and on…how do you find the time to write your books?
I keep writing hours. Of course, if I’m inspired I will write right then, but I have self-imposed writing hours when the internet stays turned off.

What is one of your guilty pleasures?
Starbucks toffee-nut mocha. They are so fattening but I love it.
How did you end up writing erotica?
My writing has always contained a heavy romance element, and with each new release, I came a little closer to becoming labeled as erotica. Finally, after receiving a review that said my book should have come with a warning, I decided to give it a try. I was nervous about its reception but people seemed to love it so I kept writing.

Do you ever get stopped by complete strangers because of your books?
I’ve never been stopped on the street but I have had fans show up to book signings and that was awesome. It is a very surreal to have someone excited about your autograph.

Tell us about the glamorous life of a modern erotic writer…
Ha! There is nothing glamorous about it. I’m just excited that I can work from home and I don’t have to put on shoes, or pants, if I don’t want to.

Charity Parkerson

Monday, November 26, 2012

The Mag 145

My throne

In this seat I do sit
With my thoughts
My life and
All my regrets
The minor detritus of a life Gone astray
Line the walls
These walls stand sentry
To this wasted gift you did give to me
And that charge you placed
You see I’ve wasted it
Oh the trees
The trees they have kept me company
These many long years
Their leaves a testament
To my life and where it went
With my thoughts
My life and
All my regrets
You see I still sit
On this my
Throne of solitude

Chris McQueeney    11/26/12    1:01 P.M.

I was involved in a discussion with an author the other day who was upset with Americans and their lack of understanding that there is a British form of English as well as the American version. Supposedly an American corrected her spelling on a word that was spelled using the British version of English. 

While I can understand her frustration I had a hard time with the fact that the post in a way was about how horrible Americans were, and how the few of us that weren't ignorant hillbillies should rightfully rest under the cloud of negativity those others created. 

There are 315,000,000 Americans currently living in America...and all of those Americans have the freedom of speech. They also have the freedom to chose where they spend their dollars and if they prefer books that are written in the American style of English, well, more power to them. 

I guess what bothered me is that if you took the word American out and replaced it with Black, or Chink or Whop or Fag or any other derogatory word they would have fit. Why is it OK to be a bigot if it is directed at another country? And when has the argument It's ok that I do it because everyone else does it held water?

Now had you asked a question like "why would America or a good portion of Americans not want to learn the Queens own version of English?" you might have gotten a response like: from the time of the revolutionary war America has striven to separate itself from its colonial roots. And while I have no problem acknowledging that there are two different forms of English, there may be a portion of Americans that will never acknowledge the validity of your form of English because of the revolutionary war and the scars it left behind. 

Chris McQueeney  

This is Being linked to The Mag 145 where Tess brings image for us to go all poetic on.

Wednesday, November 21, 2012


"And There's that damned knot again"

And there's that damned
Knot again
Swinging in my chest
A hangman's noose
Strangling me slowly
From within
Space open under my feet
I pulled my lever
Your trapdoor released
Here I am
My life dancing
At the end of that damned knot

Chris McQueeney 11/16/12

Tomorrow will be Thanksgiving for those of us on this side of the pond. To some the holidays are a very stressful time...I think there are many reasons for that. For me they are a time to be enjoyed. I get to see my family,  or at least a good portion of them. 

A good portion of my adult life I dreaded the family gatherings. I wasn't sober  and would have to go around people that most definitely were. I remember not being able to look people in the eye, and coming up with some diversion to get the attention off of me. 

Fifteen years ago today I was sitting in the Depaul long term treatment center for my drug addiction...and again I was dreading Thanksgiving. I was sober, and the most sane I had been for eight years, and my family was coming to see me. For the first time in my life I was truly ashamed, actually it was the first time I was truly ashamed and sober at the same time. 

Looking back now, fifteen years later, I can see that that was the first holiday in over eight years that I had nothing to be ashamed about. Yes I was in a treatment center, and yes I went to sleep there every night to the sounds of cockroaches running in the walls, but I was sober. 

That was the first time in a long time that I was able to look my father in the eye...sitting in a shithole cafeteria, in a shithole building in downtown Portland Oregon, eating food that was mostly donated by local food banks. 

I am grateful for that day...that was the only sober Thanksgiving that I ever got to spend with my father. Enjoy the holidays, enjoy your families; Years from now those memories may be some of the best of your lives

Happy Thanksgiving to all of My American friends, and to the not so American ones as well.

Chris McQueeney    11/21/12    5:05 P.M.

Here is a link to De Paul treatment centers in the Portland Oregon area

Mailing Address for All Locations
De Paul Treatment Centers

PO Box 3007
Portland, Oregon 97208
Phone: (503) 535-1151
Fax: (503) 535-1190
Adult Center
1312 SW Washington St.
Portland, Oregon 97205
Phone: (503) 535-1151
Fax: (503)

Monday, November 19, 2012

Open link night

His due

Angels are all well
And good
With their wings
And such
But heaven is a long way Away
And the devil expects
His due

You say you'll pray
For me
That's what you'll do
I hope that is of comfort to you
But heavens a long way Away
And the devil expects
His due

You ask if I regret that day
And I truly do
Not what I did to that man
Only for how it’s affected you
But heavens a long way Away
And the devil expects
His due

You wonder of I'll miss anything
Woman of course I'll miss you
But unlike some the lord above
Surely knows
Heaven is a long way Away
And the devil's gonna get
His due

Chris McQueeney    11/19/12    9:27 P.M.

Tomorrow at noon I will be linking this to dVerse Poets Pub for open link night...that is a poetic free for all...check it out.

Saturday, November 17, 2012

We pay our toll

I am a bit sad tonight. Sad because I had to make a decision that I didn't agree with, or like. While it was happening a large part of my mind was saying fuck that, that isn't fair…, I shouldn't have to do this. I don’t have to do it, no I don’t have to, but I chose to do it because it was the right thing to do. Everyone deserves to be treated with humanity and respect.
Last night I got to think about some things that I haven’t thought about in a long time…I got to think about the time in my life when my sister finally escaped from the abuse and fear that we called home. We lived in Idaho with my mom and step dad. Our house was on the corner of 11th and Dewey, just a block from the high school.  
Just before she moved away there was a fairly bad episode between my mom and my sis. At one point while my mom was attacking her, my sister hit back. At that point my mom fled the room and screamed at my step dad “she fucking hit me, sick her Doug, sick her.” At that point my memory gets a little fuzzy. I think I cowered in my bed wishing it would end, and fearing that it would come in my room; and hating myself for not being able to do anything to stop it. I always had that shame, I couldn't stop it…I was scared, and I couldn't stop it, and so I hid.
And I hated myself for still loving my mom. I remember praying that they both would get in an accident on their way home from work, my mom and step dad, and that I would feel safe. I cried myself to sleep that night because who wishes their parents would die instead of come home, what a horrible person I felt I was.  
My father lived in Oregon. Oregon was the promise land. The grass was green, there were trees everywhere, and it was safe. We went there for the summer and my sister begged him to let her stay. So he filed paperwork to gain custody of my sister. The attorney took a deposition from her detailing all the abuse she was suffering.
I was asked if I wanted to live with Dad, and I did…but I was afraid, was still cowering on my bed in my mind. I was a child asked to make an adult decision. I was afraid to tell the truth. My secrets kept me safe…we don’t talk about what happens at home. And to this day the one thought that has shamed me the most was that maybe mom and Doug would treat me better. Maybe they will learn from losing my sister that they couldn’t treat me that way.
So I went home, back to Idaho. For a week all I heard was how horrible my sister was. How big a fucking liar she was, and how dare she do this to them. I cowered inside; there was nothing I could do about it. They were still abusing her and she wasn’t even there. Then they started hitting me more often. But the worst thing was the yelling, and screaming, and name calling…
Growing into adulthood I had much shame. Shame for not being able to tell my dad that they were hurting me too. Shame for not stopping them from hurting my sister. Shame for loving them. Shame for hating them.  most of all I had shame for hoping that by my sister leaving I would get a mother and step father that cared for me, and loved me. I had shame for not being able to make adult decisions as a child. I had no choice, I was a child.
So, today when I was confronted with an adult decision I responded as an adult. No longer will I make decisions from that bed that I cowered in. There isn’t enough liquor in the world to make those kinds of decisions ok, there never was I just didn’t know that.

Jenny I am sorry for being mad at you for being able to escape.

This War

To end all
We pay our toll
In blood we pay
For you
And you
And you
We pay
That you may never have to
See what we see
Feel that which we have felt
Know this
For in blood do we pay
For you never to have this experience

Chris McQueeney    11/11/12    9:29 P.M.

P.S.  If you are reading this I would like you to know that I have appreciated your friendship, and also your input. I hope you continue to read my work…