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Monday, April 30, 2012

They never do...

Opening up

She started to raise her hand in farewell, but abruptly stopped the motion. What use would it be anyway, he wouldn’t stay. They never do, so she stands there alone yet again. How is it that this keeps happening? She wants to run to him, wants to give herself over to his world and experience the fulfillment that he has offered oh so briefly.
It isn’t as if she isn’t an attractive woman. She has good taste in music and a heart as large as any could want. Her hair, though not long, was a striking shade of brown with a light curl towards the bottom.  And her body…her body is simply amazing with a divers lines and a dancer’s grace. Over the floor she floats from one foot to the next, beauty in motion. Of all her features, her deep green eyes light the path to the untapped depths of her soul. 
Yes she was crafted to please the eye, and stir the imagination. She, like Helena of troy, should be the match head struck, sparking a bonfire in those around her, but she always felt wanting… unfulfilled. With each day it became more evident that the spark needed to be delivered another way.
Over and over they came. At times there were two or more. Sometimes, but not often, one would come back twice in a single day. One summer the same man came every day, almost four months before he too left. That was a hard one for her. Not as often were the women…and that brought shame, say no? No wasn’t something she had in her…they came and left the same as the men.
It usually started the same; every day…The cat’s ear would perk up. The sound of a car, or truck door slamming shut would echo through the home. At first she felt immense excitement. Blood racing and nerves tingling she would think to herself, finally I have company, someone to feel with, someone to talk to. Footsteps would be the next to fly across her nerve. Mouth going dry she would walk to the door, to invite them in, to say hi, or to shout that she wants more!
But it stayed the same…they come, and then leave her behind. All her whispered pleas and tears leaving them unmoved, they would go.
Again for the ten thousandth time she lowered her hand, plea unanswered. Again for the ten thousandth time they left unaware of the need in her. Again she stands behind her unopened door as the mail man leaves his package on the porch, she wishing she could speak to him, to anyone. He leaves never knowing he was watched the whole time, they never do.
Again she stands behind the unopened door; a door that hadn’t opened in years…wishing that the world was fair…It isn’t like I don’t have anything to offer them…………………..

Chris McQueeney    4/30/12    3:09 P.M.

The above story is fiction and any resemblance to actual people or places is a mere Coincidence so chill the f out...

the photo courtesy of yo actually it was from bing images!

Thursday, April 26, 2012


Super-Man’s last run

I have been thinking of how to write this, started,stopped,deleted,started,stopped,deleted…you get the picture. Then the other day I was with my kids, and they broke it for me. The tatters of my life…that is what I thought…the tatters of my life. I looked at my son and my daughter as they sat on the couch and I flashed back to my sister and I at that age, and the my life became the tatters of our life. Jenny and I, tatters is a good word for it, had a fucked up childhood. I swore that when I had children they would never have to go through what we went through, never. Well I don’t get to decide some things and they get to experience some of the things I did, not the really bad, but the not so good of growing up in a divided family, tatters.
                As I looked at Chase and Karley it occurred to me that I had the opportunity to give them something from my childhood that wasn’t fucked up, a good dad. I had a good dad; no I had an amazing dad! Growing up he was larger than life. And that never left me. He was larger than life. Really, just ask his friends and family.
Dad watched me killing myself and it tore him up, I felt guilty for living a life that was killing me and I had to treat him poorly. If I was angry, and fucking loaded to the gills, at him I didn’t have to feel guilty, and I didn’t have to feel the pain and shame that I felt from disappointing him. I feared that more than anything else in the world, dying scared me less. What I didn’t know was that I didn’t have to feel that way. He loved me; he wasn’t disappointed he was scared and angry that he couldn’t protect me from myself. As a father I now understand that, as a child I didn’t.
                About nine years and three months ago my life crumbled sufficiently that I needed help, serious help. I drove to my dad’s house and told him that I had spent the last month using and that I needed to leave my fiancĂ©, and I needed help getting sober. I needed a safe place to go, and dad was my safe place. He was, and is my hero.
                My father always did shit that would just leave me thinking how the fuck did he just do that? Throughout my life he was that way. He did drugs and partied like a rock star…and survived it! He was a gifted mechanic. He could ski backwards better than I will ever be able to going forward. He was a fucking Abrams tank, super-man. One Day he ran out our front door and jumped over the railing, while ducking under the roof beam and hit the ground running. By the time he hit the road I saw the little red car that had been tearing up and down our quiet suburb road coming, they had to be going about forty, at a full tilt run dad dove into their driver side window as they hurtled past. He grabbed the key and tore it out of the ignition, and then back out the window he went. When the car finally rolled to a stop he calmly walked up to the car, handed the driver his keys back and told them he never wanted to see them in his neighborhood again…we never saw them again.
                 He was larger than life. At a few years sober he quit smoking. He needed to feel ok with the not smoking so he started running. Within six months he ran the Portland marathon. He was a fricking Abrams tank. Shortly after that he started running ultra-marathons. For those of you who don’t know what those are, an ultra-marathon is any race that is longer than twenty six point two miles. I’m not sure what his first ultra was, but I know what his longest was. Badwater…the Badwater ultra-marathon is a one hundred and thirty five mile race starting in the Badwater basin in Death Valley Calafornia, and ending on, or near the top of Mount Whitney. He was super-man!
                I also know the name of his last run, Mcdonald Forrest 50K. I happened to live with him at the time. And for some reason I had to get up, not sure if it was for bathroom, or drink but I never get up that early. Four A.M April twenty-sixth two thousand three was the date of the race and the time I woke. Dad was getting ready to walk out of the house when I came out of my room. We said hi to each other, and I told him to have a good race, that I loved him, and good bye. He said the same to me and left.
                The phone started to ring, and for some reason the ringer was on in my room so it woke me. On the line was a man asking for my step mother, Vivian. I told him she was not home and that I could take a message. The man then asked for her cell number. I told him that I don’t just give out her number to strangers and he could leave a message. He insisted and finally frustrated I told him that there was no way I was giving him the number and either he could say what the fuck he wanted or byby.
“Scott Diamond, is my name,” he said “and I am a running friend of Scott McQueeney, I need to talk to his wife Vivian, it is really important!”
                “I am Scott’s son, what is wrong?” I was starting to go from anger to worry
                “Scott had a heart attack and I really need to get ahold of Vivian, she needs to come to the hospital in Corvallis….”
                Things are a bit fuzzy after that, time did funny things. I am pretty sure I called Vivian, and woke up Shannon (my younger sister), but the next thing I remember is getting into Vivian’s car and leaving to go to dad. I offered to drive because I needed something to do with the world crushing adrenalin running through my veins. But I think Viv needed the same thing so she said no and drove.
That was the longest drive of my life. Eighty one miles, give or take a few, is the distance we had to travel. And Viv drove the speed limit the whole way. I wanted to scream…HURRY THE FUCK UP HURRY THE FUCK UP HURRY THE FUCK UP! Had I been driving we would have been going over a hundred easy. Hurry the fuck up. The family was being called, I think by me. Hurry the fuck up. Speedometer reading sixty-five, no variance. Hurry the fuck up, don’t you know my dad has had a heart attack! Hurry the fuck up I need you to be going faster faster don’t you know! Hurrythefuckuphurry up hurry up hurry up for eightyone miles that was what was screaming in my mind as we rolled down the road at that snail’s pace. Please hurry I need to get there…please.
Fuck this is hard, it is nine years to the day and I can steal feel the boiling raging thing that was rampaging through my soul on that drive. I didn’t say a thing; thank everything anyone has ever held holy that I didn’t. Vivian was his wife, his love, and he was hers. She was feeling that soul swallowing thing as well.
We pulled into the parking lot and Viv couldn’t find a parking space and she started to crack. Not even thinking I told her to stop and to get out, that I would find a spot. She and Shannon went inside and I parked the car. I ran to the front door…the doors opened just as Vivian started screaming. And I knew…I knew, he’s dead, Super-man is fucking dead, my hero, my safe place, my dad…dead.
The family was coming from Portland and Bend. Aunt Nancy and grandma were the next to show up. Jenny and Jason showed up and I met them in the parking lot, I had to tell my older sister that our hero was dead.
Dad ran the race. There is a picture of him at about mile thirty and he was in good spirits. Under a beautiful oak tree he crossed the finish line of his last run, looked up and dropped dead.
I hate that tree, I know that is a stupid thing to say, but it is true. My safe place died there, I hate that tree.

Scott Douglass McQueeney
A good man
A good father, husband, friend, son.
My hero, and my model for life.
My dad.

On borrowed time

I said I love you
He said good bye
Walked out the door
Until that day he had been
On borrowed time
A deal had been made
A bargain struck
Under the oak
He went home

Chris McQueeney 2011

To my family, I love you all!

Chris McQueeney    4/26/12     12:46 A.M.   
This is copyrighted material please respect that and ask permission to use or transmit any portion  of this post or any other post on my blog….Chris McQueeney

Poetry jam...:-)

Saturday, April 21, 2012

Spare doughnut


The energy to create
Competing with
The energy to maintain
Hence the
Little feet running
Growing brains whirling
Little wheels rolling
The dishes don’t wash themselves
Do they?
That Mickey had it
With a wave of his wand
A dip of his wrist
The brooms swept it up
The drive to create
Far outweighing
The stasis of maintain

Chris McQueeney    4/21/12    8:15 PM

This week has fricking whipped me! I have something like three projects in the works, very cool, but that doesn’t give me an exempt ticket to life. This week my boss, after noticing that my front driver side tire was slowly going flat, and my rear passenger side tire was actually a spare doughnut, bought me two tires. “You have to get those fixed” he said. My response was “I have no money to replace them. I have to make do with what I have for now.” He actually drove to another city to get the tires, after a whole day of work, he did that!
Oh, I forgot to mention that the front deflating tire was on the back where the doughnut was. The tire on the front driver side blew out while in the fast lane on I 205 south bound. I went off the road so far they had to winch me back to the side of the freeway. One undercover police officer stopped to ask me how the hell I got so far off the road. I pointed out the tire, and he told me I was lucky, and I was, and have been.
In one week I had two flats and one blow out, but I was lucky so I have nothing to complain about. I have been gifted with good friends and an extremely good family, both with saint like patience for me, that have helped me walk this life.

Back two those three projects:
Ben, I owe you an email, and we should get that “dump” built…
Me, I need to tell me to write on my project every day…come rain or shine!
Super-man, part of your story has to be finished on the 26th

I will be posting on the 26th a longer story; this one will be  Super-man’s last race (copyright Chris McQueeney 2012)
Thank you Jim for the tires…
And thank you Sommer for your kind words, I needed to hear that…

This post is linked to dVerse poets give um a look see!

Wednesday, April 18, 2012

Good Bye

Coming unannounced

I had a hard day
I had a piece
Of my heart
Breaking jaggedly
It was a sad day today
I got to
Slow motion
Watch a friend/
Go away
Be pushed away
Love is a bitch
Life ignores what is real
One word
Combined with two

Can lead from happy
To helpless quickly…

Chris Mcqueeney  4/18/12 11:26 PM

Sunday, April 15, 2012

It Takes A Village

Rage to feed

It takes a lot of rage to feed the machine
Can you imagine The Reams
Of souls bound
In the instruction manual
Are staggering, vast
It takes a lot of

The machine
Feed it well they say
For it keeps us safe, whole
To keep feeding
The Machine, it takes a lot of

Chris McQueeney 4/15/12 10:28 P.M.


I just wanted to take a moment to thank all of the people that have followed me. This writing thing has been amazing so far. When I started my blog I had no Idea what the term blog even meant.  If you want to, I would ask each and every one of you to give me a favorite Quote that you have read somewhere (from someone else) and tell me who said the quote, and then give me a quote of your own. I would like to start a follower and friend Quote column…Got the idea from my friend Ben Ditty J all quotes will have a credit to the author and the author can ask me to remove them at any time.
   I also would like thank, through direct links, blogs that have very cool people. People that I hope I continue to have in my life in one way or another for many years to come!!!

Christopher from a view from the northern wall my most trusted friend
Ben Ditty from Old spice is nice Ruminations from a rolling gnome
Annie from Quiet commotion  pens some cool shit
KJ from .Options for a better world  I am proud to call her a friend
Shannon from Green Monkey Tales She got some serious chops
BerlinerinPoet from ink runs from the corner of my mouth good poetry
Mary from Writing in the Bachs nice woman, and good poet
Brian from WaystationOne very cool guy, and good heart
Eva from Screaming Whispers Good artist and has good writes too
Indigo from Shattered Prose A very good writer, and cereal com-enter :-)
Jira from Penning The poetic Narrative Good poet, also a nice woman
Nadja from Nadja Notariani: An Authors Adventures She is awesome!
Lisa from my words+images+music this Chick is a good writer, and fricking fun!

If I missed you it was not intentional. If I comment on your page regularly you should be up here, please let me know. I am very tired at the moment, and not tracking well, so your grace and help is greatly appreciated!

Chris McQueeney   4/15/12 11:40 P.M

And also, I have decided based on advice to start interviewing and hosting writers on my blog, I am thinking maybe once a week....I may have already, or may in the near or far future ask you to participate..................

Friday, April 13, 2012

just a thanks

Tomorrow I will write...pros, a poem, and a thank you and teaser to the blog friends I have made. you are the people that have been super awesome to know who you are, I am just going to tell everyone else !


Saturday, April 7, 2012

One hundredth post, an Easter two fer


If I twer leave this
Would the viewing be
                 More pleasant
                       A sight to see
Had they not captured this
In stone, bronze and concrete
That would be fine enough by me

Chris McQueeney   4/6/11   6:47    P.M.


         I sit on my back porch in fear for my life. Fear consumes my every waking moment! You might ask what has me so fearful; you might ask, but you probably would not believe me. My days and nights are consumed with a dread so intense that it is hard to function. I muddle through my days acting as if everything is normal that the world isn’t overwhelmed. Rotted from within by an evil so pervasive, so deceptive that the fabric of our, yes our very lives could be consumed in an instant. Roaming my backyard this very instant is the source of my fear. A beast so mind numbingly evil that most hold them close to their hearts, deceived as to their true nature. I speak to you with anonymity for fear that they will find out that I know their true nature. Contrary to popular belief rabbits are pure evil. I did say you probably wouldn’t believe me.
Let’s start with their appearance. At first glance the average rabbit is a fluffy ball of cuteness, but upon closer inspection the telltale signs of evil are apparent to the educated eye; the signs are many, but for now we will focus on three of these. First, the claws, if you were to shave the fur from around the paw you would see sharp hooked daggers better suited for disemboweling than digging. Next we observe the teeth, curved to better hold onto unwilling flesh, and sharp enough to cut through the toughest skin. Finally we come to the eyes, the portals to the rabbit’s truly evil soul, balefully pinkish red they glow with hatred for everything live.
Having covered their deceptive appearance we move on to the rabbits habits. Only six months after birth the rabbit starts to fornicate. With only one breeding pair the coven can grow to hundreds in nine months. Imagine that, hundreds of blood thirsty rabbits in the time it takes to make one human child! If rabbits had innocent intent they would live above ground, instead they live in darkened holes, holes that are constantly growing to provide space for their legions of progeny.
Have you ever wondered why it is that on Easter so much focus is shined upon the bunny? Some would claim it is because of the children, to keep them occupied and excited for Jesus’s resurrection, this is not so. It is no coincidence the bunny is associated with the death of Christ. Easter is only a thinly veiled form of fear worship and supplication, with offerings of decorated eggs and candy our forefathers hoped to avoid the apocalypse the bunny represents. Christ had much reason not to stay in the mortal realm where the rabbit held so much power.
I hold my fear close, tightly wrapped up and hidden. The world will never know from my actions the terror inside. I lay my offerings of egg and candy with a smile, I laugh and act happy when others speak of the affection they hold for the rabbit. For I know, yes, oh yes only too well do I know what evil lurks inside the beast. You have been warned! Don’t ever try to find me, if you do you will lead them to me. I pray one day enough humans will know the danger, but that day is not today. You have been warned!

Chris McQueeney    4/29/11    10:00    P.M

I wrote fluffy as an essay for a college writing course. The assignment was to write a claim of fact. The claim did not have to be true, and I asked very carefully about that. Not only did I get a very good grade on the paper, I used it as my final…I defended this paper in front of the class. They were for the most part speechless. Who could, or would defend a paper like that, well, I guess I can, and I did. I also got a very good grade on the final, and the class. Fluffy was one of my early posts, and I felt it appropriate to have it on my one hundredth post almost a year later.
At the end of my defense of the paper (slightly revised in its current posting) my instructor, Paul Crumrine (a very good teacher by the way) asked if I had used a book called Watership Down as the basis for my paper. I had to tell him I had no idea what he was talking about, not only had I never read the book, I had no idea what it was about. He dropped it at that point and the class continued on.
On the last day of class we got together to get our final grades, and to discuss the class. About five or ten minutes into the class Mr. Crumrine stopped and called me to the front of the class. He then presented me with his first edition hard bound copy of Watership Down, by Richard Adams. I can’t express how much that meant to me. I have sense read the book, and it is a very good book by the way...give it a shot if you get the chance.
I would have to say that he is one of the reasons I am writing today. Had he been like my first college writing teacher I would not have this blog, or one hundred posts. I wouldn’t have the friends I have made through this blog or the fulfillment I have gotten from writing. Twenty three days from now I will have had my blog for one year, and I will tell you a bit about how that came to be, and whose fault it is that you have to suffer through my words…

Chris McQueeney    4/7/12    10:55 P.M. 

The pics courtesy of Bing image. The middle pic is by Howard R Landry
The poem Dump was inspired by a poem by Brian at WeighstationOne  link to his poem...

Friday, April 6, 2012

Every time you go away

   We sat at a stop sign somewhere in southeast Portland, old blue truck thrumming, and radio playing…”Every time you go away.”
   Now just a bit of back story; my dad got screwed over by my mother. My mom used us kids as a weapon against our father. She was bitter about the fact that Dad left her…he had to. My mom has some problems and they lead it to be impossible to be around her for any extended period of time without problems arising. Don’t get me wrong my dad was an ass at times in his life, did shitty things, but the split was solely in my mom’s lap.
   During the custody hearings mom had a sit down with dad and told him that she wanted to do joint custody, dad had been trying for some time to have this happen, and was definitely on board. Time rolled around to two o clock and the judge asked if there had been an agreement reached by both parties, and before my father’s attorney could say yes my mom’s counsel spoke up and said no and that my mother was seeking full custody with limited visitation rights. I can imagine my mother watching dad the whole time just to see the exact moment the knife went in.
   We sat at a stop sign somewhere in Southeast Portland, old blue truck thrumming, the radio was playing “Every time you go away”, the sky started crying and so did we. Dad was just starting the four hundred thirty mile drive to take us back to our mother’s house. Back to the abuse, the fear, and the torture my father had no idea was happening.
   “Why can’t we stay,” I think it was Jenny that asked that as we started off from the stop sign “we don’t want to go back.” Both of us were on the verge of completely losing it.
   “I wish you could.” and then dad did something that I remember to this very day, twenty seven years later, he started singing… “Every time you go away, you take a piece of meat with you. Every time you go away, you take a piece of meat with you.” And every time he reached the word meat he would look over us with a funny face and exaggerate the word in a comical way.
We started laughing. My dad was a genius. I am not even exaggerating, my father was a genius; with that one word he made the world ok again, meat.
   The very next song on the radio was “Every breath you take.” And dad sang that song the same way, but we were already in a charged mood so he didn’t have to change any words for us to laugh hysterically. With one word and two songs one of the saddest days in my life was turned into one of the greatest treasures I will ever get.
   On that trip my dad made it snow, he turned red lights green and he sang to us. We only had to go four hundred and thirty miles, and it was one of the best days of my life. My father had to drive eight hundred and sixty miles, every mile breaking his heart a little more. And he loved us enough to not let us know how much every foot hurt him……

Chris McQueeney   4/5/12   11:59  P.M.

Thank you Lisa for asking what my favorite 80’s song was, that is the reason for two of the four I gave you.  

“Every time you go away”    covered by Paul Young
“Every breath you take”       by the Police

Tuesday, April 3, 2012

At least the pieces


In the nest of her love
She has swallowed my soul
At least the pieces
 That make me Me

Left behind
An empty husk

The trick being
 Played on her

Those pieces of me
Swallowed by her
Turn her Her
 Into We…

As I lay

And with her kiss
As I lay
Cold shivers race my spine
On that day
I will be hers
And she,
Will be mine

As I lay, By Chris McQueeney  3/21/12  12:33  P.M   
Shelled, By  Chris McQueeney  4/2/12  10:20  P.M

dVerse poets  here   and  The Mag  here   Poets Rally  here

If your thing is reading Paranormal Romance, or You just want to check out a blog written well by a very nice woman, you should drop by Nadja Notariani She is currently rolling out her new novel, The Third Fate.
Nadja was also awesome enough to interview me and spotlight a couple of my pieces here

The above photo prompt came from Tess at The Mag and credit for the photo can be found at The Mag link above.