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Friday, August 31, 2012

Less then half

Less then half

Oh the humanity
The poetry’s dead
Its been ripped
Out of me
Clear some room
What…you can’t see
Everything too close
The world to small
There is less
Oh the humanity
Its been ripped Out of me

The poetry is dead
And no one else
Can see

Chris McQueeney     8/31/12    9:51 P.M.

the image above                 was created
Sadness is a Cold Puppy    by Marvic Adecer    

Wednesday, August 29, 2012

Guest hosting The Raving Moon Bat

Ben Ditty has been kind enough to allow me to post over at one of his blogs the raving moon bat...please go check it out :-)

Chris McQueeney

     Here is the link    Poor White trash

Tuesday, August 28, 2012

Yeah, it's like that...

M & M

Marbles and matchsticks
Dreams are made of this
Clacker and dasher
Smasher and cracker
Hit the striker
But the flap says
Always close the cover

Hold that stick or strips
Until they burn
Down to the tips
Of your fingers
Cat’s eye and crasher
If I work it right
I’ll get yours
Before you get mine

Chris McQueeney     8/24/12    12:34 P.M.

Image from bing image credited to Tracy Roberts

haven't talked about my health for a while, so I thought I would give an update. I haven't worked in
over six weeks and I still am not able to. I have this feeling that the work comp insurers are going to try 
to deny the claim...that is why I retained an attorney today. I was trying to avoid hiring one, but I felt like
I was forced. 
I still am coughing all the time, and at times it feels like I am drowning. But I am alive, and haven't had 
to go to the emergency room in weeks :-) 

Note to self...if ever exposed to chemicals that cook your lungs through chemical reaction make sure it 
is being video taped, and have an expert witness testify that animal farts would not have been able to 
cause the same kind of damage. 


Monday, August 27, 2012


By me

There’s no need
For me still to be
The family tragedy
That path with it’s
Well-worn treads
Has been traveled
Far enough
No longer a life
Of crime
This life of mine
Walking forward through
Years of neglect
I step onto
The road untraveled
By me

Chris McQueeney    8/20/12    11:50 P.M.

The still images are from the movie The road to perdition.
one of my all time favorite movies 

The Re-birther movement

The clown is mine

“Reports are coming in from all over the country, strange occurrences at fast-food restaurants”   were the hurried words from the news broadcast. Strange that I remember it that well…even after all these years. August twenty sixth twenty twelve, if only someone of authority had put the pieces together, was the day the re-birther movement was born. What a fucking nightmare!
All I wanted to do was have some chicken, and a pop…so to the local chicken hut I went. That chicken was the best I have ever had, and the pop…it was to die for. Well I wish I could die. If only I could die, if only. I am not sure if it was the pop, or the chicken, but one caused my dilemma. I can’t die, just can’t; won’t work no matter what I do.
That was three hundred and thirty three years ago.
Within months of the birth of the movement it became clear that the commotions could be linked to two fast-food joints, one burger, and one chicken.  I have been tracing the start for hundreds of years now, and I found them…the fathers of the burger family. After a week of torture one admitted it was he that started the whole thing. And for that I will damn him for eternity. Presently he is lying in a vat of oil soaking for his burning upon my return. The burning won’t kill him, but it will sure hurt and it is the least he deserves.
“I swear I didn’t mean for the statue to come to life; I just wanted to stop people from drinking the pop, I swear!” The boy actually thought I cared what he had to say about his intent.
“Shut up! I only want one thing from you…where… is… the… clown? The only words coming from your mouth should start with, the clown is…otherwise shut the hell up while I cut you some more”
I call him a boy but he is the same age as I, but he looks to be about nine years old.
Holding the knife I decided to see what he would do if I punctuated the next question by stabbing his blue fucking eye out. “Where the fuck is he you fuck stick!” Thrust, withdraw, the knife made a squelching noise as I pulled it out, and he screamed, and screamed, and screamed. The wails were soothing in a way; they drowned out the eternal screeching. Eternity would be good if not for the screeching.
After a few more minutes of the screams I threw a bucket of water over his face, and got really close to him on his other side.” Where is the clown” I whispered into his ear as I tapped the tip of the knife on his cheek progressively closer to his eye…
“In Tokyo…at the burger temple in Tokyo” he said with a sob. And then he pissed himself.
That was three days ago. It took me a day to get to Tokyo, and I have been sitting outside the temple for the last two.
The clown is mine…he is mine!

Chris McQueeney    8/27/12    12:10 P.M.

This story was penned in response to a story written by Ben Ditty...he Is an extremely fun and interesting writer please go check him out....

Sunday, August 26, 2012

On this hill I climb

Souls Blood

Whole again
The way I was before
They took the pin Out of the wheel
And the spokes fell off
Broken and torn tattered and beaten
On the ground you'll find me bleeding
My soul’s blood out

Needing the world to be
A gentle place If but for a day
Knowing that one more Pain will take away
My need to keep breathing for real

On this hill I climb
It is the one on which you’ll find me
Making a final stand this once I choose
I will upright fight from
The top...

This is the hill worth
Dying on

Chris McQueeney    8/24/12    3:33 P.M.

Tomorrow I will be writing a story in response to my friend Ben Ditty's post 
I worked on it earlier but my heart wasn't into it tonight and it deserves my all

Friday, August 24, 2012

Dream land

Lips so soft

I dreamt of her today
She kissed me
Tasted of memories
So sweet
Her lips so soft

Memories sweet enough
To destroy a man
Laying waste
To the fragile declaration
Of self-worth

I dreamt of her today
She held my soul with
Memories so sweet
I gave my dignity away
To hell with self-worth

What good is it anyway…

Chris McQueeney    8/24/12    11:29 P.M.

In the land of peaks and valleys

Of a mole hill

Lifting this mountain
Of a mole hill Off my back
Like kicking
Or licking the drink ing thing
Over and over again

Thoughts of me In your head
Loving me and
Wishing I was dead
The thought train
On tracks that dig
And dig
And dig deeper in your soul

Making it harder and harder
For we to let
Of this mountain
Of a mole Hill

Chris McQueeney    8/18/12     10:18 P.M.

Monday, August 20, 2012

And all that shit

As if they need our help

Butterflies and bullshit
Laughing cows that make milk
And cheese and shit
Happy rainbows that smell of joy
Dancing hamsters all gangsterd up
Rollin on fours mix-n it up
And all that shit
Fox news says that Boy gotta lose
Or the country gonna fall
To them commie socialist
Bastards…it’s their fault!
While the other guys
MSNBC would have you believe
They are on your side
With their news they hide
Genocides and Apartheid
Monsters left alone
While their countries die
Look at the hand in the air
The new shiny fresh off
The Chinese assembly line
While we rob you blind
How fucking dumb are we
To believe the shit their giving
Feeding us butterflies and bullshit
And we fucking take it
And fight to protect them
As if they need our help

Chris McQueeney    8/20/12    9:16 P.M.

A study the laughing cowvalier by Caroline Shotton

Sunday, August 19, 2012

Truer Grit

Tess over at The mag posted this image of the painting, Under the Windsor bridge, 1912, by Adolphe Valette. While the image didn't spark an immediate poem, it did remind me a bit of a little spot in the city I live in. Just outside the courthouse on Main street is a set of stairs that go down to the river. The stairs go below the highway that runs behind the courthouse; a highway that has at least four names that I know of. Driving on the highway you would never know that the road is actually a bridge at that point, and the stairs go under the road.
I can only imagine why they built the stairs, maybe to transport people to and from court, on the river. At times I imagined three men in a boat, one rowing, one chained to his seat, and one with a scatter gun, coming to the stairs. The chained man to be brought to justice, and maybe the gallows. This was a rough town, a mill town, and for a time the state capital…and the end of the Oregon Trail.
I would imagine those things, would give life to the rower, Cliff, who got a silver piece to row the leaky boat those miles to the courthouse. Thomas the guard, whose wife should have given birth to their third child by now, Thomas not being there because he had to track down the runner. And the runner, a good looking young man, who killed a man over liquor and gambling…may also have had a bit to do with a brunette named Jane. His name was John Landers, and probably by this time tomorrow he would be doing the dance at the end of the rope, after which the judge and the bailiff would smoke some opium in the den just down the street.
      I would imagine these things as I walked slowly down the stairs. I would flesh out their lives, as mine was slowly ending. I would imagine these things as I made my way down the stairs to my home for the evening, my meager bed under the bridge downtown…that almost no one knows is there.

Chris McQueeney    8/19/12    10:51 P.M.

Truer grit

A wolf spider sat
Upon my hand
So still
Not moving
Beautiful in its

I screamed like
A little girl
And twitched
As if jolted by
Old sparky

The spider had
Truer grit
Then I

Chris McQueeney 8/19/12 12:38 P.M.

Saturday, August 18, 2012

Lucks trap raven

Things have a way of happening that at the time seem not that big a deal, but actually are huge. Almost a year and a half ago after hearing a longtime friend refer to his blog for the fifth or tenth time that year I asked him how to find it. He told me, and I went. I was amazed at what I was reading. It wasn't the smarmy crap that the rednecks and hicks that I grew up with made mockery of. In fact it was amazing. I read another of his posts and penned a poem in response. The first poem I ever wrote…I had made a poem in the past but due to complications I wasn't able to actually write it until last year. And in the just less than a year and a half I have penned about one hundred and fifty poems. Some are good…very…some not so good. But I find I am in love with writing, and that includes poetry. The rebel in me keeps me in free form, but I have penned a few form poems and I am able to do them credibly. Christopher has been a twenty plus year friend, and I would say he is the closest friend I have on the face of the planet; his words more than any others put me on this path. His encouragement brought me a host of friends with the gift of words. He put a post up a while back and I wrote a poem in the comments. The other day he posted, and in that post linked back to thepost from the past, so I went back to look at it again… it inspired a new poem in me. Today I would like to share those poems with you, and also another poem Christopher turned me on to a while back


I thought

Thought I saw a raven today
It looked at me with intent
Harbinger of what…
My day of course!

Like I said
Thought I saw a raven today
With intent it looked on me
From a faded blue roof

A crow, not a raven
A crow heralded my day
Caw, caw

Chris McQueeney 9/30/11

Steel toothed

That bird I thought
I saw today
Was a raven that
Had got away from
The steel gates
Of death’s trap
That bird I thought
I saw today
Luck’s trap raven
That got away
Warning me of Death's
Steel toothed grin

Chris McQueeney    8/17/12

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

The Death of the Ball Turret Gunner

From my mother's sleep I fell into the State,
And I hunched in its belly till my wet fur froze.
Six miles from earth, loosed from its dream of life,
I woke to black flak and the nightmare fighters.
When I died they washed me out of the turret with a hose.

Randall Jarrell  1945

Jarrell, who served in the Army Air Force, provided the following explanatory note:
"A ball turret was a plexiglass sphere set into the belly of a B-17 or B-24, and inhabited by two .50 caliber machine guns and one man, a short small man. When this gunner tracked with his machine guns a fighter attacking his bomber from below, he revolved with the turret; hunched upsidedown in his little sphere. The fighters which attacked him were armed with cannon firing explosive shells. The hose was a steam hose."

Friday, August 17, 2012


So you ask

Am I angry?
Fuck yes I am
How could I not be
Do you think I live
With my heart
Divorced from me
Fuck yes I’m angry
Wouldn’t you
Feel torn in two
A million jagged pieces
Tearing their way
Out of you
So you ask
Am I angry
And I say to you
No, I’m not angry
I hurt, but then again
So would you

Chris McQueeney    8/17/12    5:32 P.M.

Crestfallen: Photo by Photographer Roger Gutierrez -

Thursday, August 16, 2012

A gentle one

Single hue

Twining we wind
In circles ever closer
Roots and limbs entwined
Under this gentle sun
Riotous colors surround us
Yet a single hue
We would not see
But for the love
That spins around
And within
You and me

Chris McQueeney    8/16/12    2:13 P.M.
This Was inspired by an image from a friend's Facebook page...Thank you for letting me borrow this from your page Grace 

Wednesday, August 15, 2012

A lifeline

I had a dream today
Of a life and what may
Have been
Had I not died that day
A lifeline uninterrupted
In the flow of time

I had a dream today
Of a life lived to the fullness
That was open to me
Walking a life feeling free
Feeling comfortable to be
In the flow of time

I had a dream today
Of a life lived by me
No fear only me living fully
Greeting each day
As it was meant to be
In the flow of time

I had a dream today
Of a life never to be
Something gifted to those
Walking next to me
Never knowing the gift to be
In the flow of time

Chris McQueeney 8/14/12 9:00 pm