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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…

Friday, November 16, 2012

Those infinite possibilities

Held apart

Sleep well the little children
Their comfort deemed important
For now rest in comfort
That the world is a safe place

Sleep well the little children
Dream deep those worlds
Those infinite possibilities
Of a life fresh and new

Sleep well the little children
Still for now, sheltered
Held apart from hate
And pain, and deprivation

Sleep well the little children
Comfort of a warm bed
From your sleep awake
To a world renewed

Chris McQueeney     11/11/12    12:39 A.M.

Tuesday, November 13, 2012

Upon the land

Upon the land

Slip the world of its bounds
This mortal coil unwound
Where were you
The night the stars fell
From sky so full
Oh I can still hear
Still hear the sound
Screams so loud
The stars are so beautiful
When they stay their place
They are not so beautiful
Upon the land
Slip the world of its bounds
This mortal coil unwound
I still remember
Can never forget
The night the stars fell

Chris McQueeney    11/11/12    8:04 P.M.

This is being linked to dVerse poetry pub

Monday, November 12, 2012

In arms

Today is a day of reflection for many, as it should be. So today I was reflecting on the battles I have fought in my life...never on a true battle field, but a war zone none the less. Here is a poem, and below that is a small section of the manuscript I am currently working on. Due to poor health my writing has not been progressing like it should, at least how I feel it should, but I am getting back into the swing of things. Tonight a woman is going to help me start putting a chap book together of poetry, I guess the pros will have to wait for the second (or fifth) book :-)

In arms

If I die this day
Lay me down with the fallen
For in arms I went to the field of battle
And in their arms I would be sent off
Into eternity

Chris McQueeney    11/11/12    8:39 P.M.

Dr...I need help

Society has a bad impression of drug addicts. And it should, but the way society in general thinks about addiction is not functional. I had been shooting up some very good crystal meth and I wanted to quit…but I couldn't  That shit had me by the balls. I’m not sure how long that particular run lasted but it was the middle of the summer, the temp in the mid-90s, and I was walking around in a long sleeved sweatshirt because of the track marks.
I remember getting on the thirty-three bus because I couldn't go back to the place I was staying and I didn't know where to go. I didn't want to do this shit any more. I rode the bus from Oregon City to Portland and back three times before getting off. Not quite sure what time it was but it wasn't too late because the McClane Clinic on the middle level of Oregon City was open. I decided that I was going to go in and ask the doctor for help. I remember thinking that I had to talk to the doctor because if I talked to him as a patent he had to keep it confidential. I walked in and asked to talk to the doc and the receptionist had me fill out the paperwork and wait.
It was cool in the office and the light was dim. I was so fucking high. Every nerve in my body was on edge, racing. After being up for days though and being in a state of perpetual starvation I had reached a plateau. I was so fucking high but I didn't feel like I was. No more picking at myself, no twitching, and no paranoia. I can’t speak for other tweekers but this was a strange feeling to have. I didn't think of it at the time but I was for the first time resolute. I wanted to stop and the doc was going to make that happen.
The wait wasn't long, maybe fifteen minutes, before I was directed into a small examination room. The doctor was already there waiting. The nurse handed him my paperwork and walked out. He looked over the papers and without even looking at me he asked what he could do for me. Without hesitating I pulled up the sleeves of my sweatshirt and showed my arms. All up and down both of my arms were track marks. Every vain I could hit had been hit. Some of the veins had been hit so many times they were just long ugly bruises. People call them track marks because that is what they look like, just follow the tracks to find where the drugs have gone in.
 I've been slamming crystal and I can’t stop, I need help.”
Finally he looked up at me and his whole demeanor changed. Gone was the calm professionalism, the doctor client detachment. In its place an attitude of disgust washed over the doctor. I could see the change in him. That was the first time I experienced that, but not the last. He didn't check my vitals. He didn't ask me any questions. No when was the last time you ate, or how long have you been up, and no how much have you been using.  Maybe those things were obvious to him…maybe, but I don’t think so.
He turned from me and the disdain radiating off him was palpable. He scribbled something on a piece of paper and handed it to me. “Here are some phone numbers, you need to leave” and with that he opened the door and practically shoved me out.
I went into that man’s, no that doctor’s, office, as a paying customer and asked for help. He was duty bound to help me. At one point in time he swore an oath, the Hippocratic Oath. I was polite to his staff, I was honest with him. I asked for help with no excuses, no preamble about how it was not my fault. He gave me a piece of paper with two numbers and rudely told me to leave. This professional, this man who swore an oath gave me no medical treatment, gave me a piece of paper with two non-operational disconnected phone numbers and charged me one hundred and seventy dollars for his mistreatment of me.

Chris McQueeney 2012

There is more from that day, but if you read this far and are not one of my beta readers you'll have to wait. that is of course if you are willing to, or want to read more of my shit :-)

Sunday, November 11, 2012

Oh the glory of battle

Fire reigns

This muddy trench I lay in
Heavenly thunder crashing
Zeus’s lightning flashes
Rains down upon the wicked

This muddy trench I lay in
Slowly fills with the stench, Burnt flesh
Gas filled sky ignites
The thump thump of mortars Run the field
Oh the glory of battle

This muddy trench I lay in
Filled to the brim
Fear and terror reign
Up to run to the next hump
Not for me to run

For this muddy trench I lay in
Will forever lay in
With the sounds of
Heavenly thunder ringing
Me into eternity

Chris McQueeney    11/11/12    8:33 P.M.

 This piece was written in response to The Mag
Image credit: Verdun, 1917 by Felix Vallotton

slip the true nature

Take your places

Take your places please, smiles
Mustn't let slip the true nature
Of the “situation” we find ourselves in
Turn to your partner
Smile as if you mean it
Put some tooth into it
No, not like that
Mustn't let them think you might bite
Just a polite nibble
A gentle reminder only
The lights are on now
No sweat
Really, don’t sweat lest they see
What we want them not to see
Hold frame
You can relax…no more need to worry
They have been lolled into a comfortable bliss
If for only for one more night
Sleep well little ones
Mommy and daddy love you
Lights off

Chris McQueeney    11/11/12    12:03 A.M.

Thursday, November 8, 2012

Smiles everyone

Wicked ass music

A crazy fuck
Rolling down the street
Hearing wicked ass music
The rage unleashed
Fists flying to the beat
Of the jam in his head
“I see a red door and I want to paint it black”
He reaches over and
Gives that old woman a slap
When she looks at him she screams
With a savage grin he knocks her back
And forth to the wicked beat in his head
“I wanna see the sun, blotted out from the sky”
“I wanna see it painted, painted, painted, painted black”
As he walks away
To beats only he can hear
Were he to look
On the street behind him
That old woman’s life been
“painted, painted, painted black”

Chris McQueeney    11/8/12    10:33 P.M.

Rolling Stones Paint It Black supply the lines that are in quotations

This one is a bit Dark...not to be a representation of my inner soul, or feelings...compleatly fictional..

Image by Michael Gibbs