Stick figure Man

Technicolor memories


The stick figure man
Went gun in hand
To the room to be by himself
At times that room
Was like his mama's womb
Today it was to be
Something else indeed
Simply put
Today it was to be
His tomb
The feel of steel
In his hand
Like the sands in an hourglass
Enevatable
When need outweighs will
Everything else is of no consequence
Time stands still
Intent reigns
Instant gratification
Holds nothing
In light of suicide
Idolized cemetry
When need outweighs will
Blanking the slate
Of a rancid landfill brimming
Overwhelming
This last semblance of humanity
With nothing left but need
His will indeed becoming complete
At last released
In his toomb
His life painted
On the walls
For all to see
Technicolor memories
All that is left of me


Chris McQueeney 2015

Sunday Offering

Even though



There we were
With the world at our feet
Dreams at our fingertips
Standing so close
Yet so far away
Wouldn’t dream of being
Anywhere else but with you
Today
Every day after
Measured and weighed
Bar set so high
I’ll say
The world dimmed today
Standing so close
Yet so far away
And I knew
That
If you knew
Your face would change
And you would step away
So close I’ll hold
This memory tight
How close you stood
To me today
Your touch
Just a fingertip away
As I rest my weary head tonight
This memory of you
I’ll hold so close inside
So close we stood today
Even though you are so far away


Chris McQueeney ©2015


This is being linked to The Mag for Tess's Sunday prompt...

Flower filked sky

The remains


Where do our
Fallen Foes
Or Heroes
Go
Do they fly into
The sky
On chariots of light
To fight again
For redemption
And rebirth
Or
Is it worse
Do they stay
And fight
Day after day
Never to lay down
To rest
Back to a wall
Head on knees
The rise and fall of
Their chests
Leading one to believe
This is real
Leading one to believe
There might be some release
Where do our
Fallen Foes
Or Heroes
Go
Heaven
Or Hell
Who is to tell
Dead is dead
All we see are
The remains
Of shattered dreams


Chris McQueeney ©2015

This was penned in response to the prompt at The Mag

Weird Shit

People of Wal-Mart

They wear the weirdest
Shit
No thought no grace
They get away with it
Absolutely no shame on their faces
And they do weird things
Like argue
And bring their families
They sing
In the music department
Watch Montel on the flat screen
In home electronics
They will wait in line for days
Only to save a few dollars
On a blender or mixer
Brand-new living-room fixture
Living their lives
On layaway
Grazing their days away in produce
Wandering the isles
Like an Alzheimer's mile
Rabbit food is on isle 4
Next to the piller
Close to the floor


Chris McQueeney ©2015


This is penned in respose to image above credit for image at The Mag Here