Day after Day

Good morning, good afternoon, good evening!!! Another year has gone past and I have survived with at least some of my sanity intact. This was a tough year, but throughout it I had the support of friends and family.

 I would like to give special thanks to a few of those. Christopher H. thank you my friend for all the many hours of time you invested in me this year; you said you feel that you haven't done much, but my friend you have done more than you will ever know! Jenny C., my sister, I love you so very much, and I am grateful for the hours you have spent listening to me and for opening your home to me in my time of need; you may say that is what family does, but that isn't always true. Jason C. thank you as well for making me feel welcome.

There are many more that I could thank on a personal level, but I don't have time now to do that. so to all the many people that have helped carry me when I could not walk, thank you!

Ok so this is my final post for the year 2011, have happy new year, and be safe.

This poem is one of my favourites,

Day after Day

He went by day after day

Living life and loving that way

He went by day after day

Until the day

He didn’t go by

No living No life No loving that way

Where is he now,

Why didn’t he stay?

You ask this

At least you think you do

It was not he who left

Instead it was you

He still goes by day after day

Wishing you could have stayed

Chris McQueeney  2011….

I Am humbled to except  the perfect poets award from the poetry palace     click here                      And I would like to nominate  Robin

Books.....

This post has been inspired by a post from a fellow blogger by the name of Ben Ditty, Nice old spice is his blog and I have had a lot of fun reading his work, and seeing his responses to comments. Although he does have a strange fetish with small cone shaped hats....

Fantasy comes closer to reality.

                The other day in class we were discussing an essay and the instructor( Crumrine, 4/15/2011) made a statement (I’m paraphrasing, and possibly completely butchering) that people give fiction altogether  too much power; that they believe fiction will influence people to act in a way they normally would not.  While I agree with him for this particular situation, I don’t believe fiction is given enough power. 

                 When I say fiction, I’m speaking of fantasy, and science fiction, but I would like to think that my beliefs hold true in all realms of fiction.  One small story can have the power to change your life. I started reading fiction in about the sixth grade. At the time I didn’t realize it, but I think it saved my life.

                The Smallest Dragon Boy (McCaffery, Get off the unicorn, 1973, Del Rey) was my first venture into the world of fiction; I was in the sixth grade, and the year was 1989. For the past six years I had been in anger management, because of fighting, and outbursts in school. My life was a living hell. My mother and stepfather beat me on a regular basis. My teachers treated me like I was slightly retarded. The other students verbally and physically abused me. I had suffered sexual abuse from a family member.

                I still remember that day. I was sitting in class after being called into the principal’s office; the principal had spent fifteen minutes or so telling me what a horrible child I was, and that my life wasn’t going to amount to anything. I felt hopeless, and small, and to top it all off my teacher wanted me to read. I didn’t have the will power to get into trouble again so I opened my book up.

 A picture of a boy and a small dragon were what piqued my interest.  I started to read. In the time it took the rest of the class to read I had read it three times. The story spoke to me. No, the story shouted to me!  You may be small, you may be a dork, and the world may use you as a punching bag, but in the end you will end up with a bronze dragon. I started actually reading that afternoon, and I haven’t stopped since.

I’ve read thousands of books, tens of thousands of stories over the last twenty years, and that one short story has had the most impact. I think in fiction the authors can be more honest. I think they can tell the uncomfortable, the ugly, the sad, the scary, and the beautiful truths that they couldn’t tell any other way. 

Chris McQueeney 4/2011

Creased by you

Creased by you

Walking through the tangled

Tatters of my belief

Steeling my-self for what is to come

Christmas lights and warm décor

Honestly festive atmosphere

Lacking but one thing

You, You rumple me

My starched and stiffened self

Creased by you

Chris McQueeney  12/21/11 2:59PM

This was inspired by three word Wednesday http://www.threewordwednesday.com/2011/12/3ww-ccli.html

As far fetched as can be

                                                          image by Mostafa Habibi



As far fetched as can be


Can you give me a hand
I have a long way to go
And no way to get there without your help
If you look closely you will see
I have everything just so
Oars prone
Beaching stable
A sky oh so to my liking
But it seems I have run into a snag
Strange as it may seem
As far fetched as can be
It is just slightly possible
I may have had a bit
Couldn't have been more than that
Far fetched as can be
strange as it may seem
I might have had a tad to much to drink

Chris McQueeney 12/18/11 11:32 PM


This is a poem inspired by http://magpietales.blogspot.com/2011/12/mag-95.html

Vissage akimbo

Vissage akimbo

All the lines just so

No one’s visage akimbo

How then to hide in plane site?

With pillar and shoulder as shield

You drink with a wary expression

Your shield is serving twin purposes

For while you hide in plane site

The glassed one can see

All your lines just so

Your visage definitely akimbo

You do not fit

Lunch, George Tooker, 1964, Columbus Museum of Art

This poem and post inspired and linked to http://magpietales.blogspot.com/2011/12/mag-94.html

Again I find my self thanking Christopher for opening avenues unexplored by me!