My first

Sharpness of it all

Again

I find my world is

A little thin

Not so tough

As it use ta be

Those crisp clean lines

Blurred by use

And time

And finding my world

A bit thin

Feeling the blunted edges

I find pleasure

Not in the sharpness of it all

But rather in the

Softer landing

Chris McQueeney    6/19/12    11:59 P.M.

Below is the piece of mine that was published this week. This is an example of flash fiction, and the Idea of flash fiction is to tell a story in using very few words...this one is only 55 words, not counting the title. below the piece you will find the link to the original post this was pulled from. also all the credits for the image. 

This asshole in Jackson

I’m so fucking tired!

This asshole in Jackson stole my horse; bute named Burt, not the horse, the asshole! Got the drop on me, on account of me being in the jug. Won’t happen again! For one thing, I got my piece skinned, back to the wall. For another, I aint got no fucking horse!

Chris McQueeney    1/6/12

Here is the link to this piece and also a link from there to the site that put together the book

Chris McQueeney 6/20/12

I posted the poem at top on dVerse Poets for open link night

Ben Ditty from Old Spice is Nice has asked me to guest host his blog The Raving Moonbat...
I was more than happy to and here is a link to my post, Pixie Dust.

Give it a look see, and try to keep as close-minded as you can...wouldn't want to have our views changed, now would we?

Wander

In that echo

One day I heard myself let go

And from that hear

I will forever live

And breathe

And walk

In that

Echo

Chris McQueeney

6/12/2012

10:20

P.M.

     

     I sat at the park that day so full of fear. The weather was fine, but the grass was damp. Across the picnic table from me was a man I very much admired, and I was telling him all of my faults and flaws and failings. Lighting up the dark recesses of my thinking and living.

     There is this moment before the first drink that to some is called the jumping off place. It is that moment where the drug is calling to you like a lost child in the woods, “I’m here…over here.” While at the same time a quiet part of the mind is wailing “for the love of god don’t, the child will kill you.” Glass in hand the argument is almost always won by the child; the drink is consumed, along with a part of your soul. That internal battle can seem to take millennia as all life tilts on its axis…then fuck it and leap.

     I sat across from that man. I had told him of my anger. I exposed my hurt. I offered to him my guilt. And I stood on that jumping off place, for in my mind, positioned in its throne that rested firmly on my soul sat my shame. The same struggle ensued in my mind as if I was about to take a drink. Only this time the boy was shouting “Please no, if he hears he will never look you in the eye again, will revile and shun you”. This time the quiet voice stayed silent, for I think it had been offered the only answer, and from my mouth I heard myself utter my shame for the man and god to hear.

     I sat on that picnic table in terror of what would happen. He looked at me as if he couldn’t believe I had just told him that. And I was given a gift I can never repay; his response to me was “that was not something I ever did, but if the right circumstance had presented itself I would have.”

Thank You Man

Chris Mcqueeney    6/12/12

this post has been linked to the open link night over at dVerse Poets

Two countries east

And a Halliburton dream

The lies they told

The lives they sold

For a baseball team

And a Halliburton dream

They took the least of

Two countries east

And gave them a ream

Chris McQueeney    3/25/12    3:58 P.M.

Images courtesy of bing images   

Chris McQueeney yeneeuQcM sirhC

I got an email from Nadja a few days ago with forwarded emails asking if it was I that sent them, No, but twas my doppelganger. At first in the conversation between Nadja and my dop she was playing around thinking it was me. But then the realization that she was joking around with a total stranger kicked in.

This has sparked some amusing emails between her and I. Needless to say she now knows her folly, and her family knows, and her blog followers know.

My dop contacted her because of the interview she did with me (my first and to date only interview). That Chris McQueeney Googled his name and ran across the interview. Turns out he also writes and wanted to give her his material to read. At one point he says something like “I want to be the best Chris McQueeney at writing” Ok, the gauntlet has been thrown down; bring it on Chris McQueeney join me in the battle of words!

In all seriousness I am inviting Chris to contact me, comment, or write something that I can post on my site. I may even start a regular segment entitled “just the two of me, pros and mo from the two Chris’s”

Thanks Nadja

On A completely separate subject I opened my dashboard today and there were a whole slew of posts from poets writing in response to a post on the mag. Every Sunday Tess posts an image for poets and pros writers to work with and this week the image was a photog’s (Klaus Enrique Gerdes) remake of  Giuseppe Arcimboldo’s painting Vertumnus, a portrait of today.

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

Giuseppe Arcimboldo

Giuseppe Arcimboldo (Italian pronunciation: [dʒuˈzɛppe artʃimˈbɔldo]; also spelled Arcimboldi) (1527 – July 11, 1593) was an Italian painter best known for creating imaginative portrait heads made entirely of such objects as fruits, vegetables, flowers, fish, and books – that is, he painted representations of these objects on the canvas arranged in such a way that the whole collection of objects formed a recognizable likeness of the portrait subject.

Seeing the image brought me straight back to walking through the Louvre Museum trying to find the Mona Lisa. Just before the Mona room Two or three of Giuseppe’s paintings were hung on the wall. Never before in my life had I seen anything so creative, a Man brought to life from roots and branches, and another from vegetables.

Having seen those amazing works of art I was very disappointed by the Mona Lisa…some other time I will go more in-depth about why, let’s just say total let down!

Of things that could never be

Voices from afar

Singing of peace and love

And harmony

Speaking in eulogy

Of things that never could be

Voices from afar

The screams tearing through me

Of my brothers

Whose voices are stilled

Chris Mcqueeney    6/3/12    1:18 P.M.

the mag 120

Nadja Notarini