The Wheel of Fate Keeps Turning...

I think I write this poem every time I turn my life upside down.

Have you ever taken a fork in the road
so fast that you can't slow down
all you can do is speed up
and try to hug the curve?

Have you ever seen a really big dog
standing in the middle of the road
with a transfer truck right behind you
and absolutely no room to swerve?

Have you ever hit the end of a relationship
living on forty minutes sleep in two days
fast finishing your third beer
and contemplating which level of hell you deserve?

southern martyr
circa 2003

Cat Got a Tongue...

The new cat Argyle (Arg! for short) is great. He's not my black fluffy cycloptic friend, One Eyed Jack, but he's fluffy & loving & weird. He passed out on the couch with me & at some point I looked down & realized he'd been sleeping with his tongue sticking out. Gotta love him.

Even more snow pictures...

What can I say? I LOVE snow & I have a very photogenic dog who takes direction wonderfully. It snowed for about an hour on Sunday - big, fat, fluffy, flakes that made you want to try and catch them on your tongue. I couldn't resist. So I went out & played & then uploaded some more pictures to my Flickr account.

Playing with Snow Photos

First I played in the snow. Then I played with the photos. I added them to my Flickr account. The photostreams "Snow" & "More Snow" are what I've accumulated the past two weeks. I have truly enjoyed this winter's weather!

a Picture a Week?

Okay, this whole "posting what I write once a week" thing seems to be working pretty well. So how 'bout we add a whole "posting a picture I take once a week."

Trust me, I am NOT a very good photographer. However, I have started wishing I had more photos that might pair up with some of my writing. So, let's see if this monkey can take enough pictures so that a few of them turn out interesting...


This week's submission: Sexy Suds

There was something simply voluptuous about washing my mugs this morning.

Unfinished hymns...

Just a few Bits & Bobs that I never did anything with. Maybe they aren't actually unfinished, maybe they are simple truths that tried to trick me into thinking they were bigger & complicated. Maybe they are snapshots of a moment that can never be elaborated on.



To be Alone
or not to Be.

Standing in a winter field
Listening to the icy silence
In that crystalline moment
You find your Existence.

s.m.



I don't want to be here
and I hate the smell of fear

s.m.

I dig at my wounds with my pen
Write these words with my blood

s.m.

Bury me in a shallow grave
so the wild things may find me
Bury me in a shallow grave
so the earth, it will not bind me

s.m.

He has had his pound of flesh
Drank his cup of blood
Why add twenty seven tears
To an ebbing flood?

s.m.

I tripped a Star
just to watch it fall

s.m.

I guess there's a first time for everything
the second time around!
Ever notice when you're falling
you're feet don't touch the ground?

s.m.

What if I left?
Shed my life
as though it were a skin too tight.

s.m.

I worry there is no Other Half,
no Missing Piece,
only the Jagged Edge.

southern martyr
2-8-2010

The Dog would like to say something...

The Dog originally wrote this letter sometime last year. He has decided it is time to address this issue once again. He does not understand why he is being punished.

Dear Poseidon,
It has now rained for three and a half months. Please make it stop. Please. The grass is always wet. The dirt is wet. These things make my feet wet. Wet feet make it hard for me to pee. Do you know what else makes it hard to pee? Raindrops. They're distracting. They are usually cold. They are always wet. I like to pee. I have to pee outside (I still don't know why - there was a tree in house for about twenty minutes, but they wouldn't let me pee on it. Not that I tried. I wouldn't do that.) I don't like the rain. My owner likes the rain, but then again she also likes cats. Can you do something about the cats? I guess I should probably talk to Anubis or maybe the Sphinx... The rain. Please to stop the rain. You can have my favorite floss bone.

Wags & Licks,
Dog

Poetry from Chaos

I have found that Chaos flings out the best little bits of odd poetry. The key is getting close enough to catch them without getting caught in the riptide.

Finders Keepers

Keep singing
keep playing
keep looking
right at me
not at me
into me
abandoned house

Broken shutters
battered siding
frame windows

Standing across
overgrown lot
only ghost
of a curtain
skeleton chair
crooked picture frame

Peering into
cobwebbed attic
of my soul

Picking through
dusty scraps
broken things
left behind

Spying sparkle
shiny thing
in some forgotten corner

Passing grin
across face
as though
already possessing

Lowering blinds
too late

Southern Martyr
2-3-10

Snowtopia

Tonight I went for dinner and had the best Vegetable Patia this little old vegetarian has ever had the pleasure of eating. After dinner MyBigStupidHero & I tried to stop by McKays Used Books. We pulled into the parking lot and only saw 3 or 4 cars. They were parked close to the front (not around back in the Employee spaces), the inside lights were on, and I could see people wandering around inside. Hope burned brightly in my heart as we pulled close to the front doors. Unfortunately, there was a sign - they had closed at 6pm due to the Snowpocalypse of 2010.

I have to say that as we crept through the parking lot I was REALLY hoping that McKays was actually open and it was just that damn deserted. I rationalized that theory for a few moments by telling myself that people who buy, read, and sell used books are the only smart people I know and thusly A)All the idiots are out buying $150 worth of groceries that they probably already have in their cabinets at home and NOT looking for $25 worth of used books to keep them occupied in case of natural disaster. B)Those of us who would venture out onto the streets with idiots who forget how to drive every time the weather changes just to go to bookstores would be the best kind of people you could ever meet.

If McKays had been open and that deserted I think I would have thoroughly enjoyed meeting every single person in that store & probably would have looked to see what books they were getting. I imagine it would be like that time I went to see all 3 Lord of the Rings movies back to back. To be in a room with only people who truly want to do the exact same thing as you is an awesome experience. Alas, tonight was NOT one of those nights, but for a few fleeting moments in a snow encircled parking lot I believed in the possibility of it.

The Hermit is dead. Long live the Hermit.

JD Salinger was a personal favorite of mine. He will be missed.

"I don't care if it's a sad good-by or a bad good-by, but when I leave a place I like to know I'm leaving it. If you don't, you feel even worse."

~J.D. Salinger, The Catcher in the Rye

Conflicted

This whole "posting something every week even if it's tripe" experiment has really helped. If by help, you mean that I am posting things that under normal circumstances never see the light of day. I'm not sure how I feel about it. It's liberating. I jot things down now that I would have let slip quickly between my fingers before. Maybe that's good - maybe not. I kinda feel like some sort of Pro-literary fanatic at times - "Poetry starts at the moment of conception!" Then at the end of the day I've got a cardboard box full of inbred kittens.

All that is to say this: "Here's some more poetry! Awww, look at it - it's polydactyl."

Lost

I need to write something.
Come, help me think.
Can you find the words?
I seem to have lost them.
I was sitting right here!
I haven't moved all day.
Maybe they're caught in my hair
or lying curled in the folds of my skirt.
When I rise to search for them
they will roll under the couch
and next Tuesday my cat will speak eloquently.

southern martyr 1-26-10

Drunk at a conference - so why not post a poem?!

Coming Home

I love the way your hand moves
always to lie upon the curve of my hip.

As though it is a crescent bay
your touch returning again and again
rising and lowering like the tides.

A heavenly body
your hand circling in orbit before
landing gently on the surface.

I hope that to you
it feels like home.
I imagine you feel a vague restless longing;
that something undefinable
makes every return a homecoming.

the smell of woodsmoke

a front porch light

that you know I am here waiting.

southern martyr
1-11-10

I'm proud of myself for putting SOMETHING up every week here lately. My muse has taken to whispering in my ear again. May he linger past the heartbreak this time around.

I've not got much today...

But what I've got is mine.

I'm hungry.
I'm tired.
I'm angry.
I burnt dinner.
My toe hurts.
My best friend's B-Day present is on someone else's porch.
My heart still aches.
I know I'm alive.

southern martyr 1-15-10

Battle not with monsters...

lest ye become a poet. For a long time I convinced myself I was just uttering these poems into the abyss. The abyss has started whispering back. My muse has returned. I knew that if I made myself write every little trivial thing that skitters across my mind then more and more words would come crawling out of the woodwork, but with quantity does not come quality. However, if I stop then I fear the words will stop. So here I go again. Unpolished and perhaps unfinished, my offering:

Muse

He's dark and he's pale
He's coffee and wine
He's strong and he's frail
He's rough and he's fine

He's hot and he's cool
He's godly and base
He's wise and a fool
Devil's hand, angel's face

He loves and he hates
He pushes and waits
He's crooked and straight
My choice and my fate

Bourbon on my tongue
and sorrow on my mind
The grace I've lost
and still hope to find

A blessing and a curse
The crossing and the line
Sonnets and blank verse
All or Nothing at the same time

southern martyr
1-12-10

Life's but a walking shadow...

I resisted as long as I could.
It called to me.
There's no other explanation as to why I knew it was out there
- cold, snow dusted, untrod -
waiting for me.
Waiting for the press of my feet.
Straining for the sound of my crossing.
The sky so grey that no shadow would betray my passing.







"...a poor player, that struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more."
~macbeth

Problem Solving

Boss wanted me to make a new pot of coffee because we had guests coming. There was still at least a half a pot of coffee left that was less than an hour old. Only one warmer on our coffee maker.

Problem solved: