Tuesday, May 25, 2010

Poems. (New book in 2010)

I'm posting a few poems which will be showcased in my 2nd poetry book. The first "Periwinkle" is available online at Amazon and can be ordered through your local bookstore. I am hoping to find a better publisher this time. Enjoy the works of a woman who loves to love.


I couldn't ever start to know
The cravings of my heart
Her drum in me beats on its own
She lays out her own desires
I am forced to do her bidding
By fear that she may stop
If left alone she'd harden
Her need for me is soft

We fit together - harmonized
True, she rules us both
If she decides to fall again
If she desires to love
I won't fall, but have to wait
Wait until she frees me
I won't fall, but have to hope
Hope that she releases

I have but one heart to serve
She has but me to rule
Strange, our timing always off
Her silent beat abuses
Clinching to the next dreamt scheme
Silent beats - such thunder
Serve I will, devoted warrior
Pray she does not wander

Monday, May 24, 2010

Sooner Fan - - EVEN in my Dreams

Sleeping is NO exception when you're a Sooner. You are a fan at all times.

I was sleeping, I was dreaming, I was singing "Boomer Sooner". I don't remember all of the dream, but for the most part I was in Los Angeles the 1st weekend in October, as it was just too expensive to fly back to Dallas to see the OU/TX Red River Rivalry game. I remember thinking "this is a dream, I could fly if I wanted to. I don't need a plane!"

In the dream I was at a party and of course, because I'm a dedicated Sooner, even though I couldn't be at the game I was listening to it on my iPhone. I had the ear plugs firmly in place, and could see myself sitting in the corner talking to myself. I wasn't REALLY talking to myself. I was talking to Head Coach Bob Stoops -- I do that. I stand up and scream at the man through the television set when he does things I don't agree with, and I nearly chest bump the flat screen when he does listen to me...but we won't go there, in the dream I was half way behaving myself because I was in public. I was at a party! NOT AN OU PARTY, it was some sort of a get together for the book or the movie...this had to be a dream, because in reality, I can't think of much of ANYTHING that will keep me from either sitting in the stands or staring at my TV on that hallowed autumn Saturday morning. NOT MUCH could stop me - - it never has.

WHAT should happen in my slumber, but in walks no other than TEXAS fan Matthew McConaughey! I couldn't believe my eyes. This guy is usually not only at the game, but making such a burnt orange nuisance of himself on the big tron....singing, dancing, getting crazy, saying things like "Hook 'em horns" please! LOL

I asked my new friend why he wasn't at the game and he saw my shirt - - my OU shirt. He rubbed his non-horns chest and said "I know! I KNOW! I had to be here today! I can't believe it!" Well, you know I did the right thing, I let the man share my ear buds....he may be a Texan, but he deserved to hear the game too. That's the Boomer Sooner spirit - - right? This way when we scored and beat their Longhorn butts he'd be there to see me celebrate! LOL (Some Texans would tell you that after the last game or two, that I really must be dreaming...this year doesn't hold much more promise, but WE ARE SOONERS! We will believe!"

At least I woke up with a smile on my face.

Sunday, May 23, 2010

Wicked Whirlpool - - But I am Still Standing

It's not like fighting authority, with the washing machine you have a chance.

There I was minding my own business because that is what I do, when I heard a noise coming from the laundry room in my little house. Currently I "stay" as my friend says, in Ardmore, Oklahoma, a town of about 30,000 so it's not a dot on the map, but it more like a smudge. I was listening to the noise this morning, trying to determine if it was animal, plant, mineral or some kid that had snuck in the side door. I thought long and hard about it because it was dark outside, it was just before dawn and I wasn't quite sure where I had put my Kabar. For those of you who don't know, a Kabar is a long sharp military blade. My son gave it to me for protection as he knows I don't do well with guns.

The noise was thrashing, it was thumping, it was terrifying, but the most I could do was to generate all sorts of images of some sort of killer stalker guy who had managed to get into the side door but didn't know where the light was and he must be falling over the Bissell steam cleaner trying to find the interior door. OH, that's right, the interior door...was it locked? I couldn't remember? Shoot, if it was open the guy could eventually find it and open it. He'd make his way through Reuben's nasty bathroom and then find me on the other side staring at him with a potted orchid in my hands. (Raised over my head of course for better leverage in times like these) Where the hell did I put my stinking knife?

The noise stopped. I rushed the interior door before the bad guy could find it and I locked it. I locked the damn door! Then, because I'm this way, I went outside in the dark, pushed open the gate, went around to the side door and pushed the heavy deck table in front of it. THERE -- now the guy was trapped in my laundry room. If he were really small he could crawl through the dryer's vent, and maybe escape, but I doubted it. Me and my overworked imagination had tricked this S.O.B. so now there was only one thing left to do, and that was to taunt the guy. I called out to him, but you know they never answer.

Laura was asleep of course, she slept through last week's tornadoes too - - it's like her to be unavailable in these stressful situations, but at least I had a clear vision of where I had put the damn knife. It was under the bed between the nightstand and the bed frame. Ha, of course it was because sleeping with it could be a problem even if it was in its leather sheaf. I'm a dangerous dreamer you understand and I have three dogs in my bed at night, no need for accidents.

Back to the bad guy - - he didn't say anything and I wondered if I should call the police. What would they ask me, what would they think about me pushing the table into the door rather than leaving the house with my cell so I could call them. I did think about that, but like I said I have my daughter sleeping and the dogs....wait a minute...the dogs. Not one of my dogs was barking while the guy was trying to invade the house. They don't pass up an opportunity to sound off every day when the mailman comes by, recently they let him have it three or four doors down! They hadn't made a peep....sleeping! They were still sleeping! They didn't even get up when I went outside. I think Matrix followed me out of loyalty, but he wasn't really thrilled that he had to.

After a few clear minutes of going over it in my mind and conversing with the dog as to what his thoughts were, I went back inside the house and opened (cautiously) the interior door leading from Reuben's bathroom to the laundry room only to find that there was no bad guy - - unless he was that small and had crawled through the dryer's vent. The washer however, had managed to find its way closer to the middle of the room and I think I heard it bitch about something being inside of it that wasn't fitting correctly. I can blame Laura this time...she's the only other person in the house right now and it was her fat comforter slumped over to one side of the Whirlpool...I felt pretty stupid.

At least I know one thing; Matrix loves me.

Sunday, May 16, 2010

The Notorious Nick Posh

I went to sleep last night after waiting up past eleven for Bryan (my personal Starbucks Shift Manager) to bring me a grande java chip frappucino. He had asked me if Laura wanted something before she went to bed, and had offered to bring her old mother one as well -- nice kid. So I said yes, and then started the clock. I won't say yes next time. It was a great and wonderful (as well as generous) offer, but waiting up to drink a fatty caffeinated drink may have led to this extremely interesting dream and I'm not really sure I'm cut out to be a detective novelist.

The Notorious Nick Posh appeared prominently in my slumber. I'll consider this writing proof of my copyrights, and therefore if anyone comes along and steals my idea I'll sic Posh on them immediately. Posh, in his day, had been credited with killing upward of 10 people over the past 12-15 years. He was hard to pin down has he'd been laying low after the Maguire brothers beat him senseless for the attempted rape of their sister Kate. That had been over 30 months, and since no brutal mutilations had taken place in Chicago's east side that could be nailed to Posh, the detectives of the XX precinct were all but convinced the brothers had scared the polecat into hiding for good, or maybe he was still floating somewhere on the banks of the Michigan looking like fish bait.

Here's the deal; Posh had an MO. After reading about a bloke in Guthrie, Oklahoma back in the early part of the century (20th)who had been shot during a bumbled bank robbery and having been over processed with the undertakers formaldehyde, Posh cooked the idea to intentionally use the stuff to stiffen up the stiff so tight he couldn't break, but he could be cut up cleanly enough. Posh then took several of the pieces that could be recognized, the head, the hands, and even the belly and mailed them to himself outside of Chicago -- to post boxes in post offices all around the area like parcels. From there he'd chop the pieces up using difference wood choppers that he borrowed or rented from locals. He even went so far as to go to Gary, Indiana once to borrow a farmer's combine tools to destroy evidence. Who cared if the other parts were found right, in 1939 it wasn't like those forensic experts of the future were going to catch Posh. He had it made.

Without more than a few words Detective Tom "Buzz" Irwin found himself back at work. Retirement wasn't all it was cracked up to be, and California's Malibu beaches wasn't any place for a Chicago native cop to hide out anyway. The chill of a hard Chicago winter hadn't gripped Buzz in two years but with Posh making a possible return, this time in the uppity Gold Coast, there was no one else qualified to go on the hunt. Chicago had a way of always seducing him. Always bringing him home.

That's when it happened -- I woke up. DAMMIT, I woke up. Now I have to sit down and write out some cheesy old period 20th Century serial killer novel with bad plots and sleazy evil characters oozing from the pages. It's either the Sherlock Holmes shorts I've been reading or my love for a hot, middle aged, raspy voiced, square-jawed detective that gives me this push - - can't simply be the frappucino. Wait, I hadn't actually described Buzz to you - - had I? OOPS, my bad.

That's my dream. It had all sorts of other details, places, people, action -- shouldn't take me too long to write it. I love writing in overt simple terms that can be read out loud and made fun of. Think Dragnet meets Dick Tracy meets me at the airport after too many cups of coffee. Should be fun.