Reanimated Lavender Granola Switchblade Nun rides again.

Wednesday, June 19, 2024

Cinder Ella


Cinder Ella was this chick who was doing some minor dealing in the vestibule of her old boyfriend's building when a snitch turned her in and she got sent to juvie.

Freeeak. So bogus.

The 'rents lost it and so when she'd done her stupid community service, they said oh my, oh dear, you really need some discipline here, and gave her like ten thousand chores to do and she was grounded until she's 75 and everybody in the world is dead from a nuclear accident or something. Yippee skippee. 

So anyway, Cinder Ella had no further forks to give, so she opened her bedroom window and had a smoke in between cleaning all the bathrooms and mulching the stupid garden so the rutabagas would grow ten feet tall of whatever it is that rutabagas do. Kill me now, she thought, don't wait for the Marlboros to kick in.

It was at that moment that this leftover hippie woman flew in. I mean, actually flew and perched her grown-ass self in the window frame. "No wayyy," said Cinder Ella, taking a long drag. "Way" said the boomer in the window. "I am your fairy godmother!" Cinder Ella replied, "Well fork me and feed me fish heads." 

Long story short, Cinder Ella's fairy godmother had seen and heard more than enough of the way Cinder Ella was being treated, by both the 'rents and her social influencer sisters. "Easy solutions for combination skin!" So lame. So, this boomer turned a cat figurine into an Uber driver, and a lava lamp into a Lambo, all so that Cinder Ella could attend the Lady Gaga concert that night. "Fuckinay," said Cinder, stubbing out her smoke on the chore list her mother had left on the side table for her. It burst into flames and suddenly there she was, getting out of the Lambo at the venue!

So, the concert was lit, but she lost one of her Doc Martens when it got to be almost midnight and she had to make a run for the Lambo before it turned back into a lava lamp and the driver became a cat figurine again. I mean, she got that thing at Six Flags when she was like, nine, and she'd look like the majorette of the Loser's Day Parade if she didn't get out there in time. So she did, and came hobbling in the door just in time to sneak up to her room and do some cannabis to mellow out. 

Well, fat chance. Ding-dong, some hopeless dweeb desperately in need of a glow-up was standing in the front doorway when she came downstairs to snob, er, say hello to, whoever it was. Holding her lost Doc Marten in his hands, he smiled nervously and asked Cinder Ella and her sisters Madison and Courtney to try it on. Madison couldn't even begin to get her big boats into it, and Courtney's toenail fungus made everybody gag so she just sort of ran up to her room crying. "Oh boo hoo hoo, I'm stinky Courtney, my feet are soooooo gross wahhhh," scoffed Cinder Ella as her sister swept past. 

"Would you like to try it on?" the boy asked, shyly. "As if," said Cinder Ella, grabbing the Doc Marten out of his hands and giving him a shove out the door. "Try Proactiv!" she said to his back as he stumbled away in bewilderment. She shrugged. "I'm really more into girls lately anyway." Walking down the hall and into the garage, knocking over her dad's retardo golf bag as she passed, Cinder Ella grabbed a screwdriver off of his work bench and hotwired the Mazda. "Happy happy to all and to all a good buzz!" she called as she drove away, swerving to avoid some stupid squirrel that did that changing direction thing that squirrels do, and she just about totaled the Mazda and sustained crippling injuries like in a Lifetime movie, except she didn't, and that's the end. Follow me for more dumb fairy tales if you're like, grounded until eternity and it's completely unfair and you're  so over it or whatever. 

For What's Going On? -- Unfairy Tales

Music: The Sounds Running Out of Turbo

Monday, June 17, 2024

Word Garden Word List--Gracefully Insane


Hello my little madcaps! It's time once again for your Word List poetry prompt, and today our source is Alex Beam's book Gracefully Insane, a chronicle of McLean Hospital where such famous persons as Ray Charles, Susannah Kaysen ("Girl Interrupted"), James Taylor, and Sylvia Plath came at various times for treatment of depression and other mental disorders. I would give a review, but I haven't yet read it. I just happened to spot this one sitting on the top of (one of my) TBR pile(s). I simply decided to pounce upon it for the List. 

What we do here to use at least 3 of the 20 words provided in a new original poem of our own. Then just link up, visit others (don't be the kind who makes use of the List but never visits anyone), and then let your mind wander, around the room or off the deep end. We're fine with that around here. 

This prompt stays active through next Sunday. Enjoy! And now, your List:


Dear Reader


There you are, dear reader, demanding that I account for both myself and my famous affair with Basil Pennington III, father of the English Haiku-Sonnet. 

Nosy little parker, aren't you? Hmph. My air of mystery is positively in tatters.

You'll have read, I'm sure, my first published volume, Cargo of the Heart (1905), a collection of some two-thousand love poems, all of them concerning my furious devotion to Bazzy (as I called him privately). Tiresomely, most people only know the opening poem, Honeymoon In Hell, which was written shortly after I had sustained a closed head injury. 

My Arrow-collared Adonis stands in fading dusk-light
your chin tipped down, lighter flaring up,
capturing my heart as your pince-nez does your nose
while on Love's nectar'd wine we sup!

Yes, well. My early efforts were heartfelt if a trifle lacking in restraint. But you want to hear about Bazzy (as I called him privately)! You may not know that Basils senior and junior were fierce tyrants, captains of industry, and both afflicted with a ferocious case of skin blemishes in their youth. Imagine their chagrin at the arrival of this perfect, square-jawed, wavy-haired, strapping example of manhood amongst them. Imagine further his utter disinterest in the family undergarment empire. 

Undergarment wizards, bitter devils dancing lugubriously on Profit's stage,
Blind behemoths blundering benightedly
Dismissive of Delight, scornful of sage
poring over ledger books, squalling, squealing and squinting short-sightedly!

I guess I told them ! For months in 1911 we closed ourselves off in a lovely seaside cottage, seeing no one but each other, except for the odd Ouija manifestation or mushroom hallucination, as one will. 

Love! Bliss! Oh Rapture!
the wet raindrop on the stalk
that grows proud and tall!

Of course, my volume of erotic haiku entitled Cherry Blossom Lobotomy was seized by the port authorities in Boston and ultimately banned as both pornographic and jejune. "Everyone's a critic," I lamented to Bazzy (as I called him privately). We were both convinced that Basils senior and junior had had a hand in that nasty bit of business, but we could never prove it, and besides, I was occupied with my hybrid petunias and Bazzy (as I called him privately) was shortly off in France fighting in some silly war. If you like, pick up a copy of my collection of war poetry entitled Ka-Boom! The New York Times reviewer wrote that the collection convinced him that there are worse things than death, but I never understood what he meant. When Bazzy (as I called him privately) was killed, I couldn't imagine anything worse than his having been run over by a Paris taxi while on leave from the Army Bureau of Statistics located behind the lines in wine country. I delve into this terrible period with the epic poem Drunk In Public, which won the Delirium Tremens Award for excellence in incomprehensible gibberish. I've always been very proud of that, though the arcane terminology eludes me somewhat. May I present you with a copy? I can have one of the staff sign it for you if you like. No? Don't be shy, dear--I insist!

Anyway, that's the Reader's Digest condensed version of my sweeping affair with Basil (or "Bazzy" as I called him privately) Pennington III. If you'd like to pry, er, read further, see if you can find a copy of Cornerstone Poems--the "Found" Poems of Constance MacFarquhar-Pennington, A Complete Compendium With Bibliography, Personal Correspondence & Rare Photographs (Crumbley J. Pepperpot and Phyllis Anne Von Vandekamp eds. Redundancy Publishers New York Montreal London Belgrade and Hong Kong 1932.  I saw a copy on the website Remaindered Oblivion not two weeks ago!  Ta now, dear. Hmm. Thank Heaven and Heloise that the little twaddlehead is gone.  For pity sake, I never even actually met Basil Pennington III, or "Bazzy" as I imagined I would have called him privately, had I had the chance. No matter. Time for wine and work! I've got a new book underway and cannot be disturbed. 

My rather lengthy poem (?) for Word Garden Word List--Gracefully Insane.


Friday, June 14, 2024

Back-Up Bliss (Blues Lyric)


You know I love you baby
you know I crave your kiss
you know I love you baby
you know I crave your kiss
so don't act all broken-hearted
when I say that you're my back-up bliss

Slip out the back door baby
when you hear the front door key
slip on out the back door baby
when you hear the front door key
now don't get sad
dontcha get all mad
cos back-up bliss is what you are to me

Come and rock me baby
smooth and sweet as summer wine
come on and rock me baby
as smooth and sweet as summer wine
main squeeze ain't got nothin'
that could make me give up this
time with you, my cool and crazy back-up bliss

Process notes! I was blasting Robin Trower's Rock Me Baby while putting away groceries. Now there is a coffee creamer I just have to have, called Natural Bliss brown sugar oat creamer. The store doesn't always have it, and it lasts for months if it isn't opened, so when I get about half done with my current jug, I buy a back-up before I get too low because running out just isn't happening, not at my house! So, I was putting away groceries and grabbed the new Natural Bliss and said, "Oh yes, my back-up Bliss!" That's when the light bulb came on over my head. Sounds like a blues rock song! And voila! Here it is, with tongue firmly in cheek!

Music: Robin Trower Rock Me Baby

Thursday, June 13, 2024

Gray Cat In the Paperbacks


At the most unexpected time
on the most unlikely of days
I met someone who couldn't stay, 
and yet stayed forever.

I wasn't then who I am now
which is both a good and a sad thing.
I didn't really love the one who gave me a ring
but meant well by them.

No poetry, on paper or in my heart
but I had one regret and so made a wish
to know the real thing with someone, only that and only this.
I knew the weight of asking.

I had asked to know peaceful days
before I grew old, and was given them.
I asked for sobriety and the craving was gone as if it had never been.
Still, out of the blue, out of left field...

I saw green eyes and they saw mine
just walking by at the end of an ordinary day.
Imagine someone feeling the same way; hit by lightning, swept away
from the next morning, for one glorious day.

Would you believe in a love at first sight?
Yes, I'm certain that it happens all the time.
Two people utterly bowled over--one day to remember forever--mine.
Talk about the luck of the Irish.

Would I walk away from it again?
Would I be so rulebound? Was I right to head back home?
It doesn't matter now. I'm okay the rest of the way alone. 
I have that day, and the card you sent

to keep and remember what an answered prayer meant.

(Blogger isn't letting me do links normally, lately.) 

Image at top is the card mentioned in the poem. I've kept it for 27 years. The gray cat is because I told them about a poem I had read in which a gray cat is a symbol for randomness and kismet. The poem was "untitled" by Carl Rickert. I would link to it but have never found it anywhere except in the magazine where I first read it. 

Music: Holly Cole I've Just Seen A Face  (If the Beatles object to me quoting Help From My Friends in this poem, I place myself at their mercy. I'd kill me if I were them!)

Monday, June 10, 2024

Word Garden Word List--Night Road


Hello, my poodle skirt poets! (qbit, you in particular look quite fetching.) Right now, I am reading a novel by Kristen Hannah called The Women, which is about nurses during the Viet Nam war. I have only just begun it, but Hannah is a go-to author for me. Occasionally--especially in her early novels--she can be rather Lifetime Movie-ish, but she tore my heart out with Winter Garden, her novel about the siege of Leningrad, and this week's source Night Road. 

Kristin Hannah

Night Road
is about Lexi Baill, a former foster child with a dark past, who finds a new life with her great-aunt and best friend Mia. However, a tragic accident during the girls' senior year shatters everything. It really touched my heart and I never forgot it. 

What we do here is to use at least 3 of the 20 words provided in a new original poem of our own. Then simply link up, visit others, and drive safely on the way home. This prompt remains active until next Sunday. Enjoy!

And now, your List:


Bimbo Season


Summer and I cannot really be friends--
she is tiresomely popular
with her garish daylight that extends
heedlessly into my delicious darkness.

She's the hot girl, skin-deep,
boring me to death with her obviousness
too loud, too cheap,
queen of the surfer boy entourage. 

If only there were some ceremony
that I could perform
to summon chilly winter here for me,
my old bestie returned.

I would live in a bus with bed and blankets
and a storm outside,
all the windows hung with trinkets
and--weirdly--streaming tv.

Yes, an all-comforts bare-bones hideaway
out in the distant sticks
up on four wheels on a winter's day
with soup and chocolate!

Sadly, here I am with this bimbo season summer,
my imagined paradise
far away and impossible--bummer!
White it out winter,

Come back with your cool quiet and I'll write you a killer poem 
to knock your woolly socks off. 

for Word Garden Word List--Night Road

Music: Fleetwood Mac Bare Trees