Reanimated Lavender Granola Switchblade Nun rides again.

Sunday, February 28, 2010


An airplane comes and takes the world away like a tugboat.

In the morning, people wake up and it's gone.

Scientists are baffled.

Meanwhile, an airplane flies through space towing the world like a tourist trailer in Yellowstone Park.

Space-bears beg.

They're so cute, Harry.

Let's give them



Friday, February 26, 2010

You Know Who You Are


Irregular church attendance may result in a disquiet of the female temperament, unstable at the best of times.

Left unchecked, such wickedness as lack of obedience and humility, and a failure to acknowledge the husband as God-in-the-home may creep in.

Extreme instances may involve fever, hysteria, and nervous agitation combined with a complete refusal to wear a corset and bustle.

Such women become easy prey for inverts, who may be recognized by their mannish modes of speech and dress, tobacco use, moral laxity and even literacy.


Attend services.

Keep eyes downcast.

Depend upon the superior judgement of fathers, husbands, brothers or uncles.

Pray earnestly.

Daughters of Eve, do these things and receive pardon and protection.

Or not.

In which case,

Call me. ;-)


The author apologizes for her complete inability to find a picture of a woman with a Joan Jett 'do, wearing a tuxedo shirt and leathers, to go with this notice. The discovery of such a marvel would allow the author to die happy, and then, of course, descend directly into everlasting torment, where all her friends will be waiting. Neat-o!
Photograph: Marlene Dietrich

Thursday, February 25, 2010

Malus Domestica

When I was a child,

I was just eyes in the dark

Scaring myself;

And I was just arms in the dark

Trying to comfort myself

When I was a child.

When I was a girl,

I thought, a girl is no thing to be,

Not here;

And so I turned to a silent woody tree--

Wearing my white blossom dress in spring

With an apple for a heart

When I was a girl.

Everyone said,

"You are not even really a girl,

Nor a wooden doll;

You are just the black in the night,

And the space between dreams,

That's all."

When I heard their words, I wept

And let my leaves fall.

When I found love,

I came back into bloom

And my white blossom dress

Was the envy of the stars, and the lovely distant Moon;

But when I leant to kiss my love,

She was gone, never to come back...

With my single apple in her apron

And the night sky laughed

When I lost love.

Now I am a woman,

And, like all women, my eyes see everything;

My arms reach

To comfort and to keep

My creatures, my garden, and me;

I still wear

My white blossom dress in spring,

And in autumn I weep--

Bring your baskets, for my branches are full with a thousand hearts, both tart and sweet...

Now I am a woman.


Each stanza has one more line than the one before. Like growth rings in a tree. ;-)

Tuesday, February 23, 2010

Jasmine Nation

When the Big One came,

Jasmine Faulkner, the biggest star since stars were made,

Had just stepped out of her limo--

Just stepped out in time for her shadow to be scorched onto a wall;

Now Jasmine will never fade,

Never fall.

When the Big One came,

Not everyone was prepared--

Not every secret stood up to that kind of light;

Not everyone came out of that night

And into post-apocalyptic L.A.

When the Big One came,

Can openers became more valuable than Cadillacs.

We are the Jasmine junkies,

Using the only working disc player in the nation--

We are the stewards of culture and beauty, wearing our tin foil hats;

Collecting and keeping

Surviving and seeking

Final obliteration.


Sunday, February 21, 2010

For B.

If I were drowning,

Would you save me?

I know the water is full of women--

Mermaids, sirens, loreleis and the rest;

I also know that

Falling is to sinking

As spirit is to flesh--

We all need love

As the body needs breath,

So, if I were drowning,

Would you save me?

Or would you say, imperturbably,

"How calm is the surface...

How peaceful the sea"?


Blackberry Way

"YEAH JAKE? LISTEN, MAN, I'M AT SOME COFFEE PLACE...YEAH..." he shouts into his little plastic phone.

"I'LL BE THERE BY SEVEN. YEAH," he screams. He is planted just inside the doorway at Danny's Coffee Shop, so that people have to go around him.

"IT'S ON A DISC. IT'S ON A DISC IN MY OFFICE," he booms. He has a briefcase in his hand. "I'LL GO OVER THAT, AND--"

A black panther streaks through the air and hits Jabberjaws like a furry, fanged wrecking ball;

For the first time in weeks, man, phone, and briefcase are separated, with all of the violence that major life changes are known to bring.

She sinks her teeth into his throat, and as his fingers twitch and the white collar of his hokey, otherwise blue, businessman's shirt is stained red,

The Queen of the Vampires returns to her charming natural form as she subtracts Mini-Trump from the world of the living.

Denise, the waitress, looks up from filling the napkin holders and warns, "Don't leave a mess on my floor, or you're cleaning it up, Toots."

Only at Danny's does anyone call the Queen of the Vampires "Toots."

The QOTV looks up.

"Go like this," says Denise, and the QOTV realizes she has breakfast on her cheek.

"I was saving some for later."

"You're such a spaz."

The QOTV ducks into the ladies' room to fix her face.

After a splash, and a pat-down with a paper towel, she re-does her lipstick and looks up to check it.

There is, of course, nothing in the mirror but the reflection of the stalls behind her.

"Goddammit," mutters the QOTV.

There is giggling from Chloe at the next sink, where she has been messing with her hair.

"Maybe you need glasses," she suggests, not even bothering to hide her smirk.

"Fuck you!" says the QOTV, laughing.

Lack of reflection is why you rarely meet vampires who are runway models,

Or news anchors,

Or actresses in community theatre.

All those perfectly-coiffed movie vampires? Pure fiction. How would it be done? Staff?

The QOTV comes out and noisily drops into a booth across from her friend, the Dark Haired Chick. (The QOTV becomes fiercely jealous if anyone else sits there.)

"Everyone here are such bitches!" the QOTV complains.

"I heard that," says Denise, without looking up.

"And proud of it, too," chimes in the Succubus, lighting a cigarette with her fingertip.

It is morning at Danny's.

There is a dead guy on the floor.

Don't worry, though.

God will get to him after her break.


Click on the title "Blackberry Way", at the top, to see where I shamelessly stole the title from.

Friday, February 19, 2010

An Edifying Ellipse

Seek purity of thought and deed.

Do nothing from selfish motives.

Enter with a kind word,

And when you leave, take nothing with you that would better serve those left behind.

If you fail in any of these things,

Look cute.

It will remedy a thousand sins.

If you wish to understand God,

Study cats.

If you wish to understand cats,

Observe women.

If you wish to understand women,

God help you,

Even if you are one.

God, cats, and women all like to be listened to.

Each uses her own special parlance.

Those who attend well shall become wise, and perhaps, accidentally, happy.

All three expect worship and indulgence.

Each demands certain rituals.

All are omniscient.

(we know.

we know you know we know.

all else is predicated on this basic truth.)

God, cats, and women are all inherently beautiful, capricious, brilliant, divine, and occasionally prone to huge huge blunders.

This is when having nine lives,

Saying, "I meant to do that,"

Or wearing gigantic dark glasses can be remedial.

Failing these,

Look cute.

It will absolve these periodic lapses.


Thursday, February 18, 2010

Kreativ Blogger Award

If there seems to be an extra strut in my step today, it is because Mama Zen at The Zen of Motherhood has given me the Kreativ Blogger Award. I appreciate it, but I hope she doesn't think this means she owns me. ;-)

There are rules involved. I am supposed to list seven interesting things about myself and then pass the award on. I can do this. I can do this.

1. I am a mean Jeopardy player. If I could ever get on the show, I could probably make a bundle. They actually had a contestant call here once. You had to send a postcard to some radio station and then they would randomly draw a certain number of names to try out to be on the show. Mine was not chosen. I could live with that. But some guy, who just showed up, ended up being chosen. What's up with that? Rules are rules, are they not? I'm all about rules. Ask anyone.

2. I went to the beauty supply store today after work to fetch some new hairbands. I've totally got the Hillary Clinton 1996 look down. There was a wide one in bright red, with white skulls and crossbones on it. Perfect for a twelve year old. I picked it up. I told myself no, and put it back. I picked it up again and threatened to make a scene. I made myself promise only to wear it around the house. I eagerly accepted the terms. I bought myself the bright red, skull + x-bones hairband. I will probably wear it to work tomorrow. Ha! I'll show me!

3. I have an unreasoning horror of all bugs with lots of legs, such as centipedes, millipedes, silverfish and the like. *shiver* I even hate mentioning them, just to say how much I hate them. Yick.

4. I LOVE the Winter Olympics! I love short track! I love snowboarding! I love alpine skiing! I love hockey! Especially women's hockey! I love love love LOVE Lindsey Vonn! *sighhhhhhhhh* I love luge and bobsledding! I love long track! I love it! I LOVE IT!

5. Someone sent a colony of bees through the mail once. They were in a crate made of wood and mesh. It was about the size of a steamer trunk. it wasn't for my route, it was for the one next to me, and nobody would deliver it cos they were all afraid of it. The bees were starting to die, which distressed me, so intrepid mail lady Shay delivered those bees herself. What's the buzz, tell me what's a-happening...

6. I don't feel like doing a six.

7. I like silly songs from the 1920s. A turn to the right, a little white light, will lead you to my blue heaven. :-)

I am passing this on to.......Talon! And Ily! And Sara!


Wednesday, February 17, 2010

The Monster Of Birmingham's Last Words

Do I look hot

In my arrest photograph?

Do I look appealing?

Or not?

And beyond that,

Do I look like the kind of girl

Who would do the kinds of things

That I have been accused of?

Do I look weary

Being led into the courtroom?

Do I look pale?

Suitably teary?

And beyond that,

Beyond looking wretched in this orange suit,

Do I look like the kind of girl

Who would do these things, and then lie to you?

I had to do it.

I had to...

Are you sure I never told you

How much I know about ju jitsu?

So when I saw her standing there,

Happy, and

All those things I cannot bear for her to be,

I had no choice.

It was something in her voice when she

Looked at me and asked, "How are we?"

I was bound to snap.

Surely you can see.

Surely you can see that.

Do I look sorry?

Are you sure I don't look fat?

Do I seem remorseful?


But beyond all that,

Do I look like the kind of girl

Who belongs in a place like this?

And, as I blow the press one final kiss,

Do I seem

Better than her?

Oh tell me, please tell me

I've always been

Better than her...

Tell me, do I seem

Better than her?

Do I?

Darling, you've always been

So honest,

So true,

So kind, I know you wouldn't lie.

Photograph: Jordana Brewster

Tuesday, February 16, 2010

Two Simple Questions

Dark-haired women are the best--

We all carry tarot decks,


And a certain smoky magick.

Think about it--

When the end comes,

(and it may, any minute)

Do you really want to be out there with a blonde?

Do you really?

Do you really?

We have witches' houses

Out in the countryside,

Familiars at our feet.

Come in,

Come in,

We may turn you to stone on a whim,

Or strew the winter landscape with lilies if we care to;

Do you dare to

Kiss us and live with the consequences?

Do you?

Do you really?


photograph: Penelope Cruz

Monday, February 15, 2010

Send Down The Ladder

(for Kelly Dickson)

I know she's up there

Hiding in the leaves

A tree house

That's-for-me house

Half-way between clouds and flower garden

Hey up there! Excuse me! Pardon!

Let down the rope ladder

Send down the rope ladder

I know she's up there

Actin' like she don't care

I brought

Sandwiches and tea

Send our secret ladder down!

It's dull here on the ground!

I even brought two lovely ripe plums

And with that--presto!--down it comes

Now we're two up in the tree

Quite contentedly




Just Baby K

And me

Queen and duchess

Of the cloud and garden tree.


Sunday, February 14, 2010

The Tenant

Love comes and goes, like the downstairs tenant--

Sometimes noisy, maddening, only leaving with the sunrise, cuffed in the back of a squad car;

And other times gentle, sweet, barely making a ripple until, while you watch over her shoulder as she paints near the east light of the French windows, she demands to be kissed

Simply by being there before you.

Love is a dog, oh what a dog--

Look what you've done now, and

Look how I love you...

Love is a cat, and as cats will,

Comes when she cares to, and

Does she love me? Maybe...maybe...

Love is the thing I wait for

Through the early evenings of December

And the early mornings of June,



That she is coming,

That she is perhaps already near,

Disguised with your name and face,

Bringing joy


And her fickle, charming ways.

Welcome, tenant, whatever you bring this time...

Here is your key;

Welcome home.


Happy Valentine's Day to everyone. :-)

Friday, February 12, 2010

Gladys Edna Croppelbottom

Gladys Edna Croppelbottom

Full of grace and whatnottelbottom,

Leaves everyone besottelbottomed

And to most things says whynottelbottom?

Gladys Edna Croppelbottom

Once she starts, won't stoppelbottom,

By S&M is not shockelbottomed

And is a well-known toppelbottom.

Such a lady

A genuine star--

You can see her ride by

In her fifty-foot car.

Gladys Edna Croppelbottom

Was once A-Lula Be-Boppelbottom,

But she died on an Everest outcroppelbottom

When she didn't notice the droppelbottom.

The name "Gladys Edna Croppelbottom" is the product of the twisted mind of Helen T. ;-)
The superfluous picture of Jordana Brewster is for you, Mac. :-)
"Be-Bop-A-Lula" sung by Gene Vincent.

Wednesday, February 10, 2010


Oh yes,

I think it's wonderful.


I wish you every happiness.

Who needs that rainbow shit anyway?

Good for you.

I'm glad. Honest.

You and Rick.

Hi, Rick.

Nice to meet you, too.

I know, gotta love her, right?

Ha ha.

What a girl.

Okay, bye Rick.


Wtf kind of name is Rick?

I mean, is that made up, or what?


It sounds vaguely disease-y.

"I'm sorry, but your hamster has rick."

That's pretty ricked.

Rick you, and your little dog, too.

"Did you hear? Uncle Larry has advanced rick. He's really ricked now."

What a shame.

"She ricked her girlfriend."

"Get out. No way."



Scientists say rick in the water is responsible for the outbreak.

Rick may lie undetected for years. Intestinal rick. Rick fever.

Mad rick disease.


Be with Rick.

I hope his rick turns black and falls off.

I hope his rick rolls down his pantleg and lands on your parents' Persian carpet.

I hope the dog eats it.

Poor dog.

Here's the number of a good vet.

What a rickhead.

No, you.

I didn't mean that.

Sure I did.

No I didn't.


Go with Rick.

Here's the name of a good flea shampoo.

Break up with Rick, free.


So, a lesbian, a straight girl, and a rick walk into a bar...

Oh, you've heard that one.

Rick joke, I know.

I better go.

Peace out.

Check it out.

Poke it with a rick.

Oh, you've already done that.

Sorry, but that's





Tuesday, February 9, 2010

Dammit Janet

Lambs, what I'm about to reveal to you may shock you. It may upset every idea of me you ever had. You may shake your head and say, "Fireblossom is just not the gal we thought she was." But truly, I promise to put aside the wasted years and do better in the future.

You see, dear readers, until today, I was a Rocky Horror Picture Show virgin. Yes, it's true. My empty life held no meaning. I had never done The Time Warp. But now someone--a woman who seemed at least marginally normal--has deflowered me. Pardon my frankness. Pardon my Frank N. Furter-ness.

And now, if you'll just take a step to your left. Jump back to the right. Put your hands on your hips...


Succubus Resurgent

The Succubus starts to get her strut back.


She does something about her hair.

The stylist is stoked;

It's not every day she gets a genuine bona fide soul-stealing demon in her chair for a color and cut.

As the split ends fall,

Little smoke wisps curl up from the floor of the salon,

So that the place starts to smell like an unlikely combination of hair spray, peroxide, shampoo, and brimstone.

Succubi sleep around;

It's what they do.

Next thing they know, they're on Oprah, cautionary tales with long red fingernails, dabbing at their intense dark eyes with a hankie and blubbering out, "Mother was right. I'm miserable!"

Well, shit.

The Succubus is not about to let this happen to her.

She reminds herself that she is the kind of girl who hands out the ace of spades as a valentine,

Runs with the wolves,

And goes where she damn well pleases, doing what she will when she gets there.

She has stopped spelling out Chloe's name with the bones of her victims, though she knows she will never really forget her.

These days, she enters the dreams of Denise the waitress, but instead of stealing, she finds herself leaving shavings from her black and eternal heart behind,

Strewn across Denise's dreams like rose petals on white bed sheets.

Her love is such, that mornings find her woozy and talking gibberish, making up nicknames for her new baby,

Like "Pooky"

And "Love Muffin."

She would die if anybody besides Denise heard her,

But, the woman is impossible to resist...

Sitting in her shrimpy kitchen, smoking, wearing Van Gogh "Starry Night" jam bottoms and an old top, that though it is loose--or because it is--makes her breasts look so appealing that,

If there were a road where her stove and refrigerator are,

She would cause pile-ups all over the place--

Broken fenders and hearts.

When they kiss,

Denise's cigarette flares up in the ash tray like a sunspot,

The tv on the counter goes all weird,

And the copper-bottomed pots all fall off the wall.

"Be careful with my soul," whispers the Succubus, who knows better than most how to spot one that's been stolen.


Saturday, February 6, 2010

Shay Live!

oOo, dear readers, you would have been proud of your little Fireblossom tonight. As part of a benefit event, I read some of my poetry at Affirmations, our gorgeous lesbian and gay center.

They liked me they really liked me.

I read four poems:

They laughed. They listened. They clapped and yelled. I was told I am better than the ordinary brand, by an attractive woman or two. I quite liked that part.

Today Duckburg, tomorrow New York. Or not. But I sure enjoyed it, and it was for a good cause. :-)



She walks down the track

in a black dress

early on a Sunday afternoon,

with an ice cream bar in one hand

and her shoes in the other;

the dogs don't bark.

no dogs will bark.

they are silent.

She walks down the track

in a black dress

with her smoky hair

where the locomotives used to split the hills,

and the coal underground still burns.

it only takes a spark.

a tiny little spark

starts the smoldering.

She walks down the track

in a black dress

with a dusky dog

close and silent at her side;

there are mounds here that hold

her mother and her mother going back.

let her walk by.

just let her pass by.

to live, lay your heart

at her feet, like silver track.

to get to Moundsville, just follow the old Baltimore & Ohio tracks.

Friday, February 5, 2010

Snuggle Bear

Snuggle Bear goes sour.

Belligerent and profane, he starts getting in fights outside popular clubs at two a.m.

Unflattering photographs appear;

So do lawsuits and a nasty, protracted divorce.

Snuggle Bear's mother goes on record vouching for his sweetness

And his inability to do wrong of any kind.

Ratcheting up the madness,

"Snug-dawg" joins a street gang.

Heavily tattooed and strung out,

Snuggle Bear waves a firearm around in broad daylight, cursing in Spanish.

Too bad for Tommy Tooth--

Right place, wrong time,

He dies of acute-onset lead poisoning.

At Snuggle Bear's sensational trial,

Snug's attorney complains to the court,

Revealing that the prison laundry does not use fabric softener.

"This amounts to nothing less than torture for my client!" he booms, in theatrical outrage.

Snuggle Bear titters in his ridiculous high voice, which makes his homeys sitting in the gallery squirm and look away.

Snuggle Bear is convicted and given 99 years.

In jail, he finds The Lord.

He does all that he can to bring the peace of forgiveness to his fellows,

But his violently insane cellmate is unreceptive, and knocks the stuffing out of Snuggle Bear.

After fifty years fly by,

Snuggle Bear is released for good behavior.

Old, tattered, and missing an eye,

Snuggle Bear is no longer telegenic.

He shambles into a coin laundry to get out of the snow,

And sits down in a broken molded plastic chair.

The woman who empties the lint filters and picks up the discarded detergent jugs stops and scrutinizes him.

"Hey! I know you!" she cries. "You were the Pillsbury Doughboy!"

She grins and pokes his middle.

Despite his struggle, ruin, and years of desperate searching,

The gesture touches a part of Snuggle Bear that is still as innocent and pure as Ivory Flakes.

His high-pitched laugh returns, like a wedding ring rescued from a drain,

Proving that,

Like bad poetry,

A thing can be obnoxious and kitschy all at the same time--

Leaving hearts noticeably softer

And filling the air

With the fresh, clean scent

Of redemption.


Wednesday, February 3, 2010


If you shook out my soul,

If it came unrolled, you'd get

Roses, silk, and chocolate;

An arch look and white lace

And all the girly things that grace it...

But, depending on when,

If you shook it again,

You'd get sun, dust, and leather,

Saddle wax and heather;

Something I dreamed and kept in a San Antonio summer,

With space, love, and time enough to name it.


Tuesday, February 2, 2010

Pro Forma

The best cat is a black cat. Siamese are the most vocal.

Carpet runners are a sign of impending nervous problems. Keep restraints at the ready.

Boots should be leather or suede, and should make a pleasing sound on hard surfaces--




Return all library materials by the due date; other patrons may be waiting. A drop box is usually available during off hours.

Ladies never spit on the floor.

Old Italian women do, at the mention of philandering husbands or lazy sons in law.

Pay careful attention to grooming and personal hygiene--



Remove blood stains before they set.

Choose flattering colors and fabrics. Florals are pretty. Classic black makes a statement.

Cursing is vulgar.

Men are large, but slow. Keep cutting edges honed, and your innermost thoughts to yourself.

Laugh often.

Show some thigh.

Rinse and repeat.

Every woman has a secret name.

So do hurricanes.

A woman's kitchen is the heart of her home; her bedroom its soul.

All women are priestesses. She may be--





Lie to a woman and in your next life you will eat carrion.

Beat a woman and in your next life you will be carrion.

Love a woman and in your next life you will be a lion. This life, too.


Dogs were created so that women could whisper their secrets to someone.

Discard anything you haven't touched in six months.

Water the flowers.

A woman who loves her hair, loves herself.

Wink at your image in the mirror, for luck. If you are not reflected in the glass, it is not you who will need the luck.

All women are nocturnal, answering to--

The moon.

The tides.


And lastly, if you know someone truly loves you, forgive them anything else.

If you know they don't, all their words are empty.

Kiss hard.

Fuck rules.

Protect your little ones,

And sing what you like; you are the only one who knows the tune.



I am drawn to drownings.

Intrigued by hangings.

The oriole may land on the gallows pole,

And no one accuses her of being macabre.

The red winged Blackbird may cling to the cat tails by the misted pond in the morning,

And no one suggests

She should not have perched there, singing to the silent girl in the water.

Suicide is not the answer to every problem,

Nor is fire,

Nor is sleep.

There are even those who will tell you that if you simply remain still and wait,

That the earth and sky will move,

Beneath and above you,

Bringing change while you dream that she is there again,

Leaning to kiss you,

Consuming you like the curtains and the crossbeams

As part of you stops fighting and lets go...

It is like birds startled by a gunshot,

Isn't it,

When you wake up gasping and know that she hasn't killed you

After all.