More: My Fatal Disease [Poem]

People look at my cold sore

like I have a fatal disease.

Don’t they know I was at war,

trying to get some z’s?

Saturdays should whisper

when they step into the room,

after a night of poetic wonder

that always ends too soon.

But, no, sleep lost his grip

and demanded that I wake.

He punched me in the lip,

that nasty, little rake!

People shouldn’t judge

what they can’t understand.

As for me, I hold no grudge—

it’s a cold sore I didn’t plan.

More: Always Listen [Poem]

There is something
about the hour of birds
that gladdens the heart
more than words.

They eat what they need,
know right and wrong;
they love and they bleed,
but Always have a song.

So, what of all this?
Listen to what is true:
without an hour of birds,
what would humans do?

More: Single [Poem]

Facebook

psychoanalysis

buzzes

at a quarter

past four

while

tiny gossip

spreads like

butter

on toasted

whole grain

wheat.

Humor

rises in her eyes

of hazel fire.

"Single” goes to,

“It’s complicated.”

Not really.

She’s still

“Single.”

I “like” it anyway.

More: I Won't Fall [Poem]

Sometimes, I wonder about

“Love” and those led astray

as the whirlwind of doubt

darkens in me all that is gay.

~

Once upon a time, you see,

“Love” sat amid these trees

to watch in united jubilee

a boy, a girl, and a breeze.

Ah, but nothing is more profound

in the palsy passing of time

than when “Love” runs aground

and breaks a golden chime.

Was “Love” meant to sit there,

beneath blueberry skies?

Why did vows crumble to despair

and drown with goodbyes?

~

Well, at least they could sigh,

and gave romance their all—

for me, I shall always deny

“Love”, who knows I won't fall. 

More: Sweat and Scratches [Poem]

I

Ceramic tiles find me
on hands and knees,
scrubbing before coffee
and consuming calories.

II

Arms covered in scratches,
brow drenched in sweat,
spending the weekend
on chores not over yet.

III

Diet Dr. Pepper is good
when it's nice and cold.
How can the neighborhood 
of noon be so boring and old?

IV

When the day closes,
both cat and human sleep.
Hard work in large doses?
No need to count sheep.

More: Lonely Souls [Poem]

The world is filled with lonely souls

and you call out to mine

in a way only philosophers and poets

could truly ever define

but these shadows fall like demons

around my guarded heart

so you may never get in,

or know where to start

and as sure as God whispers

that He has made you for me

I sense, in the back of my mind,

the doubt—fear—uncertainty

that rises like a tidal wave

and washes away the good.

The world is filled with lonely souls—

I would love you if I could.

More: Little cat [Poem]

“Little cat”

Little cat

with amber eyes,

why do you keep me up

most nights,

as if to say

my job isn’t done,

that the moon is full,

and the stars are deftly hung

in a sky of sapphire wool?

What care I, you crazy fool?

Artemis of the hunt and moon

beckons you to stealthily follow

across the fields of emerald silk

to a dark and barren hollow,

but you would be lost

and miss your bowl

filled with 9 Lives

at least, I think so.

You’d be missed if you go.

Little cat

with marmalade coat,

let’s both sail away

on dreamland’s boat.

"Loblolly Lane" [More: Poem]

[The start of this poem came to me today while I was calling potential students for pre-testing. One of the addresses happened to be at this particular lane that caught my Dr. Seuss fancy.]

There is a tale of Loblolly Lane

if I shared the details

you’d think me insane

it regards people who lived

and died there in vain

that believed as they would

with only half a brain

all haunted by ghosts

whose words fell like rain

into the minds of those

who could not complain.

I would tell this story

but I really must abstain

just realize this is true:

there is a tale of Loblolly Lane.

A Royal Baby [Musing]

If you are unwilling to open your mind to the truth, I suggest that you do not read any further. Then again, the truth is underrated in today's society, and often marred from one opinion to the next. Therefore, I shall say: the truth as I see it.

I cannot watch the news anymore without seeing a royal baby, whose presence on this planet has been hounded after by people from all walks of life. Or most walks, anyway. I feel that the birth of any baby should provide some kind of celebration. I held a baby only this week, and couldn't help myself from smiling. They are truly miracles from God.

Still, I don't understand why everyone, everywhere is celebrating this royal baby in such a sickening caliber. I understand that a monarchy is all about "divine right," and that they pretty much exist off of each other's ability to produce heirs. I get that. I really do. I just wish that the news would focus on something else - not the Zimmerman guy, or a royal baby who has undoubtedly already experienced more care in his short moment of life than any kid will ever have the chance of receiving. He's royalty.

I'm sorry if my viewpoint disappoints anyone, but I'm an American - and, as far as I'm concerned, we separated from the Mother Country on July 4, 1776. We are free from them, so why should it matter about a royal baby? He's not going to be our ruler! If our Founding Fathers saw us now, especially good ol' George, I would think they would all find a way for us to become a monarchy instead of a republic. We are "One nation under God" - only Him alone, not whosoever wears the British crown! Call me an extremist if you will, but I just don't see the point in so much coverage over a royal baby!

What about the starving children, whose mothers don't even have enough milk to give their little bundles of joy? Hell, they're not even bundles! They're skin and bone, with such a high mortality rate that it's unreal! In the world of plenty, it seems like we really don't have much regard for anything or anyone, but are ready to exhibit a whole lot of hoopla over a baby who really doesn't need any attention except by his parents, his people, and his country. We have more important things to do - babies to save, to bring them away from poverty by helping their parents divert away from circumstances they can't control, and mediocre situations that they find themselves in because they were dealt a poor hand by fate.

Pardon me if I don't "ooh" and "aah" over a royal baby. 

More: [Poem]: Myself

“Myself”

I think I’ll go out with myself tonight

and ignore my doubts, like thieves,

lingering like evil garden gnomes

beneath sanity’s duplicitous eaves.

I have never been a social genius

with intentions written on my sleeve

as to whether I should do this or that

such is familiar isolation, I believe.

I have always belonged to silence

though I’ve often wanted to weave

others into my coy, curt existence—

how quickly that thought does peeve!  

I think I’ll go out with myself tonight,

make friends with she-who-grieves,

because I don’t belong to dialogue

but the description of fallen leaves.

More: [Poem]: Humor

‘Humor’

Humor at 1AM

brings me back

to yesterdays

of mottled rust

and a swing set

falling apart.

He was younger

and shorter then;

I was his big sister

in more than age.

I never thought

his golden hair

would darken

as much as it did.

Funny how time does

strange things

especially to people

even if we don’t

want anything to change.

Still, it never took away

the beauty of his laugh.

Humor at 1AM

would be obsolete

without it,

and I would be

someone else.

More: [Poem]: we could have

'we could have'

we could have clung

to the memories

of days long gone

spent in summer grass

singing ‘Rodeo’

and sounding

like old coon hounds

instead of Garth Brooks

but you went your way

my rebel sister, you

always barefoot and blond

with a Twain charm

and a boundless thirst

for adventure

i should have known

memories weren’t enough

but i was never one

for predicting, was i?

it’s hard to think about ‘could’

when the only word i hear

is the silent, ‘can’t’

so i’ll just say no more

More: [Poem]: you

‘you’

I’m glad the world

never told me

about the eccentricities

of you

and how your humor

lifts my spirits

when they are down

and blue.

Sometimes, you are

lurid like a Les Paul

in the hands of

‘Pride and Joy’s’ master;

others,

sad like a Stradivarius violin

who struggles

and fears going faster.

I’m glad the world

never told me—

not even in the faintest whisper

for I learned it all my own,

what it means to say,

“You’re my sister.”

Musing: True Love

Willie E. "Bill" White 

I feel as though we have reached the age where true love (and especially the hopes of it being everlasting) is a myth. But, before us, before even the Baby Boomer generation, there existed a time where love knew no bounds—only the goodness of all that dreams are made of. A time where men served in World War II and knew exactly what they were fighting for, never having to question what freedom truly meant. The darkness poured through every corner of the world without showing the slightest chance of surrendering, but these great men knew the women waiting for them when they returned home... if the Fates permitted them such a chance.

My great-grandmother’s brother, who passed away on March 9, possessed such a love for his wife, who passed on before him. Even when she was in bed, suffering from Alzheimer’s disease, and not knowing who he was and hardly able to see him, he loved her. He visited her whenever he could, sometimes even staying all day long, just to be in her presence. After she passed away, he never remarried or sought another person to fill that empty place in his heart. To me, that is true love... and what is love without faith, hope, and knowing how to cherish each passing second, all the while knowing it could be your last? When I see two lovers dining in a room where conversation and food intermingle, only able to see one another and drown out the rest of the world, I sometimes wonder if they’re as much aware of how precious time can be as those lovers who came before them. I don’t know, but maybe this doubt is enough to eradicate such a truly sad myth.

After all, I'm a romantic at heart. How silent would the world be for people like me, without having the flickering possibility of true love somewhere along the wind?

More: My Killer, My Love (Review)

FOUR STAR REVIEW FOR A ROMANCE OF UNBRIDLED LONGING...

My Killer, My Love

Two Pieces of the Same Puzzle

Kendra is physically broken because of an attack she experienced; Mykhael is mentally broken because he’s been tormented for two hundred years. Together, they make a good match... like two pieces of the same puzzle, managing to mend each other while the world is caving in around them.

Kendra moves into her grandmother’s cabin shortly after the doctors (who didn’t believe she’d walk again) gave her the all-clear. She finds the cabin’s environment in disarray—even the slugs, who always seemed to behave when her grandmother lived there. Mykhael walks into the picture, and, shortly after they realize how much they need each other, we learn his reason for being there—to kill Kendra for causing a disturbance in the balance of one of the sacred places of the universe, as overseen by the Atrahasis. Only... she wasn’t the one who caused it. Her cousin, Clarissa, is responsible... and the unctuous real estate guy in town. The Atrahasis don’t care who is responsible; they just want someone punished, because they believe all people are the same.

The descriptions throughout this novel make it shine. They are highly poetic in their foundations, as is the love between Kendra and Mykhael. The character development progressed along well, even allowing some light for the sheriff, who really wasn’t all too sure about Mykhael, but trusted him a whole lot more than Gabriel, Mykhael’s demented half-brother... who definitely gets his comeuppance in the end. Of the characters, Kendra fascinated me, because she went from cursing her setbacks (glasses, damaged legs) and grew some intestinal fortitude—all with the help of her leading man, Mykhael, who loves her with all he is... even if he can’t understand her sometimes.

I found myself smiling at the ending; I don’t think it could have ended better. After all, fifty or sixty years, if done right, can be an improvement over immortality, especially if you have the right person to spend them with. I am grateful to Ms. Karel for providing me with a free copy of "My Killer, My Love" in exchange for my honest, non-reciprocal review. She did an outstanding job with this piece, and I look forward to reading more of her works in the future.

***

About the Author:

Mona Karel is the writing alter ego of Monica Stoner, who wrote Beatles fan fiction and terribly earnest (read just not very good) Gothics in her teen years. She set aside writing while working with horses and dogs all over the US, until she discovered used book stores and Silhouette Romances. Shortly after that she also discovered jobs that paid her for more than her ability to do a good scissors finish on a terrier, and moved into the “real” working world. Right around then she wrote her first full length book. It only took her twenty seven years to be published. She writes looking out the window at the high plains of New Mexico, with her Saluki dogs sprawled at her feet. Distraction much? ? Sometimes these silly dogs take over her life, but there is always room for one more set of characters in one more book.

More: [Poem]: Dante

Dante took me on a date

after getting to know me well

and I found myself before a gate

that would take me straight to hell.

I managed to say, “Dante

why did you bring me here?

Tell me, without delay!”

I stopped, frozen by fear.

(I’m not going in there! No way!)

With a thick accent, he

started with a smile,

“Don’t you like to see

the difference in style?”

While scratching my head,

I thought what he could mean,

then stared way up ahead

and hoped we weren’t seen.

“I’m not following you,

and I really hate that smell.

Tell me and tell me true—

why bring me to hell?”

“You had a date with John Keats

that left you always trying

to understand the sonnet beats;

then you tried Lord Byron—”

“What are you implying?!”

“Then you found Ignoracium,

which prompted your sister to say,

‘The Divine Comedy is awesome!’

so you started after me that day.

“I just thought you’d like to see

my mind, the fabrics fine and well.

These gates, they’re a part of me—

welcome, my dear, to hell.

“Come, Holly, let’s disappear

to a place I’ve taken many others.

Away, away from Shakespeare

and all of his idyllic lovers.”

I shrugged and managed, “Okay.”

The gates creaked open slowly

and, shuddering, I followed Dante,

wondering if hell knew about WD-40.

More: [Poem]: blue, blue sky

( a rather infantile poem because of the bad rhyme and meter)

Sparrow -

I say to you
there are better things
to catch your eyes
than sheltered Springs;
and Autumns of falling alibis.


You haven't loved me, nay
not since last year's snow
so I must give you away.
The blue, blue sky is my foe
who will not fade to gray!


The day is clear
tomorrow, uncertain
have no fear -
let rise the curtain
into a brighter year.

Now is the time to be smart
so take to the blue, blue sky.
Oh, I hope you the best start-
but I refuse to say goodbye
for you are taking my heart!

More: The Draw of Broken Eyes and Whirling Metaphysics (Review)

FOUR STAR REVIEW FOR AN EXCELLENT COLLECTION OF POETRY!

The Draw of Broken Eyes and Whirling Metaphysics

Poet of Poise, Purpose, & Passion

The greatest art depicts reality. Poetry is one of the highest arts, and is often a very personal one, so I commend Brooks for allowing us the opportunity to flit about in his mind.

Some of the poetry in this collection will make you laugh unexpectedly. Others will make you smile, like "On a Train" and "Ode to Morning Glories." Others will make you think about life, recall sleepless nights, and ramble through the nefarious "what might have been" moments in life; while others will make you become very wary of what you do (in fear of the Gateman). But, all the while, you will be with Brooks, who guides you through his mind, and allows you the chance to wholly experience what he is going through by placing you not only into his shoes... but into his soul.

I think there's something for everyone to enjoy in this collection--from those, like my sister, who has read the entirety of Dante Alighieri; to quiet, poetic dreamers like myself; and even to those who desire the more modern Bukowski-esque flair. The last Georgia poet I read was Byron Herbert Reece, who I also enjoyed, so I was ecstatic when another Georgia poet snatched up the reins of my awareness.

The poetry that I felt moved along the best were those that have a bluesy atmosphere (almost like a black and white noir of the 50's) and make you feel as though you're surrounded by a gossamer fog of smoke on a wet morning with a pale gray sky overhead. In this style, I especially loved the one about Armstrong, and the way you can almost hear his trumpet when you read the last lines--"making governments call out communist/while his music won the war."

A reviewer on the back of the book states, "The magnum opus of the collection is a poem entitled, The Gateman's Hymn of Ignoracium." The magnum opus is supposed to be the longest, greatest work--but I never considered Keats's "Endymion" to be his magnum opus, even if it is longer than his sonnets. In my head, as cluttered and confused as it may be, I consider a magnum opus to be something that weighs heavily on my soul, and length of a poem (alone) is like stale water that bears no life. "My Buddhist Beginning" is such a poem, because, though written simply, this poem (just as most poetry often is, especially in this collection) can be interpreted in a million different ways.

I love this collection of poetry, though I'm often a simple-minded person, and felt that the second book seemed to wander from one style to another. Regardless, I wish Brooks the greatest measure of success during his publishing venture, hope to read more of his works in the future, and hope that YOU (whoever you are) decide to read this volume of poetry. 

***

About the Author:

Clifford Brooks III has a History degree from Shorter University. He is Pushcart, Pulitzer and Georgia Author of the Year nominee for The Draw of Broken Eyes and Whirling Metaphysics, which is his first major work. He lives in Athens, Georgia.

Movie: A Touch of Larceny (1959)

[Spoilers...]

James Mason stars as Commander Max Easton in this movie as a man with a plan - and what an original one it is!

Max meets Virginia Killain (Vera Miles) after running into a man he served with during the war, Charles Holland (George Sanders). Max takes her glove while they're in the backseat together, goes to her house the next day, and learns that Virginia is Charles's fiancee. He becomes determined to have her for himself, but realizes that he needs money to make this possible. He reveals a plan to Virginia about disappearing under questionable circumstances - and return to sue the newspapers for defamation of character.

While he's on the island, living it up and waiting for the news of his becoming a "traitor," Virginia reveals the plan to Charles. He keeps saying that they should tell on Max, because he doesn't want them involved in fraud. When Max hears of his being called a "traitor," he makes plans to escape - but the gas can that he has with him ends up sinking when he's making a bad step. Luckily for him, Virginia has a plan - a message in a bottle, which she hands to a little boy.

Charles tells on Max, and the detectives try to get him to confess what the bottle looked like - what the letter said. This part really had my heart hammering. What's he going to say? Have they got him? Then, Max just says, "I must have sent out half a dozen in a day." With different messages, too, of course!

James Mason, as always, is suave and irresistible, with a daredevil side too boot. I wish we had actors as dynamic as Mr. Mason - and as sexy, without having to show skin. It's hard to imagine he was pushing fifty when he did this movie! The scene that touched me the most was the one where Max is dancing cheek-to-cheek with Virginia. Very moving! Very sexy!

If you're looking for a fun movie, look no further! But, whatever you do, don't think about going the lengths that Max did to get Virginia, unless you know FOR SURE that someone loves you. I mean, come on: love might be important, but not at the risk of your life. He could have died on that island!

More: Haven (TV Show)

[[[SPOILERS MAY BE AHEAD;
CAREFUL WHERE YOU TREAD]]]

Am I the only one hooked on Haven?

The show ended with such a dramatic cliffhanger that I must admit was one of the best season finalies that I've seen in a while. I watched it from my computer, literally on the edge of my seat.

On first glance, this show has some of the weirdest happenings - we have a character, Audrey, waiting for a barn to appear, so she can rid the town of the "troubles"; another character, Nathan, who can't feel anything but Audrey's touch (very romantic, if I may say so); and another character, Duke, who is determined that the person who kills him will have a strange tattoo.

The last episode of this season ends with Audrey saying goodbye to everyone (reminded me of Dorothy Gale), Nathan getting shot (how many times are they gonna shoot him?), and Duke jumping towards the barn that's slowly obliterating. The last scene: Nathan standing there, tears spilling from his eyes, as he calls Audrey's name. Moving. Epic!

What was sadder than Nathan losing Audrey?

Me watching this show alone.

I have watched the show since it started in 2010, rarely ever missing an episode. The relationships that are developed throughout the show - not only Nathan's and Audrey's, either - are really cool to watch. But, from the first moment that Nathan and Audrey met, I was like, "Oh... how sweet." Duke also admits that he likes her, which doesn't really complicate anything until Colorado. Yeah. I bet you're wondering what I mean by that, aren't ya?

Then the show lured me in with Vince and Dave, the crazy townspeople who know all the secrets; Duke, who grows throughout the series from a no-good to a hero (my favorite character, too, btw); and then the introduction of Edge, who isn't all that bad of an actor, though I had my doubts at first.

Now, I'm wondering: Will Nathan have to wait 27 years for Audrey to return?

I can't imagine going without this show for that long - months is unbearable enough.

Movie: The King of New York (1990)

"I'm not your problem. I'm a businessman."

When this movie was almost over, Frank White (Christopher Walken) says these words - and causes you to think about the troubled world in which we live. After all, hasn't this character heard the sayings "If you're not part of the solution, you're part of the problem." or even "Live by the sword (gun, in this case); die by the sword."? I truly don't think that he has...

Upon first look, the world that this movie revolves around is filled with darkness, destruction, and drugs - without a strong hero, since Roy Bishop (played by Victor Argo) is rarely in this picture, except to sit around, hunting and pecking at his keyboard, or looking at the action taking place with too much indifference (or so I felt). Also in this film, you have Jimmy Jump (Larry Fishburne) playing Frank White's number one; Thomas Flanigan (Wesley Snipes) and Dennis Gilley (David Caruso) taking the part of cops. All brilliant actors.

The villains in this picture drop F-bombs without batting an eye, snort cocaine like it's candy (which leads to other, also inappropriate, activities), and shoot so many bullets you're left wondering if they know anything else. In essence, I truly don't think they do, because it's the only life that they've ever known. The cops are left to deal with it, which leads them to dropping their own F-bombs, then a group of them deciding to unleash their rage against Frank White and Co. I looked at my sister, who was watching it with me and said, "They're going to get killed. How often do you see it in a movie where the younger guys release they're rage, die, and leave the older guys to 'do the job right?'"

I think that, in the scenes he was in, Dennis Gilley stole the show for me. I've always liked David Caruso's acting - especially how he can be cool, calm, and collective Horatio one second; and a confused, enraged Irish cop (on this movie) the next. I wished that they had cast Caruso as the heroic lead, because he's always so engaging to watch.When Thomas Flanigan dies, Dennis's reaction was so brutally honest that you were feeling right along with his remorse - and it upsets you to know Frank White will be going after him.

Christopher Walken is one of those actors who has a unique voice, as well as a unique presence. When he's in a film, you don't know whether to love him or hate him; even then, you don't know what he's going to do - hit you or hug you. Going into this movie, I was determined to hate him, but there were parts where you question how unlikable he is, even after he kills people - even after he starts getting his thugs to get the drugs. The scenes that come to mind are the ones where he's staring through the city - once, when he feels on top of the world, the King of New York; the second, when he knows that the world is against him.

I didn't start hating him until he killed Dennis Gilley, and shows up at Roy Bishop's house, preaching at him about how "I've never killed anyone who didn't deserve it." Pfft! Hypocrite! By that point, I wanted to scream at the screen and go, "You're a cop killer!" In the end, though, he acts like a fool, sitting in the subway, wanting to shoot it out with Bishop - or so you would think. A great actor can tell you a lot with just their eyes - and that's what Walken did: he revealed that Frank White wanted to die.

Something I was thinking while watching this film:

"Though a king may have his castle, his riches, and his throne;
What is a king without his people - what is a king alone?"

In the end, I think that's what crushed Frank: being alone.

So... I know in reading this that you're wondering "You said early on, 'Upon first look...' What about second look?" I leave that up to you to watch - provided that you can see through the layers of darkness and into the core of this movie, and - of course - old enough to watch an R-rated film.

Movie: Pretty In Pink (1986)

There are some movies that will forever remind me of my youth - Pretty In Pink is definitely one of them. Strange thing about this movie is that, while Power Rangers will never again be something I enjoy watching, this movie will forever be a good movie. Here's why:

Beneath all the high school drama, there is a dynamic structure of relationships that makes the viewer feel fully engulfed. The one that, I feel, stands out the most to me is between Andie (Molly Ringwald) and Duckie (Jon Cryer).

In most movies that I've seen, best friends end up together - the one that stands out the most is Some Kind of Wonderful (1987) - but that wasn't the case with this movie. In the end, when Andie felt the world was against her, Duckie was there... escorting her to prom, and to Blane's (Andrew McCarthy) arms.

Steff (James Spader) ticks me off every time I watch it, as does his girlfriend. He talks down to everyone, especially when he finds out that Blane is dating Andie, the one girl that he can't get. One of my sisters says that he's good looking, but that doesn't give anyone the right to be a complete jerk. After the fight between Andie and Blane, he's just sitting there... smoking... and immediately I go, "He's the devil." I love the part when Duckie attacks Steff! Still, both of them are good actors: James Spader is always so good at being a baddie (still love him as Daniel Jackson) - and Jon Cryer was especially moving when he runs out on Andie.

Although I've not told my sisters, I'm glad that the role of Duckie didn't go to Robert Downey, Jr. because the movie would have ended very much like Some Kind of Wonderful, with Andie and Duckie ending up together - since Molly and RDJ had that kind of chemistry. Jon Cryer was a perfect fit, and it was especially moving to see him there, at prom, waiting for her.

The movie has a rating of less than seven on IMDB, but I have learned long ago not to trust that grading system. People have their own opinions of movies. I suggest that anyone who likes movies with a lot of heart give this movie a chance - it might surprise you. Those who've seen it before, see it again. I did.