Friday, June 21, 2013

Why is "Alice at the Spa" important?

I just asked myself that question...I am at a loss for words.

Two years of my life is in this book.  It is just as big of a chunk of me as the other two poetry books I wrote, regardless of page count.

I am still trying to find my voice, finding ways to further expose myself to lovers and stalkers.  I try to dig deeper into my influences, dust off the ones I haven't read in a while and find a new reason to love them all over again.

It's been a big long dry spell for me, been bothering me for a couple of years now with small intervals of inspiration in between.  But I find my heart is growing, and finding new things I want to say.  The trouble is, my heart isn't always connected to my tongue.

I've been dwelling on the same muses for too long.

I still long for the slightest touch, but it's drifting further back into my past and becoming harder to imagine as a reality, due to my increasingly established current situation.  Wanting it isn't enough, I will have to literally dig up the roots which have grown deep into life's soil.

All of this is in Alice at the Spa...and more.

I have attempted to bring new muses to the canvas, which have revealed a more erotic side.  Discovering Anais Nin played a key role in this, as did a few new friends.

But still, I let my past plague me.  These last eight years have been, shall we say, illuminating.  I don't know how I can ever fully let go.  It's become part of me, it's intertwined with my DNA and all possibly psychosomatic.  I believe it, therefore it must be true.  I haven't been told otherwise, so I hang on.

What good does it do?  I've hidden away my great treasures, only to take a peek occasionally when I am alone.  An old brown journal, a photograph, several cherished books and music albums.  I believe these are the key to when I was most naively happy, and yet so stupid to have sabotaged it.

But there I go again...

I am Alice.  I have seen strange things and known some fascinating characters.  Scott, my Mad Hatter.  Mary, my Caterpillar.  Mandy, my Dormouse.  Sarah Jean, my Cheshire Cat.  Matthew, my Mock Turtle.  They've all gone down the rabbit hole with me, and have also become part of me.

Go ask Alice...I think she'll know...

My nightly dreams
Which confuse and taunt me
With sensations that surprise
(Considering the cause)
That I can be touched in such a way
That I am on fire
and the hands behind the touch
Stem from an unlikely one.

Attempts at reciprocation
Winds up with my body shocked
By the electric current,
Laser beams blackening my nails
and my eyes seeing someone else
Winking from around the corner.

Do I know you?

Wednesday, June 19, 2013

Announcing the publication of "Alice at the Spa: Poems and More"


Alice at the Spa:  Poems and More
By Sara Megan Kay 
ISBN 978-1-300-75445-9
All Rights Reserved.

The third volume of poetry by Sara Megan Kay is chocked full of erotically and emotionally charged poems, as well as previously unpublished "rambles" in prose, as the author becomes firmly entrenched into her 30s and tries to leave the past behind.  What results here is a threeway tug-of-war between past, present and future, neither of these being without their hidden storm clouds.  Love, sex, regret and sacrifice are recurring themes, and influences by Anais Nin, Henry Miller, Lewis Carroll, F. Scott Fitzgerald and Sylvia Plath are quite strong.  Step into the romantic, surreal world of Sara Megan Kay, the Unknown Poet of the Oregon Coast.

"Alice" is published by, and is available in paperback and eBook editions.
Also available in my Kindle store!
Click here to visit my bookstore and pick up a copy now!

Want to get a free copy of my book?  See the blog entry before this and read all about my contest which ends on July 31st.

Monday, June 3, 2013


I want to spend today trying to forget what today is.  I don't want to look at anyone in the eyes for too long, because then they'll see and then I'll get the looks of sympathy, pity and whatever else.  I want to go to work, I want to throw lettuce around (bork bork bork!), I want to throw pickle slices at people and miss their heads by a mile, and sling burgers together in a madcap fashion.  I want it to be just like any other day.

But so help me God...if I decide I want to crawl into a dark corner somewhere because it's gotten to be too much...let me.  Because it's still too soon.  It's still too fresh a memory for me.  If I'm going to get through the day, I want to do it as though it never happened.  So if you see me, and you want to tell me you're sorry because of what happened 2 years ago today, and that you're here for me if I need you...please don't.  I know you're here, but now is not the right day to tell me.  I don't want any reminders that I lost one of my best friends, that I still have the couch she died on (even though it's since been moved to a different part of the living room) and I still wear the pink robe every day that was her death shroud.  I wear it.  Every fucking day.  I wear it and I bear with every single bit of bullshit drama that comes my way because I somehow feel like I deserve it.  Karma baby.  I didn't cause Traci's death, as soon as I knew something was wrong, I called 9-1-1...but because I believe that I didn't act fast enough, I feel like I deserve every bad thing that happens to me.  It's fucked up, it's wrong and I know it.  I know I don't have any reason to feel this way.  It wasn't my fault, I couldn't have known, blah blah blah.  I WAS RIGHT THERE.  I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN.

Traci is always with me.  I'm getting the chills right now.  I've been drinking a little tonight, and I hope to sleep fairly deeply.  Because I don't intend to let this anniversary shut me down.  It's another day, I want to live it as though that were true.  Peace out.