Wednesday, October 30, 2013

Watercolor, "Ocean Sunset"

My newest watercolor was painted today.  I have painted sunsets before, but this time I tried something new and it isn't perfect.


"Ocean Sunset" by Sara Megan Kay, 10/30/13

Tuesday, October 29, 2013

Watercolor: "Ghost of the Field"

Last night I got hit with a thunderbolt of inspiration and painted my first watercolor in many years.  Today I finished it with a little penciling to better define some of the edges.  Unfortunately, the scanner isn't as big as the painting so a small amount has been cut off as you can see.  Hope you like it.

"Ghost of the Field" by Sara Megan Kay, 10/28-10/29/13

Writing session 10/29/13

Dead Flies

Dust settles on the windowsill
As my breath subsides
Two dead flies stand upright
Guarding like miniature scarecrows
Watching with hollow eyes.

Their shelled carcasses, having been bleached
By the sun until crispy,
Fool the residents into swatting
and stir up the dust
Keeping their bodies whole.

On my finger I see
That a leg has gotten stuck
While two live flies buzz my own legs
Attempting to procreate and multiply
The number of future scarecrows
On the windowsill.
I flicked the leg at them in protest.



Asexual

I don't want sex.
I want our spirits to grow together
Like vines, twisting and choking out
Any outside forces that interfere
With the cultivation of sour grapes.

I want to love you
But for a day I will hate you
and each word is a revolt
Against all I stand for
and every vice a crime
Purposely committed to engage my ire.
Then the bane of my existence
Lays a weary hand upon mine
and all is forgiven
As I crave this touch,
An intimate tangle of souls
Without the emptiness that comes
With mating, or reaching out
To find nothing afterward.

Monday, October 28, 2013

Autumn Love

It's a perfect autumn scene unfolding before my eyes,
Golden pine needles cover the road like snow
Leaves of red and yellow dwindling on skeletal trees
That clasp its death grip upon the house next door.

A graveyard of vegetation awaits me each morning
Full of dead and dying, these rotten grubs
Are wasted entrails in this cadaver's gut
Winding, weaving as it falls through the cracks
Of old wood and insolent twigs
A middle finger to the topiary gods with ADHD

I will roll my body down the cemetery hill
Until I strike a gravestone
and get cut by granite, my blood is one
With the passing crow, and the dirt
Layered over cement vaults
Where you will find them waiting.
I hear the voices calling, the message is clear
The dead is alive in you and me.

Sunday, October 20, 2013

It's almost Halloween...

...and I have 3 new poems which will hopefully help get you into the spirit.  As always, feedback is appreciated.


The Fog

Driving home from work at night
I love it best during autumn
When the moon and street lights
Illuminate a silver fog eerily,
Floating over swamp land
Like Victorian England
During Jack's heyday.

Vincent Price is the perfect narrator
For this particular kind of fog.
His voiceover would hit the right macabre note,
The cynical jab of sarcasm,
Punctuated by his signature laugh-
A cackle, perhaps heard up high in dark towers.

I can see beyond the sparse
String of cars on the highway ahead
That the moon governs the fog,
Sprinkling the veil over, past the rails
Dancing for our transient amusement.


Bones

Look at the bones!
They gather dust there in the ground
Picked dry by freeloading insects.

The banquet days are over now
As the ghost forgets the horror show,
Sleeping content in a bed of earth-
Dracula, without insatiable thirst.


Once Upon a Halloween
(co-written by Amanda Waley)

Once upon a Halloween
There lived an ancient queen
Besotten by madness and regret
and all the gold her minions could get.

But the wealth and bloodletting fell short
To her desire for an able consort,
Disappointed by many a brute or jester
Now locked up and made to fester
After the jokes wore thin.
With each month, a new search to begin.

"My Queen, choose me!"  cried a werewolf
Who preferred feasting to golf,
Salivating over her flesh,
Ripping the throats of maidens fresh.

Werewolves, lords, blacksmiths and the like
Flocked to her beauty like crows or shrikes
Most finding prison and also death,
Lying through their teeth with each breath.

Until one day a monster came,
Swept her on his shoulders, whispered her name.
He had fallen to her charms and grace
and now he would steal her away from this place
To live in a tomb, an unmarked grave
For this man was Death, and the Queen now his slave.

Thursday, October 10, 2013

You are not alone in this private hell known as love.  Our worlds we created, both good and bad, we dream of better and rage at the little injustices and yet, we chose those...we chose to suffer because we chose to love the people we love.  Is it worth the pain?  Is it worth the angst, the bitter fights, the accusations?  Everyone has it worse and yet they also have it better.  The grass may be greener elsewhere, but you still have to deal with some form of fertilizer.  The choice is yours...move forward or stay where you are...but if you decide to cut and run, let me know so I can call shotgun.

Wednesday, October 9, 2013

In My Own Private Hell (a love story)

In my own private Hell
A candle burns, spits out a flame.
I sit alone in the orange dark,
Lonely.  It is the way.
My tea stays warm
In this cup you made for me
In our own private Hell.

In my own private Hell
We sloth about this little apartment
Complaining, mumbling incoherently,
Dreaming of what we want
While barely sustaining what we have
In our own private Hell.

In my own private Hell,
I crawl onto the mattress with you
As you're passed out in a drunken haze
Mourning the death of another job,
More dollars to save that instead we spend.
I rage and plan but nothing works
and we pass along the days grieving
In our own private Hell.

In my own private Hell
I wonder why am I here.
Haven't been truly happy in years
As I let go of my past
Wishing the best for my future,
Planting seeds that die
In our own private Hell.

In my own private Hell
Sometimes you reach out to me,
Remembering I am just a woman
While you're only a man
Everything gets in the way of a simple touch
and sex should not have these consequences
In our own private Hell.

In my own private Hell,
People ask why I've stuck around.
Unsure of an answer, I grope with my hands
A web torn asunder by broken promises
and failed escape attempts.
In the end, I still wait for you to wake up
and remember me next time
In our own private Hell.