His spine curves.
He bends when walking.
And then he stands taller,
shaking,
reaching for the top shelf,
stretching for the shot
like a movie man.
The gentle one asks me
where he can find
the liquid stevia.
See, it moved.
I point to the highest shelf,
but he shakes his head.
No, it's not the same.
He has glasses.
His stubble is salt
and salt and pepper.
He is slow to speak
or make a move.
Do...I...know you?
I give him a maybe.
His smile spreads
a rapid ocean
across his rough chin,
and he turns away,
shuffling,
then limping,
pushing his cart sideways,
nursing the broken wheel.
Halfway down the aisle,
he turns around,
softly looks at me
through deep-set,
blue-ringed, pitchy eyes,
and pauses there,
waiting for the world.
In a sugary whisper,
he says,
Maybe I'll come back.
C.A. MacConnell
P.S. Hope you liked the piece. Kind of a short story within a poem. Would make a great song! ;) Hope your day is full of magic, nothing less. ♡ C.A.
1/30/2020
1/29/2020
Photo: Untitled
Hope you like the shot. Kinda spooky...much love to you this gray day. I'm off to get to work on some secret new material. :) Love, always,
C.A. MacConnell
1/27/2020
1/24/2020
Bloodlines
The octopus
has three
hearts
and nine
brains.
A blue whale's
heart weighs
1,500 pounds.
Female
killer whales
experience
menopause.
Orangutans
are ticklish.
In a herd,
nearly the last
eight wild
prairie horses
graze slowly,
never
a race.
The old
stallion
rears up,
one fellow
showing
his ribs.
-- C.A. MacConnell
has three
hearts
and nine
brains.
A blue whale's
heart weighs
1,500 pounds.
Female
killer whales
experience
menopause.
Orangutans
are ticklish.
In a herd,
nearly the last
eight wild
prairie horses
graze slowly,
never
a race.
The old
stallion
rears up,
one fellow
showing
his ribs.
-- C.A. MacConnell
1/23/2020
Joanna at the Waffle House
Coffee or tea? You're lucky, see --
some nights, the blackest alleys
still reach for me. See, they want me
back. Mornings -- blinding, man,
And the bottle was the place
that I called home. When I woke,
sometimes I found strange blankets,
or maybe a brand new bruise.
Some girl was always askin' T-bird
who she fucked last night. Shit,
never talked to that kind. I traced
my way somewhere safe. Thick,
fast, mean love shook me loose,
like a wicked cough, like a wheeze,
making my chest push and pull
within the hours, when I felt
the noise of everything close.
Maybe it was even you. Hell,
I remember the slick, nasty streets --
the muggers, and the dope boys,
and the Lusty Lady strippers.
Outside smokin', they wore nothing
but red robes. I remember the punk
kids, the snapping, the slapping,
and the cracking. Everywhere,
smiles held gaping holes. Back
there, in the box, a baby. You need
more time? You're lucky, see.
Some nights, the blackest alleys
still reach for me, 'cause back there,
in the box, that baby was mine.
Maybe it was even you.
C.A. MacConnell
some nights, the blackest alleys
still reach for me. See, they want me
back. Mornings -- blinding, man,
And the bottle was the place
that I called home. When I woke,
sometimes I found strange blankets,
or maybe a brand new bruise.
Some girl was always askin' T-bird
who she fucked last night. Shit,
never talked to that kind. I traced
my way somewhere safe. Thick,
fast, mean love shook me loose,
like a wicked cough, like a wheeze,
making my chest push and pull
within the hours, when I felt
the noise of everything close.
Maybe it was even you. Hell,
I remember the slick, nasty streets --
the muggers, and the dope boys,
and the Lusty Lady strippers.
Outside smokin', they wore nothing
but red robes. I remember the punk
kids, the snapping, the slapping,
and the cracking. Everywhere,
smiles held gaping holes. Back
there, in the box, a baby. You need
more time? You're lucky, see.
Some nights, the blackest alleys
still reach for me, 'cause back there,
in the box, that baby was mine.
Maybe it was even you.
C.A. MacConnell
1/22/2020
1/21/2020
Photo: Drive Thru
I've been roasting beans all day. How are you? I hope it's peaceful for you out there, wherever you may roam around.
Hope you like the shot,
C.A. MacConnell
1/20/2020
1/13/2020
A Good Hand
She’s not playing any
War.
Maybe some stray cats suck cigars.
They like to bet.
They like to watch.
Others play poker in the
Basement.
She returns for
More.
Maybe some like to
Fish.
Maybe by the river, an all-day game
With the packed cooler,
And the bait,
And the hook.
Always, she wishes for a good
Hand.
She can’t live
With the broken zipper.
The only fix
Is the face, and some kind of
Reality, like blue
Eyeshadow.
-- C.A. MacConnell
War.
Maybe some stray cats suck cigars.
They like to bet.
They like to watch.
Others play poker in the
Basement.
She returns for
More.
Maybe some like to
Fish.
Maybe by the river, an all-day game
With the packed cooler,
And the bait,
And the hook.
Always, she wishes for a good
Hand.
She can’t live
With the broken zipper.
The only fix
Is the face, and some kind of
Reality, like blue
Eyeshadow.
-- C.A. MacConnell
1/12/2020
1/11/2020
1/10/2020
Clam
Today, on my walk, I saw a huge buck, an albino squirrel, and a redtailed hawk. It was truly amazing. Hope you enjoy this sexy piece. I'm feeling sexy. ;)
Clam
Take me inside.
These fragile tables,
these empty vases,
these antique chairs
have seen better days,
my friend. Outside,
weathered birds
poke hole after hole
into crooked trees,
furiously feeding,
deeply stabbing
at the edges. Take
me inside. Alone,
I sit and sip, shifting
through lost ones,
and I wonder where
you are dance-running,
searching for Sugarman,
telling each stranger
about your latest
revelation -- the long
version, freestyle,
whether or not the line
stretches down the aisle.
Tomorrow, you’ll fly
to Africa. Tomorrow,
you’ll buy a hand drum.
Tomorrow, you’ll catch
the lucky shot -- the rarest
herd of albino deer.
Tomorrow, you’ll find
the hidden fork --
a lost, forgotten path
within the infamous
trail. Tomorrow,
you'll be the first man
to ever feel each layer
of rainbow, painting
your fingertips with dew,
holding the most elusive
shades and tones,
one for each day
we live. Surround me
in your overcoat.
Take me inside
your ghetto or classy
room. Take me inside
where ceilings hold
stars and planets.
Take me inside,
where I can twist
the black band
from your hair,
letting it down loose,
whether tangled
or smooth. I will wear
your hippie hat.
I can almost taste
your too-sweet tea.
Take me inside.
Let me slide
like a clam
down your throat.
C.A. MacConnell
Clam
Take me inside.
These fragile tables,
these empty vases,
these antique chairs
have seen better days,
my friend. Outside,
weathered birds
poke hole after hole
into crooked trees,
furiously feeding,
deeply stabbing
at the edges. Take
me inside. Alone,
I sit and sip, shifting
through lost ones,
and I wonder where
you are dance-running,
searching for Sugarman,
telling each stranger
about your latest
revelation -- the long
version, freestyle,
whether or not the line
stretches down the aisle.
Tomorrow, you’ll fly
to Africa. Tomorrow,
you’ll buy a hand drum.
Tomorrow, you’ll catch
the lucky shot -- the rarest
herd of albino deer.
Tomorrow, you’ll find
the hidden fork --
a lost, forgotten path
within the infamous
trail. Tomorrow,
you'll be the first man
to ever feel each layer
of rainbow, painting
your fingertips with dew,
holding the most elusive
shades and tones,
one for each day
we live. Surround me
in your overcoat.
Take me inside
your ghetto or classy
room. Take me inside
where ceilings hold
stars and planets.
Take me inside,
where I can twist
the black band
from your hair,
letting it down loose,
whether tangled
or smooth. I will wear
your hippie hat.
I can almost taste
your too-sweet tea.
Take me inside.
Let me slide
like a clam
down your throat.
C.A. MacConnell
1/09/2020
1/07/2020
Blindsided
Working on this one just now. Getting my writing brain in gear through poems. :) <3 Love to you. Hope you like the piece. C.A.
Blindsided.
Quiet.
And the sheets are red.
Alone,
in the crimson morning,
I write, I'm not sure why,
but I think
I love him.
I'd be all right
with a child. I'm guessing
that every mosquito,
and every tree limb,
and every thunder crack back
has lived with such a feeling.
If I could, I'd ask the ant,
the cheetah,
or the Arizona night sky.
Surely,
here and now,
out there,
someone is blindsided
by a naked,
Iceland afternoon.
But there is no description
for the curious ways
we each trace a thousand fingers
down a thousand necks,
feeling the life there,
from smooth skin
to wrinkles.
Quiet.
Yes, the sheets
are red.
Alone, in the human
morning,
I write, I'm not sure why,
but I think
I love him.
One day, it seems
that he may carry me
all the way
up the safe
mountain.
C.A. MacConnell
Blindsided.
Quiet.
And the sheets are red.
Alone,
in the crimson morning,
I write, I'm not sure why,
but I think
I love him.
I'd be all right
with a child. I'm guessing
that every mosquito,
and every tree limb,
and every thunder crack back
has lived with such a feeling.
If I could, I'd ask the ant,
the cheetah,
or the Arizona night sky.
Surely,
here and now,
out there,
someone is blindsided
by a naked,
Iceland afternoon.
But there is no description
for the curious ways
we each trace a thousand fingers
down a thousand necks,
feeling the life there,
from smooth skin
to wrinkles.
Quiet.
Yes, the sheets
are red.
Alone, in the human
morning,
I write, I'm not sure why,
but I think
I love him.
One day, it seems
that he may carry me
all the way
up the safe
mountain.
C.A. MacConnell
1/05/2020
1/04/2020
1/02/2020
Bring It On.
I suppose these ideas have been swirling around in my head for a while now. I hope you enjoy the piece. Just wrote it right now. Love to you, C.A.
Bring It On.
Throughout my lifetime, as far back as I can remember, I've had periods when I've struggled with suicidal thinking. I've survived two serious suicide attempts -- three, if you count the reckless drinking days. Whoa, that's a "sledgehammer" essay beginning, I know. Bear with me. Often, a sense of hope leaks out and spills into my little stories. No worries.
Rock and roll.
This messy I-want-to-die-thought-pattern still comes and goes, even with hard work at my recovery and therapy, and even though I dutifully take the medication that keeps me from acting on it. Now, I admit that I'm a stubborn person. Ask my family. Oh lord, ask anyone I've ever dated. But in the mental health arena, stubbornness comes in handy; that is, it drives my ruthless fight to stay well.
I stick to it, because in turn, maybe I can help you.
When suicidal thoughts creep in, what do I do? Over and over, I talk about it. I tell my doctor, my mom, my dad, my spiritual adviser, anyone I trust deeply. I tell my uncle, the ducks, the trees. I talk about it in support groups. I write about it and later freak out about my naked transparency. I speak about it to crowds. I let...it...out. I have to. Sometimes I think, This is too personal. This is too shameful. No one should know this. But those damning thoughts are merely the darkness talking. See, being real and talking about it is what sets me free from it, because eventually, like all thoughts, these suicidal thoughts fade away.
Maybe even bliss rolls in. Never know when that gem might appear as well.
When I was little, I assumed that everyone had these thoughts daily, because I didn't know any different. I figured that the desire to die was a part of every person's schedule. Later, when I started to talk about it, I discovered that most people didn't ever think this way. Some, yes, for sure. And I also came to realize that I had a symptom of a larger monster, and this horror show was something that I could treat.
Treat, not cure. Treat. But I can help others treat it, and they can help me. I am never alone. I may spend a lot of time alone -- more than most -- but I am never truly alone. I mean, I believe in the Big Bang, but I also believe in a vast spirit, and I believe that there is great love within it.
Just my hunch. Look into some stranger's eyes. See the story there. We all have our fights. And there is one magnificent force that always helps, and that is love.
Which brings me to this...recently I've had a slew of health battles. Frustrating and painful, yes. Drawn-out. Annoying. Frightening. But right now, I sit here in pajamas, feeling nauseous, nursing a stress migraine (I guess, I've lost track of the aches, ha), and I'm realizing something: I may be one 5'2" woman, but I am truly powerful. Also, through the course of fighting through this past few months, I realize that if I'm working this damn hard at getting well, there is a bigger lesson here, and that is this truth: deep down, in the core of all of my being, I want to live. I want to live more than anything. I want to live. I don't have room for those negative thoughts anymore, because I want to live. Fuck suicide. Fuck that thinking in general. I don't have the time or energy for it anymore. I want to live.
I want to live because one of my friends is struggling with this dark thinking right now, and he needs support. I want to live because another friend has been in and out of the hospital for months, and he needs prayers. I want to live because I've been praying for two of my friends, and they both just miraculously got clean. I want to live for my parents, my brother and sister, my Mimi in heaven, and for all of the love in my life day in, day out.
Bring it on.
The next time I feel those suicidal thoughts creep in, I will remind myself of these past few months, and I will remember how I've walked around with a new sense of trust in the spirit that resides somewhere, out there. Lately, I may not have been 100% physically, but spiritually, I've felt strangely strong and new.
And if the dark thoughts roll in, I will remember how I feel right at this moment -- my soul wants to live, and the obsessive thinking is just that...invalid, obsessive thinking.
If you are struggling out there, above all, belt it out. Call, write, go to a group, hug your cat, take pictures, sing, dance, box, do yoga, do whatever it takes to turn it around. And remember, even in the blackest alleys, love is always a solution. Always.
My place here is divine. Your place here is divine. And rest assured that no matter what, everything always changes, and in the end, there is great joy coming for me, and for you.
C.A. MacConnell
Bring It On.
Throughout my lifetime, as far back as I can remember, I've had periods when I've struggled with suicidal thinking. I've survived two serious suicide attempts -- three, if you count the reckless drinking days. Whoa, that's a "sledgehammer" essay beginning, I know. Bear with me. Often, a sense of hope leaks out and spills into my little stories. No worries.
Rock and roll.
This messy I-want-to-die-thought-pattern still comes and goes, even with hard work at my recovery and therapy, and even though I dutifully take the medication that keeps me from acting on it. Now, I admit that I'm a stubborn person. Ask my family. Oh lord, ask anyone I've ever dated. But in the mental health arena, stubbornness comes in handy; that is, it drives my ruthless fight to stay well.
I stick to it, because in turn, maybe I can help you.
When suicidal thoughts creep in, what do I do? Over and over, I talk about it. I tell my doctor, my mom, my dad, my spiritual adviser, anyone I trust deeply. I tell my uncle, the ducks, the trees. I talk about it in support groups. I write about it and later freak out about my naked transparency. I speak about it to crowds. I let...it...out. I have to. Sometimes I think, This is too personal. This is too shameful. No one should know this. But those damning thoughts are merely the darkness talking. See, being real and talking about it is what sets me free from it, because eventually, like all thoughts, these suicidal thoughts fade away.
Maybe even bliss rolls in. Never know when that gem might appear as well.
When I was little, I assumed that everyone had these thoughts daily, because I didn't know any different. I figured that the desire to die was a part of every person's schedule. Later, when I started to talk about it, I discovered that most people didn't ever think this way. Some, yes, for sure. And I also came to realize that I had a symptom of a larger monster, and this horror show was something that I could treat.
Treat, not cure. Treat. But I can help others treat it, and they can help me. I am never alone. I may spend a lot of time alone -- more than most -- but I am never truly alone. I mean, I believe in the Big Bang, but I also believe in a vast spirit, and I believe that there is great love within it.
Just my hunch. Look into some stranger's eyes. See the story there. We all have our fights. And there is one magnificent force that always helps, and that is love.
Which brings me to this...recently I've had a slew of health battles. Frustrating and painful, yes. Drawn-out. Annoying. Frightening. But right now, I sit here in pajamas, feeling nauseous, nursing a stress migraine (I guess, I've lost track of the aches, ha), and I'm realizing something: I may be one 5'2" woman, but I am truly powerful. Also, through the course of fighting through this past few months, I realize that if I'm working this damn hard at getting well, there is a bigger lesson here, and that is this truth: deep down, in the core of all of my being, I want to live. I want to live more than anything. I want to live. I don't have room for those negative thoughts anymore, because I want to live. Fuck suicide. Fuck that thinking in general. I don't have the time or energy for it anymore. I want to live.
I want to live because one of my friends is struggling with this dark thinking right now, and he needs support. I want to live because another friend has been in and out of the hospital for months, and he needs prayers. I want to live because I've been praying for two of my friends, and they both just miraculously got clean. I want to live for my parents, my brother and sister, my Mimi in heaven, and for all of the love in my life day in, day out.
Bring it on.
The next time I feel those suicidal thoughts creep in, I will remind myself of these past few months, and I will remember how I've walked around with a new sense of trust in the spirit that resides somewhere, out there. Lately, I may not have been 100% physically, but spiritually, I've felt strangely strong and new.
And if the dark thoughts roll in, I will remember how I feel right at this moment -- my soul wants to live, and the obsessive thinking is just that...invalid, obsessive thinking.
If you are struggling out there, above all, belt it out. Call, write, go to a group, hug your cat, take pictures, sing, dance, box, do yoga, do whatever it takes to turn it around. And remember, even in the blackest alleys, love is always a solution. Always.
My place here is divine. Your place here is divine. And rest assured that no matter what, everything always changes, and in the end, there is great joy coming for me, and for you.
C.A. MacConnell
1/01/2020
Happy 2020!
This very morning, guess who stopped by outside my window for the first time this year? My hawk friend, wishing me a Happy New Year. Magic! My first visitor of 2020 is my spirit animal. Special. <3
C.A. MacConnell