C.A. MacConnell
2/28/2022
2/27/2022
Seat Belt
Good morning. This one speaks of an imaginary place I visit when I'm walking...I've done this ever since I was small. Stories and scenes, good music, long stretches of highway, and vast fields or deserted lands -- they all send me there. Hope you like the piece. :)
Seat Belt
I listen. The sunset road
stretches out before me
I listen. The sunset road
stretches out before me
like a pale, lined tongue.
Let me follow the limit.
When I hear your voice,
I imagine the throat of it,
the slide, the wishing well.
I am in love with the lip.
Some come from the gut.
Let me sing on the end.
Sound fills me, and I never
look both ways. Beyond
the words, I see myself
in a red, deserted place.
where my figure is fine,
and my face is porcelain,
and I am barely twenty-two,
driving alone, tearing across
and my face is porcelain,
and I am barely twenty-two,
driving alone, tearing across
Wyoming, kicking up dust,
looking for horse plates.
C.A. MacConnell
looking for horse plates.
C.A. MacConnell
2/26/2022
2/25/2022
Prayer Request
Last night, I got kidnapped.
I was trapped
inside a hot
sanctuary.
I was shifty
in the church pew –
a cramped place
I have never called home.
Last night, I got lucky.
I discovered
a blank stack
of prayer request paper.
Three by five,
I drew you wearing suns.
I’ve never seen you like this,
but that's the way I always
picture you.
I drew me next to you.
I was reaching
for your middle.
I drew a taller me –
wild-haired,
stick hands nearly touching
the place where your belt
should be.
My fingers got lost
between your loops.
I've never seen me like this,
but the pencil made me
a lead-grey, dipping,
V-necked dress.
Your mouth
was a line.
My mouth
was a circle.
-- C.A. MacConnell
I was trapped
inside a hot
sanctuary.
I was shifty
in the church pew –
a cramped place
I have never called home.
Last night, I got lucky.
I discovered
a blank stack
of prayer request paper.
Three by five,
I drew you wearing suns.
I’ve never seen you like this,
but that's the way I always
picture you.
I drew me next to you.
I was reaching
for your middle.
I drew a taller me –
wild-haired,
stick hands nearly touching
the place where your belt
should be.
My fingers got lost
between your loops.
I've never seen me like this,
but the pencil made me
a lead-grey, dipping,
V-necked dress.
Your mouth
was a line.
My mouth
was a circle.
-- C.A. MacConnell
<3 to you. Have a great day
2/24/2022
Photo: Dry Cleaner
Took this little gem yesterday. Hope it brightens your day.
Pray for peace.
C.A. MacConnell
2/23/2022
2/22/2022
The Porch Swing
I chew on the accident –
my swollen lip
that you bit last night
when we shared oranges,
sucking them down
end to end, lip to lip,
burning and breathing in
African incense.
Outside, like fresh fire,
sleet cracked the ground,
and god made more
than a dusting. Later,
we sat on the metal swing
and rocked. At this show,
my toes barely touched
the porch. With fingertips,
you played my hands,
pressing into my life lines.
I gripped the chains.
Wind whipped my hair.
I pumped harder,
and we rose higher,
until everything rattled.
I hung on like a hangnail.
C.A. MacConnell
my swollen lip
that you bit last night
when we shared oranges,
sucking them down
end to end, lip to lip,
burning and breathing in
African incense.
Outside, like fresh fire,
sleet cracked the ground,
and god made more
than a dusting. Later,
we sat on the metal swing
and rocked. At this show,
my toes barely touched
the porch. With fingertips,
you played my hands,
pressing into my life lines.
I gripped the chains.
Wind whipped my hair.
I pumped harder,
and we rose higher,
until everything rattled.
I hung on like a hangnail.
C.A. MacConnell
2/21/2022
2/20/2022
2/19/2022
Petal
Two years gone from the vine.
She hears that
Mom once lived at the flower shop, but
She's never seen any familiar
Rose.
Soon.
She's stuck to the stranger's sock
Sole.
Something red
On the foot.
She holds the job of the
Strange. Fat. Flat. Ugly. Joke.
Remember Robin.
Maybe he never sang so.
That
One
Landed --
She loved him.
Pretty
Much everything.
Remember him
Here.
As honest a torn leaf
As they come,
She's fitting in
Nowhere,
And let it be
Known --
On the sidewalk,
She's terrifying to the
Rest.
Little girls
Collect the others in
Buckets.
-- C.A. MacConnell
She hears that
Mom once lived at the flower shop, but
She's never seen any familiar
Rose.
Soon.
She's stuck to the stranger's sock
Sole.
Something red
On the foot.
She holds the job of the
Strange. Fat. Flat. Ugly. Joke.
Remember Robin.
Maybe he never sang so.
That
One
Landed --
She loved him.
Pretty
Much everything.
Remember him
Here.
As honest a torn leaf
As they come,
She's fitting in
Nowhere,
And let it be
Known --
On the sidewalk,
She's terrifying to the
Rest.
Little girls
Collect the others in
Buckets.
-- C.A. MacConnell
2/18/2022
2/17/2022
Dinner.
Here's a little piece I've been working on. Hope you like it. Just warming up my brain to work some more on BOOK FIVE. :) After I finish draft two, I'm gonna have to take a break on the book and make some cash somehow. I wish I could roll on with it and focus, but you know, gotta pay rent! I abhor practicality. Hope you have a good day out there... Love, C.A.
Dinnerdream poem
Teeth. Wolves. Surrounding me,
they spat, crashing side-to-side,
lost in riot, colliding like highway,
pile-up accidents. Some bodies
upturned, bleeding smoke (paws
spinning). How they howled,
hoping to make me the wicked
meal. But I evening-stretched
up tall (to the tip toe), raising
my arms as high as small, dream
arms could rise, reaching out
my strange, new fingers, hunting
for light, color, more, more, more,
and suddenly, I stretched my curious
knuckles, (a distorted, flat comic
uprising from the page, turning
into a live cartoon), and my vine-like
nails shot out like slides, becoming
claws. Gut to throat, I barked back.
Perhaps the animal sound was far
from perfect, but joined by my fresh-
faced assistant – fire – I slowly watched
the others shrink back, soon tearing
away, tail between the legs. Dinner,
once again, was over before it began.
C.A. MacConnell
2/16/2022
2/15/2022
2/13/2022
2/12/2022
Open House
I haven't changed this one. I think it stands on its own. Man, I had a dream I was like the female version of Tom Cruise in Mission Impossible...I was about to scale a roof when I woke up, haha. I'm tired from my mission in real life, haha. Hope you like this piece...I love the "whisper" feel of it.
Open House
like this place.
Shower water turns cold to shock.
Think short, kid fingers
burning in the snow.
I slip into my blue jacket.
I lace up my combat boots.
Outside, some windows slide open,
and the rest resting slam
shut. Somewhere, sweat
darkens a neck. Others
surely shiver home, straight
into the vein. Scattered in the square,
sleeping on benches,
tattooed girls cross and uncross,
pulling at wide-stretched
ears, twitching and laughing
near lonely, old men. Late skater boys
fuck, snake, paint, relate.
One of them, the smallest,
a half-finished painting…
well, he looks like you –
gaunt and buried within a yellowish glow
of lamp. I want to walk
with you. I want to step
on the heels of your shoes.
Alone feels right in this artist
light. Muted, a heavy makeup, it hides
the deepest flaws.
A splinter breaks free.
Now it’s caught in my curls,
and love is the man
who finally pries it loose. Well, now I am
almost inside. I feel almost
pretty. I think you would
like this place.
C.A. MacConnell
2/11/2022
2/09/2022
2/08/2022
The Day We Drank Nightwatch
Hi there. Working on a 2nd draft of BOOK FIVE. Stay tuned. Rolling along. Walking 5 miles in my heavy boots is a workout! Today, there were so many geese, it was like a bird orchestra. Saw a Blue Tick Hound, an enormous Rottweiler, a pack of 6 mutts, two Huskies, and a pack of Boston Terriers I believe. Oh, the other day in the graveyard, I saw 6 crows chasing a hawk away. And last night, I thought I saw my true love on the street, but it could've been a superhero, not sure. Hope you like the poem.
The Day We Drank Nightwatch
The Day We Drank Nightwatch
grates.
No rain
the day we drank
Nightwatch by the Space Needle,
strumming songs,
proven by prison
tattoos.
Your long-key fingers
crawled to move.
Nothing else about you
was gorgeous.
Evenings, you were fast
and jerky.
Mornings, you were slow,
shaky, slow.
You were a slick black, one-
way,
straight shot.
You were the sharpest,
most untouchable
thief.
You were the coolest,
smoothest, loaded
bullet.
C.A. MacConnell
