I wrote this just now. I hope your day is turning into something. Anything. I'm glad you're here. C.A. MacConnell
Glove
Bring back a white horse.
Bring back a black kettle.
Rest assured, I'll be waiting
by the door when you knock,
saying, Good morning
or good night. Yesterday,
I dreamed of doves,
and I saw your face again.
You were pale, staring,
just staring -- no smile,
no wrinkle, no frown.
There. Always there.
And today, your presence
turns into a familiar glove;
how it slides on recklessly,
in a difficult fashion,
wriggling and fighting
the owner's hand itself,
finally ending in the perfect
fit. Bring back a purple hat.
Bring back a yellow stone.
Rest assured, I'll be waiting
by the door when you knock,
saying, Welcome home.
C.A. MacConnell
Author Page. Five books out NOW!
Showing posts with label Poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Poetry. Show all posts
7/06/2026
6/02/2026
Church
"There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,
There is a rapture on the lonely shore,
There is society where none intrudes,
By the deep Sea, and music in its roar:
I love not Man the less, but Nature more..."
-- Lord Byron
This quote just popped into my head...and I decided to write my own version. Here's something I just created. Hope you like it. Have a great evening. Love, C.A.
Church
Woods, I follow you. And suddenly, I love my boots.
The lonely path is chalk-dusted by little hands,
I am guessing. Once, children. Perhaps yesterday,
They were playing, screaming, laughing, tearing
Across the soccer field. Now, ghosts. In the lake,
A snapper turtle rises to the air, breathing cautiously,
And I look up, checking the trees for seas of black
Snakes. Above, in the clear sky, the clouds hover
Like starving sharks. Somehow, in the slow burn,
In the musical roar of this place, pleasure rests
Softly, like a mother's church whisper. Hush. Listen.
The end is coming. Scanning the ground, I take one
Shot; the cut grass forms into a face. A man, I am
Guessing. Once, living. Now, a ghost, an explosive,
Frozen rapture of green. Studying his mouth --
The oval-shape, the surprise -- I imagine his last
Moment, when he became the field. Everything
Has its purpose -- each limb, each voice, each fish,
Each shell, each blade of grass, each second,
And every waking thought. I haven't seen her
In fifteen years, but I know that right now,
Somewhere in Kentucky, Anita is feeding
Her pet tarantulas.
C.A. MacConnell
There is a rapture on the lonely shore,
There is society where none intrudes,
By the deep Sea, and music in its roar:
I love not Man the less, but Nature more..."
-- Lord Byron
This quote just popped into my head...and I decided to write my own version. Here's something I just created. Hope you like it. Have a great evening. Love, C.A.
Church
Woods, I follow you. And suddenly, I love my boots.
The lonely path is chalk-dusted by little hands,
I am guessing. Once, children. Perhaps yesterday,
They were playing, screaming, laughing, tearing
Across the soccer field. Now, ghosts. In the lake,
A snapper turtle rises to the air, breathing cautiously,
And I look up, checking the trees for seas of black
Snakes. Above, in the clear sky, the clouds hover
Like starving sharks. Somehow, in the slow burn,
In the musical roar of this place, pleasure rests
Softly, like a mother's church whisper. Hush. Listen.
The end is coming. Scanning the ground, I take one
Shot; the cut grass forms into a face. A man, I am
Guessing. Once, living. Now, a ghost, an explosive,
Frozen rapture of green. Studying his mouth --
The oval-shape, the surprise -- I imagine his last
Moment, when he became the field. Everything
Has its purpose -- each limb, each voice, each fish,
Each shell, each blade of grass, each second,
And every waking thought. I haven't seen her
In fifteen years, but I know that right now,
Somewhere in Kentucky, Anita is feeding
Her pet tarantulas.
C.A. MacConnell
P.S. FIVE published books by C.A. MacConnell on Amazon NOW!
P.P.S. Need writing help? M.A. English/Creative Writing, Hollins University. Over 30 years of experience in all genres. You name it; I can do it. PHOTOS: custom, signed prints. Or prints on metal or canvas, ready to hang. Email: right here.
5/24/2026
The Rush
Oh! I just finished this for you. It was a stubborn little bugger. But sometimes, the best ones are stubborn, like me, ha. Enjoy. I will be singing tonight. :) Love, C.A.
The Rush
The Rush
Today, the hummingbird dives down, tunneling
inside my chest, and the world becomes a furious, beating wing. My eyes sting -- round and dry --
too long open. Yes, at the edges -- crimson.
The bloodiest shot. Mistakes, the rush, Jennifer's
message, and the recovered items are still waiting
at the store. OK. Scratch this entire order. Cancel
the mess. Let us begin again. Inside, outside, all
around. Someone...something...a curious being...
perhaps, a phantom...is making sure everything
is resolved. There is no mistake. Only the timing
escapes us. Together, we find what's missing.
Together, we uncover the lost. We are the beautiful
accident. At my best, call me a fragile bird, call me
a dark horse. Soon, Sparkling Ice is delivered
to the dog house.
C.A. MacConnell
P.P.S. Need writing help? M.A. English/Creative Writing, Hollins University. Over 30 years of experience in all genres. You name it; I can do it. PHOTOS: custom, signed prints. Or prints on metal or canvas, ready to hang. Email: right here.
5/18/2026
From Two Wasps
Just doing some daily flash poetry. Here's one I just wrote. :) <3
From Two Wasps
Hello, today, at the same time, we come alive.
But we are trapped somewhere, the two of us.
It looks like outside, but the others aren't here
and then, we hit our heads on something
over and over, and we can't feel the wind.
We are stuck inside in a cold, still world
but maybe, there is a hole. We will keep trying.
Behind us, there is a huge beast watching us.
We can feel her breath. She is ugly, without
wings. Closer, she comes. And then, she wraps
us together in something, and everything turns
dark. We can't move, and we think we might die,
but she holds us softly. We don't know why at all
but now, we are free, and the sky is normal again,
and we are looking for Mom, and the monster
is gone. Maybe she will grow wings soon.
They will have to be big, because of her legs --
only two, but heavy-looking. Thank you,
whatever you are.
C.A. MacConnell
P.P.S. Need writing help? M.A. English/Creative Writing, Hollins University. Over 30 years of experience in all genres. You name it; I can do it. PHOTOS: custom, signed prints. Or prints on metal or canvas, ready to hang. Email: right here.
5/17/2026
The Return
Just working on some flash poetry. Thought I'd share this one. Have a nice evening. C.A.
The Return
Soundly, I sleep
on the floor,
and I don't even hear
the storm
but later, walking,
I come upon
the complete view,
the startling aftermath --
random branches
scattered across
the pavement
like shredded,
divine toothpicks
thrown down
from heaven.
And indeed, each tree
is whispering, I am
missing something.
And then comes
the tiny, growling
dog. As if my twin,
he is unaware
of his size and bark.
Together, we draw near,
challenging the Boxer
and the Pit. Simply,
they stare back.
No fight, no return.
And indeed, each dog
is whispering, Be you.
And now, in the quiet
room, chewing on spinach,
I feel my fingers
moving again,
and I remember the patterns --
the precarious lives
of canines, humans, and sticks --
the way that each one
wedges into the other,
like one leaf
caught between
the teeth. And indeed,
I am whispering back.
C.A. MacConnell
3/09/2026
Fitted Suit
Good afternoon. I wrote this just now. Hope you like it...have a great evening. XO, C.A. MacConnell
Fitted Suit
Right now, below me,
the neighbors pound the ground,
mumbling and shifting,
sweeping and stirring.
Boot steps. Voices. High pitches
turning to thunder.
With each sound, I shift,
tossing, no, jerking on the couch,
and I ask God to show me
the next right thing. I hear,
You have done enough. Wait
and see. First, get centered. Now, rise.
And then, I see a pure, pink
crowd vision of you. I call it
a glow-smile. There is such a thing.
Your skin is polished softly tan;
each cheek holds a golden hue.
You are dressed in a fitted suit.
Sudden wind. Long hair blown
left. No, right. And in one strange
moment of stillness, right now,
I believe that you see a clean,
green vision of me. I call it
a glow-smile. There is such a thing.
Awake, in this instant, face freshly
washed, I stand up to the underworld,
laughing at the noise.
C.A. MacConnell
Fitted Suit
Right now, below me,
the neighbors pound the ground,
mumbling and shifting,
sweeping and stirring.
Boot steps. Voices. High pitches
turning to thunder.
With each sound, I shift,
tossing, no, jerking on the couch,
and I ask God to show me
the next right thing. I hear,
You have done enough. Wait
and see. First, get centered. Now, rise.
And then, I see a pure, pink
crowd vision of you. I call it
a glow-smile. There is such a thing.
Your skin is polished softly tan;
each cheek holds a golden hue.
You are dressed in a fitted suit.
Sudden wind. Long hair blown
left. No, right. And in one strange
moment of stillness, right now,
I believe that you see a clean,
green vision of me. I call it
a glow-smile. There is such a thing.
Awake, in this instant, face freshly
washed, I stand up to the underworld,
laughing at the noise.
C.A. MacConnell
12/26/2025
Christina the Cheerleader
I just did a fun little exercise. I often check my blog stats on here, and I decided to put it to use. Well, I glanced at the hits on my blog from the past 24 hours, and I wrote down all of the titles that people hit. And I made a poem out of it. A little challenge. I never run out of ideas or things to write about. So, this is what came out of that. I thought I'd share it. I'll probably turn it into a short story. Just sharing some secrets to things that spark me. <3 C.A.
Christina the Cheerleader
In the middle
of group dessert,
Christina,
the cheerleader,
the special kind,
glances out
the window
and says, Good
morning, sky.
Slow reaction
begs for repetition.
Louder,
she announces,
Good morning, sky,
I believe you
are telling me
the time is eleven.
Even on holidays,
she is in the game,
noting her audience,
the score,
and the room,
watching the spread
of smiles.
And near her right
leg, two, anxious dogs
wait for a scrap
of pumpkin pie
from her, the chosen
carver, the guest
who dines with strange
neighbors, the festive,
welcoming folks
on the other end
of the cul-de-sac.
The mom responds,
Tell the truth.
Be the truth.
The dad says,
I’m just saying hello
and happy holidays.
Still in love
at 70 and 71,
both complain
of lost gloves.
Christina nods,
and the house
is quiet. Outside
of school,
back home,
most days are.
Quiet.
But just in case,
even in the shower,
she wears a whistle.
C.A. MacConnell
10/27/2025
True News
Hello there. I just wrote this. It came to me from a daydream. Hope you enjoy the poem. XO, Love to you, C.A. MacConnell.
True News
Raindrops on my face. Earlier, tears, but no one
knows. Minus the red cheek, at four o'clock,
I am beginning again. And now, my countenance
returns -- the calm cards and poker. Beside me,
you wear an oversized slicker. With a sudden force,
you unsnap, opening it wide, scooping me close.
Fiercely, firmly, you envelop me with your right arm,
tucking me tight against your middle and suddenly,
inside the jacket, we are half-wet, yellow, and safe.
Together, we are melting into the weather, a living
impression painted into the gray, uncertain quiet.
Both humans and birds are hidden, a wicked sign.
At any moment, the sky could break. Crouching
inside their homes, millions live solely through past
and future like keen, salivating reporters. True news
rests beyond the fear and the noise, within the moment,
within the honest, primal reach, the instant celebration
of pain and joy and life and breath. True news rests
within the thunder crack. Because when the threat
comes, we are laughing, muddy and disgusting,
nibbling on cashews.
C.A. MacConnell
Thank you for supporting my books! Don't forget to leave a review! <3
P.P.S. Need writing help? M.A. English/Creative Writing, Hollins University. Over 30 years of experience in all genres. You name it; I can do it. PHOTOS: custom, signed prints. Or prints on metal or canvas, ready to hang. Email: right here.
9/21/2025
Hook
Good afternoon. Man, I'm tired. But I decided to create something anyway. I'm going to dig into poetry again before I start on a new project, I've decided...so that I can focus on details again. I wrote this just now. I had actually forgotten about the little scene until this moment, ha. Hope you like it. Hope happiness and love roll in for you, in whatever shape or form that comes. XO. Love to you, C.A. MacConnell
Hook
Once, seasick on the charter boat,
I crawled up from the cabin
just in time
to reel in an award-winning bass.
The captain shouted, Fry it up
and swallow it down whole.
After the cheers and photo poses,
without a pause,
I threw the fish back
into Lake Michigan.
Damp and nauseous, I crept away,
slowly stepping down
into the boat’s dark lower level,
tunneling into my makeshift bed,
hiding under thin, white sheets.
Sleep never came to me.
There I was, alone, rocking
with the waves.
Here and there, I grabbed
the olive-green bucket
and threw up.
Wiping my mouth, grinning,
I cared not at all
about catching and winning.
Instead, I pictured the shiny,
glorious, divine, empty hook,
the release, the creature’s freedom,
the shocked, big people on the deck,
and all of their furious
faces.
C.A. MacConnell
Hook
Once, seasick on the charter boat,
I crawled up from the cabin
just in time
to reel in an award-winning bass.
The captain shouted, Fry it up
and swallow it down whole.
After the cheers and photo poses,
without a pause,
I threw the fish back
into Lake Michigan.
Damp and nauseous, I crept away,
slowly stepping down
into the boat’s dark lower level,
tunneling into my makeshift bed,
hiding under thin, white sheets.
Sleep never came to me.
There I was, alone, rocking
with the waves.
Here and there, I grabbed
the olive-green bucket
and threw up.
Wiping my mouth, grinning,
I cared not at all
about catching and winning.
Instead, I pictured the shiny,
glorious, divine, empty hook,
the release, the creature’s freedom,
the shocked, big people on the deck,
and all of their furious
faces.
C.A. MacConnell
P.P.S. Need writing help? M.A. English/Creative Writing, Hollins University. Over 30 years of experience in all genres. You name it; I can do it. PHOTOS: custom, signed prints. Or prints on metal or canvas, ready to hang. Email: right here.
8/26/2025
The Net
Just writing some flash poetry just now...thought I'd share it.
The Net
I gripped the dogwood tree,
peeling back pieces of bark.
Waiting for ginger cookies,
I wore my jumpsuit -- plaid --
while Grampie picked blueberries
and skinned fish for supper.
My friends, the bloodsuckers.
The net hung in the shed,
waiting for all of us.
Here.
C.A. MacConnell
The Air That Surrounds You
The Air That Surrounds You
There you are, in the crowd,
wearing a red T-shirt. In a mess
of cross-style sitting strangers,
you are the only one standing tall,
your long arms hanging loose,
your hands making slight fists.
Around you, a foot of yellow,
glowing space graces each side
of your form. And this is the air
that always surrounds your shape.
You are smiling wide, your dark hair
barely reaching your shoulders.
Freshly shaven, your pale cheeks
spotlight-shine. And you are looking
up. This time, you move. This time,
you hold up your hand, furiously
waving. But even then, you forget
to blink. And from the stage, struck
by the stare, in the middle of two
difficult words, I stop speaking.
Like always, my breath turns
guttural, a seemingly solid pant,
a trapped, warm, familiar ache,
a sky-stuck moon sliver of light
caught in a crevice
deep inside my left
breast.
C.A. MacConnell
Good morning. I just felt like posting something sweet and loving today. I've been learning a lot about myself...for sure. As I've written, Everything and everyone around me are a reflection of who I am. Learning my own lesson, so to speak, ha.
Sometimes, with writing, it works that way.
I suppose there's a balance. Sure, I want to change and grow. But I also want to celebrate the essence of who I am. Because who we are is unique and awesome! And so, I don't have to constantly strive to be someone else or "be better." Rather, life presents me with situations, and I can choose my perspective; I can choose to learn or whatnot. Or do nothing. And it is tricky to navigate the balance sometimes.
I hope you and I can celebrate the awesomeness that makes up who we are today. Right here, right now. I suppose, above all, I just want to feel safe and loved, like everyone else. We all just have different ways of seeking it. <3
I'm fifty-one now, ha. Sometimes, I look in the mirror, and I'm surprised, because on the inside I still feel like a fourteen-year-old quite often, which isn't always necessarily a bad thing. Also, I'm learning how to develop more friendships, which is cool. And I'm learning how to continue friendships and such. I fly single, and I have since 2013, which is a long time. I haven't seen my match. If I did, my heart would know. <3 I look at others and wonder sometimes, but I don't obsess. I just continue to write and move forward. Sometimes, I wonder about my place in this spider web, but I'm better when I'm moving and staying in the moment.
Life isn't wrapped in a neat little box, for sure, ha. I mess up, I regroup, I try again. For an introvert and artist like me, navigating relationships is tricky. I suppose it's tricky for all. :) I'm not unique here. But, as I heard someone say last night, as the old cliche goes, "Just try to do the next right thing." Slow it down. Keep it simple.
But I do know that I can try and be authentic and help some folks today. Because...if one wants to feel loved, one has to give love. I find myself getting lost in seeking positivity and reassurance from the outside, but it's inside. I sort of remember and forget, remember and forget.
So, give. That's the focus today. Also, breathe, relax. Slow it down. Float through the day. "Fight or flight" is not working for my body at all. Stress can do a number on one physically.
And a wise writer once said, "I think I'll do what I can and have a cookie." That was me. I wrote that. Ha.
And at the moment, it just feels good to write.
Love to you,
C.A. MacConnell
There you are, in the crowd,
wearing a red T-shirt. In a mess
of cross-style sitting strangers,
you are the only one standing tall,
your long arms hanging loose,
your hands making slight fists.
Around you, a foot of yellow,
glowing space graces each side
of your form. And this is the air
that always surrounds your shape.
You are smiling wide, your dark hair
barely reaching your shoulders.
Freshly shaven, your pale cheeks
spotlight-shine. And you are looking
up. This time, you move. This time,
you hold up your hand, furiously
waving. But even then, you forget
to blink. And from the stage, struck
by the stare, in the middle of two
difficult words, I stop speaking.
Like always, my breath turns
guttural, a seemingly solid pant,
a trapped, warm, familiar ache,
a sky-stuck moon sliver of light
caught in a crevice
deep inside my left
breast.
C.A. MacConnell
Good morning. I just felt like posting something sweet and loving today. I've been learning a lot about myself...for sure. As I've written, Everything and everyone around me are a reflection of who I am. Learning my own lesson, so to speak, ha.
Sometimes, with writing, it works that way.
I suppose there's a balance. Sure, I want to change and grow. But I also want to celebrate the essence of who I am. Because who we are is unique and awesome! And so, I don't have to constantly strive to be someone else or "be better." Rather, life presents me with situations, and I can choose my perspective; I can choose to learn or whatnot. Or do nothing. And it is tricky to navigate the balance sometimes.
I hope you and I can celebrate the awesomeness that makes up who we are today. Right here, right now. I suppose, above all, I just want to feel safe and loved, like everyone else. We all just have different ways of seeking it. <3
I'm fifty-one now, ha. Sometimes, I look in the mirror, and I'm surprised, because on the inside I still feel like a fourteen-year-old quite often, which isn't always necessarily a bad thing. Also, I'm learning how to develop more friendships, which is cool. And I'm learning how to continue friendships and such. I fly single, and I have since 2013, which is a long time. I haven't seen my match. If I did, my heart would know. <3 I look at others and wonder sometimes, but I don't obsess. I just continue to write and move forward. Sometimes, I wonder about my place in this spider web, but I'm better when I'm moving and staying in the moment.
Life isn't wrapped in a neat little box, for sure, ha. I mess up, I regroup, I try again. For an introvert and artist like me, navigating relationships is tricky. I suppose it's tricky for all. :) I'm not unique here. But, as I heard someone say last night, as the old cliche goes, "Just try to do the next right thing." Slow it down. Keep it simple.
But I do know that I can try and be authentic and help some folks today. Because...if one wants to feel loved, one has to give love. I find myself getting lost in seeking positivity and reassurance from the outside, but it's inside. I sort of remember and forget, remember and forget.
So, give. That's the focus today. Also, breathe, relax. Slow it down. Float through the day. "Fight or flight" is not working for my body at all. Stress can do a number on one physically.
And a wise writer once said, "I think I'll do what I can and have a cookie." That was me. I wrote that. Ha.
And at the moment, it just feels good to write.
Love to you,
C.A. MacConnell
P.S. FIVE published books by C.A. MacConnell on Amazon NOW!
P.P.S. Need writing help? M.A. English/Creative Writing, Hollins University. Over 30 years of experience in all genres. You name it; I can do it. PHOTOS: custom, signed prints. Or prints on metal or canvas, ready to hang. Email: right here.
7/30/2025
Milk Carton
Good morning. I have a couple of books' worth of poems, ha. Maybe that'll be my next book. Not sure yet. :)XO. I have my heart set on working on another novel I've started, though. I have a beginning, and it's been churning around in my brain in various ways. It always starts that way...then it doesn't leave me alone until I finish it, ha. Annoying as all hell. But also, fun.
I'm grateful for my ridiculous brain.
What have I been doing? Writing songs on piano continuously. Struggling with aging and such, in many ways, but also, going forward. Pushing through tough stuff to do so. Becoming my own hero, so to speak. Grieving some things, which has been surprising and tumultuous. Also, feeling the grief easing up...and yesterday, I felt a nice sense of calm roll in.
Thank you for supporting my fifth book. I went to see "Superman," but I didn't make it much further past the previews, for various reasons, and I wasn't into the sucker at all. I did love "F1" though. I love car movies. Especially, "Drive," one of my favorites of all time. Yes. <3
Hope you like my poem. Have an awesome day. Whatever you're going through right now, I hope you have an amazing journey. Love to you, C.A. MacConnell
Milk Carton
Proof of life:
Tangled hair, twisted throw.
The animal and I,
We wake.
Strange captor calls from the
Family.
Now, stretching. True, I'm no brow-beauty.
Some other missing girl will
Bring the ransom
Home.
She'll be a longer living wall fly.
Some say she'll stick.
Ground coffee, look here, I make the black
Law. I admit, it's a little
Strong.
Call the shepherds. They know
Blood.
Find the sign,
The lost shoe,
The search team, the one
Phone call,
The right or wrong
Words. Relatives know how to make a
Deal. Someone finds a bad sock,
A trace.
Hero, empty or full, don't forget the suit
case.
C.A. MacConnell
What have I been doing? Writing songs on piano continuously. Struggling with aging and such, in many ways, but also, going forward. Pushing through tough stuff to do so. Becoming my own hero, so to speak. Grieving some things, which has been surprising and tumultuous. Also, feeling the grief easing up...and yesterday, I felt a nice sense of calm roll in.
Thank you for supporting my fifth book. I went to see "Superman," but I didn't make it much further past the previews, for various reasons, and I wasn't into the sucker at all. I did love "F1" though. I love car movies. Especially, "Drive," one of my favorites of all time. Yes. <3
Hope you like my poem. Have an awesome day. Whatever you're going through right now, I hope you have an amazing journey. Love to you, C.A. MacConnell
Milk Carton
Proof of life:
Tangled hair, twisted throw.
The animal and I,
We wake.
Strange captor calls from the
Family.
Now, stretching. True, I'm no brow-beauty.
Some other missing girl will
Bring the ransom
Home.
She'll be a longer living wall fly.
Some say she'll stick.
Ground coffee, look here, I make the black
Law. I admit, it's a little
Strong.
Call the shepherds. They know
Blood.
Find the sign,
The lost shoe,
The search team, the one
Phone call,
The right or wrong
Words. Relatives know how to make a
Deal. Someone finds a bad sock,
A trace.
Hero, empty or full, don't forget the suit
case.
C.A. MacConnell
P.S. FIVE published books by C.A. MacConnell on Amazon NOW!
P.P.S. Need writing help? M.A. English/Creative Writing, Hollins University. Over 30 years of experience in all genres. You name it; I can do it. PHOTOS: custom, signed prints. Or prints on metal or canvas, ready to hang. Email: right here.
6/24/2025
Yellow Field
Good afternoon. Just getting my brain in gear. Here's some flash poetry for you. I'm sure I'll edit it, but it's kinda fun to just create and share right now. :) I come back to poetry to get in a zone...it puts me right in the moment. Love to you. C.A. MacConnell
Yellow Field
Yellow Field
in the scorched, yellow field.
Beside me, my weapon --
a sharp, wooden sword
carefully carved
by my own hand.
Butterflies circle
my weak, bony wrist,
easily measured
by anyone's circle of touch.
You know, pointer to thumb.
Horses -- there are two --
and the gray, right side
of the farmer's house
is vertically splintered
like ancient train tracks
heading to heaven.
Only the shutters are solid.
Shade turns
all windows gray.
Resting there,
I see you, Stand by Me.
I feel the horrible quiet.
I hear the sudden whistle,
and along with the boys,
I am running
for my life,
lost in a surprise
game of chicken.
I know the scene.
I know the speed.
We are one.
We are the same.
Jesus Christ,
I can smell the dead man.
Eternally, I am trapped
inside a thin, striped T-shirt,
racing River
in the openness,
tripping on the ties, forever
eleven. Yes, I am in love
with spiders.
C.A. MacConnell
Jesus Christ,
I can smell the dead man.
Eternally, I am trapped
inside a thin, striped T-shirt,
racing River
in the openness,
tripping on the ties, forever
eleven. Yes, I am in love
with spiders.
C.A. MacConnell
P.S. FIVE published books by C.A. MacConnell on Amazon NOW!
P.P.S. Need writing help? M.A. English/Creative Writing, Hollins University. Over 30 years of experience in all genres. You name it; I can do it. PHOTOS: custom, signed prints. Or prints on metal or canvas, ready to hang. Email: right here.
6/04/2025
Thank you, and a Flash Poem: Rattle
If you haven't checked out my fifth book, please do so. It is awesome. Nonfiction. RECOVER WILDLY: DAILY SPIRITUAL ESSAYS FOR SURVIVORS. I've been so close to number one in Inner Child Self Help! So close! Help me get there! I'm thrilled with the response. This book will touch your heart for sure. I also have four published novels, all of which are amazing, I might add.
All of my books are solely created, written, edited, and designed by me. Everything, me. I'm proud of over 30 years of hard work. XO.
Again, Author Page right here.
So, here's some flash poetry for ya...I'm getting back in fiction gear for book six. Poetry brings me back to the moment :)
Rattle
High-pitched, cicadas click
and whine, tymbal-singing
of thirteen underground years.
They seem not afraid that death
will come soon. Three to five
weeks, to be exact. How brief
they rattle this world with life.
Simply, like butterflies, they rejoice
in the flight. Perhaps, of their story's
brevity, they are not aware. Perhaps,
neither are we.
C.A. MacConnell
P.S. FIVE published books by C.A. MacConnell on Amazon NOW!
P.P.S. Need writing help? M.A. English/Creative Writing, Hollins University. Over 30 years of experience in all genres. You name it; I can do it. PHOTOS: custom, signed prints. Or prints on metal or canvas, ready to hang. Email: right here.
2/22/2025
The Air That Surrounds You
I just wrote this. It came from a vivid dream I had last night. I hope you have a beautiful evening. Enjoy the poem...there is a softness to the rhythm, purposefully. And a careful choice of words that punches the emotion. A little secret place in my tricky brain. Actually, there is no separation. My life = my craft. XO, C.A.
The Air That Surrounds You
There you are, in the crowd,
wearing a red T-shirt. In a mess
of cross-style sitting strangers,
you are the only one standing tall,
your long arms hanging loose,
your hands making slight fists.
Around you, a foot of yellow,
glowing space graces each side
of your form. And this is the air
that always surrounds your shape.
You are smiling wide, your dark hair
barely reaching your shoulders.
Freshly shaven, your pale cheeks
spotlight-shine. And you are looking
up. This time, you move. This time,
you hold up your hand, furiously
waving. But even then, you forget
to blink. And from the stage, struck
by the stare, in the middle of two
difficult words, I stop speaking.
Like always, my breath turns
guttural, a seemingly solid pant,
a trapped, warm, familiar ache,
a sky-stuck moon sliver of light
caught in a crevice
deep inside my left
breast.
C.A. MacConnell
The Air That Surrounds You
There you are, in the crowd,
wearing a red T-shirt. In a mess
of cross-style sitting strangers,
you are the only one standing tall,
your long arms hanging loose,
your hands making slight fists.
Around you, a foot of yellow,
glowing space graces each side
of your form. And this is the air
that always surrounds your shape.
You are smiling wide, your dark hair
barely reaching your shoulders.
Freshly shaven, your pale cheeks
spotlight-shine. And you are looking
up. This time, you move. This time,
you hold up your hand, furiously
waving. But even then, you forget
to blink. And from the stage, struck
by the stare, in the middle of two
difficult words, I stop speaking.
Like always, my breath turns
guttural, a seemingly solid pant,
a trapped, warm, familiar ache,
a sky-stuck moon sliver of light
caught in a crevice
deep inside my left
breast.
C.A. MacConnell
2/16/2025
Higher Brow
Good morning. I have a gazillion poems. I actually began with poetry, in terms of writing and then, I moved into fiction; it all works together. Here's one I love. It's a love poem of sorts. Hint: there is a softness to the rhythm that pushes the emotion. I use such tactics in fiction as well to push emotion. Have a beautiful day, C.A. MacConnell
Higher Brow
We were ready to face them.
How casual we were – leaning back in heated seats,
Higher Brow
We were ready to face them.
How casual we were – leaning back in heated seats,
listening to the radio's low hum, riding in the strange
car. You were driving carefully – not too fast,
not too slow, taking the turns lightly, teaching me
how to settle and sink, to welcome the ache of calm.
We were making it. On the way to the most crucial
event, lit up with talent fire, I looked out the window,
and I had a vision of what the packed party might be like –
pretty lights, round, clean, white tables, the rich, organic
smells, and a thousand flutes – glasses upon glasses
shining at flashes, and when they touched, they hit,
screaming with cheer. Everywhere, flawless smiles,
sharp shadows, quick hands gripping microphones,
dresses reaching ankles or knees, tailored pants, fitted
jackets, and the difficult height of heels. We were ready
to face them. For weeks, we had planned the perfect
timing, the shifting flame of our long-awaited arrival.
Then, suddenly, still on the road, you looked at me
once, twice, three times, then shrugged and said,
You know, we don't have to go, and I nodded, smiling,
staring straight ahead, then looking back at you,
studying your cheek, loving your fine, cut jaw,
loving the way the higher brow hugged your right
eye, loving the way that some days, the lid seemed
purple, and we both laughed, and we couldn't stop,
and again, the road, the life, the laughter, the costumes,
the sky lights, and the newly burning stars, were ours.
We were ready to face them.
C.A. MacConnell
P.P.S. PHOTOS: custom, signed prints. Or, prints on metal or canvas, ready to hang. Msg FB: C.A. MacConnell or Email: right here.
car. You were driving carefully – not too fast,
not too slow, taking the turns lightly, teaching me
how to settle and sink, to welcome the ache of calm.
We were making it. On the way to the most crucial
event, lit up with talent fire, I looked out the window,
and I had a vision of what the packed party might be like –
pretty lights, round, clean, white tables, the rich, organic
smells, and a thousand flutes – glasses upon glasses
shining at flashes, and when they touched, they hit,
screaming with cheer. Everywhere, flawless smiles,
sharp shadows, quick hands gripping microphones,
dresses reaching ankles or knees, tailored pants, fitted
jackets, and the difficult height of heels. We were ready
to face them. For weeks, we had planned the perfect
timing, the shifting flame of our long-awaited arrival.
Then, suddenly, still on the road, you looked at me
once, twice, three times, then shrugged and said,
You know, we don't have to go, and I nodded, smiling,
staring straight ahead, then looking back at you,
studying your cheek, loving your fine, cut jaw,
loving the way the higher brow hugged your right
eye, loving the way that some days, the lid seemed
purple, and we both laughed, and we couldn't stop,
and again, the road, the life, the laughter, the costumes,
the sky lights, and the newly burning stars, were ours.
We were ready to face them.
C.A. MacConnell
P.S. NOVELS: If you are enjoying my writings and photos, please consider purchasing a book or a print. Or, consider donating to my site. "Donate" button on the right side of this page. Everything helps! <3 Four published books by C.A. MacConnell on Amazon NOW! Need writing help? M.A. English/Creative Writing, Hollins University. Over 30 years of experience in all genres. You name it; I can do it.
P.P.S. PHOTOS: custom, signed prints. Or, prints on metal or canvas, ready to hang. Msg FB: C.A. MacConnell or Email: right here.
1/07/2025
From the Deer
Hi! I've been seeing a lot of deer and so, I decided to post this today. I actually turned this into a song as well...which is rad. It's a powerful song, I think. Actually, it's my favorite one to sing and play, because it really emits love, and it makes me feel alive. <3 Enjoy the poem, from the point of view of the deer, a fun exercise in voice. Love to you, C.A. MacConnell.
From the Deer
Oh, Hello. I see you. Skinny with not much hair at all. I am sorry
you only have two legs, but it is OK with me.
I do not have anywhere to go.
Some moons back, I had more hiding places. Now, everything
is confusing.
When you blink, I am ready to run away, but your teeth
are not too sharp.
For now, I will stay with baby, keeping track, looking sideways
nine times better than you, but nothing like
owls.
And this green is good in my mouth;
it goes down smooth.
But no wet falling. The sun
is mad all the time, I guess. I have a lot on my mind,
and the dry confuses me and my throat. Everything
is yellow and hot, which hurts my nose,
for one.
Colder soon.
The squirrels search for sticks. I am laughing
at them, and my tail is going wild. Then I get too hungry
and swallow a stone
and some funny flowers
which hurt my insides.
Maybe I will take baby to where they leave
corn. But that is too close to the animals like you.
They smell funny and walk around, holding snakes
that spit water at the ground. Green and black.
Some yell scary like coyotes.
Some coo coo like doves.
Others are quiet like butterflies.
It makes no sense why they hold water snakes,
because we all know the wet comes from
above. That is normal.
Oh, Hello. I still see
you. These little trees are sleeping all the time,
but every now and then they whisper
they are happy we are here.
Trees are nice.
Between the old, tall ones,
two of the boys fight each other for fun.
All the girls
laugh really hard enough to shake the ears,
except me,
because my hair is already starting to fall out,
which is early and makes me embarrassed and so,
I am quiet.
Our leader
is not far away. I know because he paws pebbles.
I hear his heavy handsome.
Because of his head, I am nervous
he could kill someone, but he never does.
He tells funny stories at night. Leaders do that – talk
until we are sleepy. They make us laugh and shut
our eyes. Then they jump up and act like they are going to kill
someone, even if they never do.
Sometimes they do
but then, the whole forest swallows them up, for one.
I still
see you, but I am staying here. I am so nervous to cross
the gray and yellow ground
that hurts my feet,
where the animals screech and move real fast, all
different shapes and sizes,
but so loud and stinky
with smoke and strange growling,
and they have eyes brighter than the sun,
and it makes all of us stare back,
and when we do, we forget to move,
and those bad ones hit us hard
and there is no turning back into life.
We all know not to look into the light but some days,
it takes one or two
by surprise,
which means the breath is gone.
I don’t know where their sounds go,
but they’re not here -- all stiff and can’t remember how to talk.
Then the birds circle down.
They have ripped wings and red faces,
and I am sad for them,
because they all want to be prettier.
There is nothing I can do about that.
I have a lot on my mind.
I cannot talk to you much more.
And I am thirsty, and I need to ask the turtles.
When I head for a drink,
I have to watch out. Sometimes, sharp sticks come flying
and other days, animals that walk around like you
wear green and brown,
but I can still see them,
nine times better,
and they have black, shiny things that bang, bang
like thunder and smell like fire and then,
you or somebody else is already
gone.
It is amazing to live today
with all of the bang like thunder,
the dry,
the yellow,
the sharp sticks,
and the lights,
and the screeching and strange growling,
and the fire and getting swallowed,
and all of the scary things.
It is OK with me that you only have two legs.
Skinny with not much hair at all,
but there must be a reason.
I guess I have never seen a shark, but the catfish
in the river told me all about them.
And so I believe in you, too.
Hello, I still
see you. Now I look to tell you that the trees
and I are happy you are here.
I have a lot on my mind, but I guess now
you are part of this hiding place.
I hear your heavy handsome.
I see opossum.
He knows everybody, and he tells me the time.
The moon will be here in a moment.
So, I only have a few minutes with you.
I still
see you.
My eyes are nine times better, but nothing
like owls.
Maybe you forgot.
I do not have anywhere to go.
I am worried about my job which is loving everybody.
Trees are nice.
-- C.A. MacConnell
P.S. NOVELS: Four published books by C.A. MacConnell on Amazon NOW! I guarantee you'll never forget the ride! On the way to number ONE! Help me get there! Creative, fast-paced, unique, and gripping. Full of heart, real. I independently handle everything -- the creation, writing, editing, and interior/exterior design. Need writing help? M.A. English/Creative Writing, Hollins University. Over 30 years of experience in all genres. You name it; I can do it. <3, C.A.
P.P.S. PHOTOS: custom, signed prints. Or, prints on metal or canvas, ready to hang. Msg FB: C.A. MacConnell or Email: right here.
From the Deer
Oh, Hello. I see you. Skinny with not much hair at all. I am sorry
you only have two legs, but it is OK with me.
I do not have anywhere to go.
Some moons back, I had more hiding places. Now, everything
is confusing.
When you blink, I am ready to run away, but your teeth
are not too sharp.
For now, I will stay with baby, keeping track, looking sideways
nine times better than you, but nothing like
owls.
And this green is good in my mouth;
it goes down smooth.
But no wet falling. The sun
is mad all the time, I guess. I have a lot on my mind,
and the dry confuses me and my throat. Everything
is yellow and hot, which hurts my nose,
for one.
Colder soon.
The squirrels search for sticks. I am laughing
at them, and my tail is going wild. Then I get too hungry
and swallow a stone
and some funny flowers
which hurt my insides.
Maybe I will take baby to where they leave
corn. But that is too close to the animals like you.
They smell funny and walk around, holding snakes
that spit water at the ground. Green and black.
Some yell scary like coyotes.
Some coo coo like doves.
Others are quiet like butterflies.
It makes no sense why they hold water snakes,
because we all know the wet comes from
above. That is normal.
Oh, Hello. I still see
you. These little trees are sleeping all the time,
but every now and then they whisper
they are happy we are here.
Trees are nice.
Between the old, tall ones,
two of the boys fight each other for fun.
All the girls
laugh really hard enough to shake the ears,
except me,
because my hair is already starting to fall out,
which is early and makes me embarrassed and so,
I am quiet.
Our leader
is not far away. I know because he paws pebbles.
I hear his heavy handsome.
Because of his head, I am nervous
he could kill someone, but he never does.
He tells funny stories at night. Leaders do that – talk
until we are sleepy. They make us laugh and shut
our eyes. Then they jump up and act like they are going to kill
someone, even if they never do.
Sometimes they do
but then, the whole forest swallows them up, for one.
I still
see you, but I am staying here. I am so nervous to cross
the gray and yellow ground
that hurts my feet,
where the animals screech and move real fast, all
different shapes and sizes,
but so loud and stinky
with smoke and strange growling,
and they have eyes brighter than the sun,
and it makes all of us stare back,
and when we do, we forget to move,
and those bad ones hit us hard
and there is no turning back into life.
We all know not to look into the light but some days,
it takes one or two
by surprise,
which means the breath is gone.
I don’t know where their sounds go,
but they’re not here -- all stiff and can’t remember how to talk.
Then the birds circle down.
They have ripped wings and red faces,
and I am sad for them,
because they all want to be prettier.
There is nothing I can do about that.
I have a lot on my mind.
I cannot talk to you much more.
And I am thirsty, and I need to ask the turtles.
When I head for a drink,
I have to watch out. Sometimes, sharp sticks come flying
and other days, animals that walk around like you
wear green and brown,
but I can still see them,
nine times better,
and they have black, shiny things that bang, bang
like thunder and smell like fire and then,
you or somebody else is already
gone.
It is amazing to live today
with all of the bang like thunder,
the dry,
the yellow,
the sharp sticks,
and the lights,
and the screeching and strange growling,
and the fire and getting swallowed,
and all of the scary things.
It is OK with me that you only have two legs.
Skinny with not much hair at all,
but there must be a reason.
I guess I have never seen a shark, but the catfish
in the river told me all about them.
And so I believe in you, too.
Hello, I still
see you. Now I look to tell you that the trees
and I are happy you are here.
I have a lot on my mind, but I guess now
you are part of this hiding place.
I hear your heavy handsome.
I see opossum.
He knows everybody, and he tells me the time.
The moon will be here in a moment.
So, I only have a few minutes with you.
I still
see you.
My eyes are nine times better, but nothing
like owls.
Maybe you forgot.
I do not have anywhere to go.
I am worried about my job which is loving everybody.
Trees are nice.
-- C.A. MacConnell
P.S. NOVELS: Four published books by C.A. MacConnell on Amazon NOW! I guarantee you'll never forget the ride! On the way to number ONE! Help me get there! Creative, fast-paced, unique, and gripping. Full of heart, real. I independently handle everything -- the creation, writing, editing, and interior/exterior design. Need writing help? M.A. English/Creative Writing, Hollins University. Over 30 years of experience in all genres. You name it; I can do it. <3, C.A.
P.P.S. PHOTOS: custom, signed prints. Or, prints on metal or canvas, ready to hang. Msg FB: C.A. MacConnell or Email: right here.
1/04/2025
Shell
I just wrote this. Some flash poetry. Have a good night. C.A. <3
Shell
I believe that it all began with the wind. Secretly,
for years, I felt the lift, whether harsh or gentle,
and I wrote to an audience of one hidden inside
hundreds. Wrapped tight, I knew the turtle’s shell.
Today, my words linger somewhere between
the breeze, the thunder, the ice, and the sun,
but the winter storm is coming, and the work
is done. Two days off, and I have no son.
I peer out, stretching my neck, staring at the strange
sky, searching for a cloud-shaped megaphone.
You see, all of this. Photographs, books, short
stories, essays, poems. Morning God thoughts.
Trips, sightings, shows, moments, flashes
of hope and later, silence. You see, all of this.
This is all. From my art, I have learned nothing.
Tonight, I believe it begins with the wind,
and I will sing to an audience of one hidden
inside hundreds. Wrapped tight, I know
the turtle’s shell.
C.A. MacConnell
Shell
I believe that it all began with the wind. Secretly,
for years, I felt the lift, whether harsh or gentle,
and I wrote to an audience of one hidden inside
hundreds. Wrapped tight, I knew the turtle’s shell.
Today, my words linger somewhere between
the breeze, the thunder, the ice, and the sun,
but the winter storm is coming, and the work
is done. Two days off, and I have no son.
I peer out, stretching my neck, staring at the strange
sky, searching for a cloud-shaped megaphone.
You see, all of this. Photographs, books, short
stories, essays, poems. Morning God thoughts.
Trips, sightings, shows, moments, flashes
of hope and later, silence. You see, all of this.
This is all. From my art, I have learned nothing.
Tonight, I believe it begins with the wind,
and I will sing to an audience of one hidden
inside hundreds. Wrapped tight, I know
the turtle’s shell.
C.A. MacConnell
12/26/2024
From the Wolf
Good morning...I started writing poetry when I was about ten years old. I studied it in college, in undergrad and grad school. I've written thousands of poems, and I still enjoy it...all of them are carefully crafted. This year, I did a series of animal voice poems, and I'm going to do some more in this series, just because it's fun for me. I love capturing a voice, and a rhythm, whether it be in poetry or fiction. Here's one from the point of view of the wolf. Love to you, C.A. MacConnell
From the Wolf
You are there to me, Mouth
You are here to me, Ear
You are Teeth and Paw
Tonight, where is Pack, I'm coming
Only the gaping
Hello silence
Then Pretty Wolf, somewhere else, West, calls out, yes,
You
Something Thin is running -- slow Old Deer heads south
We let Him live once, remember
I sing, testing Air, loving Wind,
Like Mother told me way back when, over Milk
Pretty, I hear your tone when You are
Home, at hunt, at play
Last week, we ripped up Rabbit
Seems like always, we have Howling
Then we're trapped in Quiet,
Like the too-long Tooth that never falls out,
When it tucks deep in Cheek,
Pressing there, making a Hurt,
A strange shape in Jaw, no matter how hard Brother plays,
Trying to knock it
Loose
Shiver myself dry, and I almost see your
Black Wet Nose
Whiskers, bring your Face home, here, with me
Man, the two-legged ones dug holes again
So I can't find Father
Pretty, Left Ear twitches for You
Lip curls, for above all, I am
Fierce, first
Neck hair feels stiff
Tell Uncle I smell coyotes
I make Prints
I mark Ground
You will find me if Gray Stray doesn't fight me first
We can have Sleep together
I hear You, but I can't see those
Eyes, perfect, like Moon, yours
Soon
You and me, shredding Meat.
C.A. MacConnell
From the Wolf
You are there to me, Mouth
You are here to me, Ear
You are Teeth and Paw
Tonight, where is Pack, I'm coming
Only the gaping
Hello silence
Then Pretty Wolf, somewhere else, West, calls out, yes,
You
Something Thin is running -- slow Old Deer heads south
We let Him live once, remember
I sing, testing Air, loving Wind,
Like Mother told me way back when, over Milk
Pretty, I hear your tone when You are
Home, at hunt, at play
Last week, we ripped up Rabbit
Seems like always, we have Howling
Then we're trapped in Quiet,
Like the too-long Tooth that never falls out,
When it tucks deep in Cheek,
Pressing there, making a Hurt,
A strange shape in Jaw, no matter how hard Brother plays,
Trying to knock it
Loose
Shiver myself dry, and I almost see your
Black Wet Nose
Whiskers, bring your Face home, here, with me
Man, the two-legged ones dug holes again
So I can't find Father
Pretty, Left Ear twitches for You
Lip curls, for above all, I am
Fierce, first
Neck hair feels stiff
Tell Uncle I smell coyotes
I make Prints
I mark Ground
You will find me if Gray Stray doesn't fight me first
We can have Sleep together
I hear You, but I can't see those
Eyes, perfect, like Moon, yours
Soon
You and me, shredding Meat.
C.A. MacConnell
10/22/2024
Horse Sense, Mustang, Outer Banks.
Photo of the Day: Mustang, Outer Banks by C.A. MacConnell. Film Shot. :)XO
I was a hunter/jumper horse trainer for many years. Here's a poem I wrote. Have a great day, C.A. MacConnell...
Horse Sense
Mornings, I look out my window,
Searching for Priscilla,
The calico, lounge-bound, stray cat
Who curled up, slept, and purred
On orange, vinyl cushions,
Never hunting
A day in her long life.
For the time of day,
I study the sun,
And the hawks,
Even though
It's not their season.
I imagine the herd’s coat colors --
Blood bay, black, grey,
Chestnut, buckskin, roan,
And I remember the warning --
A wild, white ring
Around the eye
Of one appaloosa.
I listen for the blacksmith,
the vet, the hay man,
the tractor noise,
And I worry about
Pitchforks, shovels, buckets, pipes,
And the tumultuous weather,
Because sometimes,
Back in the day,
Lightning spooked the mare.
Sometimes I wonder about
Heaven --
If it lives and breathes
Within one ear,
One tail,
One hoof,
One gravel driveway,
Or maybe inside
The darkest aisle.
I still listen for the call
Of my dapple bay horse.
His eyes were like dark saucers.
There were the others,
And then there was him.
When I was sixteen,
He was simply,
God.
I guess
I know these panes.
I guess I know that he was.
C.A. MacConnell
P.S. PHOTOS: custom, signed prints. Or, prints on metal or canvas, ready to hang. Msg FB: C.A. MacConnell or Email: right here.
P.P.S. NOVELS: Four published books by C.A. MacConnell on Amazon NOW! I independently handle everything -- the creation, writing, editing, and interior/exterior design. Need writing help? M.A. English/Creative Writing, Hollins University. Over 30 years of experience in all genres. You name it; I can do it. <3