Warming up with some flash poetry. Hope you like it. Just wrote it. Love, CA
Goat
Sister tells me her move is over; Yes, it went well.
Currently, she is counting spoons. That damn robin
is nesting on my window. Time scratches. How many
moons have I seen through the eyes of hungry, pawing
horses. No more. Then, and only then, the fanlike lashes
were sideways spokes. Go ahead, travel this whole world,
because movement is safe, where the jokes are thick,
and the women are waves, and the children belong
to the crowd. Then fly home. Stay. Sit in a hard-backed,
antique chair until terror comes to you -- a second hand
coat, a thin skin -- and hail becomes fire. Because for you,
stillness has no windows. One hand on the goat, I’ll help
you rise up. I’ll help you find the two cleanest saucers.
C.A. MacConnell
4/29/2018
Thank You...and Then Some!
Skater, Devou Park
I'd like to take a moment to thank all of you who support my work.
Nearly every day, I get comments on the books, in person and through email, and it's a thrill. If you would still like a copy of GRIFFIN FARM, go here. If you would like a copy of THE HOUSE OF ANCHOR, go here.
Again, thank you for your support, and I hope you like the photo above. Working on a bunch of new work, including Book #3, so stay tuned. :)
In the meantime, I'm going to start blogging like mad, so please feel free to check out this site daily. The main page is here. Yes, you can add it to your favorites. Just click the link, and you'll find my daily ramblings -- poetry, fiction, essays, photography. Easy! Yes! 👍👏😊😊💗
Or, for those who are feeling adventurous, you can subscribe to the blog, and it'll get sent to your email. Rad. Or, you can check it out through Google+. Many options.🏃🎈🐘🐘
Don't miss out! Some wild stories and scenes up ahead!
Nearly every day, I get comments on the books, in person and through email, and it's a thrill. If you would still like a copy of GRIFFIN FARM, go here. If you would like a copy of THE HOUSE OF ANCHOR, go here.
Again, thank you for your support, and I hope you like the photo above. Working on a bunch of new work, including Book #3, so stay tuned. :)
In the meantime, I'm going to start blogging like mad, so please feel free to check out this site daily. The main page is here. Yes, you can add it to your favorites. Just click the link, and you'll find my daily ramblings -- poetry, fiction, essays, photography. Easy! Yes! 👍👏😊😊💗
Or, for those who are feeling adventurous, you can subscribe to the blog, and it'll get sent to your email. Rad. Or, you can check it out through Google+. Many options.🏃🎈🐘🐘
Don't miss out! Some wild stories and scenes up ahead!
Peace and love to you,
C.A. MacConnell
C.A. MacConnell
4/27/2018
Self-Checkout
We'll call her Beth. She works at the self-checkout at the grocery. You know, she's one of those workers who has three people tugging on her shirt at once -- a lady with coupons, a man who wants smokes, and a confused teen who can't get the machine to take her sad, wrinkled dollar. Beth is there to come to the rescue every time. She has short, greyish hair, a thick build, and her face is rather...well...easy; that is, she's easily approachable, easy to talk to, easy in general. Easy. Nothing intimidating about her in the least. Although I bet she could take someone out in roller derby. She has that "I used to skate" or "I'd like to skate" vibe.
Well, one afternoon not long ago, I was checking out, when I looked over at Beth, and she just didn't seem herself. "How are you?" I asked her. I scanned items, dropped them on in the bags. Quickly, I might add. A master.
"Just trying to get through the day," Beth muttered.
"Man, bad day?" I asked her. Beep, beep, bag. Like Flash.
"My husband died this past week," she answered. "I can barely work."
"Didn't they give you time off?" I asked.
"A few days," she answered, sniffling.
"I'm so sorry," I said to her. And after I finished bagging my groceries, instead of leaving the store, I headed over to the flower section, and I bought a yellow bouquet. Nothing big or fancy, but cheery, no dead leaves. Then I headed back to the self checkout and looked for Beth.
When Beth saw me return, she looked confused. Then her eyes widened in that look of, How can I help you.
I held the flowers out to her. "No, I don't need help. These are for you."
Her face brightened, and I gave her a hug. Now, this was big for me. I'm not the hugging type at all, especially with strangers. But I did it, and then I left, feeling good about being good and such. Why not. The sun was out, and I had my burritos.
Well...
About a week later, I was at the same grocery, in the same self-checkout. And there was Beth, looking easy.
I glanced over at her and said, "How are you doing?"
"Great!" she replied, smiling.
"Good," I said. "And you're not missing your husband?"
"Who?" she asked me. Literally, she had no idea what I was talking about. I dug deeper, but still, she seemed dumbfounded. She said she was going on a trip with girlfriends soon. No one died.
And then I bagged my groceries and walked out the door, realizing this: perhaps I'd been scammed. Okay, not perhaps...definitely. She'd made up the story for attention and sympathy? Probably. Because she had no idea what I was talking about one week later. She didn't even have a husband, it seemed.
I guess I should've been disappointed in humanity, I'm not sure. But then I thought...maybe I needed to hug a stranger, to do something good, regardless. Maybe it was me who needed the help that day after all. Indeed, overall, scam or not, I still won.
Well, with that cutthroat mind, Beth would've kicked my ass in roller derby.
C.A. MacConnell
Well, one afternoon not long ago, I was checking out, when I looked over at Beth, and she just didn't seem herself. "How are you?" I asked her. I scanned items, dropped them on in the bags. Quickly, I might add. A master.
"Just trying to get through the day," Beth muttered.
"Man, bad day?" I asked her. Beep, beep, bag. Like Flash.
"My husband died this past week," she answered. "I can barely work."
"Didn't they give you time off?" I asked.
"A few days," she answered, sniffling.
"I'm so sorry," I said to her. And after I finished bagging my groceries, instead of leaving the store, I headed over to the flower section, and I bought a yellow bouquet. Nothing big or fancy, but cheery, no dead leaves. Then I headed back to the self checkout and looked for Beth.
When Beth saw me return, she looked confused. Then her eyes widened in that look of, How can I help you.
I held the flowers out to her. "No, I don't need help. These are for you."
Her face brightened, and I gave her a hug. Now, this was big for me. I'm not the hugging type at all, especially with strangers. But I did it, and then I left, feeling good about being good and such. Why not. The sun was out, and I had my burritos.
Well...
About a week later, I was at the same grocery, in the same self-checkout. And there was Beth, looking easy.
I glanced over at her and said, "How are you doing?"
"Great!" she replied, smiling.
"Good," I said. "And you're not missing your husband?"
"Who?" she asked me. Literally, she had no idea what I was talking about. I dug deeper, but still, she seemed dumbfounded. She said she was going on a trip with girlfriends soon. No one died.
And then I bagged my groceries and walked out the door, realizing this: perhaps I'd been scammed. Okay, not perhaps...definitely. She'd made up the story for attention and sympathy? Probably. Because she had no idea what I was talking about one week later. She didn't even have a husband, it seemed.
I guess I should've been disappointed in humanity, I'm not sure. But then I thought...maybe I needed to hug a stranger, to do something good, regardless. Maybe it was me who needed the help that day after all. Indeed, overall, scam or not, I still won.
Well, with that cutthroat mind, Beth would've kicked my ass in roller derby.
C.A. MacConnell
4/18/2018
Photo: Man on Steps
Man on Steps
New Orleans, LA
One of my favorite shots I've taken. Hope you like it. If you'd like to see more of my photos, click on the "Photography" Link under Labels. Or, the direct link is here. Rad. Peace out,
C.A. MacConnell
4/17/2018
We Were Going Up
A while back, I was in the elevator at a clinic, and there was this dark-haired kid who soon joined me. He was in a wheel chair, and his mom was pushing him, tucking him into the last empty space in the back. She seemed nervous about brushing against people. Well, everyone was edgy as hell. Isn't that always true about elevators? There's some kind of unspoken "Don't touch me or I'll kill you" rule.
So the elevator was packed, which always makes me nervous, because I, for one, hate the idea of brushing up against someone. Man. It's not really the actual touch that's bad -- it's the anticipation of the possible touch that's bad. The terrible wait for the inevitable accidental shirt sleeve hitting my coat. Shiver.
Anyway, we were going up. Well, we were supposed to be. See, right after we were all set, and all of our correct buttons had been pressed by Suit Man, and we were packed in there like candy in a dish, this blond lady squished her body inside and yelled, "Can you press 'floor one' for me?"
Suit Man growled and pressed the button for her.
With that, the kid in the wheel chair shrugged, looked at Blond Lady right in the eye and said, "Fuck you." Then he started cracking up.
I laughed too. Shit, we all wanted to say it. He was just the only one brave enough to bust out with the choice words. We were jam packed, someone smelled like ass, the weather had been horrible, and for sure, no one was visiting the clinic for any reason that was remotely enjoyable, and here was this woman squeezing her ass on our ride, looking to go down, when we were going up. So yeah, we all wanted to say it.
The kid looked at her and said it again. "Fuck you." Then he really started howling.
I did too. My nose started running. I looked around. A few others had some muffled chuckles going on, but the kid and I were really letting loose.
Then the kid's mom said to him, "Stop it. That's not nice."
From his wheelchair, the kid shrugged again and stared up at me, beaming.
I held up my thumb at him, beaming back at my partner in crime.
When we finally made it to our floor, number four, the kid and I slid on into the waiting room at the same time.
Then I saw the back of his head. A thin scar, a bald patch, stretched from the crown of his head all the way to his neck. Either brain surgery or trauma, I wasn't sure. But what struck me was that there we were, seeing docs for whatever random issues (and obviously he had some serious issues going on), but in that moment in the elevator, none of the physical bullshit really mattered. Our separate lives didn't matter. Our separate problems didn't matter. What mattered was one brave jokester (ironically, the most physically impaired one there), and one shared laugh. Perhaps our laugh was at Blond Lady's expense but hell, sister, we were going up.
When I feel my gut, my heart, my soul tell me what's right, regardless of the crowd, I gotta leave a few behind, join people like this kid, and head for the laughter and the light. See, I want to live my life fully, love, and focus on my dreams, not stay stuck in my head. Change is all around me. Onward and upward,
C.A. MacConnell
So the elevator was packed, which always makes me nervous, because I, for one, hate the idea of brushing up against someone. Man. It's not really the actual touch that's bad -- it's the anticipation of the possible touch that's bad. The terrible wait for the inevitable accidental shirt sleeve hitting my coat. Shiver.
Anyway, we were going up. Well, we were supposed to be. See, right after we were all set, and all of our correct buttons had been pressed by Suit Man, and we were packed in there like candy in a dish, this blond lady squished her body inside and yelled, "Can you press 'floor one' for me?"
Suit Man growled and pressed the button for her.
With that, the kid in the wheel chair shrugged, looked at Blond Lady right in the eye and said, "Fuck you." Then he started cracking up.
I laughed too. Shit, we all wanted to say it. He was just the only one brave enough to bust out with the choice words. We were jam packed, someone smelled like ass, the weather had been horrible, and for sure, no one was visiting the clinic for any reason that was remotely enjoyable, and here was this woman squeezing her ass on our ride, looking to go down, when we were going up. So yeah, we all wanted to say it.
The kid looked at her and said it again. "Fuck you." Then he really started howling.
I did too. My nose started running. I looked around. A few others had some muffled chuckles going on, but the kid and I were really letting loose.
Then the kid's mom said to him, "Stop it. That's not nice."
From his wheelchair, the kid shrugged again and stared up at me, beaming.
I held up my thumb at him, beaming back at my partner in crime.
When we finally made it to our floor, number four, the kid and I slid on into the waiting room at the same time.
Then I saw the back of his head. A thin scar, a bald patch, stretched from the crown of his head all the way to his neck. Either brain surgery or trauma, I wasn't sure. But what struck me was that there we were, seeing docs for whatever random issues (and obviously he had some serious issues going on), but in that moment in the elevator, none of the physical bullshit really mattered. Our separate lives didn't matter. Our separate problems didn't matter. What mattered was one brave jokester (ironically, the most physically impaired one there), and one shared laugh. Perhaps our laugh was at Blond Lady's expense but hell, sister, we were going up.
When I feel my gut, my heart, my soul tell me what's right, regardless of the crowd, I gotta leave a few behind, join people like this kid, and head for the laughter and the light. See, I want to live my life fully, love, and focus on my dreams, not stay stuck in my head. Change is all around me. Onward and upward,
C.A. MacConnell
4/15/2018
Open House
I think you would
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
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
4/10/2018
4/07/2018
Hello, Plans, Plans.
Well, I've decided to forge ahead with Book Three. Gonna do some hardcore editing, and then I'll put it out there. Stay tuned for updates and more details! Exciting!!!!!
Why not. Because dreams need to become real, in my book.
I hope you are well and happy. I feel sleepy, but so peaceful.
Hey, always remember, sometimes critics don't understand feeling. I get it. My readers get it. And that's who I'm writing for...the ones who get it. (A little tear here).
When you're walking today, or when you're listening to a new song, or when you have a break, shut your eyes for a moment...feel it deep inside.
Why not. Because someone, out there, is trying to connect with you, and that is beautiful. Maybe it's your mom, or your best friend, or some kid you haven't seen in twenty years. Maybe it's someone you saw in the grocery when you were sixteen, or twenty, or thirty.
In these deep moments, I get you, <3
C.A. MacConnell
4/03/2018
3/21/2018
Photo: Overlook
Overlook
Mariemont, OH
I have this one as my home screen on my computer. Lovely, eh? Hope you dig it. It's for you.
C.A. MacConnell
3/19/2018
3/17/2018
Photo: Big Cat
May you all feel like Big Cats today, regardless of what you're doing. 😀💓
C.A. MacConnell
3/07/2018
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
3/05/2018
Hairline
In the front row, near
Your temples.
Some tips hover now, reaching out,
Sharply.
Some settle down, half-covering your
Eyes. Some shoot the dark,
Wrong way, no more
Than bars against the skin, making homes
On a smooth brow bone.
You run a hand through the chaotic,
Flyaway hair. Maybe you just rolled out of
Somewhere, a place
Where only her breath
Moves
The part of you
That is wheat.
C.A. MacConnell
2/24/2018
Photo: Dark Horse
Dark Horse
This guy lives in a quite expansive yard along a walk route I frequent. Sometimes I talk about my walk routes like they're necessary for the survival of the globe. Indeed. So I call this horse Sam. Not sure what his real name is, but he's lovely and regal, and he seems to like the name. Part draft, and I'd tell you the breed, but I don't want to brag about my extensive -- so far unmatched -- horse knowledge. Joking, there are plenty of experts who surpass my level of expertise. Well, maybe one. So Sam likes me. Not once has he taken a shit when I'm around. Now that's love, when it comes to horses.
I think he has a crush on me, to tell you the truth.
Hope you dig the photo. I love the shot. Reminds me to keep on truckin', fuck the haters, that kind of thing.
It's almost five a.m. here.
So I'm attempting to get into an upcoming workshop that takes place down south this summer...applied and waiting. Wish me luck. Should give me a leg up on getting this third book out there, if I get in and get a scholarship. :) Dayum.
I'm hungry. Time for brekkie.
At the quickie mart, people were talking about dimples and "booty" chins. I don't have either. What is something interesting and unique about you? I have a small, horizontal scar on my nose. When I was little, my brother was chasing me around the den, and I fell face first on the fireplace. Then, later, before bed, Mom told me not to mess with the stitches under any circumstances. So what did I do when she left the room?
I pulled out all of the stitches.
That right there sums up the entire reason why I've been in therapy for 18 years.
Well, I hope Wes Anderson comes to visit me at the coffee shop today. That would rock, because I've been waiting a long time. I'd say, "Wes, where the hell have you been? I wrote you a query letter on my blog years ago, and I've been waiting all this time." I'd act annoyed and nonchalant, all the while conveying my mood with extremely subtle facial expressions.
I aim to be in one of his films one day. Just me, C.A., obsessively speed walking in the background, a cameo. No lines, except I may say a few words to the chicken who walks beside me on a leash.
C.A. MacConnell
