You wait at my door,
Your bite still fresh,
Your cries
Your pleading
Your banging
The scratching
Your love
Astounds me
You will not give up
Fangs set
Love forever
I must let you in
For after all
Despite all
Forever all
I laugh
I smile
I let you in
You are my cat.
~ Juliette aka Vampire Maman
People won’t admit they read poetry and are moved by it…but late at night they go on the Internet and search it out. It is like pornography. I’m dead serious (no pun intended). It is a need that most people will not dare admit to.
It isn’t a good time for me to expound upon the history of poetry or what caused the American population (among others) claim not to like poets. But I would like to remind everyone, especially those of us who can remember the past several centuries that there was a time that poets were the Rock Stars of our culture.
Sometimes I pull out my old volumes of favorites and read in the quiet of the night or on a rain soaked day. In turn, I also look for the new. I marvel at the many voices I see with poetry on the Internet.
Part of me believes technology with recorded music, radio, TV etc maybe brought an end to the poet as a popular icon. But in turn the Internet, yes the Internet has brought poetry back to life.
I see in the online communities poets being read, not ignored. I don’t read those words online “I don’t like poetry.” I see people who NEVER would read a poem, forwarding poetry to their friends and loved ones.
Poetry is a gift to the soul. Poetry is for everyone. Everyone needs poetry, like a vampire needs blood, like a hawk needs to fly, like a fish needs to swim. I know that wasn’t very poetic but you get the point – I hope.
Your assignment today is to READ, SAVOR and SHARE poetry with someone you love.
~ Juliette aka Vampire Maman
It has been five years since Daniel Tanzo left us.
via In memory of a poet – Daniel Tanzo
In my home I have a wall of bookshelves. Don’t we all. There are also more books scattered all over the house on other shelves as well. One of my favorite quotes of all time is from film maker John Waters, ““If you go home with somebody, and they don’t have books, don’t fuck ’em!”
John Waters also said, “It wasn’t until I started reading and found books they wouldn’t let us read in school that I discovered you could be insane and happy and have a good life without being like everybody else.”
But back to what I was looking for. I was looking for a book about California art, but ended up on the other side of the wall looking at poetry and literature.
Then something in my mind just shattered. It was my current WIP (work in progress.) The structure is there but there had to be more. The characters need to care more about each other.
So there you have it.
Over the years, and I’ve been over quite a few, we adults find that things like work (jobs), school, judgmental friends and relatives, and society in general has totally beaten any inspiration and creativity out of us. Or at least they try damned hard to.
I never understood the disdain some people have for creativity, change, innovation, and inspiration. The artist is revered but damned if anyone wants to study art. The writer is mocked as a quaint hobbiest. The inventor is mocked with the mythical idea of the man who would rather spend his life inventing a better apple peeler, or mouse trap than feeding his children.
My advice to my children, and anyone else who finds everyone around them is trying to suck every bit of inspiration out of them, is don’t listen to them. Shut out those who say no. Shut out those who make condescending remarks. Shut out those who say your creativity, be in art, music, writing, or even science, is a waste of time. Shut them out. Make them more of a pariah than they want to make you.
Inspiration isn’t just some stupid workplace poster that usually insults rather than inspires.
Inspiration can come in any form. It can be love. It can be acorns that have fallen on your car. One idea inspires an entirely different idea out of nowhere. Just go with it. Don’t think about it too much. Just don’t listen to the assholes. They don’t want you to be inspired. Being inspired makes you dangerous. That is a good thing.
I also tell my kids that if they’re around those who are boorish and lack imagination, and lack empathy, and want to be jerks, to just keep their ideas to themselves. You don’t have to share your world with assholes.
Creativity doesn’t have to be monetized either. Don’t ever forget that.
And when you’re young, and even if you’re not, it is OK to just move on.
Let yourself shine, even if it is just on the inside. Have satisfaction knowing that you aren’t like them.
Then share with those who care, and understand, and those who feel safe sharing their ideas with you as well. Yes, know you can always be inspired by listing to others. Your story is wonderful, but it isn’t the only story. Don’t shut others out.
In the meantime, since I’ve turned this post into a vent rather than what I was going to write (don’t mind me, I have other things to share so just move on to the items below.)
I recommend you check out the books below. These are four of the books that distracted me and got me thinking about other things. They are by two authors I admire and respect. I am honored to consider both friends.
They both have a reverence for words, and actually see the world around them. They’re observers of life, and love, and everything.
You might be inspired. You never know.
Sack Nasty
Prison Poetry by Ra Avis
Dinosaur Hearted
By Ra Avis
Centripetal Force and Other Stories
By Jon Obermeyer
Wingspan
By John Obermeyer
One last quote. This is something we don’t say often enough to each other.
For those looking more for the Vampire side of things, I understand Vlad will be back soon with mire diary entries.
~ Juliette aka Vampire Maman
Winter Cat
A poem
Cold
Frigid air
Can’t compare
To the stare
Of my cat
“Where you at?”
Wanting me
To fill her bowl
Hollow soul
Teeth and claws
Hidden underneath
Soft calico
Fur of an angel
Demon of my home
And hearth
Then after she eats
She will barf.
Red Moon
I missed the
Eclipse
The red moon
Due to rain.
I heard the
Werewolves
Cry in the night
Missing their
Moment
All covered in fur
And no place
To go.
Smelter Skelter
or
Something is Fishy in Denmark
Oh smelter
Skelter
Tiny fish
Of Silver Scales
Too small
To be whales
But dry them out
Salt em up
And package them
In bales
Add them to your
Soup
Your stir fry
And your goop
Chicken coop
Feed them up
Salty eggs
Yup yup yup
Rooster Crows
Orange glows
Atomic bombs
Where’s it from?
Far away in a secret land
Come on boys
Give me a hand
Cut off heads
Cut off balls
Cut off feet
Kill them all
Eat their spleens
Snack in between
Their hearts
And their farts
Show your smarts
Tuna sammich
Wish I was rich
I’d eat sushi
Till I die
With pearls and gold
Gray and old
Throw me in a coffin
We’ll all be laughing (rhyme it with coffin)
Fill us up with chemicals
So we won’t rot or grow
Tentacles
Like an octopus
Mr. Cephalopod
With all those legs
You sure look odd
Just like the smelt
All small and silver
Eat up up with Ranch dip
Gluten free
Super hip.
Yep.
My House
My house
Was built
On River
Rocks
My dryer vents
Are full
Of socks
The ghosts
Are kept inside
With locks
They dance
At night
In tattered
Frocks
The sheep
Outside
Live in
Flocks
Watch out
For the Fox
Hide in a box
Eat lox
Dance to
The moon
And don’t
Wear Crocks.
Because Crocks
Are
Ugly.
Feed Me Not
He served me
Anchovy pie,
Baked sheep eye,
Nut crusted cat spleen,
Rats in a soup tureen,
Chili pie without a bean
Or a Freeto
And no dips
Just snot ball chips,
Hoof jelly
Kind of smelly,
A casserole
Of duck asshole,
A huge skewer
Of mystery meat
That smelled of
Nasty gym sock feet.
I told him that
I’d had my dinner.
I was on a diet
And getting thinner.
I would not eat
His vile cooking
No matter if he
Was real good looking.
I need a man
Who knows his kitchen
Cause I don’t want
To spend my life
Bitchin.
Schrödinger Cat
A Poem
I am a cat
Of tabby fur
The past few days
Have been a blur
The man who
Thinks he knows
Physics
Doesn’t know
What
A cat tongue lick is.
The fucker put me
In a box
Then went out
To dine on lox
He ate some rolls
A sausage too
A pint of beer
Roast Kangaroo
Some gummy worms
No fear of germs
He ate it all
On his terms.
Then after that
He went shopping
For hats and gloves
His buttons popping.
I hate that fat fuck
Just my luck
Left in that box
And now I’m stuck.
But he came home
That Austrian Fellow
I knew that I’d
Pee his house yellow.
He said “Dear Cat,
are you alive?
Perhaps you’re dead,
For I hear no cry.
No faint meow,
For physics sake
No kitten purrs
My heart does quake.
He shook the box
THEN
Opened my prison
I jumped out
And sprayed him
Like a proud cat I is.
I peed on his pants
And his favorite chair
I scratched his face
And pulled his hair
I clawed his
Jacket and favorite chair
I was not dead
But everywhere.
Do not contain
Your cat for hours
Unless you want
Cat piss showers.
Treat your cat
Like family
Or you will
Forever
Smell
Like
Pee.
T Rex
I want a
T Rex
To play
And keep
The coyotes
Away
Small arms
No big deal
When driving
It can hold the wheel
It can take
My dog
To the park
It will eat
Monsters
In the dark
It will
Brush my
Cats for me
And jump over
The fence
When it has
To pee
A Rex
Will meet my
Needs
To a Tee
T Rex is
The perfect
Assistant for
Me.
Oh reptile
Giant
With giant teeth
I’ll rub your
Belly
Underneath
Scare the
Bad guys
Who might rob
My house
Make them cry
Roar.
Love ya big guy.
Have fun,
~ Juliette aka Vampire Maman
When I read this I was touched by the power of the words and the subject matter. This is from my friend Rob Fletcher, a talented Welsh writer and photographer. Thank you Rob for allowing me to share your words.
Born of metallurgy and chemistry I was:
Stamped, checked, moved, spilled and counted with millions of brothers in a grim piranha factory.
Automated, made, bought and sold with a quiet conscience of lethal exchange.
Destiny discovered fate and decreed my instant made
birth which heralds a coming death in a far distant country.
Cousins larger, nieces smaller…pieces put together quickly as
Productivity swears at innocence.
Tumbling shiny into green coffin boxes…
Stacked, steady, stable…waiting weds anticipation.
Sold in white and black markets and traded silently for a single drilled duty.
My sole mission to expend death.
Packaged and sent on a demon journey I’m:
Trucked, planed, boated and trained because my demand outstrips its supply.
I’m really wanted, loved and caressed.
Jungle appetites, African friendly
I arrive clinking and jangling…jostling my brothers for my
awaiting providence
My liaison with short life.
Strong black fingers pick me up admiringly…
I’m embraced, turned over and fondly kissed
under a hot and brooding war sky!
I’m wished upon…and I shall fulfil this desire.
Gently, I’m click-pushed first into my temporary steel curved prison along with my immediate band of siblings above me.
Then we’re snapped into our final position.
Smoke, noise and murder prevail…we are turned safety left, lorded and loaded and aimed not aimlessly.
Suddenly, mechanical release action jerks us free!
My brothers fly orgasmic allies
barrel tearing
and I explode
by engaging rifling as I spin free velocity charged, prior sighted and trajectory traced.
I speed towards a soft sweat-sheened forehead as young feared eyes see my untimely arrival and realize my tidings
bring death out of its hiding place as I thwack flesh and snuff out misplaced
youth soldier dreams in a lost sorry battle.
Fallen teen-torn blood spills from a 7.62 millimetre hole.
My slim body sent care of Kalashnikov and
with impartial human target remembrance,
bullet boy expires with diamond-fixed glory.
© Rob Fletcher. All rights reserved.
Author’s Comments:
“Death and life were not
Till man made up the whole
Made lock, stock, and barrel
Out of his bitter soul.”
-WB Yeats.
“Son, the only thing that guns are good for is making holes in things.”
-Eric Fletcher.
1921-1989.
