it is rather herding cats
this marshalling of my forces
from among their separate spinning
manic super collider orbits
\dripping uranium (or wax)\
feel the lesser mount.
they scratch and hiss
these feral festerings of the past
shabby black- tabby
pets of my much touted
I have no bags in which to drown them
\all my rivers have run dry\
so I give frenzied chase
and they scatter as I scramble
to gather them together
these mistresses d’ fate.
I have fur balls in my coiffure
with catnip accoutrements
\harried housewifely ‘do\
and my fever is ballooning
as crises are wont to do.
but I need them on my journey
\these testaments in tattered fur\
so I cajole, corral and conquer
snarling cougar to prancing puss
and onward, shambles,
all my lives
the cliff face is sheer
not in the sexy negligee way
but in the holy crap I might die
way, and the ladder trembles
because it is old and unsteady
and has been exposed to the elements
and years (how many??) of wear
and wind and sun, and not
just because my frame
vibrates as I cling, petrified
yet somehow moving one foot
determined, concentrated, tortuously
rung by rung
and it holds and I’m not dead
or falling, bouncing across the rock face
so I move the next foot
leaden yet beset with tremors
until it finds purchase on a greyed
perch, here in midair, terrified.
there is no breath, yet a heart
hammering fast as hummingbird wings.
the wind pries at my balance
as it eddies, mocking me and my
acrophobia. finally there is rock
awaiting quivering soles, and I
scamper, blindered and winded
to a ledge approximately level.
I grin with panicky relief
having beaten back a demon
as I clamber toward the next
there are sites to be seen
fears to conquer
trails to hike and
the spirits of the ancients
rumble in ochred striations
rasp with copper calls
of the wisdom of the earth.
this petrified sand, here,
that grabs my foot-treads
\while I suspect it of slippery treachery\
roots me, through the centuries,
in ways only my soles
can wearily fathom.
wild beauty surges through thundering veins
with every startling gust
that reminds me, breathless,
of my cosmic insignificance.
sandstone vistas ransack my wind
\as I grasp, mindless and controlling\
while my cap is strewn in the dust
with all my careful planning.
long deceased, gnarled juniper branches
smoothed with the oils
of countless fearful
lend strength and support
as stubborn doggedness flags.
there are cliffhangers here
\rarefied legends beyond my ken\
that cling, dusty and persistent,
to knotted and testy calves.
omnipotent and ever-present
as I traverse her playground.
My most recent piece on SD!
she etched an elegy
in her arm.
it was not that she wished she were dead,
it was that in her heart, she already was
with each draw of the blade
she eased mournful notes
skillful as a virtuoso violinist
from her love-starved skin.
this one, scratched doleful in minor D
laments a childhood forlorn
lost in the tumbleweeds
of mother’s hypodermic windstorm.
tentative lacerations mimic
the rent fabric of comfort
in which she was never swaddled.
that one, carved in hesitant desperation
released a cacophony of hushed howls
an orchestra of screeching duduks
protesting the predators’ parade
that prowled unguarded through her dreams
– day and night. –
cuts, breaking your heart if not
her parched and thirsting skin
berate the moon and sun
who sheltered her not, while each
beseeches the silent heavens
“was I not worthy of protection?”
she proffers her arm, bared
View original post 87 more words
Book reviews are currency for the indie author, especially when reader feedback appears on Amazon and Goodreads. That makes sense, considering the weight of word of mouth marketing. I read an article on Impactrecently that stated consumers are 4x more likely to buy goods and services when referred by a friend, and 63% of visitors are more likely to make purchases from websites with reviews/ratings.
Why then, does word of mouth seem to fail so many fantastic indie writers? Because the number of Amazon book purchasers who go back to leave a review, or even a star rating, are few and far between. Derek Haines at Just Publishing Advice says listing your Kindle book as free for a promotional period can help stimulate readers to leave a review; however, reviews of free books are even lower than for actual sales. This rings true for me. I ran a week…
View original post 293 more words
it is a cat-scratch in the arch of my tenderfoot
this swelling, welling in my soul
back arched and forehead burning
at the brush of your outstretched paw.
hairs upended and mewling
black yesterdays slink under ladders
splattered in the shabby patina
of abandoned masterpieces.
steeped in antiquated ammonia
vintage carpets curl in threadbare sedition
silent rivers of involuntary revulsion
swiped away with defiant wrist wipes
these salted choleric commentaries, unleashed
lest you read weakness in the tracks
overlaid in the dust of my disgust.
i know the rules to this game
as I clamber broken rungs, clattering
upward and away from the furballs
you hock up by the scores, licking
yourself in depraved self- gratification.
your nine lives evaporate, evanescent
and vitreous, recalled by the fiends
that birthed them. i humor you
and watch you disintegrate