Friday, March 10, 2017

Identity Theft

A dapper young man
Rewrote a rejected novel
On the fringes of Saint Paul
Within the confines
Of a derelict apartment
For the sake of his
Truest love Zelda

But with a stroke of a pen
He vicariously sprinkled
His bethrothed words
Throughout his book
From a love letter
Passionately written
With an ambitious heart
And sincerely laced
With an Alabama twang ©


Tuesday, January 24, 2017

Compassion’s Guidance

The sunless winter envelopes you
When you’re not looking
Clinging to you
With a remarkable reverence
Amid those long frigid nights
When once a homeless man
Cowered beneath
A solemn wooden gazebo
By a spooky fog laden lake
I would calmly look on
Through the midwinter chill
That cared not for who it scorned
With a biting
Twenty degrees Fahrenheit

I pillaged
Through my cupboards
Of a quite barren kitchen
Searching for packaged food
Of any kind
That would warm a fruitless soul
With a foundation of hope
To cleanse away
The cob webs of doubt

I warmed up
A huge bowl
Of spicy chicken soup
Laced with herbs
To pacify
The medicine woman within me
I sealed it with compassion
To keep it fresh and warm
Hoping Jack Frost
Would keep his curiosity
At bay

I made coffee
For no reason at two
On that very murky morning
I stuffed as much food
As I could
In an old grocery bag
Even some aspirin I think
In case the man had a cold
One five dollar bill
In case hunger captured his soul 

Wrapped up warmly
Without hesitation
I opened
My apartment door
So very quietly

I trudged down
The steep concrete slope
My heart palpitating
Bravely within my chest
For the first time
In a quite long while

I crept
Tip toeing ever so gently
Afraid of stirring
The shivering vagabond
Sleeping
On an unyielding picnic table
Terrified of breathing too loudly
For fear he might wake up
And notice who I was

Softly
I place the goodies
Down right beside him
And he shifted just a bit
I never spoke a word
I didn’t think it necessary
I didn’t think it relevant
The importance I surmised
Was his survival
Of one more
Wind swept wintry day ©

Thursday, November 17, 2016

Exhaustible Fate

This is the last poem I'm going to publish from my book Through the Silent Caldera on the internet, since I am busy editing my second book at the moment. I hope you all enjoy it. My mother asked me to read this poem years ago, but I wasn't ready by any means. Death comes with some many different emotions that it is a very difficult to process at times, this poem only focuses on one, anger. 


Saturday, November 12, 2016

Mictecacihuatl


The day life slipped
From my only shelter
I met a primitive woman
Barely clothed
In a tattered
And frayed frock
Burgundy bleached
From an unforgiving sun
With short matted
Ebony hair
She took notice
Of me slightly
As I arrived
For I
Was just passing through
Deep within the jungles
Of South America

She had carelessly
Busted open
An exposed grave
While the rain forest wept
And began washing
What little laundry she had
Amongst the water
That had seeped in
To accompany
The decaying bones
Of a poor soul
Withering away
In an ancient cemetery

Suddenly my hands
Were her's
And I began chanting,
"Bana, bana bana."
At that moment
A decrepit stone sundial
Struck two o’clock
Sunlight glistened upon
Every crystallized raindrop
I realized
Death had consume me
Murdered me in my sleep
He did
While my attention waned
As a crescent moon

The Great Witch
A mother of divinity
Warned me
Two years prior
But not even
A channeled spell
From a planet
Where magic inhabits
Every being
Could untangle
Such a bitter curse
Of discourse
Marked upon my soul
By his misguided
Vengeance marred

For a week I traveled
In between worlds
Nowhere near humanity
Just glissading through
One looking glass
After another
And oh how he begged
Humbly negotiating everyday
With the archangels
Of lore
To bring me home
Wailing with clenched teeth
Bedamning himself
For all he had done

Finally
I was brought back
To my animated body
Kept copacetic
By a merciful angel
Safe
I thought I was
But you must understand
A man such as this
Has no soul

Would you like to know
How he killed me?
He took my broken
Grief stricken soul
Riddled with tears
Of multiple
Nervous breakdowns
And slaughtered
What was left of me
When I was most vulnerable
For this is not a human being
But a demonic force
That has only been witnessed
Upon the silver screen
In the shadows that creep ©

The Magical Caldera

Tuesday, October 11, 2016

The Magical Spectrum

Take me where
The fireflies dance
And the meteors rain down
Bringing new star seeds
To Mother Earth

Bring me home
Where a dryad
Is always hiding
Within a Yule tree
Take me
To the might oak
Where the fairy folk
Live deep within
Aged roots of perfection
For no home is complete
Without their gentle touch

Let me dance
With James
The royal librarian
Under the spiral
Of an ancient bibliotheque
For he collects all my words
Keeping them safe
For future elf kin to read 

Let me adventure
Into different dimensions
Where comfort awaits
For it's too harsh here
Among the ruins
Of a developing civilization ©

Karen L. Fleming, The Magical Caldera




Microcosm of Poetry: 13

Half awake
I scribe poetry
Effortlessly
Not even a drop 
Of coffee by my side
Cozy under
A heap of covers
I do lie ©

Karen L. Fleming

Monday, September 12, 2016

Microcosm of Poetry: 12

Honey
Your dramarama
Is too much for me
I'd rather play
Russian Roulette
In the quicksand
Than listen to
The hogwash
You preach ©

Karen L. Fleming