Friday, October 12, 2018

Compassion's Guidance

People tend to take circumstances out of context when they read poetry, but many times I, as a poet, never reveal too much about the events that created the poem in the first place. Compassion's Guidance was written out of sheer terror, not because I was afraid of a homeless person, but because shortly before that I was attacked by Brianna's father. I was pushed so hard I flew across the room and landed back first, at that moment I couldn't hardly breathe and my skull cracked. When I helped the homeless person, it was a cry for help for both of us. I have been homeless before, and I just wanted to give the person some comfort and sustenance to get through the day considering how cold it was. Sure, I was living in an apartment, but it was a horror movie inside day and night. I honestly didn't want to be attacked again, and since I didn't know this person there was a real possibility of that happening in my mind; it was a simple test of trust in humanity. I hope where ever the person is that the individual survived the winter and stayed safe. Everyone complains about the South's heat that clings to you because of the high humidity, but people never really talk about the brutal winters and how it affects the homeless. Nor do they speak a word against the police that never arrest the abusers until someone is murdered; hence the new laws in Georgia protecting victims. My children and I are lucky we don't live in such an environment anymore, and we are thankful every single day.

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 whom 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 cobwebs 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 

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

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 ©

Galactic Grande Dame

She wasn't the queen
I dreamt of no
She was far more
Than I ever knew existed
She was a matriarch
Of intergalactic beings
Of light and love
At the height
Of enlightenment
Guarded by angels
Day and night
To know her well
Is to be emerged
Among her thoughts
No mortal could withstand
Let alone understand

For she traveled
The multiverse
Even those nasty
Escher topsy-turvy
Dimensions of hell
Never fearing
What lie ahead
For her strength
Was unparalleled
An ambassador
To all she met

She was not made
As we are
Her birth began
From one solitary moment
Of a singularity
Deep within the confines
Of infinity's love
No stardust ever
Graced her genetics
No corruption was allowed
She was a magnification
Of the first signal
Ever sent out
A gentle heart beat
Reverberating throughout
All of eternity's
Glorious existence ©

The Magical Caldera

Mental Illness Verses Bad Behavior

Please be aware that if you're a mental patient, it is just as hard for your loved ones to watch you deteriorate as is for you to have your illness. It's horrific and heartbreaking for everyone, so please respect your loved ones that go through this journey with you out of love.

Fact: If a mentally ill person's medications are working, and the person is treating you badly, call them out just like you would a normal person and don't be an enabler. There is a big difference between a mental episode and when meds are working. A mental illness doesn't give a person the right to behave hatefully, even a therapist will tell a patient their behavior is wrong; so, don't be an enabler; instead, have a conversation and talk about the issue.

And just so everyone knows, my daughter, Lily, and I go to therapy with Brianna so we can do our best to function as a family and understand one another; so yes, I know what I'm talking about.  

Wednesday, August 2, 2017

Clandestine Realism

A classic seventies house
Engulfed within the valley
A lavish cocktail party
Drenched in liquor
Sourced from a tacky
Wooden globe bar
And paired oddly with
Sophisticated margarita glasses

Unexceptional this house is
With the exception
That unlike their
Suburbanite neighbors
Hidden behind
The dull wood paneling
Of this quaintly
Common abode
Is a secret passage
To a wondrous river
Flowing gently below
A metallic silvery blue
From a stargate's glow

If you happen to be awake
During the depths of night
You might witness
A gondola of passengers
From all the realms
Of the universe
From within
A brick tunnel
Camouflaged intrinsically
Underneath the house
Adorned with
The purest white roses
You've ever seen ©

Karen L. Fleming

I think I channeled the narrator from the Twilight Zone on this one. lol

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 ©

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


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

I was brought back
To my animated body
Kept copacetic
By a merciful angel
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