Category Archives: Nonfiction

Refers to a real person, place or thing

Jars of Black Licorice

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What once was delicious is now tragically malicious. Comfort & advice for a special friend…………

Source: Flickr

 By Exotic Hippie Queen ©2011

 

Remember not to romanticize

The jars of black licorice,

Sweet, pretty, but only so much glass and candy

Go find the motel key that matches the face……

You’re still in the race,

A bitter edge to the past,

Poured in the Looking Glass,

Thrown out and tossed back

In a game of catch.

 

Don’t stamp your feet too much

Unless you’re walking fast past

The graveyard

Whistling.

Saturday’s demons will be Monday’s dream

Through the foggy chills of closing time,

The crickets heard you scream.

 

Now the Cupcake’s on the floor,

Turned upside down and more.

Delete the buzzy sevens

When they ring your nine;

He knew a girl named Heaven…….

It’s all black inside your mind.

Black

Like jars of licorice

Remember not to romanticize.

 

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Tiger Whip Road

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By ExoticHippieQueen         ©6/20/11

 

 

Rappin’ beat

Rappin’ beat

Rhythm that stretches me backward to before.

The rhythm of my knockin’ on the neighbor’s door.

Heavy on the down beat, I hear her cries

He’s comin’ to the door, and I’m lookin’ in his eyes.

 

Man-heat risin’ from the top of his head

Dagger-loaded pupils that wanna’ stare me dead.

It feels so good to beat her, and he does it ’cause he’s able

The rhythm of the beat: her head bouncin’ off the table.

 

She’s runnin’ out the door, jumps in my moving car

Tearin’ down the road with her door still half ajar.

Why do you do this……………why do you stay?

He’s gonna destroy you, take your life one day.

Torn on the inside and down her sleeve

A sad retreat, but she doesn’t wanna leave.

 

I see her in the driveway, so she’s back again,

Not if….. or how …..or why…………..just when,

Back to feel the rhythm of the rappin’ beat

Rappin’ beat

Rappin’ beat.

 

Remember, For Amy

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By ExoticHippieQueen © 2012


“No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it’s not the same river and he’s not the same man.” ― Heraclitus
Nautilus in black and white
Nautilus in black and white

X-Ray image of hummingbird with hibiscus
X-Ray image of hummingbird with hibiscus

Source: evolve images
Source: mononeil
Black and white rain drops with twisted stem
Source: Blogspot
Source: izismile
Black and white rose
Source: Deadly Donna
Source: photoconcept.net
Source: theberry.com
Source: Favim.com

Remember how hard she was sent away.

Remember gagging on bowls of cold Jesus with milk for breakfast.

Remember the quiet from all the sides that weren’t talking

pink or blue, no gift receipt.

 

Remember the meaning of change and the cry for a long goodbye.

Remember the woman in the girl, stronger than red bullets.

Remember all the guilty parties, closing doors of the vault.

Remember the altered path of lightning, arcing here instead of there, in closer parts of letting love go.

The remembering pages scribbled in invisible ink, leaving blank words for the left behind.

 

She can’t remember mother love for a babysitter.

Remember how the rain cried for you, little bird.

She was remembering her two small, too small searching for their missing piece where mile markers once stood.

They were always remembered in the summer months.

 

Remember the big love with easy sex in circles of small, flat plains.

She remembered a baby girl more after a baby girl reminded her.

The remembrance of returning guilt has familiar sounds that only make some of the sense.

Remember the new dream lost inside of an old nightmare.

Remember turning to mountains of trees, birds that only hum and fly backwards.

 

Now she remembers choking down cold guilt with milk for breakfast.

She remembered finding herself hidden in all of her empty pockets.

Remember the wild bushes that she learned to hate.

Always remember the streets of September, the running to and from.

 

She remembers the steel rod holding her together in the falling apart.

Remember the ache of good gone bad, a drinking murder by mouth and stumble downs.

Remembering it’s been a while since love laid its hands on her.

She remembers crocheting a shiny new blanket of guilt, sprinkles new tears for the baptism of a quiet, sudden death.

 

She’s remembering how he never forgot her, she wants to forget.

Remembering to forget is the salt in the paper cut.

She’s sorry, she’s remembering, darkly built on the guilt of generations.

Remember the little birds for love.

photo
Source: Tumblr

Through Her Days

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My mother, a queen among women.  She did not give birth to me, but gave me
my life in every other way.  Now, she lives in a world half-way between now and
then, not really living, just waiting.

By ExoticHippieQueen ©2011

Holding her hand

Through her days,

Till the end.

Through all her changing ways

My mother, child, friend.

 

Sitting in her Living Tomb,

Silent in her wait.

Empty eyes, barren womb,

Her bridegroom’s at the Gate.

 

Forgotten in the briny Sea of Old,

Waves foam and furl around her.

Wizened head, grasped by cold

Dead hands as ancient Gorgons found her.

 

Lost her way back to her nowhere home

Where strangers stir her pot.

The door is locked, the key is gone,

Her one-way ticket bought.

 

Her heart may slowly beat awhile,

But Norner’s Girl is through.

She’s weary of this waiting game,

So I’m sending her to You.

 

Holding her hand

Through her days,

Till the end.

Through all her changing ways,

My mother,

My child,

My friend.

Created & Owned by Exotic HIppie Queen 7/1/11 ©2011

Remote Control Blues

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“All true, written in so much pain. I still cry when I read it. A child born with the odds stacked against her, unable to find her way…even with loving help.”

A Poem by ExoticHippieQueen           6/27/11 ©2011

Brown-eyed baby,

see her smile but she’s not right

slept in bars, Child of Night,

angry, guard of her tiny heart,

postnatal problems from the start

of who she is, where she’s at,

bottle propped, left where she sat.

………….Homeless Wanderer

Born of Trouble………………………….

Dropped and slipped into the crack

a baby watching her own back

scratch herself, she pulls her hair

baby toys thrown in the air

barbies crunched into the rug

push away, no kiss, no hug,

slamming doors, raging ways,

crying nights, sleeping days.

 

Patty cake patty cake baker’s man

she hung her doll from the ceiling fan,

from the ceiling fan, her favorite doll

dangle, dangle above her bed

around its’ neck, a belt cinched tight.

with a butcher knife,

she took it’s life

the blade clean through it’s head.

scrawled on the wall,

“I hate you all,

wish you were dead!”

 

Prom night driving in the neighborhood

see girls in beautiful dresses pastels lavender fluff

and all that stuff corsages parents taking pictures

smile click dreams smile click dreams

boys crisp and fresh and smelling good

my dream for her it 

made me cry 

she’s on the fly

tell me why why why it made me cry.

 

Grown to woman

now a mother

sometimes I just 

turn the other

way so I don’t see what I can’t see

protect my heart change the channel

I can’t see what’s going on

no baby daddy to rely upon

no one loves the Baby K

she is mine on weekend stays

who sees the little atrocities,

drops me to my praying knees,

talk and reason do no good

she loves all the cowboys in the neighborhood.

Boyfriends come and boyfriends go

get the remote

he grabbed her throat 

and threw her at the wall it off,

change the channel, 

take remote control or

burn your grieving soul

the video plays beneath my lids at night

I try to stop it with all my might

keep my distance don’t get too close

it rots my brain it’s so insane

she’s so lazy acting crazy

can’t feed a baby that way

how will she survive

and keep a baby alive?

I’m scared sometimes of what I see

how she lives with her sweet baby

its hard to look the other way

and so I pray

every night and every day

what can I do what can I say

to make it be some other way?