89 year old Japanese Woman

Every so often my face gets hot, so hot that I can feel my face turning hyper color into a giant tomato. It’s a dead give away if I am embarrassed, or if I have a crush on anybody. My dad says it’s cute. I think it’s a fucking curse. But sometimes it gets the best of me, and turns out being pretty funny. Now, I talk to a lot of people day in, and day out. I got that from my mom. We literally talk to anybody we think could be remotely interesting. Variety is the spice of life! So I am having a conversation with an 89 year old Japanese woman, and boy did she get the best of me. Yet I am still single while there are homeless people who smell like hot garbage that have girlfriends and boyfriends. Even Charles Manson has women lined up at his cell door. My friend Anna says I am too picky. Okay fine. Anyhow, yet again, I digress. Here the story goes…

89 year old- Are you married?

Me- No ma’am.

89 year old- Ohhhhhhhhhh

Me- (laughing a little at her reaction)

89 year old- But you so pretty. I don’t get it. So sexxxxxy.

Me- You’re killing me! (laughing, I bury my head into my red hair trying to camouflage the red hot face) Thank you for the compliment. Your flattery is too much!

89 year old- (still perplexed) I have a son, but you are too pretty for him. Oh so pretty! So sexy! I don’t get it?

Me-  I don’t get it either.

Enters son… the 89 year old Japanese woman stops and changes the subject quickly.

 

-K.K. Powell

Mind…Blown….

Five year olds are funny in a sense that they just say whatever is on their minds. Aquarians are kind of funny too in the sense that they do the same. Not saying Aquarians are like five year olds…or are they. They typically march to the beat of their own drums… and so do five year olds.

Okay, okay enough. Now for the funny story of the day.

 

Five year old- Does your dog poop?

Me- Well yea, I mean if you think about it a lot of things poop…right?

Five year old stops for a minute thinking

Five year old- Yeaaaaaaaa

(Pretty sure I just witnessed her mind exploding all the possibilities of all the things in the world that actually poop!)

Me- Have a good one!

Five year old hollering as we walk away- Bye!! Have a nice day!!

It takes a village to raise em right.

-K.K. Powell

Witches, Wizards, and Devils

Myth stories. I mean really. I may come from lineage of two witches burned in the Salem witch trials, so this also happens to  peak my interest in the topic. But…these wood prints should remind us of a few things. 


Let us remember…Christianity comes in spear heading the world with it’s own myths. Strong smart women were labeled witches, and men who do things unconventionally are wizards. Unlike today where it is status quo popular to be a witch… just by saying you are. I digress… Let us remember the holiest dance and drink with the Devil too. We all do. 


Sometimes it is the most conformed and confined individuals that are the sickest. But to some degree… everyone dances and drinks with their demons. Shit, some probably live with them full time. It is times when we don’t handle our problems like we should. By escapism: drinking, sex, drugs, or whatever vice.  By not using all your self worth. By not always doing your best. By not being somebody, or doing something useful in this world. Not using your self for the greater good. 

But, we all need reprieve here and there. Sometimes to do your best one next day… you have to fall down in the days prior. You have to tear everything apart. Set it on fire. You have to literally fuck everything up. Destruct to construct. Without death, there is no renewal. Without the bad, there is no good. So spend a little time with your demons here and there. It may make you a better person….


To see the light, one must be open to seeing the dark. 

Never conform. 

Just do things the best way you see fit.  

Click on the link for the rest of the wood print series…  

Witches, Wizards, and Devils

To end with a quote from Oi Polloi 

“No, don’t burn the witch. Burn, burn the rich!” -Oi Polloi

-K.K. Powell

Willie Nelson

Willie Nelson is a jack of all trades. He even writes a poem from time to time. Getting older can be downright depressing. The golden years aren’t so golden. They can be the coolest, most uncomfortable winter you’ve ever experienced. But you can also stop to look at the beauty in the snow.

 

Anyhow…

Willie Nelson, I love you!!

Happy 84th birthday to one of the coolest men out there!!

….and thank you Both Kinds of Music in LA on KCHUNG radio for providing lots of Willie Nelson for our listening pleasure this morning.

Now for a poem from Willie himself-

 

“I have outlived my pecker.”

The Penis Poem–by Willie Nelson

My nookie days are over,

My pilot light is out.

What used to be my sex appeal,

Is now my water spout.

Time was when, on its own accord,

From my trousers it would spring.

But now I’ve got a full time job,

To find the f***in’ thing.

It used to be embarrassing,

The way it would behave.

For every single morning,

It would stand and watch me shave.

Now as old age approaches,

It sure gives me the blues.

To see it hang its little head,

And watch me tie my shoes!!

Stolen work

Well as hard as the truth hurts A LOT, I recently found on Instagram today that my work had been stolen by a more popular poet who has been published. It’s my own fault. I never did any copywriting. Still it stings like a bitch! So this website will only be for my own thoughts on others work, posts of work I like, and thoughts on other things. No more of my poetry, nor stories until they have been published though for my own protection.

and lastly…

Fuck you to the guy who blazingly stole my work. I never realized you took pieces of my poem and posted it on your Facebook claiming it to be your own. Especially since a woman had what was “your words” tattooed on her. You’re a phony…and those were actually a woman’s words to begin with… not a mans.

Nobody likes a thief.

Just goes to show. Protect your work people.

I apologize to any follows who liked my poetry and/or stories in the past. I will keep you all updated on any published work in the future.

With love,

-K.K.Powell

The audience.

Three fat sausage fingers slide up and down her shoulder.

His pony tail smooshed to the back of his head…shifted to the right.

He didn’t have time between his nap, and the show.

Too much pot he smoked before the show.

Shewp, shewp, shewp, shewp.

My eyes grow wide.

Fuck…I am stuck next to these two for the next hour and a half.

Schhhhleeeeerp

As the man on the other side sucks his spit through the canyons of his teeth.

The pulled pork threads sit locked and loaded

I want to hear the speaker speak,

I consider asking these annoying people to stop with their annoyances.

Shewp, shewp, shewp, shewp.

Scratch, scratch, scratchity scratch, scratch, scratch.

Scccchhhhleeeeerp.

My upset and overwhelmed brain begins to force my eyeballs out of my head.

I point a my index finger to my left ear to the incessant arm brusher.

For fuck’s sake.

Is the public display of attention THAT important.

Stop that already!

I visualize a mad man lunging toward him.

Grabbing his fingers, and chopping them off one by one.

Wait, is this a nervous tick?

Am I being a dick..?

My tiny index finger is this man’s saving grace.

Sccccchhhhlerrrrrp.

Please?!

Just go get some fucking tooth floss you indigent!!!

Nope, don’t say it.

Don’t be rude.

You drove a long way to hear this man speak…

The speaker speaks.

I fumble in my chair uncomfortably.

His voice rises just enough to muffle twiddledee and twiddledum.

A girl giggles nervously.

Another howls like she used to at a 1980’s arena rock concert.

My name is Ashley…

I’m thiiiiiirteeeen.

As she kisses her nineteen year old boyfriend on the lips.

Slips the tongue.

A french one.

We all know about THAT one.

I snicker.

He speaks, and reads me a tale or two

Then yawn

Lightning strikes from the rugged dark blue and grey clouds above.

His voice carries

as the thunders roll through the purple hills.

Crisis averted for twiddledee and twiddledum.

-K.K. Powell

 

Grocery Grandeur

The wind howls in the cool wet darkness

The rains ease graciously

The heavy truck door is forced shut by the storm’s breeze

Only to be stopped from latching shut

 by my knee…

ACK!

Synapses

send sparks

and flames

to my brain

The knee burns

and throbs

Maybe it bleeds

Not enough to soak through my jeans

Hey, you got any cash??

I need a hotel room tonight, and I ain’t got no money. 

Sorry, man.

No cash here.

Fluorescent lights

Pupils constrict

Coffee beans

Organic

dark blend

Chocolate, Citris, Almonds.

White wine

Chardonnay

Vanilla, Oak, and Apples.

An overly talkative checker

You two find everything okay?

Oh wait, you aren’t together…

Well, that’s awkward…!!

Now is your chance….

You can crack open your breath mints before you talk to her if you want.

The poor twenty something froze.

His tennis shoes probably a gift from mom,

shortly before she became an empty nester.

All he wanted was his nutella snack,

and his ice breakers mints.

He fumbles to get through the line.

Still he does not turn back.

Back to the cool dank night

Dog kibble scattered on the ground.

Her pupils

pin point

dark to light

light to dark

pin

point.

Well, NOW can I have money.

Sores cover her pale face

Short hair knotted sporadically atop her head

No, you cannot have money.

I am not your ATM.

The dog eats her kibble

off the concrete.

A sense of entitlement

used by instability.

Drunk off the overindulgence of humanity.

-K. K. Powell