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

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Two spiders and a honey bee

Yesterday I was sitting on my porch, and the sun was low in the sky. I noticed a honey bee flying low, and he slowly landed right into a spider’s web. Two spiders rushed in for the attack. I felt so bad for him watching him struggle, that I reached for a piece of bamboo to fish him out. The larger spider would not give up the fight. The honey bee caught in his web still was spinning round and round. I could hear him buzzing and buzzing in distress. I took my water, and doused both. They fell through the cracks of the deck into a deep dark dungeon to both likely meet their deaths. I felt really bad. Initially I was scared, and tried to help. Maybe sometimes you just have to let nature take its course?

Then today the same scenario hits again…but goes a little further. Serendipity, and/or a reason to sit here and ponder the meaning of life!?

Today I was listening to the Sword and Scale Podcast number 90. The Spider and the Fly. Here is the poem below…

The Spider and The Fly: A Fable

by Mary Howitt


“Will you walk into my parlor?” said the spider to the fly;
“‘Tis the prettiest little parlor that ever you did spy.
The way into my parlor is up a winding stair,
And I have many pretty things to show when you are there.”
“O no, no,” said the little fly, “To ask me is in vain,
For who goes up your winding stair can ne’er come down again.”

“I’m sure you must be weary, dear, with soaring up so high;
Will you rest upon my little bed?” said the spider to the fly.
“There are pretty curtains drawn around, the sheets are fine and thin,
And if you like to rest awhile, I’ll snugly tuck you in.”
“O no, no,” said the little fly, “for I’ve often heard it said,
They NEVER, NEVER WAKE again, who sleep upon YOUR bed.”

Said the cunning spider to the fly, “Dear friend, what shall I do,
To prove the warm affection I’ve always felt for you?
I have within my pantry good store of all that’s nice;
I’m sure you’re very welcome; will you please to take a slice?
“O no, no,” said the little fly, “kind sir, that cannot be;
I’ve heard what’s in your pantry, and I do not wish to see.”

“Sweet creature!” said the spider, “you’re witty and you’re wise,
How handsome are your gauzy wings, how brilliant are your eyes!
I have a little looking-glass upon my parlor shelf,
If you’ll step in one moment dear, you shall behold yourself.”
I thank you, gentle sir,” she said, “for what you’re pleased to say,
And bidding you good-morning NOW, I’ll call ANOTHER day.”

The spider turned him round about, and went into his den,
For well he knew the silly fly would soon be back again:
So he wove a subtle web, in a little corner sly,
And set his table ready to dine upon the fly.
Then he came out to his door again, and merrily did sing,
“Come hither, hither, pretty fly, with the pearl and silver wing:
Your robes are green and purple; there’s a crest upon your head;
Your eyes are like the diamond bright, but mine are dull as lead.”

Alas, alas! how very soon this silly little fly,
Hearing his wily flattering words, came slowly flitting by.
With buzzing wings she hung aloft, then near and nearer drew,
Thinking only of her crested head – POOR FOOLISH THING! At last,
Up jumped the cunning spider, and fiercely held her fast.
He dragged her up his winding stair, into his dismal den,
Within his little parlor; but she ne’er came out again!

And now, dear little children, who may this story read,
To idle, silly, flattering words, I pray you ne’er give heed;
Unto an evil counselor close heart, and ear, and eye,
And take a lesson from this tale of the Spider and the Fly.

Which makes me wonder… did the fly or honey bee want to meet his untimely death.  Did he want something the spider could give him? Was it the same for the honey bee?Was he like…screw this queen. I am OVER IT! I just really fuck up his whole idea??? Granted in the podcast they are speaking of a journalist (Claudia Rowe) searching her own soul via serial interviews with a serial killer (Kendall Francois) …BUT she and he are representative of the spider and the fly as she says.  They both had something to offer each other. The murderer got his company, and the journalist got her story. She actually could see where one can get really fucked up, and see how murdering or hurting people is thought to be “okay”. I met a man who counseled Charles Manson. He said that if Manson hadn’t had been a product of the juvenile detention system from a young age, and been surrounded by the perfect storm in the desert shortly thereafter that he likely wouldn’t have formed a mass murdering cult. Could be true? Mental illness could also play a large factor. Well it does in fact. But religion and occultism also played a part in this. Whole other can of worms. I digress.

Point is… maybe between yesterdays event, and the podcast today I learned something new.

Learning when to meddle can be a fine line. Sometimes you can makes things a lot worse, and sometimes you can come out golden with a full belly, rich with happiness. But when you think you are saving someone, are you really saving them?

That is the question…

-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

James Douglas Morrison

A musician, and a poet who was never taken as serious as he wanted to be. I would have loved to explore this man’s brain. Born in the wrong era. Pam and Jim were the perfect storm. Messy chaotic… but the sun still shined, and flowers still bloomed. Till death. 💛

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