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

 

Wild kingdom of Oakland, California

Wild rat scurrying from one bush to the next. My dog salavates, wiggling herself out of her collar moving so fast that she turns to a flash of white lightning. I scream, “oh my god! No! No! No!!!” with an incomprehensible gibberish…the dog is not distracted. Her one thought, “Does it squeak?” Her head buried into the bushes searching frantically. Right, left, left, right. “It’s gotta be close!”… but her luck has flashed right before her compulsive little brown eyes.  Wild cat sized rat is just fast enough, and safe. I laugh so hard at my great American wig out aka scream of fear of plague/rats safety, that I double over in laughter and let out a pigs snort. Attractive man behind me chuckles. Ah shit, save face! My face flushes hot turning red. “You should’ve seen the size of that rat?! It was the size of a fucking cat!” He tells me he would’ve been alarmed too laughing along with me. We part, going our separate ways. I utter to myself, “I’m a total mess.”  Large rats jumping out of bushes are a scary thought. Perhaps less scary if my wild imagination wouldn’t fling me down the rabbit hole occasionally. 

In the night before two cats scream, scratch, hiss, and attempt to end each other’s will to live. It was the talk of the neighbors as I arrive home with the cat sized rat chaser. The dog with pride jumps, and licks snorting away happily at the familiar faces. “Did you hear all that racket last night?”… the owner of my apartments eyes light up. I nod in agreement and state how bad it all sounded. “It was raccoons mating!!! I turned the light on them, and they stopped. Then five hours later they were still there. I wondered if they got stuck?!” Laughter flows, “You’ve got to be kidding me?” His eyebrows raised in amazement goes on to tell me that it’s the god foresaken truth.  Good thing I told the dog to stay close to me that night while she ventured into the dark night to relieve herself. If she tried to get into that action, my heart would’ve likely stopped. 

-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

 

 

 

 

Writing on a rainy day

I use this blog more for poetry, but today I am writing something a little more personal. It is about the process of being a writer. Starting, stopping, being welcomed, being rejected, and that awful day of accidentally losing all your work.

Have any of you ever lost all your work writing?

As it turns out, I was not so great about keeping my work backed up. Two years of research, and writing of ideas… gone. Poof. Smoke bomb. Gone like the wind. The dust has settled now.

What I didn’t realize is if there is too much music stored on a Mac Book Pro, that it will literally wipe out the writings on Scrivener. That is exactly what happened to me. Luckily it was just research. Luckily I write my outlines on paper, and there weren’t too many projects already started. So after some research, and re-writing the good ideas I can remember…I have started again. Where some folks feel bad about my loss, it actually isn’t that bad. It just tells me what I already know. Time to actually jump on an idea.

So I am looking at this as a fresh clean slate. The days are getting darker, and my writing is getting better. At least I think it is? I still continue to write poetry.  I still paint. The idea is… never give up. Today I started writing a new novel. I could not be more excited about the twists and turns it will take. My trusty sidekick doesn’t sit too far away in my apartment while I write. Sometime she grumbles at me for a head scratch, or a ball toss which is a much welcomed break. fullsizerender-4

Lesson learned. Back up your work, before it goes bye bye. Stop being weird. Stop thinking nobody wants to hear your story. Stop being fearful of the judgement. Just finish it, publish it, and the universe will do what it will with it. These novels are just my brains way of painting a picture. More for me than the general public. There is a certain vulnerability displaying your imagination to everyone. It is much like the feeling of standing naked in front of someone for the first time. It can be exciting, and terrifying all at the same time.

-K.K. Powell

Your cheating heart

This isn’t anything new. A lot of us women have been dealing with this bullshit for a long time. Hell this song is from the 1950’s, if that says anything. Meet a man, have some fun, and then find out he has a girlfriend, or a wife later. In some cases, some of us just happen to have the poor luck of being the wife who is being deceived. It’s certainly happened to me on both ends.
Nobody wants to be a home wrecker, and ain’t nobody really wants to be a part of deception. There really are no rules to this dating/relationships thing, but there has to be a mutual understanding, or even at the very least a common decency to respect the person you’re with. It’s called clear communication, owning your shit, and being an adult. Be strong enough to say quit when you got to quit. Save yourself the trouble, before you drive your woman crazy. Because that same woman will stop giving you sugar, and in turn dump some very different sugar in your gas tank.
-K.K. Powell

– It wasn’t God who made honky tonk angels… –

As I sit here tonight the jukebox playin’
The tune about the wild side of life
As I listen to the words you are sayin’
It brings memories when I was a trusting wife
It wasn’t God who made Honky Tonk angels
As you said in the words of your song
Too many times married men think they’re still single
That has caused many a good girl to go wrong
It’s a shame that all the blame is on us women
It’s not true that only you men feel the same
From the start most every heart that’s ever broken
Was because there always was a man to blame
It wasn’t God who made Honky Tonk angels
As you said in the words of your song
Too many times married men think they’re still single
That has caused many a good girl to go wrong
 -Kitty Wells