Ornery Poetry Story Time: Lotus Laments

Image copyright Carlo Paulasso

Always believing him out of her reach

There was a subtle trembling in her speech

Whenever she had something to report

As she daydreamed of being his consort

But dreams become nightmares for foolish girls

He stole a treasure more precious than pearls

Never could she believe he was that man

A cur in an alley grabs what he can

She believed him to be a righteous gent

Quickly from her heart was that belief rent

He was a doctor, she minded his kids

She is left with the guilt from what he did

Her innocence died upon that cold night

There is nothing on Earth can make it right

Lotus Lakshmi Martha Clifford

13 March 1963

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Notes

If all you wanna see is the poetry, this is is your stop. If you wanna take note of the notes, stick around!

I am very grateful to the folks at the Sunday Muse blog for providing this photo. It turned out to be the push I needed to get out of my stuck place with my WIP, The Ballad of Gerry Clifford.

Lotus is the older sister of the titular character. She was adopted into the large, loving Clifford family when she was six years old. She wrote this sonnet after being molested at twelve years old by the doctor whose children she babysat for.

If you would like to see more snippets from this and other stories as they develop, please click the following link to check out your options.

http://www.naughtynetherworldpress.com/p/places-to-support-naughty-netherworld.html

The Icky, Sticky, Nit-Picky Legalese, if You Please (Or Don't Please)

Content copyright 2020 by Cara Hartley

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Carpe Diem Love Month: Moonlight Moving: A Fetch Story Poem

Image by Syaibatul Hamdi from Pixabay

the moonlight moving

across a traumatized sky

above a dead world

~cie~

notes

I have not been well. My diabetes has decided to behave in a more completely shitty fashion than it had previously done, so not only do I find myself dealing with the frustration of contending with this garbage condition, I find myself mired in self-loathing because I learned at a young age that anything shy of physical perfection was a personal failure. I will say with unflinching honesty that if it weren't for the fact that I still serve a purpose in assisting my son, I would punch my own ticket. I realize that suicide ideation is an uncomfortable subject, but please refrain from the blah blah counseling blah and blah blah medications blah rhetoric. Counseling doesn't help, and psych meds cause me to become manic and psychotic, two things that I, shockingly, don't enjoy being.

This poem describes the dead world of Zetar 6 (Zecor), a key player in the Fetch Universe. Fetch is Team Netherworld's flagship story, which was born in early November of 2014 when I was working at the retirement community where I would work for close to 11 years. The idea was born when I learned that someone who had meant a great deal to me for many years had been diagnosed with Alzheimer's disease. This person was only 55 years old at the time of diagnosis--the same age that I am now. 

In my shock and grief, I walked through the vast retirement community and was prompted with the idea of finally starting a project that I had envisioned taking on for close to forty years. I had always wanted to write a backstory for the Lights of Zetar, a Star Trek episode which has been universally panned by critics and which has its problems, but has, nonetheless, always fascinated (and scared the bejeezus out of ) me.

The inspiration to finally begin this project and to incorporate it with my beloved Cthulhu Mythos came from a mind other than my own. I will not go into detail except to say that this inspirational individual was noncorporeal, and you can think whatever the hell you want about that, I'm not going to argue with you. I refer to this presence as Gem, and I am deeply grateful to him for the gift he gave me. I am saddened by the fact that when I am gone, the door to this world will close. No-one enjoys my work, and I am well aware of that. My writing style is entirely unappealing to most people, and my personality even more so.

I love you, Gem, but sometimes I am not sure if you possess much in the way of good sense. If you did, you surely would have chosen a scribe who was less of a complete and utter train wreck of a human being to be your co-conspirator.

Love,

cie

Troiku Challenge 2019: Day 17: Breathing Silence

Image by Radoan Tanvir from Pixabay

alone on the beach

only the cries of seagulls -

breathing silence

alone on the beach

wondering what lies ahead

another sunrise

only the cries of seagulls

if I could understand them

what would they tell me?

breathing silence

trying to calm this feeling

that all is not well

~Chèvrefeuille & Cie~

Notes:

The "sleigh" of this Troiku was created by Chèvrefeuille. The Three Horses of the Apocalypse are my responsibility.

This poem is part of my Seacliffe Series, in reference to my WIP, The Legend of Seacliffe House. These poems focus on the thoughts of my protagonist, Randal Messana, as he finds himself in a strange new situation after rescuing his mother from the brutal Diamantina Lamb and fleeing the cursed Lambswood Manor. The story is primarily a homage to Edgar Allan Poe and it may or may not ever be published. Either way, I hope some of you enjoy the poetry inspired by the tale!