Sunday, February 18, 2024

Grodes

 

Image by Else Siegel from Pixabay

Fair warning that the following post is chock-a-block with profanity.
If you're sensitive about that sort of thing, don't read it.



What if we replace
the word prejudice with Grodes--
could we see the truth?

I would like to suggest
we get rid of the Grodes,
rather than eradicate
those who are different,
either by physical means
or by enforced compliance.

I'm no fool, though.
I'm aware that some asshole would come along,
suggesting that the Grodes were the people
who didn't comply
rather than the prejudices
such people face.

They would take my suggestion
that we get rid of the Grodes.
They'd corrupt and pervert it
until it was unrecognizable.

In the end, I'd be blamed
While some motherfucker
who resembled donald tRump
or his idol Vladimir Putin
or some other corrupt dictator
with a cult of personality
would come along
and take all the credit
for getting rid of the Grodes.

Not once acknowledging
that I meant something entirely different. 

How many times, I wonder,
has history laid the blame on some nothing nobody
just trying to make things right,
while the pigs and rat bastards
party in the big house
or the White House,

making a mockery
of anyone who doesn't toe the party line.

I urge the pretty people
to pay close attention
to my cautionary tale.

Anyone can be a Grode
if they step out of line.
It isn't just us ugly fuckers
who wind up
on society's reject pile.

~Ornery Owl Has Spoken~

Image by Emmie_Norfolk from Pixabay



Ornery Owl's Post-Post Thoughts

The witch at the beginning of the post has a very similar appearance to yours truly, although I stopped dyeing my prematurely graying hair blonde twenty years ago. My hair is thick and resistant to most color formulas, so I have to bleach it first. That process made it brittle. It was coming out in clumps, so one day I said “fuck it.” That moment was freeing.

I will never understand why society treats people who aren’t conventionally attractive as if we’ve committed some sort of crime that we need to be punished for. Couldn’t you just leave us alone?



Fat.
Old.
Ugly.
So what?
No, you don't have permission to use my photo to ridicule me. Go fuck yourself.



Ornery Owl has a new poetry volume! It's free to borrow on Kindle Unlimited or just $1.99 to own.

Support weirdness! Buy Ornery!



Free use image by Gordon Johnson on Pixabay

Legal Eagle's Corner



 BY: credit must be given to the creator.
 NC: Only noncommercial uses of the work are permitted.
 SA: Adaptations must be shared under the same terms.

If you have legitimate reason for wanting to use all or part of this work in a for-profit project, drop your email in the comments and I'll contact you. 



Saturday, February 10, 2024

Prodigal Moon Poem #WeWriWa

 


Genre:

Poetry plus a supernatural coming of age story (vampires). 

Buy Link:

https://amzn.to/3vz8uXw 

Publication Date:

February 15, 2024

Ebook Price:

$1.99 or free with Kindle Unlimited

Book Blurb:

The poems, story, and thoughts included in this brief volume were inspired by the independently produced album Wayward and Upward by Spinoza Gambit. The story Prodigal Moon and the poem 401 Rush were included in the Wayward and Upward anthology published by Off Topic Press.

I opted to publish this book on my 59th birthday. It would be a wonderful gift to learn that my work inspired you or led you to learn more about the Wayward and Upward album and anthology.

With love,

Ornery Owl


Book Length:

49 pages

Excerpt

About Prodigal Moon

I was inspired by the idea of something that disappears and returns on a predictable schedule (the visible moon) and something that cannot return (a lost love.)

Prodigal Moon 

Prodigal moon

You can spin me a silent tune

But you can’t return my love to me

I dare you to try

Catch him on the fly

Before he escapes ‘cross the sea


Author Bio

Ornery Owl is a wise old bird who seeks the truth behind the lies. She uses her observations to heal the wounded soul. In essence, she is the spirit of an odd little bird whose wings were clipped at a young age. She is at once a whimsical manifestation of poetic expression and a fierce protector of those targeted for derision by an angry and unsympathetic world. Depending on how you perceive her, she can be either a goddamned delight or your worst nightmare.   

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Ornery Owl's Mercifully Brief End of Post Rumination

No one:

“Gosh, I wonder how Ornery Owl deals with imposter syndrome.”

Me:

“Well, boy howdy, I’m glad you asked! Let me tell you all about that!”

The answer:

I still haven’t got that shit figured out.

I know I’m capable of writing between 1000 and 2000 words a day, no problem.

I take on multiple writing projects every month.

I complete at least one project every month.

I submit or self-publish something every month.

Yet I still find myself thinking “I just can’t do this” and sabotaging myself every month, waiting till the last minute to complete said project.



Free use image from Open Clipart Vectors


Happy Valentine's Day aka Eat Chocolate Day and One Day Before Ornery Owl's Birthday aka Resting Bitch Face That Never Rests Day from the fiends at Naughty Netherworld Press.


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$59.00





Wednesday, January 17, 2024

Get Ready for Ornery's Gambit! #MFRWAuthor

 


Genre:

Poetry plus a supernatural coming-of-age story (vampires).

Buy Link:

https://amzn.to/3vz8uXw

Publication Date:

February 15, 2024

Ebook Price:

$1.99 or free with Kindle Unlimited

Book Blurb:

The poems, story, and thoughts included in this brief volume were inspired by the independently produced album Wayward and Upward by Spinoza Gambit. The story Prodigal Moon and the poem 401 Rush were included in the Wayward and Upward anthology published by Off Topic Press.

I opted to publish this book on my 59th birthday. It would be a wonderful gift to learn that my work inspired you or led you to learn more about the Wayward and Upward album and anthology.

With love,

Ornery Owl


Book Length:

49 pages

Excerpt 

About Prodigal Moon

I was inspired by the idea of something that disappears and returns on a predictable schedule (the visible moon) and something that cannot return (a lost love.)


Prodigal Moon

Prodigal moon

You can spin me a silent tune

But you can’t return my love to me

I dare you to try

Catch him on the fly

Before he escapes ‘cross the sea


Prodigal Moon

A short story about a long-lasting friendship.

Deborah Virgo and Valentins Hines met on the first day of summer 2017. The youngsters lived at the wrong end of Fox Avenue. The electricity had been turned off in Valentins’s house, but he didn’t mind sitting on the covered porch painting figurines. His mother, Doriend Hines, was gone most of the time, working at the Daily Grind Bistro or The Zealous Whistle Tavern or staying overnight with old folks who paid her under the table for her caregiving services. Doriend was a workaholic who would have been thriving monetarily if not for being a functional alcoholic and opioid addict with a love of gambling.

Valentins was sitting on the porch at dusk, painting a vampire figurine for his haunted house, when a wraithlike girl with an alabaster complexion and waves of xanthic hair flowing to her mid-back entered the gate. She was wearing a knee-length olive-green gown that looked like it might have been all the rage in the 1920s and a pair of shiny, malachite-green shoes.

“Hello,” the girl greeted.

“Hi yourself,” Valentins returned.

“I’m Deborah Virgo. My family just moved into the house across the road from you.”

“Valentins Hines.”

“Could I see what you’re working on?”

“Sure. Come on up.”

The girl appeared to float just above the ground as she crossed the lawn. Her rose-colored lips bowed in a reserved smile. As she drew closer, Valentins noticed her unusual eyes. At first, he supposed that the rufous shade was a trick of the light, but the color remained constant when the battery-operated lantern shone directly on the girl’s face.



Author Bio

Ornery Owl is a wise old bird who seeks the truth behind the lies. She uses her observations to heal the wounded soul. In essence, she is the spirit of an odd little bird whose wings were clipped at a young age. She is at once a whimsical manifestation of poetic expression and a fierce protector of those targeted for derision by an angry and unsympathetic world. Depending on how you perceive her, she can be either a goddamned delight or your worst nightmare.   



Sunday, January 7, 2024

Double Haiga Sunday Selection: Silver

 

Image taken May 7, 2017 at the Denver Aquarium.
Copyright Cara Hartley/Ornery Owl



silver scales flashing
delicate water dweller
not long on the earth

Image by Siggy Nowak from Pixabay


standing straight and strong

the mighty silver birch trees

lining forest path

notes

Prompt used:

https://chevrefeuillescarpediem.blogspot.com/2012/11/carpe-diem-52-silver-birch.html

It's been seven months since I last worked on my Aquarium Project. I would like to get back to doing this on Sundays. 

The top photo and the two Haigas are my intellectual property. You are welcome to use them, but please credit me if you do. A link back to this blog would also be appreciated.

the hops











Free use image by Gordon Johnson on Pixabay

Legal Eagle's Corner



 BY: credit must be given to the creator.
 NC: Only noncommercial uses of the work are permitted.
 SA: Adaptations must be shared under the same terms.

If you want to use this Haiga for commercial purposes, drop a comment with your contact information and I'll contact you.

Saturday, January 6, 2024

In the Present Tense #8Sunday

  

Photo by Mathilde Langevin (mathildelangevin) on Unsplash

In the Present Tense

My husband’s name is Rama Abadjiev. He is thirty-eight years old, and he is from the country of Turkey. We have a three-year-old daughter named Claudia.”

Natali Dhaval repeated the information to the forensic team who pulled her husband’s body from the pool as if referring to Rama in the present tense could return him to life. Part of her realized the medical examiner needed to know if she had any information about her husband’s drowning, but she couldn’t bring herself to admit he was dead.

My husband’s name is Rama Abadjiev,” Natali repeated. “My husband’s name is Rama...”

notes

I went off the rails a bit in December. I want to continue sharing the drabbles I wrote last May.

Five of my (C. L. Hart's) drabbles can be found in The Damned drabble anthology. I didn't submit this story for potential inclusion in The Damned because while the situation described is horrible, it doesn't qualify as horror.

Pick up your copy of The Damned here:

http://books2read.com/DamnedDrabbles










Sunday, December 3, 2023

Condensed Poetry remix

Image by Azam Ishaq from Pixabay

rushing back to springtime days.

in a familiar setting

thankful I'm still here.

a mystery left behind

frozen and disconcerted

must face the winter.

trying to refresh

cold weather sets in.

stones of green

In a twist of the plot.

cold winds blowing from the north

for such small creatures

celebrate the tiny triumphs and hold on.


Celebrate the tiny triumphs and hold on.

For such small creatures

Cold winds blowing from the north

in a twist of the plot,

stones of green

cold weather sets in

trying to refresh--

must face the winter.

frozen and disconcerted

a mystery left behind

thankful I'm still here

in a familiar setting

rushing back to springtime days.

notes

I took the common lines from my two remix poem to make this.

Our brand new furnace isn't working, the technician won't return my calls, and I'm feeling very emotionally dysregulated.





Time's Up #8Sunday

  


Time’s Up

Eulalia Bonner, the mayor of the Village of Peace on the coast of Nucleycia, read the crumpled three-word note again, as if mulling it over for the thousandth time would bring any more resolution than reflecting on it for the nine hundred and ninety-ninth.

TIME’S UP, BITCH.

If she refused to allow the churlish Duke of Atrar access to Nucleycia via the Port of Malfair, he would render every one of the Village’s pristine white buildings to rubble. If she gave into his demands, the entire population of Nucleycia would suffer.

We must stand up to him,” Mayor Bonner declared.

notes

Five of my (C. L. Hart's) drabbles can be found in The Damned drabble anthology. I didn't submit this story for potential inclusion in The Damned because while the situation described is horrible, it doesn't qualify as horror.

Pick up your copy of The Damned here:

http://books2read.com/DamnedDrabbles