Why Don’t Lesbians and Gays, Etcetera, Go to Hell!

Kieran York

A re-blog!

Sinners are told to make reservations, be packed up, and ready to hop on the slipper-slide ride down to hell. Upon their demise.

I don’t know about my sisters and brothers, but I can’t follow directions to the nearest convenience store – much less some fictional flame pit that laps at our souls.

However, upon contemplating it – it might not be a terrible alternative lodging. If as all the bigots espouse, they are going to fill the rafters of heaven – it’s probably already over-populated. A little ‘no vacancy’ sign would light up as I neared the outskirts of the celestial heavens.

And if it didn’t? Well, I’d rather reject my invitation. I don’t even like a chat with an intolerant crowd. Gives me a headache. And a heartache. So why would I waste eternity when my ears hurt from the hatred spewed?

Maybe hatred is synonymous with hell.

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Songs, songs, songs –

Kieran York

This blog is songs, songs, songs – I’m posting some of my song lyrics – written decades ago. These were songs sung by a regional Colorado woman’s band. I was fortunate to be a member and friend of the women. I wrote songs, and was a barely okay singer and guitar player. And so I’ll include the lyrics of three of my personal favorites.

The group’s theme song was “Denver Dreams” and we opened every performance with it. The second is a song I wrote for a very special woman. The final song is a love song I constructed so many years ago, I’m not sure of how it evolved.

DENVER DREAMS

* It always seems those Denver Dreams keep bounding across my mind.
Thoughts designed to comfort me, won’t loosen up and be
The way that dreaming takes you back into a yesterday
Mellow dreams of Denver times, seems they’re here to stay.

We…

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When Evil Visits

Kieran York

After writing a poem years ago, I’d believed it to be completed in six pages. And it had provided me with a small national grant.

Years later when my community was impacted by the Columbine High School massacre I took the poem back out of its file. The school is less than a dozen blocks from where I’ve lived the last forty years of my life. I added a thousand words to the poem after the emotional addendum of reality that was Columbine. I believed the event had irrevocable changed our future – it had softened our hearts, and yet toughened our resolve to make certain it couldn’t happen again.

Yet our nation braced with pain as we endured 9-11. Again, we interviewed our souls, and I added another two thousand words – making my poem a volume. Each time, my own certitude was dimmed.

Now, another loss of innocent victims. This time equally unthinkable…

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Lighthearted Yesteryear

Childhood should be a time of lighthearted days. This is often the case, and sometimes not. But I invite you to take a rhyming journey with me – for a feel-good glance back.

LIGHTHEARTED YESTERYEAR

All aboard for yesteryear land.
If you wish to go, please take my hand.
We’ll wander along to distant treasure.
We’ll journey back to homespun pleasure.
Close your eyes, dream of skies
blue and clear, have no fear.
You’re the captain of your ship.
And off we’ll go on our little trip.
Hang on tight with all your might.
We’re going right to see the sight.
Huge balloons and candy canes,
sugar dolls on gumdrop lanes.
Kids on parade drink pink lemonade.
Bright blue bicycles race gleaming red tricycles.
Hop aboard a merry-go-round.
Listen to the hurdy-gurdy sound.
A Jumping Jack has licorice in a sack.
A tiny red fox plays in a sand box.
With candy bars and toy cars,
and a kaleidoscope for color’s design,
and a giggle says that all is fine.
Animal crackers eat jelly beans.
Lollypop signs point to silly scenes.
Inside castles there are kings and queens
celebrating Christmases and Halloweens.
We’ll have great times in this place I know.
We’re all captains and we can row
across the sea of make-believe we’ll go.
With court jesters, and acrobats
we’ll all wear special funny hats.
Hoist away, spread the sails.
We shall wait for husky gales.
They’ll float our ship across the blue.
We’ll travel ever and ever anew.
When we arrive at our own special land
we’ll wiggle our toes in glittering sand.
There will be gifts galore
inside a huge toy store.
We’ll hear music and song
and know we belong.
Here comes the cake
hear the squeals we’ll make.
Now comes the shakes, malts, and soda pop.
If we spill, whoops, here comes the mop.
Candy will sprinkle out from the sky.
Paper airplanes swirl as they fly.
Chocolate, gingersnaps and laughing we are.
We’ll charge up a mountain to touch a star.
After all, it isn’t that high.
Not if we reach and really try.
We’ll run in the meadow, then climb a hill.
We’ll eat Cracker Jacks until we get our fill.
We’ll jump and run; then waltz with the sun.
When night has come and day is done,
we’ll wander on home and hop in our beds.
We’ll pull up the covers and then the spread.
Tucked into bed by kind, gentle hands
we’ll return to our own special lands.
We’ll wake blurry-eyed to wait for our friends.
And off we’ll travel around twisting bends.
Back to our place,
we’ll hasten to race.
Hear the train coming, clickety-clack –
coming down the well-worn track.
It will pick us up to take us shipside.
We’ll ready our departure to take a ride.
There are flowers with colors all aglow.
The hills ahead spread like a huge rainbow.
We’ll pluck new petals each as they bloom
from a magical flower in our playroom.
Childhood is bright as all the sun’s rays.
So let’s recall the best of our sweet days.
A childhood with love and without fear
is the best kind of lighthearted yesteryear.

COPYRIGHT: Kieran York 2013

 

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Please check out my poetry in the best-selling poetry collections, Sappho’s Corner Poetry Series: Roses Read, Volume 3; and Wet Violets, Volume 2. Edited by the award-winning poet, Beth Mitchum. These books and other wonderful books and music are available through http://ultravioletlove.com and Amazon.

If you’re interested in romantic fiction, please check out Appointment with a Smile, the 2013 Lambda Finalist in the Romance category, by Kieran York. A new book is scheduled for release in autumn of 2013, titled Careful Flowers. Books are available through www.bluefeatherbooks.com. Or order through Bella Book Distribution for books or e-books. Books and Kindle e-books available through Amazon. 

The Win Column…

Kieran York

Life is remarkable!

Last night was no more or less remarkable than any other night.

I stood on my deck looking out at the constellations above. Through a wrap of tree branches, I spotted a thin curvature of the moon’s glimmer. Both moon and stars seemed to be punching out through the darkness.

I wondered, as I examined the heavens, if those great constellations ever gave themselves a self-exam. Probed around, checking celestial interlopers?

When it got too cool for shivers not to have arrived on my arms, I closed my eyes. For whatever reason – well, my mind scurries at times, I was thinking about life. Large screen, double-wide – well, my mind races at times – I was thinking about 2012’s win-loss column. A bittersweet spring, summer, and autumn, to be sure. Wanting now, to turn my thoughts back into happiness, I thought about my nine wonderful great-nieces and great-nephews.

For…

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Rocky Mountain Intimacy

ROCKY MOUNTAIN INTIMACY

High country, and our Rocky Mountain intimacy,
belong exclusively to us.
We amble between stony curtains.
Wildlife squeaks, bugles, rustles, warbles, and chirps.
Before us is our meadow of lush grasses,
delicate flowers, jutting chunks of granite,
and an assortment of brush and leaning trees.
A blanket we spread fits the ground perfectly.
Edges lift from the soft plant clumps beneath it.
As we relax, and stretch out upon the quilt,
we inhale the loam, the pine, and the sweetness
of thin, clean mountain air.
Harmony infuses us with all the love in the world.
Tranquility is an intrinsic pleasure of the moment.
Clouds trick us with their tender metaphoric language.
We savor one another’s joy.
For each time I gaze at you,
silly infatuation converts to love.
And our intimacy captivates me.
Our mountain picnic is in the midst of perfection.
Color dresses up the trees with new growth.
Echoing is a nearby stream’s melodious voice.
From that gentlest of all brooks,
trickling waters splash as they bounce over polished rocks.
A cool forest breeze is crooning a scat song
known to all eternity.
Our hearts make us wayward Bohemians.
We are trekkers on an impromptu mission.
Looking into one another’s eyes,
we become aware of our place.
We are no longer estranged spirits.
Nor is ours the evangelized ardor
of an idyllic script too often spoken.
This moment, and this monument
becomes the contour of us.
Our smiles are within the enormity of a universe.
Our embrace is between rock layers of protection.
We are extemporaneous, and our laughter proves it.
I slip a columbine, that matches your eye’s color,
into your outstretched hand.
You grin your approval.
There is some euphoric cohesiveness
I’ve never felt before.
And perhaps shall never feel again.
Love’s imprint is much greater
than a sparsely uttered slice of rhetoric.
Wilderness is a song sung only for us.
I would rather not return to civilization.
Hiking down the trail, we’ll promise to return.
Although it will be then, not now.
It will still and forever remain ours.
It will be another time and another place
of our Rocky mountain intimacy.

COPYRIGHT: Kieran York 2013

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Please check out my love poetry in the best-selling poetry collection, Sappho’s Corner Poetry Series: Roses Read, Volume 3; and Wet Violets, Volume 2. Edited by the award-winning poet, Beth Mitchum. These books are available through http://ultravioletlove.com and Amazon.

If you’re interested in romantic fiction, please check out Appointment with a Smile, the 2013 Lambda Finalist in the Romance category, by Kieran York. A new book is scheduled for release in 2013, titled Careful Flowers. Books are available through www.bluefeatherbooks.com. Or order through Bella books Distribution for books or e-books. Books and Kindle e-books available through Amazon.

Mockingbird Stolen

MOCKINGBIRD STOLEN

The tragedy of a stolen mockingbird saddens me. I recently read about Harper Lee.

Most everyone knows that Harper Lee wrote a book called “To Kill a Mockingbird” half a century ago. A Pulitzer Prize winner, the classic has been one most of us have read more than once, and seen the movie.

It was successful fifty years ago, and is still required reading. Royalties for books sold in 2009 were over a million and a half dollars. Ms. Lee lived modestly over the years. She suffered a stroke a few years ago. Her rights were signed away during a time when she was experiencing a multitude of problems – vision and short-term memory among them.

By the time she recently turned 87, what royalties she received had been depleted. A law suit was filed in May. Charges were that her literary agent, an attorney, took advantage of the ailing Ms. Lee. The benchmark story was written by Mark Seal, and appears in the August issue of Vanity Fair. It is titled, “To Steal a Mockingbird” and explains the legal charges against the agent, as well as updated information.

Over the years numerous writers have been victimized by unscrupulous agents, publishers, and lawyers. Funds have been siphoned away from many of our literary giants. Such a sad commentary that the aging author of a masterpiece was treated unfairly.

Throughout the ages agents and publishers have encouraged and protected the struggling writer, and the treasury of literature. Diligently the agent presents the work to publishers. They try to find a home for a manuscript. Publishers produce books, and are champions of the writer. They work tirelessly to make the best possible product for the reader.

Mostly, both agent and publisher make herculean efforts on behalf of the continuation of fine literature.

I commend honorable, ethical agents and publisher – and thank them. They are often the unsung and under-appreciated heroes. They understand trust is a very elusive quality, and when in place, there is an eloquence between two people who love the written word.

I think I’ll reread Ms. Lee’s gift. And be thankful for those honorable folks in the field of publishing. These are people we trust to tend our words.

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Please check out my romantic fiction, Appointment with a Smile, the 2013 Lambda Finalist in the Romance Category, by Kieran York. A new book is scheduled for release in the summer of 2013, titled, Careful Flowers. Books are available through www.bluefeatherbooks.com. Or order books and Kindle e-books available through Amazon.

 

Kansas Dreams

KANSAS DREAMS

Fireflies swarmed the shrubbery near my grandmother’s doorstep.
Fireflies – lightning bugs – by the time I was seven-years old,
I loved their descriptive names.
They seemed like miraculous events rather than insects.
They knew how to work a crowd.
Their brightly dotted tails sparkled with bursts of light.
As if they were pantomimic dancing – a graceful motion known only to them,
fireflies helped to shut down the day with their antics.
And they knew they could close tightly the evening with their mystery.
One of those Kansas nights forever beams back to my memory.
A storm betrayed tranquility.
The weather forecast included a steamy soaking.
Night’s pewter clouds began to seal away moonlight.
An uneasiness – a restlessness, was setting in.
Farm folks are aware of the fine line of fate.
One gentle rain shower is a healthy dousing.
And the other rain was a storm pounding stalks of green grain buds.
Wheat stalk, hulls – the gold of bread, would be embedded in soggy soil.
Midsummer night storms are often accompanied by destruction.
Once planted, what is to become of wheat fields?
They rely on both earth’s nutrients, and weather.
The kernels invite moisture, but not downpours.
On this night the sky’s face glared with ugliness.
No harvest is a chronicler of its own fortune.
Thankfully, this was a cooperating storm.
It flushed the vast sky of moisture, then waters turned to mist.
Thunder’s shriek drifted away into the night.
Worrying about the few lightning bugs my cousin had captured,
I hoped they had been spared, and found their way home.
Released from a Mason jar prison, they’d flown away quickly.
Their brief time as a faint lantern ended.
Their glow was too dim to usher a path for me to follow.
Perhaps they were beacons for my dreams.
When those dreams brought morning’s sunrise,
I woke with optimism.
The day of sweltering sun
dried remnants of last evening’s drenching.
So quickly through the day the landscape baked.
In the shade, I leaned against the oak tree’s bark.
Imprints were indenting my back with decoration.
Dried grasses crinkled and crumpled under my bare feet.
My mind shifted back and forth
from my library books to dripping Popsicles.
Would my life hold up against the world’s stormy agenda?
I’d never wanted the flash and cash of fame and fortune.
My dreams were not complicated, nor intricate.
I’d dreamed of the whispers of a thousand fireflies.
What would become of me when I grew up?
I vowed never to blink at earth’s loveliness.
I promised never to ignore kindness and love.
My Kansas dreams were never grandiose.
I wanted my own release from a Mason jar.
For I needed to light a moment of night.
I wanted nothing more than to place words together.
I needed only to write my heart’s language.

COPYRIGHT: Kieran York

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Please check out my love poetry in the best-selling poetry collection, Sappho’s Corner Poetry Series: Roses Read, Volume 3; and Wet Violets, Volume 2. Edited by Beth Mitchum. These books are available through http://ultravioletlove.com and Amazon.

If you’re interested in romantic fiction, please check out Appointment with a Smile, the 2013 Lambda Finalist in the Romance category, by Kieran York. A new books is scheduled for release in the summer of 2013, title Careful Flowers. Books are available through www.bluefeatherbooks.com. Or order through Bella Books Distribution for books or e-books. Books and Kindle e-books are also available through Amazon.

Abandoned in a Manger & Going to Hell Might not be such a Long Trip

Kieran York

There is no need for an introduction. No allegory, No hidden meaning. Just two of my narrative poems.

ABANDONED IN A MANGER

The infant was left for dead – forgotten by fate.
Music of her mausoleum birth was a choir inside the vacant cathedral.
Infancy happened within the tabernacle’s stench of decaying timber.
She was beneath the crunch of crumbling plaster.
Her birth announcement was scrolled by times deformed signature.
Within a sacred, musty darkness, she’d arrived.
Garbled in her robe of shadows and solitude, she was.
A dank, breaking day chased her chanting sobs.
She was whelped there in that corner – there, squint your eyes – there.
There, where bloodied, second-hand swaddling decomposes.
Rotted cloth ovals merge with rotted lumber.
Clumps of viscid afterbirth once clung to planks of termite-infested flooring.
By now the straw has disintegrated.
It was told how she’d been left for dead – history’s…

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Listening In

LISTENING IN ON EQUALITY

Any moment a ruling will be uttered or muttered, or shouted, or whispered. It will have to do with equality. Am I good enough to have the rights that all Americans should have? You be the judge. Well, actually, there are robed Justices doing the judging. Beyond that there are the American people.

LISTENING IN ON EQUALITY

I listen in on equality.
Superficial music blooms with an unrelenting promise.
Across the airways, love happens or it is being gutted.
Long ago forgotten, the subject plagues me.
As if it has become lightning’s jagged tongue, it blares.
I squint to see where decency might be.
I recognize the lyrics, for the song is titled Insta-Bully.
It talks trash.
The lead singer was just released from hatred’s lockdown.
Legislation is bait and switch.
As if words are souvenirs tossed into the barrenness,
musical notes wane.
Theoretical concepts have their own atmosphere.
Artificial emptiness has never impressed me.
Cascading volcanos of spewing intolerance burns.
Brains filled with ego do not entreat my sympathy.
Sludge brags as it paints injustice.
I overhear crud as it splats against clean walls.
Lucidity is sacred, and has flocked to the streets.
Bigotry sound exactly like cringe-worthy shouts.
Once impelled toward hatred, smarmy words fade.
Hearts locked in dark silence begin their histrionics.
Their authorship hides beneath shame.
The font of harm prints only litter.
If love is seeped in culture, I hope to soon hear its roar.
I wander the byways of eternity.
My shoulders sag, folding with age.
Ravaged, I march on.
For my torrent of energy hears the drums of equality.
An answer becomes my destiny – my ballad.
My choir garb is frayed by disappointment.
With rusty shovels, I excavate, and examine fate.
With tight-fisted heart, I search and hope.
Does a human heart have nerves?
Who owns eternity?

Copyright Kieran York

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Please check out my poetry in the best-selling poetry collection, Sappho’s Corner Poetry Series: Roses Read, Volume 3; and Web Violets, Volume 2. Edited by Beth Mitchum. These books are available through http://ultravioletlove.com and Amazon.

If you’re interested in romantic fiction, please check out the 2013 Lambda Finalist in the Romance category, Appointment with a Smile by Kieran York. Books are available through www.bluefeatherbooks.com. Or order through Bella Books Distribution for books or e-books. Books and e-books are also available through Amazon.