"The Monster In Your House"

Since the beginning of time, before Adam and Eve, before Pagan Gods, monsters have existed in our houses.

They live hideously behind closed curtains, preying on the subconscious mind of it’s inhabitants. Like generations before, a testament of it’s DNA clinging to the very existence of mankind. Woe to the narcissist that does not see it. Pity to the martyr that does. Peace to those that have forced to eradicate it. 

For in your house and my house, your neighbors house, there  is a force of nature that preys on all of us. It is unique to each individual, but inseparable within it’s clan. It is the milk of your darkest histories passed down in generations spoken at the dinner table, or like a cannonball let loose at a social event. 

Psychologist often classify them.. ‘These monsters in your house.”  They are the ghost hunters of your family’s legacy, and they get paid handsomely.  So, do you still think monsters don’t exist?

Poets often shed light upon it, tricking you with metaphors and wonder if you’ll ever notice the “THING.”  They have this innate  desire to open their door and let you peek inside.. Because they know you have seen it too... There is NO escaping the 'THING.' 

Writer’s of all genre’s have retold it’s story in countless ways. Trying to open the door and welcome you to their world, or the world’s world. Like a open book  it begs you to join in, become involved..as if you could ever give up your DNA and immerse yourself in theirs to escape the demons in our minds. Yet you do..After all it is much easier to accept someone else’s monster than our own.

Luckily for me..You keep yours under lock and key. If I wanted to pick your brain and find yours, I bet your monster is pretty much like my own.  You know..the familial traits that are the stories within each of our own clans. 

Don’t tell me you don’t have chains that rattle in your closet... I know you do. And sometimes without your knowledge I have heard them. Hold on someones knocking....

 Hell -  another family reunion!


I do hope they don't plan on staying long.. I do hate cluttering my home with all their baggage.

Desire and Greed

There’s a maiden fair 

With tendrils rare

Spun of gold with ribbons sheer.

Barefoot lass that traipse the glen

Minstrel bards and strong brave men

Follow her and drink her in, dreams of love

Dreams of men, to follow where the Harpie led.

Thunderstorm Memories

When I was a little girl, I was afraid of thunder storms.

I guess I never did outgrow them. At one time I thought I did. I remember standing outside on a second story open air porch watching lightening streak across the sky.

I remember too, my first husband rescuing the babies clothes from the clothesline during one particular storm. I watched in horror  from the upstairs window as bolts of lightening shot up from the ground, while he plucked the clothes off the old cotton rope suspended in air by old rusting metal pipes burried in the yard. I am quite sure I saw his hair stand straight up as he danced around them bolts.

When I was much younger, early grade school, I can remember looking out the windows instead of paying attention to my teacher and thinking... another rainy day. The windows were quite tall and had to be open and closed with a long pole with a hook on it's end. They were covered in old green shades from earlier times of the 2nd World War. Even back in the early sixties we were taught to hide under our desks in mock air drills  should Russia drop a bomb on us. That never happened, though the teacher did pull the shades whenever the storms became severe. 

I remember my mother telling us if the sky should turn an eerie green, and tree and branches should begin to bend, winds blowing, to find the lowest place to lie down even if we had no choice but to lie in the street gutter. I hated the thought of walking home from school in the midst of a storm. I never knew exactly if I would be able to trust my instincts as to the storms intentions.

Mom also told us all that rolling thunder was God playing ten pin. Really...did anyone ever believe there was a bowling alley in the heavens? Of course she also told us on heavy rainy days that the angels were crying. Somewhere here down on earth there must have been someone truly special that the angels all weeped for. I wondered who that was..I did not think they were weeping for joy, no joyful rains were soft rains we call sunshowers.

Now.. there are two exceptions I find comforting brought about by storms. The first- is a rainbow. 

The second- Rays of light streaming through the clouds. Mother always said "they were ladders to heaven."

Jackie Summers

copyright 2012 

photo, courtesy of google

Something New

I thought with all the lovely posts from poet friends sharing their pictures and soundtracks of all their poetry, I would put up one of my own. Well it took me quite some time to figure out what I was doing, but I finally managed it. I still prefer hearing the voices of my peers from the United Kingdom reading my work, they have such melodious voices. Hope you all enjoy.
~ Jackie

What's for Dinner

What's for dinner..certainly not me. Not that I'm not a tasty little dish..Well, leftovers are always better the second time around- You knew that of course! 

 I really didn't want to write about dinner, not in the sense of food. I really wanted to write about life. What eats you? What morsel of leftover swill, undigested tidbits of life that are just too difficult to swallow, the stuff that gives you indigestion and heartburn that keeps you up all night. The ulcerating condition that has found it's way not only into your stomach, but eats at your thoughts as well.

We all have them- those blood thirsty pangs of brain eating thoughts. The Why's, and How's, of yesterdays food for fodder. 

Unlike chewing 28 times before swallowing, you gnash on them for days. Why do we do it? How difficult is it to just swallow them, then go about our business? But no, for many there is no expiration date. It just sits in the back of our memories- like leftovers growing in the back of the fridge. Maybe you rummaged around for something new to eat, and so you purposely shoved it in the back of your refrigerated brain hoping to let it expire?


After awhile, it would have morphed into something unrecognizable, grown twice the size, begin to smell really bad, and so,  you decided you will just not deal with it. 
Until it grew arms and legs, and found its way back into your thoughts!

 I think I have a whole grocery list sometimes in my brain. I have yet to learn to clean out the fridge and completely toss it all away. I guess I'm hoping in time my thoughts will morph into great works of poetry, or short stories, at least I keep hoping they will.  Like everything else, I will chew on it till my teeth hurt, my jaw goes slack, and wonder what a cornucopia of culinary thinking went into the making of:  foddering food for thought.

Bon Appetite! 

Jackie

Beat It

Just beat it..

Pound it , fist it. Cum

till your blue,

with your ah's and your ooh's,

just beat it.

Nail it, drive it,

screw it,

Go ahead and force it.

Just beat it!

Hiss it, bawl it,

covet it, 

ejaculated stranger. 

Just -

BEAT IT!

~Jackie

Roses For My Valentine

A dozen roses ruby red,

wrapped in paper, in a long box bed.

This was the gift I had to send

and on the card, this I read;

For the one I love

this Special Day

I love you more than words can say.

My angel , My love, My friend.

I put a ribbon on the box,

attached the card

within the knot.

Then on the address I spied there;

Dear florist,

The address is not hard to find,

You should know it's in a place divine,

she waits for me on top the hill

under February's winter chill.

Our name is chiseled on the spot,

A great big oak and a loving heart

and in the heart our name you'll see

blazed for all eternity.

Her loving Husband.

(Copyright-Jackie Summers)

An Ode for Cleo

She reaches for him each evening

for the comfort of his strength

it envelopes her waking days

this requiem of loves embrace.

When shadows fall

on lone stretched days

each memory her heart will trace

to bring to her his loving face.

Immortal souls 

together twined

no truer love

than love divine.

~Jackz

Who's There

I wear this mask,

to shelter friends 

when sadness grins.

For what use are they 

to me, when shadows fall

and shade their call,

what ills become of me.

They know me not

that cannot tell

my generosity of discourse.

For in my hell

they dare not dwell,

this labyrinth

of remorse. 

So cast your spell upon me

when you knock upon this door,

If kindness be your battle

this mask, I'll need no more.

~Jackie

Week 6 Last week of Flash Homework

I used each of the 5 senses here to make one story. Each forming a story in itself.

Seeing-

His look was that of a madman - scrunched brow, curled lips that turned down and a fires spark of anger animating from his wretched absorbed self.

Look, I tell him, Please Stop! Do you not see what you have become?

There is beauty to behold if only you would get a grip. Not everything is painted a dark shade of gray. If you let the light in and throw back the curtain of self loathing  you may be able to enjoy living.

"Have you ever tried painting a rainbow!"

Yes, I tell him.  The difference being I prefer to amuse myself with a kailedscope.

He mumbles at me:  more like rose colored glasses.

Yes, I have to admit it, but they are special rose colored glasses. Perhaps you should try them on.

Hearing-

Then like the crack of thunder and with a booming voice of satanic gloom, I endured his tyrannic outburst.  Ramblings of one so wrought that only the sound of his own angst could quench his thirst.

Then a familiar deafness, as I retreated into my tortured silence.

Feeling-

Numbing cold from the verbal attacks, as if a knife had pierced my heart, I refused to defend myself.

There was nothing left to feel.

Whatever had been before was now reduced to this... Emptiness.

Taste-

 Then I tasted blood, or was it the words, I have nothing but contempt for you, that rose in my throat and stuck in my mouth. I wanted to vomit. Purge myself from the molasses of pain and months of regrets.

Please, I implored once more, Stop!

Don't make me regret the things I want to say. As if explaining it to him this way, was like adding sugar to the open wounds.

 No sooner were the words sliding of my tongue, I hurled every flavor of every sweet thing he ever said to me at his feet.

Smell-

Revulsion permeated the room. What once were sweet terms of endearment now lay congealing like curdled milk.

The room reeked of disgust and self loathing. I should of known something was brewing in the air days ago. I could have saved myself some time if only I sensed it first. Editing him out of my life was not going to be easy.

 It was time to smell the roses.

 ~ Jackie

Imaginary Friends

"BoBo did it! I swear it was BoBo."

Well, where is he then?

"I dunno."

So if you didn't do this and,  you say it was BoBo, what does he look like?

"I dunno, I never really seen him."

Hmmm. So you never really seen him. Is he real?

"Yes."

Well if you never really seen him,  how do you know BoBo did it?

"I dunno."

Well young man, that's enough of this nonsense, back into bed and go to sleep.

Psst..Is she gone?  "Yeah, she's gone, you nearly got me in trouble this time BoBo."

Well, I told you not to tell anyone about me. I told you, no one would believe you.

Jackie


For my Brother...<3

Raising The Bar

Raising the bar up to her shoulder, she stared down at the man groaning on the ground and replied, ""Yeah, you walked into that one, didn't you?" (P.S.)

“Golly, Molly. What did I do? I didn’t deserve that!” 

Serves you right Peter, next time I want your criticism I’ll ask for it!

“Molly, wait.. I was only trying to tell you in a offhanded way, that I didn’t think you were ready to take on the public. I mean your just starting out.”

Take on the public? Why Peter, I just took you on, and see how you landed? 

Copyright: Jackie Summers

I Want to Thank Peter Stahl, for the opening hook in this flash. 

Sorry Peter...It was too funny, I couldn’t resist. 

The Painted Garden

The colors of the Gardeners palette:

 A splashing birdbath and a hanging basket.

A garden gate and a tortoise cat,

 all lead me down the garden path.

Yellow, Blues, Green and Reds,

 the canvas of this flower bed:

Hosta, Daisies, Hydrangea, Yews,

Daffodil and Tulips too,

 all wind the walkway of my view.

Morning Glories, blend with Honeysuckle,

 fill the arbor I pass under. 

Butterflies and Buzzing Bees, 

Dragonflies and Hummer wings.

The Rambling Rose along the fence,

 troweled earth, the potting shed,

 straw brimmed hat and trailing hose.

A garden scene painted - in a poem.

Jackie Summers

Our Angels

Another Angel Lord?

Taken in his Spring,

while flowers bloom 

and life begins.

Wings unfurled

for higher ground,

to greet the song

of your call.

Bless our Angels

in your care,

the cherished memories

we hold dear.

Return them to us

when we're blue,

to lift our sadness

and see us through.

With every remembrance

we embrace,

the Angels love and smiling face,

a life renewed.

For Michael

Jackie Summers

The Royal Astronomer

The sun set for the third time that morning over London, and the Royal Astronomer knew he could no longer keep things a secret. (DL)

 Leaving his position as Royal Astronomer to the Queen was going to be difficult.  He enjoyed all the benefits and prestige he ever thought was possible. It was not just the story he gave to the press about alien life  being detected with the newer powerful telescopes that caused  everyone concern, although that did create suspicions within the monarchy as to his mental state, but something even more prevailing. 

For the sake of his own family he kept the news hushed. Yet recent news accounts from American astrologists concerning solar flares from the sun were making things most difficult. He had hoped to break it down to his family gently, lead them into it slowly, so that by the time May came around they would have gradually accepted their fate. Now he wasn’t so sure they would understand.

Going home to tell the family was like telling them the moon had just fallen from the sky.

Telling the Queen, was almost  like treason. She would have most likely broken it to the news by now that they would be appointing a new Astronomer for The Royal Astronomers position, saying that I had  served my time. Of course the press would want to know if I was going to continue in the field. I would need to give a press release and tell them that due to many years of research, my vision had become poor. That should at least account for any future absences of any written documentation concerning the solar system and I would simply cease to exist in the eyes of the press.

I found her in the kitchen baking tarts for the Women’s Earth Day Meetings she attended. I was happy she liked baking. She could have had the kitchen staff help her, but she said; ”No Mr. Astronomer, I am a modern day woman, I prefer to do my own baking.” Thank the stars for that I thought, she was going to have to do a lot of things differently from now on.

“ Why Martin, what are you doing home this morning?”

I’ve something to tell you Dear, please do sit down.

 I am no longer working for the Royal Astronomer.

“ It wasn’t because of the press was it? I knew when I read the report about being able to view aliens, it was going to be a cause for concern. Oh Martin!” 

No Dear, it was not that, though you should have seen the look on their faces.. 

Now I have been putting money aside for you, knowing that eventually this was going to happen. I hoped to break the news gently, but your going to have to cut back on the staff and do things differently and without me.

“Without you! Martin, have you surely lost all your marbles?”

My Dear, you know this is not easy for me to explain. You have been watching the news, you have heard the reports of the solar flares taking place on the sun?

“Yes Martin, but what does that have to do with your leaving me?”

Have you also been paying attention Dear, to the date? In May, Venus will eclipse the sun. It is considered to be a phenomenon. It will be seen by the world, although it will only appear as a black dot. The transit is measured in hours, and is among the rarest form of eclipse.They occur in patterns that repeat only every 243 years, with pairs of transits eight years apart, separated by long gaps…

“ Martin, what does that have to do with you leaving me?”

Well Dear, If I do not leave now, I cannot help Venus from the solar flares. I must reach Venus before she reaches the sun.

“ You’ve gone and lost all your faculties Martin!” You cannot fly to Venus!”

Do you remember laughing because people thought I was different ? Well I have a secret Dear...

Copyright : Jackie Summers

I wish to thank Damon Lord, for the opening hook to this Flash fiction Story.

I also wish to thank him, for in doing my research I gained a bit of knowledge about eclipses.

An Intervention

I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. In the end I cried.

The outburst were almost comical and frightening at the same time. A realization I had missed seeing. The true nature of the man he actually was, not something he had become. There is an old saying:  "love is blind,"  it has more truth in it than you know.

The more I watched the childlike tantrums with their adult consequences, the more impressed I became. Not with him, but with my perception of him. Blindness had kept me from seeing it before.

One thing I was no longer confused about, was the need for an intervention.

Who should I call?

That was the question. I could call the paramedics, tell them I think he needs some time out, preferably in a round room with padding on the walls. Or I could call for a priest. One that performs exorcisms, casting demons from the wretched. Instead I prayed to an unseen God, asking him- why me..

Finally he ran out of steam. The collision of events blending in the swirl of drifting ciggarette smoke, choking the cold night air.

They say ciggarettes kill. 

~ Jackie

One Bad Apple

Bitterness touched me today.

Left a sour taste upon my tongue,

tastebuds twisting my mouth

into a pucker.

I detested the flavour.

It snuck upon me

all polished and shiny

and I was hungry, so

I took a bite.

Here she beckoned me.

Tis a bitter fruit

but wisdom and knowledge,

is given to the one who partakes. 

Well that's a bushel of nonsense.

Bitterness does not exist

in knowledge I said.

It lives in the resentment of man.

It only takes one bad apple

to spoil the whole bunch.

And little green worms.

Jackie Summers copyright

Homework week 5 flash under 200 words Ave Maria

Ave Maria

Maria Gonzales went to confession every Sunday in her robe and slippers and last nights lipstick .

She was beautiful. I don't think there was a man in town that never stole a glance at her in passing. Even the Padre' from our humble church always stopped her in the street to say hello.

"Ah Maria, what a vision you are today. You must come to church and pray for Pedro, Si?"

Yes Padre', she would say.

"Good, I will pray with you Maria."

And so they did. Every Saturday night for six months. While Maria begged me to babysit the children. Every detail of Maria's Saturday nights vigil with the Padre' was not something they teach you in Sunday School. I suppose she was compelled to tell someone.

"Maria, you didn't!"

"Oh sister Juanita, we did! I cannot help myself, I need a man. I have not heard from Pedro. For all I know he is missing in action or dead."

The following weekend I did not have to babysit. Instead I went to church. There in front of the congregation was Maria, Pedro and the two children, all in their Sunday best. Pedro in his Dress Uniform, Lydia and John in last years Easter outfits, and Maria still beautiful, in a pale shade of:  Nights in White Satin.