Sleep

Suspended sensory... I close mine eyes...an absence of consciousness fills every corner, nook and cranny of nothingness, unable to sleep..at the same time...all I want is to be enveloped in darkness right now...hurting...thinking...longing to emerse myself in a state of continual hybernation...a constant coma of strawberries and butterflies...I slip down a mushroom and land in a dandelion. Spores disperse like soup at a soup kitchen...lights so bright I'm not sure if they are calling me or if it's my imagination..but he comes in my sleep....so sleep I'll try.

Emotional

Vulnerable....emotional...I throw a penny in the purple wishing well under the willow...only to find that it lands in a hornets nest. I run for my life, but they don't even take chase...am I even alive? I'm breathing but I'm not sure it's oxygen I take in...maybe it's sunshine or rain from the village or Rumpskin...I wipe my eyes, blue paint smears my face, I stick out my tongue and catch a snowflake and another season is gone...life passes before mine eyes...and the phone doesn't ring...why must I be so vulnerable?

Loving What You Do...

One thing is for certain...life is too short.

Do what you love and love what you do.

And if anyone ever gets in the way, put your blinders on and keep pushing forward. Happy is where it's at. Love is where it's at. Loving is living.

Betrayal

Asleep...stuck in a dream of gray matter like jello, it coagulates my brain cells, a feeling of betrayal, uncertainty, treachery and remorse...mine eyes are clouded by judgement when I'm no one to judge but it's as if a knife crashed through me like a wave of revolution, it disgusts me, tortured and stoned by a beast of burden, playing with the devil the angel did try to help only to have her wings sliced away like an afterthought, an alleged betrayal, pinned on my flesh...a martyr maybe...a victim most certainly...guilty in a sense, but only a passionate sincere inaccuracy, a miniscule mistake, one that would harbor the catalyst for  upheaval...it's no wonder death comes so easy in the night over a simple slip of the keyboard, fingers thinking faster than thoughts, racing for resistance but impatience is the devil that I should've slayed had I known the pain and anguish, the multitude and irony of ONE miscalculation...never good with numbers I was...but pity on the soul that should carry such seeded karma.

Waiting

Life flashing before my eyes, scenary moving so fast, seasons changing, geese flying south for the winter, storms raging off the coast, yet still, I wait. It's all a dream or is it...a small light in my imagination fighting to shine through the gray matter..it's like pseudo-stratified columnar epithelium struggling to breathe fresh air...wanting...waiting...on a dimension in which events can be ordered from the past through the present into the future and also the measure of durations of events and the intervals between them...all controlled by time itself. Wishing and hoping...like the flow of sand in an hourglass ...and the elapsed time between the past and the future. Mine eyes fall on my cell phone..then back on the script I'm writing...then on my email inbox...then back to my phone..my head hurts so bad but in all the pain, his voice would make it vanish...and the pain would be pleasure...dreams would be reality if only for a few minutes...an anwer to my prayers that this gut twisting pain would cease. His voice alone is like a vasodilator which relieves tension and eases the painful stimuli....but until then, in pain...
...I wait.

The Storm

Astronomical atmosphere, greyish black, hot air rising, a creation of nature yet to be reckoned with...Power to move mountains, turn pastures into lakes, swallowing up land and people in its path. As damaging as a monstrous storm may be, it is performing a cleansing. Yin and Yang, a perfect mixture of good and evil, and one must wonder if there is a God when they are caught in the middle of the perfect storm. Respect nature and all her fury.

The Hardest Time

The hardest times are those times when I'm alone. Lost in my thoughts...passion...lust for things I want but do not have...cannot have...like a prisoner locked away in a small cell...a dark cell...deprived of touch...love...a love that is equal to mine...a love that would move oceans and create new stars...I sit down to write and thoughts of him consume my mind...sometimes it's as if I'm possessed or if I've lived in a former life bound to this person...something there that draws me...and I can fight it ...the urge..the passion...most times....

But not when I'm alone. It's the hardest time.

An Ounce of Hope

In Greek mythology: Prometheus stole fire from the god Zeus, which infuriated the supreme god. In turn, Zeus created a box that contained all manners of evil, unbeknownst to the receiver of the box. Pandora opened the box after being warned not to, and those evils were released into the world; hope, which lay at the bottom of the box, remained. This is the beginning of the tale of hope.

In mine eyes hope is like a dream..to have an ounce, an inkling, is surely better than to have none at all. Without desire one has no hope...without a goal or a wish one has no hope....when I think of hope it's like a vast universe of what lies between a possibility and a sure thing....a large black hole waiting to swallow up that lil ounce ...I fly harder away from the hungry goblin....my wings feel its fury...my muscles ache...my mind teeters on the brink of giving up...giving in...hope is like night and day...a difference of life or death...happy or sad...good or evil...

Goddess give me the strength to always keep a lil hope in my heart.

Over The Rainbow Dreams

Colorful dreams like a rainbow...another world...another love...another chance...a perfect connection...enveloped in more than falling asleep next to a drunk every night of my mundane life....Exploration...worlds...wait to be discovered and conquered...I long to run through a field of wildflowers hand in hand with my equal half...long to sit by a stream and see his reflection...feel his breath against my neck...and hear the sound of his voice...but as I gaze into his eyes...I realize he's only a dream...a part of my imagination that will never be...and I weep and a tear drop hits the reflection...the water ripples...and he is gone.

Friday Song

Take Me

I'd step in front of a speeding bullet to save the lowest scum of the Earth at this moment...a moment of despair...a day so dark not even the sun can penetrate the blackness...lost...in the forest...without my better half...I struggle to breath...to see...but there is no  path before me...only thickened trees with vines that swallow me up...I scream at the top of my lungs, take me now....for I have nothing left to hope for...to live for...but be cast in this eternal darkness without him. My eyes have wept until there are no more tears and fresh hair sprouts like grass from my swollen tear ducts...life all around me when all I want to do is die...right now...this minute..this second...why couldn't I have slipped away peacefully while he was still holding my hand...silence is a weapon much deadlier than any sword. It cuts through my heart like a locomotive...slicing my every hope...being...and now all I'm left with are the dreams...and the DREAMZ...it's all I have...to take with me to death's door. Summon no more...

I'm knocking...please let me in.

The Color of Reason

Color like no other...part of survival...they wither and dry..but in death there is survival, ironic as it may seem...like a better plan than a dream...with lack of light and scarcity of water, a tree knows how to get ready for the dark cold winter...glucose trapped...screaming to get out...waste finding its way into every last vein...purples, orange, brown, yellow...so much color it'll blind a fellow...and cover thy ground which isn't the end...protect the grass...and warmth do send...for everything in nature has a reason....the trees, the birds, the leaves...the season.

Parts of Me

I think about where I would be if he din't come into my life. If he din't make me who I am. He shapes me. Molds me. Scolds me and Holds me. What sort of animal would I be if I din't love him? He is like my Jesus. He brings me laughter when I'm sad. Can make me happy, when I'm mad. He'll never know just how much he is in my life. My heart. My breath. He's held my hand through dark places. Carried me when I couldn't walk. Bathed me when I was dirty. Shaped my talent like a sculptor. He is my blue skies. My sunshine. My reason for waking. He is more than he will ever know. If only I could tell him before I one day leave this Earth.

Amber Leigh

Able to accomplish anything you do...an entourage of friends and support...you glide through life like you own it, and you do...beautiful in every way, shape and form...you are like this perfect creation, dreamier than any daisy in a field of flora...more colorful than the rainbow itself...and a skittle you can plant...because you are life! You are love! You are ....my daughter.

Kayla Marie

A diamond in the rough...heart of the golden sun...and a taker of rain drops...you are precious...an invention of your own time to be adored by many if you should give them the chance...blue eyes of beauty and compassion...a warrior in her own rites...you are more perfect than any pearl hidden forever away...and you are ....my daughter.

Dark Forest

The dark forest. I have wandered it's misty shadows so long it is a part of me. It does not frighten me. I welcome its mystery. Its solitude. Some day I will find my way out, but until then, I will take joy in the journey, no matter how great the struggle, for I now know the forest holds the very secret of life within its dim paths and undisturbed places. To leave before discovering this secret would be the greatest of tragedies. The dark forest is many things, but above all else, it is home.
by Kevin Lenihan

Sun In My Eyes

Blinded. I shut my eyes to squeeze out the diamonds only to find coal black. Lost in a tunnel of love that isn't love but maybe just friendship. But what is love anyway, the sky...the water...the rain...you..her..him...me? Mushrooms encircle me and I'm caught in a fairy ring forever cast...but not cast out. Drawn in like a moth to flame. It burns brighter and brighter inside. Creation...creative...energy...positive...negative....zen...a balance of some sort, but is it a balance when love's on a see-saw...gray matter of nowhere land? I seek the wee people to find a sparkling day lily and as I drink the magic dew drops-- everything's all better. The light is not so bright. The dark is only night. And love is only a dream?

Shooting Star

Riding on a shooting star through a sea of snow flakes. I catch one on my tongue... they taste like candy. Sweet. Clouds under my feet, skipping through the daisies of life only to pick a poppy that turns into a toadstool...and not the kind you find in a fairy ring but the kind you use as an umbrella when it's raining mud pies...grabbing my raybans to shade the rainbow in mine eyes of salt water...crabs rest in my lashes...and the sand glistens like diamonds in the sky and then I realize...I must be Lucy.
~or nuts~

Rainbow Happy

Like Lucky Charms with purple moons and green clovers. Color blinds my eyes as I slide down the rainbow and into a pile of colorful leaves. A light at the end of a tunnel. Answer to my pandamonium. I can breathe now. Fresh air. Once again.

Slipping Away

Slipping away. Under the rotting vegetation. Wet. Not from rain though. And one has to wonder if this was just a ploy to get away...but you can't be found if you disappear and a day can turn into a year. And then all you are is a memory. And a piece of my heart. Part of my blood. Part of my air. But then who am I to think I'm deserving of even a small piece of heaven or happiness or even a smidgen of light from the darkest night? I don't really want to go on. I'll stay here ...under the dead leaves getting wetter until I turn into a mold or mildew and creep across the black forest. But remember me, because I'll be under every step you take.

Lost Without You

The forest is dark. Trees loom like hat man. Blind out the light. There's no day here. Only night. I reach out for my leader but there's no hand to hold. Am I alone or is he simply hiding...slipping away...leaving me behind in the dark forest to fend for myself. Against the dragons, demons, humans, and legions. Separated. Isolated. The cold air encompasses me. My breath escapes but fights returning. Alone. Again. Destined to be only someone else's destiny. Never my own. Blinding reward. Awards. Anguish. To walk once with the knowledge and never be alone. I'd rather be dead than where I'm at. Take me or I greatly give myself so that some other may live with sunshine upon their flesh. Their heart. Their lover. Not alone.

On the Way Home

You were lying in bed trying to take a nap. But evil thoughts of being in the shower with her popped into your head. So you replaced them with a dream of being with Rumpis.

It started working all too well. You were really warming up, wishing Jon was home.

But he wasn't. Or he was drunk. So you looked in the draw. Damn, all out of batteries.

So you ran to the store for batteries and a snow cone. Deep Cherry flavor.

And on the way back home, you spilled the snow cone on the seat. You didn't want Jon to see, because then you would have to explain why you went to the store.

So you went one of those do it yourself car cleaning places. You bought some cleaning foam, and waited a few minutes for it to set.

Then you put in your coins to start the vacuum. But it was like a jackpot machine, started spitting up coins.

So you took off your bra, stuffed all the coins in. Carried them home.

Right before you pulled on, the druggie next door stumbled in front of your car. You slammed the brakes.

The bra flew onto the floor, coins everywhere.

You left them there. Went into the house. Holding your bra.

Jon was waiting at the door. Saw you with your bra in your hand. "Where the heck have you been?!"

"Honey, it's a long story."

ELM STREET

Robert Englund, John Saxon and Johnny Depp,

Teens plagued with disturbing dreams as they slept.
Taunted by a man scarier than Lex Luger,
If he comes while you sleep, his name's Freddy Krueger.

A severely burned figure with razor sharp claws,
And if he gets close, you better have gauze.
He'll slash you and cut you and rip you to bits,
He may even pause to glance at your tits.

Be ready for ole Freddy to visit your dream,
He's only imaginary but real he will seem.
And if you wake with a rip in your gown,
You must not sleep, you mustn't lie down.

From your nightmares -- he will come alive,
He's creepier than anything you could contrive.
Stay awake if you want to beat this old villain,
For once your eyes close, he's ready for killin.

A disfigured face, and his red and green sweater,
His metal-clawed glove he loves even better.
He will come to you at night when you're fast asleep,
Be ready to run, for the wounds will go deep.

He'll stalk you and chase you through the old boiler room,
And if he gets close, you may meet your doom.
No Doz, Speed..swallow what it may take,
To keep you wired and steadfast awake.

His name's Freddy Krueger, he comes in the night,
And even though a nightmare, you better take flight.
If he catches you, he'll slash you, your maker you'll meet,
So DO stay away from Nightmares on Elm Street!

by dena mckinnon

Moving

Nomadic essence...two men and a truck—moving made easy, an oasis sized oxymoron. Mental exhaustion overwhelms all six senses like valium in a volcano. Feeling locked in a raindrop fighting to break free when only you land in a puddle of clouds and there you are standing in your old stomping grounds but bound on a futuristic path of certainty but it weighs on your brain cells like a lunatic leech but you fight like a shark and the city of angels is your ocean. Movers like benjamins disappearing like giggling greenbacks and you fly like Lucy in the sky in search of the diamonds. Shining bright through all the stress, clutter of existence...a light shines brighter than the sun...illuminating the darkest moment...I run to see what this Godlike brightness could be and I find – you.

by dena mckinnon written for a friend during the moving process

The Forest

We're in the darkest, deepest part of the forest. No one else is around us. Even the birds have gone silent in fear. The canopy is thick, blocking the sun. The brush is trouble to get through at times. It's hard to tell east from west. You look at me with that look: 'are you sure this is the way?' And I'm not sure. And you know it. There's no point in lying. We're lost. The darkest hour. Hope fades like the sun beneath heavy clouds. I can't tell you it's the way. I can only tell that with the crowd was not the way. That was certain death. Now we must trust our instincts. The forest is dark and deep. But it gives up its secrets eventually. It does. It wants to reward the bold. Into the heart of the forest we go. Into its bosom. The darkest hour will soon yield to the light. kevin lenihan

Choking on a Blade of Grass

Choking on a blade of grass...coughing up a spider, I lay amongst the poppies and dream of flying monkeys. My body melts into the earth, roots wrap around my beating heart, the blue sky fades to black licorice. I scream but nothing comes out, I fight the grains of sand, of time, persistent, ever maddening and then they come. Perfect rain drops of determination. They soak my soul and a well of life spews like lava out of a volcano on valium. Puddles of thoughts drown my interpretation of a song that doesn't sing but is waiting—to be born.

A Lack of Red

She lays in a silk laden coffin,
Her pale face divided by a solid line of red.
As leftover blood... my blood paints a line of satisfaction from her lips.

I struggle to lick the energy from the sunshine while she sleeps,
I trample across the broken mirror scattered over the marble foyer.
My feet shredded, red blood stains the veins in the floor but I don't stop
A roofie typed trance enhanced by a blood red full blown panic attack.

I run...scream...the pseudo stratified columnar epithelium in my throat-- inflamed,
As the sun shines through the fat rain drops on the window pain, there's no time like the present...
And with the night –she rises again, and this time I mustn't be her bullseye in the clover.

I hide in mine own mind, surrounded by bats and fireflies, struggling to make it to the door,
Out of harms way, a mushroom under a giant, and the magical kind of spore with possibilities.
If only I could make it –far far away, from this toxic, blood thirsty red eyed queen of demons,
Her only love-- to suck the last drop of plasma-- tip the scale of my colloidal osmotic pressure.

But once again, the sunlight kisses my face as she starts to come alive in her tomb,
It's a race –I'm the turtle and she is the hare times a hundred but I have the light on my face...
In my eyes...in my heart...it burns the nostalgia paralyzation from my bones, my cold body warms
As the cells regenerate, my heart pumps red life through a venous network and then there is warmth...

In my body....as I reach the exit –freedom but the devil is persistent, erect she climbs from casket,
The race continues, I fight something that isn't there but that sucks the very life out of me,
My mind cries, my eyes scream, and my lips –do nothing but quiver and she gains on my slow motion
She grabs me, hunts my jugular –but my strength returned ...enough to pull her into the light of day...

The sun kisses her skin with pleasure...And while she burns....I smile-- saved once again from that toxic red vamp knowing she will...

one day...hunt again.

The Scourge

Thunder rumbled somewhere in the west. Or worse, maybe it wasn't even thunder, but something far more terrible. Behind them, the unquenchable Scourge. It was coming, unstoppable, devouring all in its path. Nothing would stop it, they knew, except the great Amberzon River.

The wide, well traveled road led to the east. The crowd surged that way. And why not? The well traveled road was well traveled for a reason, was it not? Dena began to follow. Turned and saw Kevin was not coming with them. He was hesitant to try to urge her to follow him. What if he was wrong?

She worried. Why would he not follow the crowd? Didn't the road make sense? Didn't sticking with the crowd make sense? She had warned him about his arrogance. Told him it was wise to listen to others. He seemed to understand her. Then why did he insist on going west, away from the road? Toward the storm? What did he know?

He explained to her that the Scourge too would take the road. That the Scourge would avoid the storm. Predators hunt the herd, he said. As long as the Scourge had the scent of the herd, they would follow it. He was going west, away from the crowd. Away from the herd. There was no road, but they would find deer paths. He was afraid to convince her and be wrong. He was afraid to not convince her, and be right. The crowd was doomed, he said. The only way to make it was away from the crowd. He was going west, toward the storm. There was no time to waste.

 

by Kevin Lenihan

Distribution

A methodical way to determine one's self worth,

Output...input it's all about weights and measures.

Income distribution, per capita sizing us up like gold or silver,

Negative effects of classifications and black market economic discrimination.

A lucrative invention of moving stuff,

FedEx, UPS, USPS, even Dominos Pizza.

The ability of a particle and its changing spatial accessibility,

An increase in supply will push the gas pedal.

Leading into travel distribution channels,

Car, boats, planes, trains, even a horse and carriage, if you're Amish.

Congestion, pollution, traffic lights, parking tickets,

Equates to nothing more than trips generated and probabilities of cost.

Theatrical release, gross ticket sales, opening day at the box,

Agents, producers, directors and then distribution.

Where our hours of writing has a single chance to shine brighter than the sun,

And travel down that distribution channel of.....sweet success.

FADE OUT

by dena mckinnon

Stained

Stained...interpretation into the unknown universe...

Disorder in the daisy patch as sprites flutter above...

A firefly spits inky black into a sea of neutral...

Marshmallows of insight roast upon a stick of dynamite...

Tanner than a pale yellow and the fire dances combustible dope...

Blotting...blogging....prodding...flogging....

Cat'o nine tails laps a sea of oblivion but the ink doesn't stop...

It drops like rain among the multitude...brains of stains....

The black clogs the white, as good evil does fight....

A battle of nine lives but the cat coughs up a hairball....

The universe on the floor, drowning in the inky shadows...

Ice skating on quarters the size of halves where money doesn't matter...

And insurance isn't assurance and life never ends but is infinite....

In the ink...a finger...it draws a horizontal figure eight on the clouds....

To infinity and beyond, and I'm not even a light year buzzed...

No wood in the furnace but a monster in the closet...

The ink runs down the clouds, lands on my wings...

Like a bird soaked in oil, I fall crashing to the ocean of blackness...

With a splash like the biggest bang, all the ink disappears ….

Leaving only white paper....and in the right corner …

A blot of black ink, left, at the end of it all ...and I swear it says............

FADE OUT

by dena mckinnon

Sun-Ray Theater Jacksonville Florida

A big bright orange, the symbol of life...the sun against a wall of fantasy... but within... and as I descend the colorful rainbow, I follow the plotted brick road into the very door where a large green Frog King swallows up the boring world while a creature from the Sun-Ray Lagoon of yellow fire walks out carrying her—must surely be the princess of the Sun-Ray. Independents plus... showing with an out-of-the-box feel that flies way above any old AMC, high in the sky like Lucy with a jar of purple diamonds. Prince Tim turning the tickets, manning the tap, popping the corn...I turn to see him make a mad dash from ticket to concession to projection and then I realize..this is the super coolest place on Earth! Thanks Tim! I Love the Sun-Ray Theater!

Life

Nothing but a zygote and lust,

An egg and sperm they meet...

All to become again dust,

For survival we all compete.

by dena mckinnon ~ me

The Writer

A frustrated but determined writer had the character of a woman form in his mind. The character did not seem destined for stardom, but she almost forced her way into the writer's mind, a creature determined to be born. She was on odd mixture of shyness and fierce determination; insecure but at the same time knowing and comfortable with who she was. She appreciated the lightness of things at the same time she saw the world for its sharp, swirling colors. Imagination was her tool, the way a carpenter employs the hammer, a boxer his fists, a madame her cleavage.

With surprising ease, the writer brought the character to life in his mind. Her smile, the way she walked, the way she laughed. The way she cowered during a storm or cried during a movie. Before long, her image was as crystal in his mind as his clearest memory.

But the character ached to be brought to life. And a writer cannot do that. Not alone. So the writer tried every angle, turned over every stone. After much effort, he found a producer, one who saw the vision. And the producer applied all his muscle, all his know how. At last a director was found, a studio, camera crews, actors. A character is nothing without these, a ghost waiting to get into the world, living in a universe of ghosts who never make it. But this character was determined to live, determined to take her place on the stage. And when it all finally came together, and the lights came on, and the director yelled "action!"...Dena was born into the world.

 

by Kevin Lenihan ~ about me