Lonely Dreamer

Image Source

Lonely Dreamer

Lost in lonely dreams

On pillow of leaves and straw

I envision you

~Rose~

Dedicated to Reg Presley, in honor of his beautiful song "Night of the Long Grass"

Rest in peace, Reg.

12 June 1941 – 4 February 2013

A Fading Dream

Image Source

Cie says: Thank you, Dolly. I love it!

Dolly wants to clarify: I'm the finder, not the artist. I can barely draw stick figures!

Prompt: Red Wolf Poems

A Fading Dream

It seems so cruel

That the fates make you a toy

Collecting dust in some forgotten room

Your life is already lost

Your thoughts encased in frost

Your song silenced

I wish that the fairies would open the door to the realms beyond

Allowing you to fly free

Such a soft, fragile soul

Would fade quickly from this unkind place

Would a smile grace your pretty face

As you vanished in a puff of mist

Dolly

and

Cie

One Soul As Two Minds

Born in two bodies

Yet with a union so close

They were of one mind

A love of this kind

Survives death of the body

Or loss of reason

~Koni~

Koni's Notes:

Angus Young (L) was the first person to notice that something was amiss with Malcolm Young (R) when the bright and hyper-organized Malcolm began to become disorganized and forgetful. Angus covered for his brother, at first helping him remember things that needed to be done, and eventually covering for Malcolm during performances when he would miss chords from songs that he'd written himself.

Before Malcolm lost the ability to remember what he had done during his life or even the ability to recognize the people he was closest to including the brother who seemed to be the other half of his own soul, he told Angus to keep making music. Not long afterwards, it became necessary to place him in a long term care facility. 

It is my belief that a bond like this one survives even death, be it of mind or body. Not everyone is fortunate enough to know the reflection of their soul. Such a reflection is not always romantic; as in this case, the reflection is platonic and/or filial. In any case, such a union is to be treasured. It can never be destroyed.

~Koni~

Cross-Posted to:

Dream About Me, Sweet Brother
(Note: Blog overall is NSFW; certain posts contain explicit gay erotica)

Poetery of the Netherworld

Dear Wanker

To the real readers, I apologize for descending to the sewers this way. I know the Conventional Wisdom states that one should never engage a troll, but I'm going to give this pathetic piece of garbage the two seconds of fame they so desperately crave, because I have something to say. 

For however "disgusting" you may think I am for (your words) "lusting after Malcolm Young's (private bits)," I think you are more disgusting for creating troll accounts and harassing people who are expressing emotional pain. Secondly, even in cases where I do feel attraction to somebody, I never "lust after their private bits." I feel for the whole person. Unlike you, I am not a complete lowlife.

Next, and perhaps most disgustingly, there is your assertion that I would molest a helpless person who could in no way consent to sexual activity. You have a sick, filthy mind. I have cared for people with dementia for some 21 years now. I would no sooner force them into sexual activity than I would a child or anyone else. You are a very warped individual.

In the poem where I mentioned feeling an attraction to Malcolm (and shame for feeling said attraction), I was referring to him as a healthy person, and to the essence that made him who he was; to his soul. That person would be capable of consent. More to the point, that poem expresses my anguish over the loss of this person. But the likes of you would not be able to perceive such nuances.

I don't think that I expressed some kind of crude lust even if the poem does express a forbidden desire for a taken person. But even if you choose to interpret my words

I  started thinking that I want to do bad things with you

Like that's gonna fucking accomplish anything

Like that's gonna bring you back

Like what the hell is wrong with me?

as meaning "I want to bang Malcolm Young (and here we assume I mean the healthy version thereof, and the essence of his soul) into next Tuesday six times a day every day."

Yeah, that's kind of crude, and probably pretty inappropriate. But it wasn't what I was implying. And even if it was, it's still not as bad as everything you've said and done.

I'd be shocked if you even knew jack shit about Malcolm Young, other than that he was obviously a guitar player with some classic rock band that I happen to like--if you even know that much. I'd be shocked if you had any idea why I care about him. I'd be shocked if you had any kind of personal worth at all, you despicable waste of oxygen.

Malcolm had more worth in his little fingernail than you have in your whole being. For you to say such foul things as you have regarding him or what he meant to me is completely out of bounds. 

I absolutely will not respond to anything else you say under any of your troll accounts. Keep creating them, I'll keep blocking them. You're fucking pathetic.

From this moment forward we return to the poetry--about whatever the hell we want to write about. Including Malcolm Young six times a day, if that's what we're feeling.

Some people just completely suck. Why does the bad stuff always seem to happen to the people that don't deserve it rather than to this kind of filth?

~Cie~

I know it isn't AC/DC, which would be apropos to the Malcolm Young references. 

But this is the one song that truly fits this kind of creep.

A Tribute to the King of Queen

I love this photo of Freddie Mercury, which Marian shared on tonight's Imaginary Garden With Real Toads prompt.

A Tribute to the King of Queen
 

He made a lot of people happy

He set a lot of spirits free

I never was a killer queen

But he made me feel like it was okay to be me

 

Onstage, he was flashy

Offstage, a quiet soul

Secret struggles and inner demons

Eventually took their toll

 

I dreamed of him after his passing

He gave my cheek a little kiss

He said "thank you, my friend, for thinking of me"

I told him he would always be missed

 

He is missed to this day

And well remembered

 

~Cie~

 

Note:

The dream part is true

Further note for my rude commenter:
This is now the Freddie Mercury AND Malcolm Young blog. Hope it pisses you off.
(Sorry, still steaming about that nonsense.)

What the Fuck Brain?

What the Fuck, Brain?

In a different kind of Move Like Jagger

I'm gonna stick my hand in my heart

Rip it out

And spill my blood all over the page

I've lost my fucking head

The reason will soon become clear

In everything that's said

I said I wanted to put you in my pocket and keep you safe

I started thinking that I wanted to hug you

Until your memory came back

So I could see the light turn on in your eyes once again

I started thinking that you always looked a little sad

I started thinking that I wished I could soothe your sorrow

Cuddle away your blues or some such squishy-headed foolishness

Then I started thinking

Shame on me for what I started thinking

Fucking Midnight Confession style thoughts

About a married man

I started thinking that I want to do bad things with you

Like that's gonna fucking accomplish anything

Like that's gonna bring you back

Like what the hell is wrong with me?

Image source

And then the fucking dam burst

I haven't been able to cry about this

Even though I've talked about it till I'm blue in the face

What the fuck

What the fuck

What the fuck

Is wrong with the Universe?

Everything dies

But you don't create something so beautiful

Just to utterly destroy it

For however wrong my thoughts are

(And I hate myself for them)

They're nowhere near close to as wrong

As what's been done to you

Everything is in vain

Life is pain

Hope is folly

Confession is good for the tabloids

Some things try their best to be strong

Although they're actually fragile

I want to put you in my pocket

And keep you safe forever

~Cie~

For Malcolm Young

For those who think that AC/DC is nothing but a party band, this deep cut from the underrated Powerage album shows another side. At the heart of it, they're a hard-driving blues-rock band. They are the best of things.

Cross-Posted to:

Poetry of the Netherworld

Rattling Bones Undead Musician Magazine

Perched on the Edge Of...

Perched on the Edge Of...

It seems to you that I’m perched on the edge of sanity

It may be cool to be callous

But I never got mistaken for cool very often

Maybe I’m dense

But I can’t understand

Why something so bad

Happened to someone so good

You don’t get what you deserve

You get what you get

I still want to know why

So I’m gonna keep asking

Until I understand

And I’m never going to understand

Until the day I die

Because I’m not perched on the edge of omniscience

Or I’d figure out how

To give him back his mind

~Cie~

Also sharing at The Reverie, where the prompt was to write a poem based on a news story.

 For those who don't know the background on this, Malcolm Young, the founder and rhythm guitarist for AC/DC, has been placed in a long term care facility. He has Lewy Body Dementia. His short term memory is gone. He can't remember events that transpired mere minutes ago, and he doesn't know the people he loves best.

Cie's Notes:

To the person who (rudely) asked if this is now the Malcolm Young blog.

Yes. It is. Now go away.

I honestly don't write serious poetry unless I'm depressed or feeling something very deeply. I tend to write ridiculous stuff most of the time.

I'm feeling this very deeply.

Malcolm Young meant a lot to me, and to a lot of other people. Mostly, of course, to his family and friends, who are now deprived of his presence thanks to a horrifying disease.

I am not kidding when I say that he saved my life. My bipolar disorder was not properly diagnosed until I was nearly 40. I was badly bullied in my youth. Malcolm gave people the gift of something to take their mind off their troubles, and of being someone who was just a regular person who happened to make music that reached a lot of people. He was never a "rock star." He was just a really nice guy who happened to be a musician.

Malcolm struggled with addiction (alcohol) and depression during his life. So I related to him on that level too. I never became addicted to any substances, but I did drink heavily for quite some time. I also have a tendency towards other addictive behaviors, such as shopping and gambling.

I honestly don't think I'd be reacting this way if I found out he had cancer. I really don't think I'd be reacting this way even if I heard that he'd committed suicide. I'd be sad--demolished even--but it wouldn't leave me with the same sick to the core of my soul feeling that this does. 

With the disease he has, he's already gone, but his body is still walking around. That is the most messed up shit ever. I hate dementia. I hate how it destroys lives. I hate how it destroyed this amazing life. I hate that he can't remember the things that are most important to him. 

If you want to read my further thoughts on this matter, you can go here.

Another One for Malcolm

 

Another One for Malcolm

 

If I could give you a gift

To thank you for your thelemic attitudes

It would be the gift of allowing you to remember

Your memories have blown away like leaves in the wind

Left scattered for some gluttonous, soul-eating monster to lick up

This fiend demands to devour all the sweet aspects that shone through your expressive eyes

And made your weathered face as soft in aspect as one still in his brittle youth

It consumes your mind like gooey cake batter left on Mother’s spoon as it clings to her apron

Like a petty thief, the monster Dementia steals in during the night to swipe your soul

Robbing your tribe of your wisdom and your kindness

I would have much more than a tiff with this monster

If I could, I would strike it dead and chop it into pieces

Not so I could get horizontal with you, even though I could drown in your beautiful eyes

But just so you could remember

Who you were

Who those you love are

What is truly important

Just so you could continue to be

You

Cie

Prompt:

Mindlovemisery's Menagerie

 

 

 Malcolm Young

61 years old

Victim of early onset, rapid progressing dementia

Cannot remember his lifetime of accomplishments or even the people he loves the most

There is nothing about this that can be considered "right" on any level

The picture was taken when he was still healthy

The expressiveness leaves the eyes when the mind goes as his has

Maybe someday there will be a cure for such horrific conditions

A Soul Lost (Though The Body Lives On)

Malcolm Young, age 61, suffering from early onset, rapid progressing dementia; he cannot recall things that happened two minutes previously, and he doesn't recognize people he's known all his life. The person in the above photo (which was taken when Malcolm was still healthy) no longer exists, although his body still does. And that is the worst of tragedies.

 

A Soul Lost

(Though the Body Lives On)

 

That the light has dimmed

Behind vivid rainbow eyes

Fills me with despair

 

With love for someone who touched my life,

Cie

 

 

Blooming Psycho previously wrote about Malcolm in this poem.

He touched a lot of lives for the better.

If anyone should have interest in my further thoughts on the matter, they can be found here. Keep in mind that the linked blog does have an adult content gate, mostly for language and potentially disturbing themes. The post contains strong language and the discussion of death, including suicide.

Some of the posts on the blog contain explicit erotic material, mostly verbal.

The linked post is probably safe for work. The blog in its entirety might be considered NSFW for occasional nudity and depictions of sexuality.

For Malcolm Young

For Malcolm Young

A gentle, elf-like man with a razor wit and soft heart

Devoted husband, father, son and brother

Loyal friend

Talented tunesmith

Shrewd businessman

But most of all, decent to the core

To have everything you worked for swiftly wiped from memory

Along with your recognition of those you love the most

A greater tragedy cannot be imagined

I believe you will remember them again when your soul flies free

I believe you will always love them regardless of what your mind allows you to recall

Those who loved your music grieve for you

And for those who love you best

Dear Malcolm, you don't deserve this

You are better than whatever disease has taken your mind away

Nothing can ever remove you from the hearts of those who love you

Especially those who were a part of you

And will be forever

You are a special person

More than a music icon

The world was a better place because of you.

Love from Blooming Psycho and Team Netherworld

Brothers and best friends, forever

AC/DC's rhythm guitarist Malcolm Young was sidelined by fast-moving dementia. At only 61 years old, his wife had to opt to put him in a long-term care facility. His short term memory is completely gone. He can't remember things that happened literally minutes before and doesn't recognize the people he loved the most. 

I wrote a little tribute to the deep bond between Malcolm and his brother Angus. Our hearts go out to Angus. This must be like losing a piece of his soul.

To Ronnie With Love

July 10, 1942 – May 16, 2010

He's been gone for many yesterdays

And though he was no longer young

We thought he'd be around for many years to come

But the last grain of sand fell to the bottom of the hourglass

I always thought him to be perhaps a real-life elf

Did he board the white ship and sail away?

I think if he could choose to, he would want to stay

But he was wise enough to know you can't fight fate

He always put on quite a show

But he never acted like he was better than another

He treated those he met with the kindness of a brother

He was always kind and humble to everyone he met

Disease does not discriminate

Cancer stole away his breath

But even following his death

The works he created remain

He was a small and humble man

But he was larger than life

~Spectra~

This poem didn't really come out in the style of Ronnie James Dio, but is instead a tribute to him.

I was thinking of this song when I wrote it.

She's been gone since yesterday
Oh I didn't care
Never cared for yesterdays
Fancies in the air

No sighs or mysteries
She lay golden in the sun
No broken harmonies
But I've lost my way
She had rainbow eyes
Rainbow eyes
Rainbow eyes

Love should be a simple blend
A whispering on the shore
No clever words you can't defend
They lead to never more

No sighs or mysteries
She lay golden in the sun
No broken harmonies
But I've lost my way
She had rainbow eyes
Rainbow eyes
Rainbow eyes

Summer nights are colder now
They've taken down the fair
And all the lights have died somehow
Or were they ever there

No sighs or mysteries
She lay golden in the sun
No broken harmonies
But I've lost my way
She had rainbow eyes

For Jim and Ray

 

Poem for Jim and Ray

 

The assignment from the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads was to write a poem using Doors song titles.

It is my belief that Jim Morrison is probably the greatest rock poet of all time. However, without Ray Manzarek, The Doors would never have come to be. Only he could have woven the amazing tapestry of melody that The Doors are revered for.

Please understand that I'm not some kind of groupie. I have the utmost respect for Jim and Ray. I'm simply having a little fun with these titles in their honor. I hope the guys are out there somewhere in the Universe, and maybe they'll pick up on my vibe and dig it!

Rest in peace, Ray and Jim.

Here is my poem.

Hello, I Love You, pretty baby
Come aboard my Crystal Ship
We'll be Riders on the Storm together
It doesn't matter what the weather

We'll sail away from this unhallowed place
In which the People are Strange
We may hear the songs of sirens as we travel
But When the Music's Over, our love still won't unravel

I need you so bad, you can Love Me Two Times
I'll let you be my Backdoor Man
You know my love is real and not pretend
I'll stay with you until The End

~Wanda~



Cross-posted to:
Poetry of the Netherworld
Undead in the Netherworld