Category: Prose and Poetry

The Chalet ~~ Life Within the Colony

On By dancingpalmtreesIn Cantaloop, Colony, Graveyard, Herbie Hancock - Cantaloupe Island, Herbie Hancock - Rockit, Humpty Dumpty, Lord Cantaloupe The Cat with Rabbit Ears, Lord Cantaloupe The Rabbit Eared Cat, Prose and Poetry, Prose, Poetry & Painting, Serial Story, Shangri La 2.0, The Chalet ~~ Life in the Colony, Uncategorized, Whimsical Tiny Tales

 

 

The Chalet ~~ Life Within the Colony

 

Lord Cantaloupe The Cat with Rabbit Ears    

 

One of them did it. But even now in the afterlife I still can’t remember which one?

Torso skin bubbled up bursting onto rocky pebble strewn shores as though seeking sunlight for divination or a more expansive tan on already sepia toned flesh.  Damaged dermis. Damaged dermis laid out like a carpet awaiting eager picnickers.

The creek was slimy with adipose tissue for a long while.

Yet my magenta cloche hat still fit prettily upon my severed head.

Watertight you might say.

Pieces of me here and there.  The police investigators only found my head, arms and legs.  My torso is yet to be located.  Someone please gather me up and put me back together again.  I be a modern day Humpty Dumpty. 

Always bring a gift or gifts when you visit a graveyard.  After all you are a merely a guest in our necropolis.

Shangri La 2.0

 

We got outside passes for good behavior so I don’t understand envy or jealousy?  In the midst of the Island peace shall reign forever.

 

https://youtu.be/8B1oIXGX0Io

Then again maybe envy and jealousy are just the tip of the iceberg.  The Chalet took relative strangers forcing them to become family if not friends.

Puzzlement?

 

The Colonies, The Freaks and The Frauds

 

But there were hierarchies within the colonies. A Caste system of drones, worker bees, Queens, Kings and their lackeys.  Lord Ashybottom who was always in desperate need of Lotion or creams.  Better yet a nightgown and pajamas that would successfully cover his bulging protuberances.

 

In The Day Room/Living Room/Rec Center

 

The Chalet seemed as old as the hills and mountains off in the distant horizon.  I was sent here so often that I thought of the Chalet as more of my real home than the one I was born in.

It still had an operational Cast Iron potbelly stove. Big Mama would load send one of us out in the wee hours of the morning to gather kindling wood.  On the top we would sometimes heat up small meals or use it to heat the big day-room especially when the power went out which could be quite often depending on the fluctuations of weather.

Sometimes we would get visits from woodcutters or Timber-jacks who would bring us fragrant woods such as ash, cedar, cherry, pine and even some white or red oak wood.  

My favorite was cedar wood which I found to be quite therapeutic.  Cathartic for my fleshy temple as wisps of aromatic smoke weave in and around my naked body.

 

Lord Cantaloupe The Rabbit Eared Cat

 

Those who have heard Lord Cantaloupe say the Cat has a sound that is a cross between a hissing snarl and an electric guitar.

 

Lord Dustbin. Dancing with Dunces.   One day staff at the Chalet challenged the residents to draw the dreaded Cat with Rabbit ears many townspeople called Lord Cantaloupe.  However once drawn it leapt off the page and ate several guests.  Banishing them to Cantaloop Isle forever or until their debt was paid in full.

https://youtu.be/GHhD4PD75zY

 

 

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TO BE CONTINUED…………………..

Memories From The Heart

On By dancingpalmtreesIn Edward G. Palmer, Edward Gordon Palmer, Edward Palmer, Eva Gordon Palmer, Eva Sophronia Gordon Palmer, Eva Sophronia Gordon Palmer -- Grandmother, Fusion Poetry, Hodgepodge Poetry, Let Me Call You Sweetheart, Poems, Poetry, Prose and Poetry, THE MILLS BROTHERS - LET ME CALL YOU SWEETHEART, Uncategorized12 Comments

 

 

Memories From The Heart

 

Poetry Inspired by My Blogging Buddy Geetha.  Please Check out her most excellent blog for more poetry gems and jewels.

 

https://geethaprodhom.wordpress.com/2018/09/26/the-unknown-facets/

 

Fleeting memories as the sewing box plays, “Let Me Call You Sweetheart.” Little I was and Little did I know that she would return to her beloved sweetheart husband in a future that played out too soon.

 

Grandma Eva Sophronia Gordon Palmer — Grandmother Music Sewing Box
Grandmother Eva’s Music Sewing Box
Eva Sophronia Gordon Palmer — Grandmother Music Sewing Box

 

Opening my Grandma Eva’s Musical sewing box and seeing her all over and again. Returning to her apartment in Harlem. An apt that was huge to the 5 year old me. Hearing Grandma give a lighthearted scolding to her son, my Dad. Memories of a Great Day in Harlem with Grandma.

 

Grandma Eva Sophronia Gordon Palmer — Grandmother Music Sewing Box
Grandmother Eva’s Music Sewing Box
Eva Sophronia Gordon Palmer — Grandmother Music Sewing Box

 

Each Memory is like a reflection captured within a diamond.  Precious. One glance returning you to a pleasant past event repeatedly Looped in Luxury.

 

 

 

 

 

The Monstrous Other

On By dancingpalmtreesIn An Acquired Taste, Fusion Poetry, Hodgepodge Poetry, Poems, Poetic Transposition, Poetry, Prose and Poetry, The Monstrous Other, Uncategorized1 Comment

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The Monstrous Other

An Acquired Taste

Knowing winks and smiles exchanged as we passed each other in the hallways and I could see you through your window which faced mine across the way. She was an acquired taste which compelled both men and women to sample the wares.

Broadshire, Brock, Bicklebum & Looney

All late but not so great. Ice tinkling in her glass of sherry. Dream Catchers for the Dead.

Botox Bitches Trust Fund Hoes having caramel and chocolate dreams.

Society matrons with devious intent. Painted ponies being paraded around the room. Door to Door Equines once thoroughbreds not just painted nags.

Paleface bitches play judge, jury and executioner over darker tones.

No more putting up with white cracker nonsense being berated and belittled everyday.

Now the African Queen will arise!

Super proud of Colin Kaepernick and Nike.

I will buy Nike sneakers.

As for the white people burning Nike sneakers those are the same ones in pointed white hoods burning crosses. Getting upset about Nike decision but white folks comfortably enjoying their privilege while Black people are subjected to discrimination, bigotry and racism on a daily basis.

Served my country four years in the United States Army but my first name is still nigger and my last name bitch.

One day a Silent Hello Kitty will break free.

A Voice once silenced has now returned

The Nubian Ninja Reigns and Rules

“Trolls, I’m not here for your white supremacist, racist consumption” https://medium.com/@LeciaMichelle/trolls-im-not-here-for-your-white-supremacist-racist-consumption-5b40acef7693

The Mole People

On By dancingpalmtreesIn Beauty & The Beast, Chambers Street Subway Station, Fusion Poetry, Hodgepodge Poetry, Midnight Marauder, Poems, Poetry, Prose and Poetry, Ron Perlman, The Mole People, Uncategorized

Chambers Street Subway Station

The Mole People

Chambers Street Subway Station

Should be named the Chambers of Horror Subway Station. Looks like a left over movie set from an old Vincent Price film like the Secret Laboratory Chambers of Dr. Phibes! As I was sitting waiting in a train that I thought would never arrive I recalled that old TV show Beauty and the Beast starring Ron Perlman!

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Beauty_and_the_Beast_(1987_TV_series)

http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0092319/

Any moment as I awaited the mystery train dozens of denizens would emerge from subterranean underground chambers and caverns beckoning me to join them! I work the night shift usually arriving at the J train Chambers street station a little after midnight. The trains run so much slower after midnight. Cleaning, power-washing, maintenance and repairs. Subway workers doing after dark what cannot be done during daylight hours. That night as the platform seemed extra deserted. Even the regular unusual suspects of homeless, vagabonds and vagrants were not there. Sitting on the hard wooden benches. I wondered who or what could be down there? Abandoned trains from the nascent years of long discarded 20th Century subway cars? Zombie Train conductors and Motormen still driving ancient decrepit out of service trains? Secret Oracles and Seers ala The Matrix seeking the Chosen One?

Then as my sleep glazed over eyes swept across the opposite platform I saw or thought I saw a faint glimmer of a returned gaze. Shaking my drowsy head and blinking several times my eyes seemed to travel of their own free will back to an especially darkened area and I swore I could make out two silver eyes staring back at me.

Just then the thought crossed my mind, “Small mutants with Silver Eyes have great effects.”

Then I thought of all those who had fallen, were pushed or jumped onto the tracks? Ones who in violent deaths left behind their fragrant sillage and sludge. A Melancholy of neither being in this world or the next. Displaced spirits engaging in mindless repetition seeking results only they will understand.

That night the J train seemed even slower in arriving than usual. Then as if out of the mists a train pulled into the station. But where had it come from? None of the expected rumbling or screeching of rails to track. I boarded the mysterious train and as the doors closed behind me I knew this ride was not going to be the Polar Express.

Hmmmm……… A Potential Creepypasta in the making!

After suffering blows to my head, face and body from a fierce thrashing the night before, I awoke to utter darkness permeated only by a shaft of light coming from a small window high above my head. I attempted to move my arms and legs only to find that I was shackled to a contraption that can only be described as a type of restraining hospital bed found in mental institutions. Realizing the severity of my situation my muddled mind sought clarity; my first coherent thoughts were, “Why and how did I get to this place; where was I and how can escape. Gradually my eyes became accustomed to the limited light and since the bed was at an angle I could discern implements of upcoming torture, my torment that would be inflicted upon me if I did not escape or was not rescued.

Heavy measured footsteps approached and I could discern the voices of my captors. The door to the torture chamber opened and my persecutors became visible. There stood Dagmar aka Gorgeous Hellcat.

The underbelly of the castle where I was held against my will appeared to be a bomb shelter left over from the 1940s and 1950s. But as I gathered my various spinning selves together my focused eyes beheld a sight not seen by many above ground.
It was residence akin to a medieval castle built long ago by invaders long forgotten. A grand foyer flanked by two long hallways of Byzantine art leading into Medieval Sculpture Hall filled with statues of Madonnas, Saints, Catholic Mystics, Relics, and tombs from Egypt, Europe, Greece, Cyprus and South America. Each international tomb had a goddess from the respective ancient culture at the head and foot of the sarcophagus.
Venturing further into the castles subterranean chambers were overturned ossuaries, bones bleached white scattered throughout the tombs.

ASLEEP

On By dancingpalmtreesIn Afroid Dreams of Salvation, Ayahuasca, Between Earth and Heaven, Dreams, Dreams Fallen Down in a Well, DreamScape Kaleidoscope, Earth, Earth Zones, Fusion Poetry, Hodgepodge Poetry, Multiverse, Pods, Poems, Poetic Transposition, Poetry, Prose and Poetry, Rain Forest, Seer, Uncategorized, Vision, Vision Quest, Visions7 Comments

 

 

Asleep

 

I FELL into sleep becoming asleep eventually landing elsewhere.

 

Was it a parallel universe or an alternate reality?

I astral planed across the Multiverse dropping pieces of me wherever I landed.

The pieces planted took root and grew. Spreading myself throughout the Cosmos.

Everywhere is a seedling and a pod. Each pod is ready to be launched into dimensions and seasons yet to be born..

I drank the psychedelic brew. My innards erupted like a brewing thundering threatening volcano.  Explosion of volcanic ash and lava vomiting up brains, burning acids, guts and false notions. Distance tore through my cerebral cortex.

My stone heart turned flesh.  The sky, earth and seas faded away.  Sounds of sand animals,grass, birds, trees, grew silent.  Only my internal vibrations grew louder.

Drifting above the clouds I finally landed in what appeared to be a garage.  No cars. No trucks. No buses.  In fact no vehicles of any type, make or model.

Then I felt the thunder inside my bones.  I projectile spewed poisonous bile filled with scorpions, snakes and vultures.

Every piece of scar tissue on my broken body began to stretch and contort. Tendrils of brightly colored misty fog danced around me chanting in faint tongues.  Seconds, minutes, hours once fleeting gestures became stop motion audibles available only to me.

Two sets of hands one from the sky canopy the other set bursting from the earth zones grabbed and twisted me violently jerking my joints snapping my bones.

Visions melted before my eyes.  My extremities disconnected from my torso turning to mist and fog.  Spun silk swaddled me from birth to winding sheet.

 

Three sets of Gossamer wings sprouted from my back, shoulders and waist.  Like a human cannon ball I exploded into tiny kaleidoscope pieces of gems and jewels.

 

Vaulting  from the atmosphere my body careened around corners narrowly missing those ancient Pearly Gates picking up speed like a runaway freight train derailed from its course I will Live forever transcending logic.  Into new and mysterious truths.

 

Dreams and visions diffuse through my being.  Suffusing internal osmosis.   Breaking apart chaos.  Through synchronicity I was birthed into a trans-mortal being defying gravity, time and space.  Infused with crystal clear definition.

The Rain-forest applauded me.

For I am the Visionary.  The Seer.  The Oracle.