Great Cthulhu

I hope everyone's day of gratitude was enriching and full of love! We had a lovely time with family, 11 people in the house, oy!

I have heard that the software controlling the holds are now designed to recognize signs of stress and anger. So, if you just start stringing obscenities into the phone in an angry voice, the program will bump you to the front of the line. And I absolutely hate having to press 1 for 'English'... granted, I hate talking on the phone...

Thank you, Brother Michael! Kind comments are always welcome!!

"Undeniable Inertia of Beauty" Taste the barest hint of perfection in dark-eyed vision, breathing in the sound of her warm, rich laughter, shivering down into an unknown well of pleasure; endless waves of elemental disturbance arcing across the buried surface. Seismic registration traveling along the curving path of breast waist to hip and down longest legs. A journey shaking you beyond bedrock, a cataclysmic event at your delicate burning core. Multiple epochs decay in the heartbeat of now until your vision returns to her face; the totality of 'She' tears you helpless asunder, supernova shattered on the edge of her knowing goddess smile. Every particle infinitely grateful for the moment of luscious destruction. October 5, 2010 © LeRoy James McKitrick, All rights reserved

Dedicated to the moron who girdled a young ponderosa pine tree in the little strip of woods near my house. "Freak with a Girdle" An unthinking freak has fallen deep into callousness and girdled a living being. A Ponderosa once lifted its proud green needles fifteen young feet to the embracing rays of Sun, drinking kisses of rain battered with savage happiness, blustery winds keeping its roots deep and strong. Now it gasps out the last few weeks of its life. Its bark slashed away, a mortal wound encircling the trunk. Shiny, golden tears of desperate resin futilely trying to seal away the harm. The veins hidden "safely" under the rough, brown bark have been irreparably severed, hacked and shaved away by burnished steel. It will die as it stands. Home only to rapine insects and rampant disease an unintended fortress for sending out waves of death for the surrounding forest. Soon all this livid green shall be expunged, sanitized for a needless new start; brought about by the freak's thoughtless, uncaring "carving" project. October 4, 2010 © LeRoy James McKitrick, All rights reserved

What a beautiful tribute! Thanks for sharing!

"Goodness From the Oven" Turkey baster syringe full of Frying hot shortening. Needle, burnished, gleaming steel of dire gourmet, baked goodness intent. Eyes of growing concern watch culinary death descend, the cutest hee hee giggle cuts off with the full intent of the ticklish finger holding him down immobile. His pallid, floured flesh quivers in sudden fear as the Oven *beeps* out baking temp. Ready, greased butter-flake and soon to be searing golden brown, melt in your mouth, so damn good it don't even hit your teeth!! It's not cruelty doughy muffin man, it's all in the name of good Eats. April 25, 2010. © LeRoy James McKitrick, All rights reserved "Other Thoughts" In front of household duty, kitchen sink, hands sunk into suds, working forward the design of the perfect dip tray. Seeing it real-time three dimensions floating buoyant in the ether of my mind. Sighting down the angles formed by the anvil flat bottom and sides, perfect corners with a slight one eighth inch radius following where each of the planes meet. Perfect. The corner of your chip could liberate the very last bit of your favorite dip. Yes, more for me and less waste washed away down the kitchen drain... Such a grand and wonderful existence tomorrow will be. All hail the perfect dip tray! April 25, 2010 © LeRoy James McKitrick, All rights reserved

I'm very interested in submitting some poetry! I'll take a look at the website. Should I refer to this forum when submitting?

Very much so! I'm especially in love with the imagery in your 6th line. Impressive! You seem to have a firm grasp in the fundamentals of poetry, obviously you write a bit. Do you have a writer's blog? LeRoy James

Thank you, speaking of death is never a happy occasion. I'm glad you enjoyed my craft.

"Ritual of Loss" Over the phone, my best friend's voice, infused with shock and stunned disbelief, speaks words of no meaning and the most horrid importance. He lost a piece of family this morning. His father in law, Patriarch of his wife's tribe. An ingenious man with a truer understanding of wheels spun by Motor, has fallen ill, failed by his own bones, cruelly weakened in the flesh. Metallic artifice of mobility desperately gripped two-handed just to take a step. His heart seems to have been broken by this involuntary self betrayal. His spirit must have failed him early this damp morning. He has fallen; his own hand seeking a faster, more noble end, Free from the disappointments of losing the strengths of Man. My presence is needed, brotherly obligation and love require that the rituals are held sacred; Honor clasped between our hands. We share the hours with a six pack of consolation for my friend's broken heart. A conversation almost normal, interrupted by bald, scary statements: "I can't believe it. It just doesn't seem real" "I feel like I'm dreaming. I keep waiting to wake up." "Did you see him?" - "No, I've seen enough..." I swim through this torrent of pain, loss and grief buffeted by oddities half hidden in the flow of words. I smell the remnants of cacophony leaking up from the chasm left by this Death; see the blackness burbling beyond sight. I hope to hold a candle to ward back a tiny sliver of despair with my hand outstretched, connected to the concern burning for a friend's Honor in consecrated chambers of my heart. "Thanks for coming." "I'm glad I could." April 6, 2010. © LeRoy James McKitrick, All rights reserved

Outstanding verse with such an impressive use of 'tongue in cheek' humor! (I still get sucked in by the occasional Krispy Kreme...) Thanks for sharing!!

Thanks! My writing lately has been concentrated on finishing my book on spirituality.

(This is the first and only poem I've written about my stepfather, perhaps I'm finally ridding myself of the last of his poison. Thankfully, I had eight years with my mother before he showed up, I was able to break the chains.) "David Lee" Many labels have rested upon your brow -son, brother, husband, father, man of god betrayer, deceiver, abuser of women and children Labels that can not convey the horror of a twelve year old boy witnessing his mother receive a biblical style beating from the man she loves. High in the mountains of Montana, hours away from the closest human being, I saw the first glimpses of the real you. I have taken the lessons you taught and kept them close to my heart, for your examples showed me how not to live. Memories of you and your name are all I keep of yours. The past will keep me forever vigilant, a bitter reminder to be a better man, every moment and every day. Your name is just a name, for it has been cleansed of your taint, washed clean and purified by the fires of true, respectful love. I forgive you, David Lee.

Thank you! No, my book is based upon my own spiritual discoveries and the philosophies that I have adopted. The path outlined in the book provides the seeker with a Wiccan based spirituality designed to more fully connect that person with themselves, their family, community and the world. (the Mythos stories come later! I do have a few poems based upon or inspired by the Mythos, all on my writer's blog.) Thanks for inquiring! LeRoy James

Here is a little selection from my upcoming book, I'm almost done, yay! Please, enjoy. “The Fable of Wolf and Dog” In the dawning of time, Wolf and Dog were pack brothers and ran with the Mother Moon in full revel of the Hunt. They both shared the responsibility of keeping balance in the forest. Too many deer meant sickness and death in the herd and starvation for the pack. Taking the sick and weak from the herd sustained the pack and the herd grew strong. One day, Wolf and Dog were running along the edge of the forest and came across a small village of People. Very smart and industrious were the two legged ones. Having no fur, they covered their naked skin. With no teeth or claws, they constructed first stone than metal blades to replace what was lost. The delicious smell of Man’s roasting meat lured the two closer. Wolf saw how many men lived together and his fur pricked in worry. He knew the danger of too many pack members. Dog edged closer and closer, tempted by the succulent smells. “No, Dog! The know nothing of the Pack and will betray you!” “Nonsense! See? All the humans eat. Perhaps they have enough to share.” “Come, let us go back to the embrace of the Forest, She has always provided.” “No, Wolf. I shall stay and make these my pack.” He marched boldly and unafraid to the cook fire. A small boy offered a piece of roasted elk. Dog gingerly took the offered food and sealed the pact of servitude. For weeks, Wolf stayed on the edges of the village, moaning out his howl of forgiveness and welcome, calling for Dog to return. His calls went unanswered and he caught glimpses of Dog becoming a pack mate of the humans. His worries faded a bit since the Law of the Pack was being upheld. So, he went back to the Forest a little sad. Dog learned quickly to live among the Humans. He accepted them as Alpha, he forever subservient. He helped hunt and guarded the village from any unwelcome intruders. One night Rat came to the village looking for an easy dinner. Dog immediately caught the unfamiliar scent, chased it down and corned Rat, shaking with fear, behind the trash bin. “You’re not allowed here, Rat! Humans don’t like you. I am to kill you if I see you, farewell, Rat!” As Dog prepared to bite Rat in two, Rat exclaimed, “Wait! If you let me go, I’ll show you where the free food is!” Dog paused, cocked his head in thought, “Free food?” “Yes! Yes! It’s free! No one wants it and it’s always there!” Excited, Dog asked, “Where is this food?” Rat showed him the trash bin and the easy pickings to be found inside. Delighted and astonished, Dog joined Rat in a sumptuous, if smelly feast. Laying next to Rat, full and satisfied, Dog realized that this was much easier than receiving scraps for all his hard work, diligence and duty. He then swore to never return to the human’s fire. “Rat, you are a blessed friend and free to go! Thank you!” Overjoyed, Rat scampered off to find his next meal amongst the houses. Dog slowly went feral, frightened of all humans. Fear kept him to the shadow of night, slinking to his glorious trash bin. Rat brought a terrible disease to the village. It killed all that it touched. The villagers that survived the deadly plague, moved away, leaving only empty houses and the burnt walls of the houses of the ill. Soon the trash bin was empty and Dog’s stomach complained bitterly. “Perhaps my brother Wolf has a few extra scraps.” So Dog left the abandoned village and made his way back to the forest. When he reached the edge of his old home, he was greeted by an angry, snarling Wolf, who barred his way. “Brother, I smell the madness upon you! You have forsaken the ways of the pack. You reek of death and betrayal. You are no longer welcome here! Go now and never return!” “But Wolf, I am hungry and lonely.” “Hunt elsewhere then.” Wolf turned his back on Dog and marched into the forest. Dog slunk away to learn hunting for himself. The hunt was always difficult without pack mates and Dog resorted to theft and scavenging. He ate poorly and his ribs always stood out from his dull, dusty fur. Many hard years later, a new group of humans moved into and rebuilt the village. The sad and heartbroken Dog caught the scent of cook fires from miles away and ran hopefully to the warmth and companionship waiting for him. As he ran he worried about his betrayal and hoped they would forgive. When he arrived, none of the humans smelled familiar to him. They knew nothing of Dog’s failure and welcomed him to the fire with a piece of roast deer. Afraid and ashamed he crept forward, took the meat and offered his submissive belly. Once again, he accepted the humans as Alpha. A sad shadow of a glorious hunter, he was shamed into fulfilling his duties. Never trade what is easy or convenient for your connection to humanity.

(this is a contest entry with the prompt of: 'Running on empty') "Fumes of Love" We seem to be at the end of us. No rich, golden sunset for the end of our time, just pale twilight caught between our eyes. Half-hearted words bantered weakly. The most common response, "Yeah, ok, whatever..." Our daily grind coming to a halt in the love littered alleys of life. When did our passion evaporate away? Come with me, my sweet! I propose a new strategy, let's run this thing into the ground! Let's burn our love down in one last grand conflagration! The last drops of our passion will fuel the fire, for I wish to be never forgotten in your last memories. © LeRoy James McKitrick, All rights reserved

"Under the Radar" That nicest boy you seek has just passed you again, his friendly, half hopeful smile bouncing off the armor of your clouded vision. You see the bright, shining jerk, flashing his perfect teeth and his wondrous talent for caring only for himself. He leers at you, confident in the future knowledge of conquest! The boy of nicest words, fierce loving and dedication in deeds is waiting still for your answer. He has approached you, just unseen. He attempts to woo with understanding words, a gentle touch, an encouraging eye, a hug for support, a shoulder never judging, wet with tears. Loving you from the wings, grateful to share the shadows of your limelight. He waits for you to notice. He longs for you to say, "Yes!" Look around, girl. © LeRoy James McKitrick, All rights reserved

"Tough Ass Dame on Wheels" Totally Rockstar Grandma, motorchair buzzin' slow style through the intersection. Nothin' but green lights for you, Sweet Thang! The seventy years of your youth have proven a rough ride at times, some unprovoked, but not this perfect vanilla day! Your tougher shoulders hunched not in defeat, but in Defiance! Shawl wrapped uniform knitted military rank and file. My red light offering a moment of admiration for one tough ass dame. I yell out, inside my truck, audience of one impressed, "Floor it, Granny!" You strut your stuff in charged up total battery style. You go girl, You go way too smooth! © LeRoy James McKitrick, All rights reserved

"Grandma" My grandmother was an intriguing dame. She was overweight and a golden soul, smelled a bit funny to a younger nose and her false teeth really frightened my two year old sister. (wouldn't go near her for years!) She raised nine boys and one tough ass girl by herself through maddening poverty in a tiny little town. (eye blink and it's gone, lost behind on two lane blacktop) The breakfasts and conversations I had with that woman in her dingy little kitchen, (the root cellar door nearby, beckoning with terrifying presence begging me to go down those rickety steps, just for some dills, dear, turn the bulb on...) watching her in horrified fascination as she prepared cow tongue, now mute forever. Hearing stories of moonshine uncles, insanely fast deathtrap cars hiked in the back, (to look normal when fully loaded, dear) and the proper ways to bend copper tubing. When I was sixteen, I heard the death knell for my burgeoning sexuality, slip past those store bought choppers, "You know LeRoy, you're turning into quite a sexy young man." © LeRoy James McKitrick, All rights reserved

This is a tribute to one of my group members on AllPoetry. This is done for Keziah Mason - based upon Lovecraft's "Dreams in the Witch House" "Secret Name, Sacred Angles, Signed in Blood" You shall address me as Nahab. My earthly moniker is needed only in faded pages of history, crumbling to forgetfulness lost amongst the languid waves of memory. Two centuries have blinked by in my fevered search for greater understanding. The souls of Arkham's young burnt away to bolster my continuing existence. The gentle flames of life sacrificed to the bonfire of my growing power, tainted life, age denied. Arkham, mouldering town of yore, bedrocked in misery's wondrous horror. Slightly twisted ones flock here, drawn by shadowy knowledge and macabre memories to be absorbed, relived. Masses of humanity, most worthless in their selfish insect scrabbling. A few brighter minds, sparking almost alien intellectual worthy of attention from my master, glorious, primal evil, the grandest Sultan of demonic realms. These rarest few I gather to my withered bosom, coaxing, guiding, tantalizing with tempting images of esoteric formulae, (doorways past the mundane) elder magicks founded in truth. Sacred lines and etheric angles bathed in sweetest violet light. Notations in tomes inked in blood, ancient rituals validated by the discoveries of man. Non-Euclidean calculus and quantum physics providing proof of unknown planes of existence, waiting to be crossed in the journey to my master's throne. There, the chosen ones collected will bathe in alien-rhythmed chanting. Tossing away earthly chains and sanity for the chance to sign Azathoth's register of chaos. Demonic quill dipped in sanguine ink. Their signature a guarantee, I will continue... © LeRoy James McKitrick, All rights reserved

(this is the first tribute poem I'm doing for members of my group 'Miskatonic University' at AllPoetry. This is for a young man whose group persona is Richard Upton Pickman, from "Pickman's Model" - yes, another Lovecraft story!) "Darkest Life Captured" Ancient places gorgeously dreaming, waking my darkest gifts, arousing the fire of hell in pigment. Nitre encrusted tunnels and warrens dripping far beneath this antiquated town. Neglected, subterranean pathways of the wicked, mimicking convoluted roads in an accomplished artist's mind. Denizens of these shadowed byways, my nefarious friends (family?) in moonlight, grinning with yellowed canines agleam. Slumped forward, spinal cracking, human derivative, partway down DNA spirals to slavering, scavenger wolves, with an anatomy of horrific, the physiology of truly fearsome. Taloned hands holding human bones, scraping away at the marrow for midnight desired meals. Their terribly savage beauty demanding brush strokes, lovingly applied to accursed canvas. Expressions from Hades itself, catching shaded overtones of souls twisted, slanted, unfamiliar, my pigmented testament to the beauty of horror. © LeRoy James McKitrick, All rights reserved

I am glad you enjoyed it! Thanks for the pointer, I'm quite sure that the light ray's fingers would never get sun burnt.

"Steel, My Mistress" Omnipresent magnetic fields make themselves known with sinuous, snaking, swirling tracks, following insulated cables laying black in steel dust that litters the floor. The shop, a shrine to steel sacred flames used to slice, precise blades of fire. Clamor of cacophony, symphonies of clanging, hammered steel, a day long hymn to honor the gods of fire and iron. I dance gingerly with forces much greater than my fleshy shell. My skin sheltered enveloped in leather. -armor for my joys of steel- My eyes at home in green tinted shade, numbered ten sometimes nine. Vision shielded from arc rays burning into unseen spectra ultraviolet infrared, constantly prying, seeking to caress my flesh with instant sunburn fingers. Watching staring concentration seeking elusive, consistent bead formation. Eyes fixed obsessive on the molten metal puddle reflecting brightest arc. Pull out then back in let it fill... let it fill... pull out then back in let it fill... let it fill... Oscillation machine-like timing optimal, is the puddle the same size as the last? Yes, then continue and repeat down the length of the weld. "Spatter, spark and smoke, fire and fume." -my mantra- as I wield lightning in my hands, stitching steel together, sewing with fire. © LeRoy James McKitrick, All rights reserved