Posted by: Miss McBooty | July 11, 2010

Weekend Rant

Please follow these simple rules of the road while driving your motor vehicle around me:

1.  Be courteous to other drivers.  This means, if you are in the passing lane, and you aren’t passing anybody, move your vehicle to the slow lane.  This also means that if someone is pulled over on the side of the road for any reason, you should move your vehicle to the left lane (or at least slow down if you can’t switch lanes!)  Also, if you are the asshole who stays in the slow lane when someone is merging onto the highway, either make room for that person or move your slow ass over to a different lane so that person can merge.  Don’t forget to move BACK to the slow lane afterwards.

2.  Pedestrians have the right away.  If a pedestrian is at a crosswalk or a walkway, you must stop for them.  1 in 3 drivers do not stop for pedestrians.

3.  Yellow means slow down.  The biggest thing I’ve noticed about drivers in Colorado is that majority of them like to speed through yellow lights.  So much so, that drivers have started blowing through RED lights.  Uh… does this make anybody else at the intersection really uncomfortable?

Didn’t we learn all of these things in driver’s ed?  Does a driver from a different state learn different rules?  All I know is that bad drivers are driving me up the wall!

Posted by: Miss McBooty | July 8, 2010

The Gravedigger

Happy Dark Poetry Wednesday!

The coins in his pocket jingle
as he walks from stone to stone.
His footsteps soft upon the ground
gracefully moving like a ladrone.
His hindrance found by a freshly dug grave
beneath an imperial willow tree.
He sets his shovel down beside him
and kneels heavy upon a battered knee.
A distinguished tear tails down his cheek
as he chokes back his sorrow.
The gravedigger says goodbye to his wife
amongst this darkened hollow.
Posted by: Miss McBooty | July 2, 2010

The Cast Away

I fell through a rocky hole in the ground;
Dark with depth, bitter as a catacomb.
Fell from the sky, through deep, lush greens —
Trees as tall as skyscrapers loomed above me.
I landed softly on unspoiled, fertile terrain;
Abundant plants surrounded me, pregnant with life’s reign.
I had arrived in an unused world, yet my footsteps were not companionless,
Elegant creatures greeted me with bouquets of fragrant spring cress.
They asked about my garb, which were in sloven appearance;
They questioned my vehicle, the cause of my interference.
I explained I am as plain as water, never a doctor or lawyer.
I was a simple worker — caught up in something much larger.
I then closed my eyes and inhaled the rich earth;
Air completely free of corruption, land of pure worth.

This coincidental adventure was contrived by chance.
Now I am a cast away lost in salacious content.
Posted by: Miss McBooty | July 1, 2010


Cruel sickness overpowers me like death’s grip
piercing my stomach in rage like a day’s decay
Unhurried time ticks slowly to a halt
my benevolence like defenseless prey.

Succumbing to your handsome presence
I hear your muted whispers in shadows.
I feel your languishing embrace
as we lean against a world so hollow.

Lost in a whirlpool of immanent strife,
My vision tarnished yet I return to you once more.
Defeated in this impetuous life,
Scared of the unknown, a stranger to rapport.

Will you love me until my heart stops its beat?
Or is this conception all a fallacy?
This unrelenting desire to feel complete
refuses to relinquish; Proof of my own immortality.

Posted by: Miss McBooty | June 30, 2010

Dark Poetry Wednesday

Okay really I’m making this day up.  “Dark Poetry Wednesday” hasn’t really existed on this blog, but maybe its something I’ll continue from now on.
(to be continued…)

During the last couple of days my friend and I exchanged ghost stories and did research on haunted locations around the area.  I have always been very curious about the spirit world and find odd joy in exploring these places.

All of this talk about the living dead had me hankering for some dark poetry.  I decided to post a piece by Robert W. Service in all his dark and witty gloriousness.   I hope you enjoy this poem as much as I do!

The Cremation of Sam McGee
by Robert W. Service

There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee.

Now Sam McGee was from Tennessee, where the cotton blooms and blows.
Why he left his home in the South to roam ‘round the Pole, God only knows.
He was always cold, but the land of gold seemed to hold him like a spell;
Though he’d often say in his homely way that “he’d sooner live in hell.”

On a Christmas Day we were mushing our way over the Dawson trail.
Talk of your cold! through the parka’s fold it stabbed like a driven nail.
If our eyes we’d close, then the lashes froze till sometimes we couldn’t see;
It wasn’t much fun, but the only one to whimper was Sam McGee.

And that very night, as we lay packed tight in our robes beneath the snow,
And the dogs were fed, and the stars o’erhead were dancing heel and toe,
He turned to me, and “Cap,” says he, “I’ll cash in this trip, I guess;
And if I do, I’m asking that you won’t refuse my last request.”

Well, he seemed so low that I couldn’t say no; then he says with a sort of moan:
“It’s the cursed cold, and it’s got right hold till I’m chilled clean through to the bone.
Yet ‘taint being dead—it’s my awful dread of the icy grave that pains;
So I want you to swear that, foul or fair, you’ll cremate my last remains.”

A pal’s last need is a thing to heed, so I swore I would not fail;
And we started on at the streak of dawn; but God! he looked ghastly pale.
He crouched on the sleigh, and he raved all day of his home in Tennessee;
And before nightfall a corpse was all that was left of Sam McGee.

There wasn’t a breath in that land of death, and I hurried, horror-driven,
With a corpse half hid that I couldn’t get rid, because of a promise given;
It was lashed to the sleigh, and it seemed to say: “You may tax your brawn and brains,
But you promised true, and it’s up to you to cremate those last remains.”

Now a promise made is a debt unpaid, and the trail has its own stern code.
In the days to come, though my lips were dumb, in my heart how I cursed that load.
In the long, long night, by the lone firelight, while the huskies, round in a ring,
Howled out their woes to the homeless snows—O God! how I loathed the thing.

And every day that quiet clay seemed to heavy and heavier grow;
And on I went, though the dogs were spent and the grub was getting low;
The trail was bad, and I felt half mad, but I swore I would not give in;
And I’d often sing to the hateful thing, and it hearkened with a grin.

Till I came to the marge of Lake Lebarge, and a derelict there lay;
It was jammed in the ice, but I saw in a trice it was called the “Alice May.”
And I looked at it, and I thought a bit, and I looked at my frozen chum;
Then “Here,” said I, with a sudden cry, “is my cre-ma-tor-eum.”

Some planks I tore from the cabin floor, and I lit the boiler fire;
Some coal I found that was lying around, and I heaped the fuel higher;
The flames just soared and the furnace roared-such a blaze you seldom see;
Then I burrowed a hole in the glowing coal, and I stuffed in Sam McGee.

Then I made a hike, for I didn’t like to hear him sizzle so;
And the heavens scowled, and the huskies howled, and the wind began to blow.
It was icy cold, but the hot sweat rolled down my cheeks, and I don’t know why;
And the greasy smoke in an inky cloak went streaking down the sky.

I do not know how long in the snow I wrestled with grisly fear;
But the stars came out and they danced about ere again I ventured near;
I was sick with dread, but I bravely said: “I’ll just take a peep inside.
I guess he’s cooked, and it’s time I looked;” . . . then the door I opened wide.
And there sat Sam, looking cool and calm, in the heart of the furnace roar;
And he wore a smile you could see a mile, and he said: “Please close that door.
It’s fine in here, but I greatly fear you’ll let in the cold and storm—
Since I left Plumtree, down in Tennessee, it’s the first time I’ve been warm.”

There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see

Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee.
Posted by: Miss McBooty | June 29, 2010

The Woman Who Whispers to the Wind

She plays with passion under the illuminated heavens
and finds joy in the way the stars smile with good fortune. 
She charms strangers with her lustrous, silvery locks,
which ripple down her dusky, Stygian frock.
She escapes the sleeping, greedy men
skin as white as Winter’s hand. 
She lives alone, widowed in the wilderness
amongst naked trees with unwonted camberous twists.
She laughs as the wind dances on her skin
and tastes love as sweet as rose petal wine.
She sees the trees transcend with sullen disquiet,
and yearns to join His solitary merit.
Earth is her mother, Time is her Father;
The woman who whispers to the wind.
Posted by: Miss McBooty | June 28, 2010

For Freedom and Honor

For freedom and honor,
for our families and neighbors,
we march.
We enter a clearing while a bugle softly sings;
an illusion of goodness and life.
A gentle tune that may be our last.
Shots fire in the distance;
the powerful anthem of resistance echo throughout the valley.
Waves of sweat and blood overcome the men.
For freedom and honor,
We step on, and stepped upon,
we hope to mend this country’s biggest mistakes.
My helmet on tight, my gun to my chest,
I think of my girls and crawl out of the foxhole;
Their hopes and dreams propel me forward.
The roar of the guns finally comes to an end.
The standing embrace the sweet sound of Heaven’s rest.
I reach to touch the faces of the fallen and the wounded.
For freedom and honor,
good night to the soldiers that lost their lives
their souls march on to a distant and beautiful light.
Posted by: Miss McBooty | June 24, 2010

Above the Trees

Above the trees
I can feel the clouds upon my skin
Above the trees
I no longer see the rain
I want to feel the sun
to know its true
It’s just a feeling
that I just can’t fight
All I want is to impress you

Above the trees
I can feel the stars upon my skin
Above the trees
I no longer see the earth
I want to feel the stars
to know they’re real
It’s just a thought
that I want to get lost in
All I want is to feel

Above the trees
I can feel the dream upon my skin
Above the trees
I can let the dream carry me away
I want to feel it
to know its true
And if I start to cry
I’ll turn back around
and head on home
leaving my dreams in the sky
Posted by: Miss McBooty | June 22, 2010


Sharp is the night as
angels watch over her.
She runs to the waves
where water black as a bird’s wing
hides her salty tears.
She is swimming and sinking.
Breath turned bitter, savage is her renewal –
She closes her eyes and dives deeper.
She is swimming and falling.
Posted by: Miss McBooty | June 21, 2010

The Story of Him and Her

Another one from the archives. I think I wrote this in 6th or 7th grade, one of my first attempts to write.

She has loved him for so long
Dreams of him every night
She says a word
because she is too afraid to fight
If she lets people know
Exactly what is inside
She will never talk to him
She will always have to hide
These feelings that she has
Won’t seem to go away
But she enjoys the jump in her heart
When she sees him during the day
At night she wishes
She had talked to him more
While at the same time
He wishes he hadn’t been such a bore
He is so worried
That she does not feel the same
He has not told anybody
About his little game
He likes to watch her
Everywhere that she goes
He has her memorized
From her hair to her toes
Half of him wishes she knew
The other half is scared
So they both keep on living
Not knowing what could be there

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