Thursday, February 16, 2017

MELANIE MCCURDIE - WOMAN IN HORROR






Melanie McCurdie is my Woman In Horror today! Melanie is involved in many projects, including Independent Films, The Burbs - Radio Theater Horror, writing, authoring, photography, and spreading the word about others in the world of horror and beyond. She has always been an avid supporter of all my posts and backs Women In Horror wherever they are.

Melanie wanted to give you some samples of her poetry for her Woman In Horror post. I believe you will find her poetry to be rather distinct. I love her poetry because she tells it like it is and holds nothing back. Run, Reaper is my favorite one in the poems she graciously sent to me. It's obvious her writing is on the dark side: her prose as well as her poetry.

To find out even more about Melanie, allow your link-clicking digits to sing a song of dark meandering and enjoyment as you peruse the honesty that is this most talented author.

Enjoy her poems now and you will see what I mean.

Blaze McRob




Mine

Yes, 
once I compared you to a summer’s day 
Then you were winsome and light
Now the darkness has stolen that 
And replaced it with a different lust
For life
For death
You are my raison d’être




Be-


Lain Beneath
Once Believed
Veracity suspect, bewildered
Every word leaves me bemused
Should love bedazzle your eyes
It behooved one to be wary
Lest you find yourself besotted
Beguiled by your own yearning
And left benighted, alone




Run, Reaper


I despise Reaper, currently
That motherfucker is off
Polishing his bone or playing
Peeping Grim through some portal
The perv.
Hey!! Bonedaddy!
Think you could stop rubbing one out
And do your damned job?
For once? Instead of dicking about




Dirge


Don’t be too kind to me
I’m only human and like it or not
There’s still a heart ticking away in here.
Worse yet, it feels things and I’m tired.
Stupid thing, 
it still wants to believe that maybe,
words aren’t all doggerel and dirges
secrets and lies and wooful design.
so, please, don’t be too kind
I may believe you.





mothersuckers


Hickory duckory
Fuck, why must you be such a dick?
If buzzkill had a finger, 
it’d be pointed in your general vicinity
Is it so difficult to be 
a little less self-aware, maybe?
Screw your thinly veiled, venomous barbs
I’m hanging out in drown town tonight
Let my sorrows sink or whatever
I’ll smother the mothersuckers.
Or if I must, I’ll hotbox the cabin
Leave ’em breathless and 
watch them fly away 





Reboot Juice


Another-day/
Wake-and-die/
Suffocation-again/sigh/
It’s-not-ideal-perhaps/
But-I-embrace-it/why-not/
Life-is-so-much-simpler/
-when-you’re-dead/
Shit-doesn’t-matter-except-the-day/
And-the-people-in-it/
Cursed-daystar/hiss/
Death-goes-on-into perpetuity/
Mournings-suck-even for-the-departed/
That’s-why-there’s-coffee.







Tick-tock

pacepacepacepacepace
Tick-tock

Has the clock stopped?
Tick-tock

Seriously? Not even a minute yet?
Tick

Time is just a myth …
Tock
Fuck

Time, in our limited perception, only exists in our minds….so the so-called experts say. Whoever THEY are…

However, when a body is positioned, poised and waiting, it becomes torture to the impatient, the desperate…This non-existent perception of time seems pretty damned real…I wonder if the ticking of the clock is the sound of Reaper’s heart






Soul Synapsis


Yeah I hear you moaning
In your Emojish tongues
It’s all in the vernacular

Don’t you know?

There is no cure for acerbic wit

It’s hardly a sickness
Twitch the bitch switch, I’m down if it is

Today, the social diction is
hardly spectacular
Sadly lacking the eloquent factor
I miss the pretty words

I find, too, that my vascular capacity
is next to null
I think I have a slow leak
Maybe I’m a Synapsid out of its prime
A soul Synapsis

I still love you though
In my eyes, everything is irie
We stay gold, just like Pony Boy
Like the last whit of light in the sky




Marley


There she sits, this Goddess
in a Marley t-shirt and plain black panties
The way the shirt is plastered
to her small frame,
it accentuates those perfect breasts
the chill in the room as plain as the
nipples poking through the thin fabric

Supple, slim, my hands itch to touch
The smooth porcelain of her flesh
and feel her long legs quiver under the
Flats of my palms while they travel down,
then between
All that is nonexistent in the regard
To the eyes that stare holes in my soul
This Goddess creature dressed
in commoner’s skin
I forget that she shuns the comparison
Beauty believes she is the beast





Erect Thorn, Bare Windows
Fearsome.
You are fearsome, lady,
from those eyes that hide some kind of
beautiful brain that coincides perfectly
with the savage monster you hide inside
oh I pretend that I don't notice
or care but I do and I want to not be
like all the others but baby,
you're killing me here
It isn't just my blood pressure that rises
whenever you walk by, ai,
I can't help but stare,
Gods...that derrière,
Yeah stop looking at me like I'm
some kind of prédateur, mon amour,
You have no worry from me, you see,
All this is secret, trapped in my mind,
Because I can barely breathe
when you're near
Let alone speak, or meet your eyes
other than the occasional glance in
The mirrored reflection, it's distracting
God, I wish I could say hello.


Amazon bio:

I am a Canadian based writer who resides in Calgary, Alberta and am a Warrior Mom blessed with two challenging boys, Sam 14 and Davey 10. I am a rabid supporter of Independent Film and Publications, and a horror junkie with a taste for words, and bloodsauce. Most recently, I was voice talent to The Carmen Theatre Group as Maria Sanchez and I can be seen in The Orphan Killer 2: Bound x Blood, written and created by Matt Farnsworth.


Check out Melanie's links here!


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