[Musings in a Minor]

Jamie Hood (drama-nerd016)


Sun rays gentle through the tinted windows,

the fog, the dew, fresh and young.

The cement buildings fade to a pale blonde

as birds' shadows play a rousing game of tag.

The sky a newborn azure,

letting go of Mother Moon.

Not knowing where to go now,

still fresh from the womb.

The dew is drying,

plants freed from drowning.

The fog is dying,

night phantoms letting go of false life.

The sun embraces the child-sky,

dressing it up in mango and in rose.

The world is yawning, rubbing eyes,

mourning the death of their repose.

The sun grows strong, its' rays turn bright,

desperately warming the bitter night

(what a heroic knight).

Rescuing damsels from nightmare frights.

Time to wake, don't you hear the ringing?

The alarm it sounds, a screechy singing.

So get up, hit down hard on snooze.

Wake to life, not much to lose.


She's a whitewashed fence,

dirt still lingering beneath the coated surface.

She's a freshly polished countertop,

crumbs desperately hanging on to the still unwiped sides.

She's a jailed hooker in the corner of a dirty cell,

Marlboro intact between loose crimson lips.

She's a five-year-old girl,

her brand new pearl-white church dress stained scarlet.

She is everything,

and she has all the time in the world.

In their Golden Days

she was a pristine Guinevere to his lusty Arthur.

And when he threw her to the fire,

she learned the game real quick.

When he fell from grace she was a Morgan to his Mordred.

Betrayers have a tendency to find each other's company.

Kingdoms crumbled as quickly as they were birthed;

shining spotless or gilded;

flawless or overrun by corruption.

A change of locale was so simple.

And so she became an Anne to his Henry,

and a Catherine to his Henry,

and she was all the wives to Henry.

She faced the guillotine because she knew the rules of this now.

Later, much later, she became a Marilyn to his Marlon;

a dirty little girl with her skirt blowing up over the grate.

She could lure all the demigods to her canopied bed.

He loved her for her feigned innocence

as he trafficked drugs through the alleys of Hollywood and fucked costars during cigarette breaks.

She grabbed the bottles and loaded herself up to sustain his career.

She knew the meaning of sacrifice;

knew what it was to be hung on the crucifix,

feet dangling above the blazing haystacks

esophagus filled with barbiturates.

Yes, she knew.

All the Princes told her to save herself;

promised rescue from her stairless Rose Tower.

But she knew the system; knew that still

the swords could taste her blood.

And she waited for their glittering fibs.

She could save herself later.

After all, what was this once when she had an eternity?


Somehow found my way out of bed,

swam through dirty sheets.

I put my feet on the ground, but the ground isn't stable

and I'm liable to fall, not so discreet.

Pulled back heavy curtains,

and let my eyes adjust to the new day.

But I found the sun still was setting.

I guess we can't hold the night at bay.

The moon is far stronger,

and the stars can outnumber.

I need to stop closing my eyes;

can't fall to drugged slumber.

But it's hard not to dream,

hard not to be claimed,

because dreams are fluffed comfort.

In the end, they're all maimed.

I cling to my illusions,

yearn for castles in the sky.

I'm constantly searching for a miracle

so that I can get by.

But where does it end?

When do I find the pot of gold?

Cause I can't keep this fa├žade up too long

before They have me sold.

Locked away in this tower,

this tower of dreams,

I'm suffocated, dying,

and nothing is what it seems.

I know it is crumbling,

away at the foundations.

Soon, it will shatter and

nothing else will matter in this nothing of a nation.


Who is holding on to you now,


Before the garden, the cloud graspers, the mudpits

You tried to hide away.

Between four solid walls you encased yourself

Oak or cherry or pine or iron or steel or maybe it was

A diamond-encrusted jewel box.

A coffin made for kings, but held all the queens.

You told them to stay away from your box

But they pinned you down to dusty ground

And raped you like you were a child instead of a goddess.

Threw you to the side as they pillaged what you had left.

You watched as the lifted its heavy lid,

your own lids heavy with crystalline tears.

They opened up Pandora's box

And exploited all of your precious whispers.


When they decided that your whispers

Weren't their cup of tea,

They pointed spears at your throat

And called you a devil.

Evils invented by the penis

And blamed all on Pandora.

They talked of you to royalty and paupers

To Pagans and Christians alike.

Hung you on the cross

For their own blackest sins.

Women are easier to crucify, after all,

They said as they defamed your sacred name.

But a goddess never dies

And when the worms eat away the coffin

You will reclaim your jewelry box

And find your whispers behind the latch.


I gazed into the fountain

to find dead eyes staring back.

Nothing in the voids, no depth.

Reflections have a tendency to crack.

Threw a pretty copper penny in;

watched it sink down to the marble.

A dead weight as anything else,

oh how this world is garbled.

Made a pretty little wish

with that pretty little coin.

It didn't look back nor answer,

but simply asked me to join.

The fountain became a pond;

the pond became a stream;

and then a river, a lake, a rapid.

I saw but black in its looking-glass gleam.

Contemplated for a moment

nonchalantly, my choice,

and when it came time to fess up,

I found I had no voice.

Instead I kept my lips shut

took a daring step over the edge.

Felt the cool rushing over me,

prayed I wouldn't lose my pledge

Sinking deeper and deeper

into chilled crimson abyss.

I watched my past like a movie

not a moment could I miss

Choking on my life now;

it came back for my blood.

I begged to escape it,

and fell down to the mud.

This prison has maximum security.