truth as a verb

There’s a feeling I get, when I look to the west,
And my feet won’t set, despite a need for rest,
My goals aren’t met, though I pass each test,
And my heart’s regret, doesn’t do what’s best.

There’s a feeling I get, when I look to the west,
And I’ve cast every bet, despite the scaled crest,
My thoughts are fret, though I speak all jest,
And I’ve not failed yet, doesn’t truth clearest.

There’s a feeling I get, when the cadence is wrong,
And the words don’t fit, despite their sing-song,
My ambitions still sit, though the days grow long,
And my soul’s fire is lit, doesn’t mean I’ll get along.

If I could…


Rara shared some of her husband’s writing over on Stories. It is a powerful piece, as most of his work is, and it will grab you and make you pay attention. His words pretty much always have that effect on me… Pop on over and see if they don’t grab you too.

Originally posted on Stories that Must Not Die:

This was written by Grayson Queen in December of 2012, and published in novellette format to his book, Orange Buffalo. You may remember it from there. He was an artist, a writer, a blogger, a geek, a diabetic, a depression-sufferer, my husband, and billions of other things. His was born David Martinez, and in May of 2015, he died from natural causes– specific reasons still unknown. If you were one of his dedicated readers, please know I’m finding a safe space for each of his precious words, and please keep your eye out for news on my re-publishing and sorting of his works into printed form.

Thank you for your continued readership.
– Ra

Illustrations & Quote by Grayson Queen Illustrations & Quote by Grayson Queen


If I could come up with a solution,

would I bother ( ? … )

to be heard over the blare of mp3 players and bass-booming cars

View original 147 more words

considerable worth

This is the conclusion of the little mini story running the last couple Mondays:

She found him and her face fluctuated from joy to sorrow and back again.  It was interesting in a place that contained infinite potential for happiness that she hadn’t enjoyed the wonders as much as she assumed she was supposed to.  But, it all seemed slightly less vibrant, duller and muted without him by her side.  She noticed that time was funny, though, and so she patiently waited for him to join her.

As their years had accumulated into numbers that spoke truly of the time they had spent together, he had told her about time and its imperfections.  He had shared his discovery of the moments where it would race forward and where it would drag along, and how he had managed his life to take advantage of those metronomic glitches.  In the depths of the sharing conversation she had expressed regret that he had lost such a treasure to be with her, but she could see in his eyes that he regretted nothing and for that she was grateful.

So, when she found herself in this new place and felt the time weighing differently against her, she knew what it was and what it meant.  And she knew if she remained calm it would slip forward for her until he found her.  But, just as they had met in the other world when she crashed into his car, it was she who found him again.  He was walking with a purpose, his head on a swivel and his eyes piercing everything they encountered.  She recognized him immediately and moved to intercept his path.

He was trying to see too much though and his gaze passed over her without stopping, and in the first moment of worry she’d had since her death she thought he would miss her and carryon forever.  She couldn’t let that happen.  She wouldn’t.  Racing forward she stepped into his path and their two essences collided.

While there was a sudden jolt, there was no pain or loss of footing.  There was only smiles and laughter and love.  So much love.  Love unending.


He stormed out of the house, slammed his car door and sped away.  It was a mistake, but it was a better mistake than staying and doing something he would regret more.  The anger burned his thoughts, clenched his jaw and urged his foot to press the pedal into the floorboards.  Cars honked and drivers yelled.  He noticed but didn’t care.  They meant nothing to him.  Only the rage mattered.  Only the fire in his heart mattered.

A small voice in his head told him he was wrong.  It told him to calm down and stop.  It whispered that she was always faithful.  But his anger found the voice and bellowed at it until it cowered and shivered in the farthest recesses of his mind.  Then, unsatisfied, his rage pursued the voice of reason, found it, and strangled it with flames until nothing but ash remained.

The driver smiled in triumph and sadness.  He’d won and lost and knew both simultaneously.  The car tore across the asphalt, leaving tread in its wake as tires sang against sharp corners and sudden halts.  The frame shuddered under the strain, moaning and groaning in protest.  It would hold together, though.  He had put it through worse before.

He’d put them all through worse before and would again.  That damn voice of reason was like a phoenix and would eventually come back stronger to soothe away his rage.  It was every bit as predictable as the fight had been.  The whole process was a cycle destined to be repeated as long as their opposites attracted and their love languages differed.  The flames eating his heart began to ebb as exhaustion crept along his nerves and dulled his senses.

Renewed honks reminded him to ease back on the gas pedal.  Using the blinker he signaled and then safely checked his blind spots and merged across the lanes of the freeway to continue on in the slow lane.  He was too tired to deal with the madness in the others.  He was too tired to give them the attention they demanded.  At the next off ramp he exited and found the surface streets that would turn him back towards home.

They would apologize, hesitantly, and they would step back into their familiar patterns.  In a day or two the chill would disappear from their home and smiles and laughter would return.  The upswing of emotions would take control and they would be happy again.  They would be.  And then one day they would fight again, because the cycle had no choice but to repeat, because that is nature and manner of love… right?

ready your pikes

I’m just a jester,
Don’t you see?
I don’t dare fester,
We can agree,
On subjects weighty,
For too long,
That would be wrong.

I’m just a jester,
Are you not entertained?
I’m not a master,
But I juggle unrestrained,
Nothing gained,
As these chainsaws fall,
Let’s have a ball.

I’m just a jester,
If you like silly?
Flip-flopping faster,
In hypocrisy,
Than I claim to be,
For I’m a shadow,
Of words and crow.

I’m just a jester,
Despite what you think.
The only matter,
I’ll fully take to the brink,
Before I can sink,
Is one measured in likes.
Ready your pikes.

Whatever it will be…


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