Hasty – far from someone



The heavy air
Echoes my voice
As I talk to myself
And the words
Drop like a stone
Into silent water
Sending circles
To naked shores
It’s so cold here
Miles away from
Where you are

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Hasty – sobriety and before


August 2014 was the last time I drank alcohol.

When I go back and read the things I wrote before my sobriety and the things I write now I can see a huge difference.  I am so glad to have the reminders of who I was and what alcohol did to my state of mind.

I am proud to say I have been sober 3 years and 7 months.  Congratulations to all my friends who are living a sober life.  We are better for having gotten sober.

“First you take a drink, then the drink takes a drink, then the drink takes you.”
― F. Scott Fitzgerald


Awaking from the dark
From a passed out slumber
Into a corpse it seems
Made of dry and wrinkly skin
Body aches are throbbing
Mental pains start screaming
Eyes still closed, glued shut
From clumpy mascara tears
Did something bad happen?
She searches…

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Eulogy for the Fairy Princess

Christine Ray – being reminded by innocence

Brave & Reckless

Your words of sacred poetry

Take me back to the time

When I wasn’t broken

Before I was collateral damage

To the war fought over this body


You wrap me in a cloak of

Secret language

Sing a eulogy for my

Innocence lost

Evoke memories of

My heart whole

Soul pure

Hope and trust intact


This re-membering

Of unsullied past

Feels as mythical

As Santa Clause or unicorns

But you create the shape of me

In words so beautiful

So powerful

With such  sincerity

That even I can see

The shimmering outline

Of the girl I used to be


© 2017 Christine Elizabeth Ray – All rights Reserved

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For survival is found

TheFeatheredSleep – a moment’s lesson forgot and remembered


We looked at the bright box

Lighting reproductions of your brain

You made the inevitable joke

And I wondered how many had

Sat like us, closely squished into single seat

Faux leather gleaming with accumulated sweat

For humor seems solitary solace

When the world goes to hell in a hand basket

Leaving behind folded gloves with bitten tips

Back then I was untrained, in navigating pursing hallways

Pushing wheelchairs, your head horizontal, stapled

Youth’s strength saw us over the sanitized hump

Out into the car park where we ran, loose gowns and trailing bandages

Afterwards felt like climbing out of hell, without traction

Floundering to understand the submersion of health

I told you, even nightmares have to wake up

And with each removed staple, pulled from your sore skull, you found release

Near did I guess, my own oily cavort with sickness

Lay silently sheathed, like store bought bread, just…

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From basket deep

TheFeatheredSleep – life persists and there is beauty


Clamboring, chiming, turning inside out for lack of space

Urging in one cold grey wave of fur and teeth

Lolling tongues, hot breath, slobber and frenzy

From a distance, life resembles a dark river

Cutting through early frost, hungry for warmth

And I think of the man who paints this bleeding scape

Of land into water and flesh undulating, back to earth

I wonder if he knows better than us, how close we are to one or the other

By just a pinch of his ink stained fingers, held up

To guage perspective, before he dips his brush and renders

This mist of mouths, graves and birth and sour roots, twisting through

Surviving even as skies douse and sun bakes flat, yet beneath myriad

A soup of souls closing and opening by ritual of tide

And still, life, clops down the cobbled street, hawking seasons from basket deep.

(Inspired by

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Brave Enough

Christine Ray puts a question with high stakes

Brave & Reckless

Are you brave enough

to love the suicide girl

pierced with silver

dressed in black ink

whose vanity

was shorn off with her hair?

Are you strong enough to drive away

the wolves who worry her door?

Can your words drown out

their mournful howls

calling out to her feral heart?

Are you ready for the demons

who come with black roses

during long dark nights of her soul

whispering their ugly lies

poking her deepest fears with their dirty nails

wooing her to the razor sharp edge?

Or are you just another would-be lover

who tasted death on her tongue

the blood in her tears

and ran?

Image courtesy of Pinterest

© 2017 Christine Elizabeth Ray – All rights Reserved

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fears and faces

On RamJet Poetry – of the faces of fear and feared

RamJet Poetry

fears and faces

I have written of the fear

of the faceless

and you name me fearless

smoky, inky-black opalescence

illuminating the dark

with the faces

that no longer can find


a draught of bitter with dinner

I have read of the fear

of the faceless

and you call me fearful

undertones of melancholic habit

our hard edge nine-to-five nonchalance

yes father I know my numbers

.22 .32 9mm .45 10mm .243 .306 7.62mm

the cant and wrote of my forebears

I know who is saved and who is not

but father, why?

‘because it is the way it has always been’

the tagline of Armageddon

privilege comes with responsibility

something that I was taught

I know to be true

not everything today is wrong

but the wrong that is today is faceless

insidious, rotting

and it is here

and it is becoming clear…

I have witnessed the faceless

become infamous names

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Projection and Trump’s snake story.

LuckyOtter on how to listen to Trump when he reveals himself.

Lucky Otters Haven


When someone shows you who they are, believe them.
— Maya Angelou

Several times at his rallies, Donald Trump has done something out of character — he has delved into literature to make a point, specifically poetry.  Ironically, the poem Trump has chosen to recite to refer to the immigrants he dislikes so much was written by a black 1960s soul singer and social activist, Oscar Brown Jr.

The other day, in front of the White House lawn, a huge crowd of supporters gathered,  and once again, Trump recited the words of “The Snake:”

On her way to work one morning

Down the path alongside the lake

A tender-hearted woman saw a poor half-frozen snake

His pretty colored skin had been all frosted with the dew

“Oh well,” she cried, “I’ll take you in and I’ll take care of you”

“Take me in oh tender woman

Take me in, for…

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