Poetry: Waffle House at 3am

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Waffle House at 3am
By: Maranda Russell

Waffle House
at 3 am
is not the place
to make a scene.

It doesn’t matter
if your heart
is broken,
if your brother
just ran off
with your boyfriend,
or if you want
to punch
that smarmy cook
right
in the left
testicle.

Stringy hashbrowns
cover a multitude
of sins,
vanilla coke
softly bubbles
over salty wounds,
and once in a while,
raisin toast
can be sweeter
than revenge.

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Poetic Art #3 – We All Fall Down

I’m not feeling too well right now due to one of my wisdom teeth hurting pretty bad, but I wanted to share another of my recent art/poetry drawings. Lately I’ve had an uptick of sales on my art and I truly appreciate it! Thank you so much to all those who support me that way!

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“I once had a name,
had a home, had a life.
But the winds swept thru
like they always do,
and I lost it all
at that trumpet call.
And their voices sound,
spinning round and round,
till we all fall down.”

You can find this drawing and other artworks of mine for sale at my Ebay store!

I am an Emotional Writer

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I am an emotional writer. I write from whatever my current point of view and mood dictates. Often my writing may be entirely contradictory or may not even represent my general consensus on a given subject, but is instead a snapshot of a moment in time.

Reading through my journal entries and blog posts may appear to be a debate between various personalities – and in a sense, perhaps it is. No, I do not suffer from some sort of multiple personality disorder, but I use writing to discover and decipher my own jumbled thoughts and feelings. When I start writing, I often don’t know exactly where it is going to go, what the end result will be, or what I will learn along the way, but that is part of the magic of the creative process.

Please keep in mind when reading this blog, that what is being presented is often unfiltered, barely edited, stream-of-consciousness prose that represents only a momentary glimpse of my overall experience of life. If you dislike what I write today, stick around, because you just might love what I write tomorrow!

Poetry Bits and Pieces

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Hi! I was flipping through my journal today and thought maybe I would share a few random bits of poetry with you! These are poetry bits that never made it into larger poems, but I still kind of like them!

1)
“My soft, strawberry soul
thrives like cold rain
in the quiet shade of the vine.”

2)
“Brother man,
love…peace…listen.
Take your sweet sister
and dance between
the worlds.”

3)
“Why do the wounded
see clearly through the shadows
while privilege blinds?”

4)
“Now, looking back,
I wonder if I somehow missed
the awaited resurrection,
or if I was taken for a fool
all along.”

5)
“Numb.
Do I want to feel?
Maybe another day
when my skin is thicker
and the bruises have faded.
I guess in reality,
that means
never.”

6)
“I used to care more;
Now I couldn’t care less.”

If you like these little poetry bits, let me know! I have plenty more I could share 🙂

Belief in Hell Dies Hard

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Recently I read an excellent poetry book entitled “Shit House Rat“, written by Daniel Crocker (a fellow bipolar writer). The poetry in this collection is brutally honest, gritty, and humorous, and even engages some of our favorite characters from Sesame Street in a way that is unique and really outlines the harsh reality of adult life “on the street” .

One poem that especially triggered some thought on my part is one called “A Dream of Siblings”, in which the poet has a dream about his deceased brother being trapped in a sort of hell. Like me, the author no longer believes in a literal hell, at least not of the Christian theological kind, but as the following lines from the poem show, he still struggles to let go of that old belief in a fiery pit of torture:

“Even though I gave up
believing in this shit
years ago, I still wonder

Maybe I never gave up believing

Maybe, once having faith, no one
ever gives up believing

Even if the things we believe in
are horrifying.”

How Crazy Am I?

Art by Maranda Russell

*I wrote this fun little poem while sitting at Burger King, eating my hamburger and onion rings. It just kind of “came” to me lol. It is meant to be cynically humorous, hopefully it is.

How Crazy Am I?

I don’t know
a 10?
Nah…
I ain’t THAT fucking
insane.

A 9?
Well, I’m not
quite drooling
on myself yet…
at least not
on a regular basis.

An 8?
That sounds about
right, but
over the years
I’ve learned
if something sounds right
it almost never is.

7?
Lucky seven?
I sure ain’t
been lucky
in this life,
or any other.

6?
Sure, let’s just
settle on six.
Because really,
who gives a shit
anyhow?
And I’m tired
of counting.

– Art and Poetry by Maranda Russell