National Poetry Month: Mrs. Winchester

Posted on April 6, 2023 by Maria Alexander under poetry

Originally published on Gothic.net, this poem has had a series of reprints. (It eventually appeared on my blog over 10 years ago.) It inspired a screenplay that’s been a quarterfinalist at Austin Film Festival and a finalist at Shriekfest. May I present one of my favorites…

Mrs. Winchester

I am always building
like Mrs. Winchester
my fingers ever reaching
steeple and strut
for who-knows-what
and all my doors open
to a sheer drop
as I blindly press my walls
heavenward
beyond the copper gates
and into the briny blankets
smothering the wind,
searching the breezes
for him…
for you.

Mine will be an empty house,
not for dwelling
but for touring,
lace and bed
roped off from their touch
a spectacle
my wood floor splintering
from their stares
under the weight of their wonder
for I’ve built a house
that even I cannot live in
and cursed I wander
the darker hours
from bed to bed
never resting
hammers sinking
nails of grief and fear
lips tasting
leaded glass
as if this frozen pane
were you
if only they knew
it’s your voice at midnight
that tells me where
to build each gable, rail, and stair…

Someday
I’ll drive them all away
before they discover
my madness
like the servant’s hall
is north by northwest
but until then
add another window
Mrs. Winchester
because when the oak doors shut
there will be
no more light.

National Poetry Month: Was an Ocean of You

Posted on April 5, 2023 by Maria Alexander under poetry

When I first started writing poetry in the late 1990’s, I discovered a vast number of online publishers. One of those was Pegasus Dreaming. They were the first to publish this little poem, which went on to be reprinted in other places, including Biting Midnight. I hope you enjoy it. (Photo by Joseph Barrientos.)

Was an Ocean of You

You trickle and vanish between my fingers
as your shattered shoreline burns into my bare soles;
You spray salt against my parched lips
as your moods crash against me;
You blister my brow
as your silence stares down around my shoulders.
Once there was an ocean of you…
But now
I whisper into the empty conch shell
that was your heart
So when the children
put you to their ears
all they will hear
is my roaring disappointment.

National Poetry Month: Sticky Winter Lips

Posted on April 4, 2023 by Maria Alexander under poetry

I wrote this poem with “Dirty Talk” and “Poetry” refrigerator magnets. It was published in my Bram Stoker Award-nominated collection, At Louche Ends: Poetry for the Decadent, the Damned, and the Absinthe-minded.

Sticky Winter Lips

Release me
Steamy spirit
Like moist
Breath
From hot whispers
And see my soul,
Lovelier than leather
And your god’s
Blue love.
For I crave
Sublime black passion
Above poetry.
So
Swallow sweet
Thigh fire and
Desire dynamite,
Boy, as you
Grind oral sex
Through whispering panties
With thy mouth and
Position your prick
To prance
In pentameter.
Until the
Deep falling, let
Obsessed thought
Melt reason; for
Your rhythm
Rhymes with romance.
Look —
Lose her hairy hole.
Crave me,
Knight,
And leave loyalty to the
Bourgeoisie! For
Art alone cannot gratify
Flesh. Or heart.
You then kissed
This bottoming beauty
And said
Time won’t make
Forever bend.
So cry adieu to
Heart’s appetite.
Nothing more
Will heaven do.
But please,
I replied,
Please don’t leave.
And please don’t take
my moon skin…

Enough Sun.
I never want Summer
Or need Spring;
Only your
Sticky Winter lips
And night rain.

National Poetry Month: The Resume

Posted on April 3, 2023 by Maria Alexander under astrology, poetry

You don’t have to know anything about astrology to enjoy this poem. But as a long-time astrologer, I’m surprised at how seldom the art has influenced my writing. Virgo rules the 6th House, which represents work, and Venus rules relationships. Since my own Venus is in Virgo, I wrote this poem about it. It was a long time ago, but it still delights me.

The Resume: A Poem to My Venus in Virgo (Unaspected, Retrograde)

I called Aphrodite’s office today
and spoke to the guy
in her HR department.
(You know his name.)
I reminded him
he had my resume on file.

“Yeah, there are
a lot of people
out of love right now,”
he said.
“We haven’t had
an unromantic rate
this high in
quite a while.”

It doesn’t matter
I said.
It shouldn’t be
so hard
to place me.

“Let’s take a look
at your history,”
he said, squinting
at my resume.
(Yes, I could hear his squint
over the phone.)
“You don’t have any experience,”
he remarked with rue.

I told him
that’s simply not true.

“But these are crushes,”
he replied.
“They don’t count.
You can’t count anything
you’ve done on spec.”

But all I need
I said
is the right
opportunity.
I have skills like
communication and honesty,
dedication, compassion,
and, most importantly,
a Life.
Looks are not required
but since I’m often admired
I believe I have those, too —
at least
that’s what I’m told.

“Yes, that’s a bonus,”
he granted. “But still,
there are people
with way more experience.
In fact,
there are those
who are rarely
out of love.”

But those people
I explained
have Venus-Mars aspects,
or else they’re
Librans,
and that’s hardly fair.
(And being always in love
is not really healthy,
I added under my breath.)

He reluctantly agreed.

I don’t want to be
in love with just anyone
You see.
I have my requirements
although a bit high.
He’s got to have
— and want —
the same things as I.

“But a lot of these people
on your list of
romantic targets
have not had any openings
in quite a while.”

That’s okay
I told him
I listed them there
so you’d know my style.

He reviewed my skills
one more time.
“We shouldn’t have
much trouble placing you,”
he said with a sigh.
He paused, reading.
“Ah! I think I see
The Problem,”
He said.
“Look at your Objective.
It says:
To be in love.”

Oh, crap!
I exclaimed.
That’s my old resume.
It’s way out of date.
My progressed Venus
is no longer
in a retrograde state.
Let me email you
my new one.

Within moments
he got the file
where I’d made the change.
Objective:
To find a partner
someone with whom
to share my life
and, in some ways,
make me more complete.

This made him
much more cheerful.
“Okay, alrighty,
I got your new resume!
With all things considered
I’ll get on it today.”

I thanked him, but
when I hung up
I realized
I should’ve asked about pay.

National Poetry Month: 39 Regrets

Posted on April 2, 2023 by Maria Alexander under poetry, Uncategorized, writing

In honor of the Lefty Award Awards (congrats to the winners!), here is my Hitchcock-inspired poem, “39 Regrets,” which was published in A Sea of Alone: Poems for Alfred Hitchcock by Dark Scribe Press.

39 Regrets

There is so much in life that I’ve come to regret
Yet old Mr. Mem’ry won’t let me forget.

That five cents I stole from my mother’s black purse;
And the lie that I told that made it all worse.
The bleach that I poured in my grandma’s fish tank;
And the woman I tripped up that day at the bank.
The night that I swapped my father’s heart pills
For the ones in the cupboard that cured paltry ills.
Not to mention the holes cut in everyone’s socks;
The times that I changed all the family clocks.
The anonymous note that I sent to Miss Gluvder
To make the plain thing think that somebody loved her.

I remember the Monday I cut the school’s power,
And poisoned our neighbor’s red prize-winning flower.
I’d stolen my uncle’s big shiny revolver,
And used mother’s perfume as car paint dissolver.
Soon after I’d pushed that dim boy down the stairs
Whose sticky warm blood wet all his head’s hairs…

And then as I grew my regrets multiplied
When I met a nice man and became his shy bride.
We moved to a two-story house down the street
And gave birth to wee waves of regrets oh so sweet:
Becky, Scottie, Lina,
Norman, John, Eve
And Pete.

I regretted it more when I ran from it all
And rented a room in a dusty old hall,
Taking up drink and dyeing my hair
Leading the men to my taffeta lair.
The dresses,
Caresses
And late night champagne,
Were lovely at first, then drove me insane.
I needed more intrigue, a man who knew life
A fellow who knew what to do with a knife.

I regretted the day that I met him at last
And regretted his murder to cover my past.
I then had to flee to another great city
And with a fake name, I joined a committee.
I regret that I tried to adopt a routine
When really I shouldn’t have ever been seen.
Of course, I regret being caught by the law
I never denied that my plan had a flaw…

But my greatest regret — which some call my glory —
Was letting that fat man hear my life’s story.

National Poetry Month

Posted on April 1, 2023 by Maria Alexander under disability, poetry, Uncategorized

It’s that time of year when the U.S. recognizes poetry and poets. I’ll try to post a poem every day this month. Most of them are reprints of poems from my Bram Stoker Award(r)-nominated poetry collection At Louche Ends, Poetry for the Decadent, the Damned, and the Absinthe-minded (the featured image in this post is from the cover by Katelan Foisy). Others are from my first collection, Biting Midnight: A Feast of Darksome Verse. But a few will be new. Since T.S. Eliot named April the cruelest month in his famous poem “The Wasteland,” that’s where we’ll start. With cruelty.

Without further ado, one of my first poems.

Pain is God’s Love

Pain is God’s love
he said
legs folded lotus
on the bed
of imported pillows
as he spoke to us
his spiritual students
Pain is God’s love
I said
as the needle slipped into my wrist
into the nerve
and I called out
his name
the license plate
of his Mercedes
and the colors
of his silk paintings
in the third-floor hallway
he responded
by telling me
I was too self-absorbed…

God-absorbed and
nag champa blind
my mind went white
the nurse stroked my brow
as I shuddered
you’re doing very well
the doctor said
I smiled
I have a high pain threshold
I replied
tears in my eyes
and I remembered
I have eighty dollars
until the next disability check arrives.
And when the doctor left
the nurse and I talked
about Karma and fate
how nothing’s safe
and she said
spiritual security
is your only good bet
what a hard lesson that is
I whispered
and she cried…

Here in my bliss
in my handless
nothingness
I say
Pain is God’s love
and I wish he knew
how much
God hated him.

Mrs. Winchester (The Poem)

Posted on October 5, 2012 by Maria Alexander under poetry, Uncategorized, winchester mystery house

I missed National Poetry Day (I think it was yesterday). Here is the original poem that I wrote before I wrote the script that’s a finalist at Shriekfest. It’s been published several times, most recently in my Bram Stoker Award-nominated poetry collection, At Louche Ends: Poetry for the Decadent, the Damned & the Absinthe-Minded.

Mrs. Winchester

And Now the Long-Awaited WHC 2008 Highlights

Posted on April 1, 2008 by Maria Alexander under bad hotels, bram stoker awards, jackass, poetry, radisson, salt lake city, world horror convention

Such as they were, in no particular order. Subject to change.

1. Had a successful round of pitches, including one to an unanticipated publisher, Mirrorstone Books. The editor Stacey and I were chatting happily when she asked me if, by any chance, I had a children’s book. As it so happened, I’d written one about 8 years ago called Monsteria, starring a little girl named Anabelle, who is like a miniature Mary Poppins. I told her about the story, which is Where the Wild Things Are but with a girl protagonist. This seemed to make Stacey enormously happy. We’ll see how that pans out.

2. Sold and signed stuff.

3. Read a bit of Caitlin Kiernan’s fiction for the “Male or Female?” panel-come-gameshow. One contestant said female, the other male. I asked them why they thought the author was either male or female. Gary Braunbeck offered the generalization that men write more about the external world while women write more about their internal world. The passage I read was definitely more about the external world, but then Monica Kuebler had stumped Gary earlier with passages from John Shirley and Jack Ketchum, proving that generalizations are only that.

4. Met lots of great folk, including the very gracious Scott Edelman, up and coming writer Scott Browne, the incredibly sweet Paul Genesse and the delightful Australian writer Rocky Wood, not to mention the awesomely talented Marge Simon. Her husband, the Grandmaster of Poetry Bruce Boston, wrote the introduction to my poetry collection. Biting Midnight. Meeting Marge had been long in the coming. The convention staff were all terrific people, I should add.

5. Strutted around in some utterly frivolous and girly outfits, especially that amazing pink 1940s suit that I bought from Sabrina Belladonna.

6. Read my latest poem, “Uncle Nietzsche with Anchovies,” to an appreciative audience in the Poetry Reading, as well as “Le Menteur” and my French and English versions of “Petite.” (Now, is it just me, or should poetry make fucking sense? All that poetry I heard loaded with random adjectives and hyphenated bullshit seriously needs to meet Mr. Shredder. Most came from one Vogon in particular.)

7. Ground my teeth through most of the Bram Stoker ceremony as I witnessed more “club awards.” However, I was there to support friends, to which I must say “Mission Accomplished,” and besides the emcee was quite funny. I enjoyed watching Sarah Langan win Best Novel. The best part was when Gary Braunbeck mentioned one of my favorite movie moments of all time — the ending of Prince of Darkness — as one of two iconic John Carpenter moments. Yay! It’s not just me!

8. Made a complete ass of myself in the audience of the screenwriting panel I attended. Lisa Morton knows I’m insane and Bill Breedlove still wrote “Maria Alexander is a goddess” on my martini glass that night, so I suppose they forgive me. The other panelists might not. I do repent my ass-like behavior. Alas!

9. Had a lovely sushi dinner with Loren Rhoads.

10. Said other apparently strange and shocking things whilst on one of the networking panels, as I recall a jaw or two dropping. Oh, how I do love being provocative! (Did I mention I also apparently love the taste of my shoe?)

11. Seemed to sexually traumatized every male in the room with “Pinned” at my reading. (Well, I had warned them about the kinky sex on the advertising flyer. Silly boys!) Later sold a copy to the sweet gal who wandered in late but heard enough to want to read the ending.

12. Survived hotel horrors, including two power outages the first night that caused my room to drop to sub-arctic temperatures, skin ailments galore because of the dryness, and finally some kind of food poisoning that nearly cripped me from packing and leaving the hotel. Can I say that I hate Salt Lake City and the Radisson with equal measures of peevishness? Yes, I certainly can.

And there you have it.

Poetry Fight Club

Posted on May 4, 2007 by Maria Alexander under France, poetry, sick, Spiderman

The excerpt from the late Roberto Bolano’s The Savage Detectives just has me in stitches, and I bet he wasn’t looking for that response. It’s based on real-life thugs, otherwise known as the “infrarealists” (or some variation thereof) break up poetry readings and mock Octavio Paz. Gangsters hell bent on changing the poetry world.

That is simply hilarious.

Meanwhile, Slate is referring to the new Spiderman as “Emo Parker.”

HAHAHAHAHAHA! Awww, Spidey! Turn that frown upside down, man!

I was thinking the other day about what I miss most about the U.S. You know what that is? My goddamn immune system. Yesterday, I went through another hellish, painful ailment that involved an emergency visit to the doctor, the lab, the pharmacy, and now all kinds of French meds. And I mean, so much pain, I couldn’t speak English, much less French. And we’d just finished a major Vitamin C + Royal Jelly run prescribed by the pharmacist, too. You want a gangster poem? I got yer gangster poem right here, Roberto:

Fucking France
I’m always sick here
La grippe
Le rhume
La gastro
Not to mention
All sorts of other
Damned things
I never get at home
You know
I love Provence
And Paris more
But fuck this
I bet I’ll
Catch a cold
On the plane
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