EROS Agendas by Icingdeathe

T'was the night before Christmas, Mar a Lago was quiet,

While Donald sat planning another doomed riot.

His minions were thinning, so many in jail,

As Trump's thoughts of joining them caused him to pale.

Giuliani and Powell, two more of no use,

Would soon earn the wrath of his verbal abuse.

The stockings sat empty, not even worth coal.

No hope for the wicked, not even parole.

Decorations were dripping, all sparkling in red.

Strewn empty Heinz bottles still littered the bed.

With covers pulled tight, he continued to cower.

"If only the Presidency was my power!"

And alas, in his Party he may be hot stuff,

But up against Democrats, wasn't enough.

As each time he'd lost in the popular vote,

A fact that caused Trump a huge lump in his throat.

Jogged out of his dark thoughts, he soon heard a clatter.

And rose to see "now what the hell is the matter?"

Just Melania and Barron, leaving him in a hurry.

The sight of which caused him considerable fury.

No presents this year, just those given himself.

"I can be my own Santa, who needs any damn elf?!"

So back into ketchup bed slowly Trump eased.

With delusions of President, he fell asleep, pleased.

But Justice was coming, for too long denied.

Soon, only a cellmate would be by his side.

And as for our saga, this writer's delight,

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night. 

 

~Tamara McLanahan

15/15/23

 

A reading of the poem Seeking Souls from my horror collection on Amazon entitled Illuminated By Darkness: A Collection of Dark, Deviant, Demented, Naughty and Macabre Short Stories and Poetry.

Enjoy!

ISBN-13

978-1549986673

Run and they'll catch you.

Hide and they'll seek.

Chance of survival,

Looking quite bleak.

Once they have found you,

You're there to stay.

Perverse, psychotic, they like to play.

Quick and quite painless,

Or tortured fun,

They won't be stopping,

Until you're done.

How long you last though?

Up to their mood.

No longer human,

Now you're just...food.

 

~Tamara McLanahan

 

The universe revolves around her,

Or so she thinks, her orbit's wide.

Pretty facade, the stars surround her,

But never shine on what's inside.

 

She lines her vast celestial temple,

With roses and the finest wine.

Replete within a vast convergence,

All from her own crafty design.

 

But fear is stalking waking hours,

Consuming of both time and space.

And in her mirror, each new dawning,

More aging lines that won't erase. 

 

~Tamara McLanahan

2019

The Vampire Diaries (2009–2017)

 

For You To Dot, Dot, Dot...  10/10

3 May 2022

 

I didn't watch TVD during its incredible eight year run. I assumed it was for teens. I was wrong. The recurring themes of love, desire, family, loyalty, responsibility, redemption, betrayal and atonement speak to any age. Intricate storylines with an amazing cast who aren't afraid to dig deep into compelling, relatable characters.

Elena with her compassion, sense of justice, exuberance for life is still plagued by sadness and loss. Bonnie, driven by empathy, curiosity and witchy-woo ways, another character to identify with strongly. Caroline, always seeking, needing control, her compulsion to fix wrongs all while organizing anything and everything, creativity at the forefront.

Stefan is a lovely, highly dimensional character. Willing to lead with his emotions, take chances all while creating cathartic journals for reflection and personal growth. Paul Wesley imbued the youngest Salvatore with incredible depth, an inner fortitude born out of fear of failure. Often rigid, fearing failing not just himself but all those he loves, he fights his inner demons daily.

Even the supporting cast deliver strong, nuanced performances and the seasonal villains are deliciously evil, particularly Kai.

Ahh, but Damon...

His sexy flippancy, the myriad facets from casually gleeful malevolence to caring, committed protector is irresistible. Quick witted, sharp tongued and some of the best one liners of any series, any genre, ever. Happening upon Elena and Stefan after a night of passion, he quips, "If I see something I haven't seen before, I'll throw a dollar at it." Deliberately delivering those gems with flashing, crystal blue eyes or a sizzling, crooked side grin. Often both. Played to perfection by Ian Somerhalder, a truly beautiful man, inside and out. It's Damon that makes The Vampire Diaries unshakeable for me, the bond unbreakable.

So, I know I'll be streaming the series again soon. If you haven't watched TVD, will you enjoy it? That's for me to know and you to dot, dot, dot. As for Damon, he may just sink his teeth into you and never let go. After all, you can't spell Damon without damn. 

 

 

This popped into my head while looking forward to receiving two Original Cask Strength @BrothersBondBourbon (s). One with engraved signatures! Ordered both as soon as they went Live at @reservebar back in 2022.

 

A Time To Bond by Tamara McLanahan

 

A beach, a bonfire and Brother's Bond.

We talked until the morning dawned.

In joyous laughter time stood still,

With plenty there to drink our fill.

Camaraderie, friendships the aim,

And wishes that you'll find the same.

 

August 1, 2022

 

@iansomerhalder

@paulwesley

#TimeToBond

#BrothersBond 

#BrothersBondBourbon

 

Sláinte mhath !

 

Another file error encountered that makes the first posting of this, way back in 2016, impossible to hear, hence this rereading, October 2023. Still proud of this one though circumstances, as they sometimes do, abruptly, rudely changed.  

 

Six Words

He poised his pen, 
Centered his thoughts,
And then began with an alacrity,
Not afforded most.
His stanzas dipped and dived,
His words looped and whirled,
Harmonized and danced,
With a rhythm, a power, a cadence.
Phrases flowed in a powerful seduction,
An enticing entanglement.
Able to woo and win at will,
Offering a mixture of passionate prose,
Or oft' times a poetical promise,
Few could not succumb to.
Emotions long buried in both,
The writer and the reader were born anew.
He'd needed to tell a tale,
And indeed he had, but so much more.
Enjoined to come along,
We followed happily.
A finer pied piper of poetry,
Most had never had the delight,
In meandering with for any length of time.
Six words that would forever change worlds.
For such was the beauty of those words,
That none who read him,
Remained quite the same afterwards.
Let him tell you a story...

- Tamara McLanahan

Copyright 2016 Tamara McLanahan. All rights reserved.

 

 

My original post file isn't playable for some reason so here's a re-reading, compelled in large part by the current Israeli-Hamas war with fervent hope and prayers the fighting can be resolved quickly, humanely and fairly. 

 

THE BOX, REVISITED

With thanks to Lascelles Abercrombie
for the original poem entitled THE BOX

The box, it seems, cannot be stored,
Nor adequately guarded o'er.
By gun, or vault, not shield or sword.
For human nature won't move forward.

As Hush-a-Bye learned to its woe,
The box is used by friend and foe.
Both wield its harm to justify,
And therein lurks the biggest lie.

For force is always met by force,
With death and woe its chosen course.
From bloody fields and ocean waves,
The mountain tops, the deepest caves.

Destruction leaves its crimson paths.
Survivors write the epitaphs.
And fertile ground laid bare in waste,
Mass burials performed in haste.

Our history, doomed to repeat,
For war is never quite replete.
At times the box waits patiently,
But always with a fiendish glee.

So heed this warning, well and true.
The box's fate is up to you.
For once it becomes truly sealed,
The Earth can finally be healed.

Copyrighted 2016 by Tamara McLanahan 

I wrote this as a tribute to the grandfather of a dear friend but also for all the lives and families affected by dementia. To the caregivers with infinite patience, to the survivors who live with it and the ones we miss, including my mother-in-law who suffered with Alzheimer's for many years, this is for you.

                                                                                      -Tamara McLanahan

 

He was a kind man. The one the kids could always count on to have a lollipop or two in the pockets of his button-down cardigan. Who would smile and be first to join in if they were playing a game of catch. Always there to assist should a kite become tangled in a tree or a puppy become lost. No pets ever stayed lost for long under his watch. His eyes crinkled when he smiled and his laugh was infectious. In summertime, when the ice cream man would drive down the street he was first in line, and should any child be slightly short on change, they weren't for long as he kept plenty of coins for just such a need. And so it was with sadness that his family watched as he started to become ill. No sudden onslaught of a disease. No, this was more insidious, much more devastating. A slow eating away of self, first confusion and the ebb of his smile. He began sitting in his favorite chair, staring into space with eyes slightly glazed. The jokes he used to tell so frequently diminished or were begun but never finished. Just sentences that trailed off into mutterings. He still hugged, wrapping strong bear arms around and giving a loving grunt as he did so, but those watching noticed that after a moment or two, he might need to pull back and look at the face of the one he was hugging. As time went on, he recognized fewer of those faces as he examined them.

He'd always enjoyed fishing and that he continued to do. The baiting of the hook, casting into the pond, those were ingrained since childhood and a comfort. But as the disease progressed, he found it harder to find his favorite pond. The grandchildren started accompanying him more frequently, holding his hand as they skipped along by his side. Even the local children kept a closer eye on him as he'd walk around the neighborhood. They may not have known precisely the nature of his illness, but in the way of children, knew something had changed and as he'd always been there for them, reciprocated with childlike innocence. But a few adults were less kind, not understanding the nature of the disease. Seeing only a once vibrant and take-charge man slide slowly into what in their less kind moments they called "a doddering old fool." Sometimes under their breath, sometimes a bit too loudly for him to miss and unfortunately, understanding them in his more lucid moments.

Then one day, another grandchild was born. He set his sweetened ice tea on the side table with a loud crack and stood. Suddenly galvanized into action, he announced to the room that he was going to see the newest addition to his family. Those there looked at him, used to his eccentricities and went back to their activities. He walked into his room and pulled out his finest Sunday church suit. Polished his shoes, took his crisp white shirt off the hanger and added his favorite suspenders. He looked in the mirror when he was finished and smiled. Some might say he looked bespoke as he winked at himself and he felt better than he had in years. Walking back through the house with a confident stride, snagging his best hat off the coat tree, he made a beeline for the door. One spoke up to ask where in the heck was he getting off to. He turned and addressed the family.

"I have a new grandson, and I aim to see him."

It didn't matter that it was raining, that it was a good hour away to where his grandson slept soundly on his first full day home from the hospital. He only knew he needed to see him, hold him and look into eyes that might be glazed but he knew would crinkle when he smiled as he got older. Who would always be there to help with a kite and would have an arsenal of jokes to make family or friends chuckle. His grandson would always have enough change to cover any shortages when the ice cream man came through the neighborhood.

And so the rest dressed quickly and drove in the deluge to the house where the baby slept. He relaxed in the chair holding the tiny addition, his loved ones scattered around the room talking and laughing. He lived a few years beyond that day. It was the last good day he had; some would later reflect. But if there was one good last day to have, he couldn't have picked a better one.

           The Danse Macabre

And it begins, this Danse Macabre,
Night terrors causing you to sob.
When demons walk the Earth for real,
With wickedness they can't conceal.

So many souls they dare possess,
Alarming, their rampant success.
In corners dark and alleys hidden,
The daevas seek all out, as bidden.

For dark desires hid away,
Too often will come out to play.
As piety is overrated,
Some sins are never really sated.

You'll keep your trinkets very near,
To try and allay all your fear.
A cross, an ankh, your talismans.
No pantheons dare you offend.

But darkness eats up all the light.
It matters not how hard you fight.
No candles flame to save your soul,
Your grave mistakes must pay a toll.

In supplication, prayers devout,
You try to keep the Hell spawn out.
A furtive effort, still, you try,
Until you hear the banshee's cry.

It's chilling dread that grips you now,
No way of knowing, you allow.
But in your heart, you know it's true.
The Danse is coming after YOU!

         

                           -Tamara McLanahan

Copyright 2016, Tamara McLanahan All rights reserved. Content may not be copied or used in whole or part without written permission from the author.