Mary Margaret Park

Along the forest floor where my feet have yet to tread the spider webs are waiting adorned in prisms thread Remnants of seasons past trace the tree-lined path holding sodden secrets underneath the dewy show Proud against the ancient loam a tender leaf pokes through soon to dust the forest floor with all that’s green and new Tears of joy from rain soaked clouds tap against my cheeks and when the silken quiet breaks with tree frogs piercing cry my heart trills ever upward to the soaring emerald sky where my soul flies free among the branches in reply And so I share in this ancient ritual full of whispered past where the climbing leaves of green are full of hope In this cycle of life and death all inspiring and sublime I am conscious of the ticking and the passage of all time Along the forest floor where my eager feet do tread I am covered in the mist of wonder’s watershed – – – – – – – – – - Make a $5 Contribution?

time It passed in a rage and we plunged into This alien world burning copper pots shaped like tear drops lay submerged in earthen ponds and water quenched the thirst of fools our fires forever faltering water as far as the eye could see and more of it we were insignificant cloaked in the dark of evergreen beneath the murky haze tendrils crept reaching as if to touch the hand of god – – – – – – – – – - Make a $5 Contribution?

I. Len Oei awakened. His dreams blanketed him in desperation. Everything was still. An alarm clock sounded. “It’s time to get up and head out for another long hard working day,” the morning radio host said. Like a bird perched on a limb, Len sat up, swinging his feet onto the cool wooden floor. He steadied himself on the bed’s edge. (It’s time to get ready for another day at Cochran City Clinic). I should call in sick, could use a day, hell; a week off…  A twinge of guilt followed, as he envisioned the waiting room filled with raucous sounds of sickness and images of hopeful faces. Fuck…  He muttered as he headed towards the kitchen for a cup of coffee. A disturbed trail of thoughts lingered, I can’t handle another futile patient; no more, I’m tired…  He took a sip of the black coffee, yearning to become hopeful—6:03 a.m. flashed. II. Len couldn’t stop thinking about the little girl. Her mother brought her to the clinic a week ago. Her baby was terribly sick, Pneumonia. He wanted to admit her to the hospital right away but the insurance company wouldn’t pay for any services rendered. He did the best he could and sent the tearful mother home with breathing treatments and an antibiotic. With so many patients to treat, he hadn’t given it much thought until yesterday, when the little girl’s mother barged into his office. “There’s something wrong with my baby, help me; please, help me…” she’d screamed.  Len took one look at her child and knew it was too late. The baby’s lips were purple and her skin had taken on a dusky blue shade. He went through the motions of trying to save the child anyway; later, he learned that her mother was unable to obtain the antibiotic he’d ordered. He wanted to chalk the incident up to plain old ignorance but this wasn’t the first time something like this had happened. In fact, the supply of antibiotics to the local hospitals and pharmacies had slowed altogether—6:21 a.m. Len took another Read more [...]

red a strange avenue into imagination not seen or heard impaled by the velvet angst of this uncertain virtue tomorrow’s vision the simplicity of skin on skin atonal oblivion in the silk of your lips red a strange avenue into imagination a simple view a still life in profile on the other side of sunset today’s ambition the aspirations of a lifetime totally immersed in the color of your dreams – – – – – – – – – - Make a $5 Contribution?

I lay awake wrapped in the rain’s gentle arms a whispered cadence from yesteryear this moment twined eternally in childhood as water droplets tap dance outside the window ambassadors of peace beckoning towards yon horizon where simplicities promise awaits – – – – – – – – – - Make a $5 Contribution?

“The world is animated with all the wrong techniques sometimes, and it stands to reason that no one is to blame but ourselves, for standing back and allowing everyone to become so out of control. They jacked up what authors have to say by citing for all wide minded individuals to stick to what they do best, but, what is that anyway? Oh yeah, brace yourself and continue to be banked and boinked until food is too high to own and water is the precious gold of the new born leaders. Then some say be positive. We were inspired to make a song that wasn’t melancholy by what’s in front of us, so maybe you need to get smacked upside the head after all.” “There is no reason to debate what exist before your eyes. Be positive, don’t convey a negative message, so basically, don’t speak any truths and keep pumping out Disney safe music, film, and videogames? To Hell with that, we thrive on reality because at the end of the day, it is all you have. Owning a dream takes time, and being afforded the opportunity to have something to say is living. To say nothing about truths in your surroundings is the worst thing. Be what you’re capable of being while still breathing air and having mobility. You didn’t ask my opinion? That’s okay, no one asked yours either.” “THE WORLD UPSIDE DOWN” (Demo II) – – – – – – – – – - Make a $5 Contribution?

What is obedience to an outcast? I don’t see clearly, and they won’t take their hands off my eyes. So today, I think….if art doesn’t push past what exists in your surroundings, the comfort zone of the status quo, is it really art? What’s your cup of tea? Is it a flavor called reality? Or maybe it’s flavor somewhere in between? If you didn’t pause too long to answer the question, you’re probably doing okay, aye? Make a $5 Contribution?

She was in a daze, sick to her stomach—Rose rolled over and buried her head beneath the covers—the afternoon sun kept poking through the blinds, a reminder that productive people didn’t stay in bed all day, a reminder that they got out and worked, and didn’t spend the whole day hiding, afraid to come out. She was starting to hate her husband. She felt like a bird in a gilded cage. She was trapped, and the people looking inward didn’t understand, didn’t care to, as it only upset whatever preconceived notions they held about the life she and Wally were living. Outwardly, they were the perfect suburbanite couple, with 1.7 kids and a two-car garage, but on the inside, they were sick, rotted to the core. The phone rang; its shrill chirp cut through the bedroom door. She should have gone downstairs to answer it. Wally was probably calling to check up on her, but she didn’t want to talk to him. The ringing finally quieted. A Mockingbird’s tune drifted inside. She pulled up out of bed and went to the window; her long blond hair swayed at her petite waist. She had wanted to get her hair cut short but Wally wouldn’t have it. She hopped in the shower, turning the water up so hot that she could barely stand it. When she got out, she realized that she’d forgotten to turn on the exhaust fan; the mirror and windows were completely foggy. She wiped a small section of the window clear and peered outside. The sky had turned gray, and a dismal mist had settled over the backyard. She paused, listening to the low rumble that echoed in the distance—the birds sang no more and the air tethered in unnatural quiet. She resumed brushing her hair, peering closely at the mirror. Was that a gray hair? She was reaching for the tweezers when something tapped against the window. She couldn’t tell if anything was out there, and besides, what could it be? She was on the second floor. She tweezed the Read more [...]

“Ruler Without Reason” by [Mary Margaret Park] uncertain virtue democracy lost changing the future freedom’s the cost street corner speeches folks singing the blues warriors for rights out parceling truths capital hill’s fists are heavy with stones our citizens victimized losing their homes masters on wall street the new ruling breed we’re serfs in a system fueled by globalist greed political forecasts pedal lies to the blind selling prosperity while the dollar declines rulers without reason the treason of this rhyme betrayal of a nation the disgrace of our times Make a $5 Contribution?

Music is magical. That’s just how it is, and if anyone tells you otherwise then they “just don’t get it”. You never seem to end up with what your mind initially envisions. You’ll say to yourself, “…a string here, a synthesizer there…..” and 48 drum layers later, you’ll say “…phuuuuuuuuuuuuck, that’s enough”. But then, all of a sudden, you’ll say “wait! Just one more harmony vocal”. What’s happening is that your creativity is being pushed and pulled in every direction possible, and that’s what the “high” is all about. Everything else is just ‘SSDD’. Here is my latest demo: “The World Upside Down” Make a $5 Contribution?