Tuesday, December 29, 2015

Foggy night (photography) by Cassie Kinney









Dance! (poem) by Cassie Kinney

We belong to our fears and desires, We all hate, we all love, and 
We dance when no one is watching.

Who gets the blame? (poem) by Cassie Kinney

When my middle finger caught between the window pane,
I grimaced and wailed with tears for a minute.
Maybe I cried because my finger hurt so badly,
Or, an excuse to expel all my agonizing thoughts.

Surely you have to blame yourself
When you cannot blame the window.


Thursday, December 24, 2015

Paintings by Cassie Kinney

Here are the paintings I done for family. I'm satisfied with most of them, and I am especially proud of the landscape painting of different deciduous trees.







Sunday, December 6, 2015

Brave today, tomorrow,... by Cassie Kinney

source
I'll go to the grave,
Or stay in this hell,
Because I'm scared to be brave,
and continue to fail.
I'd rather live in a cave,
munching on kale.
But I want to be here to save,
And I want to be of some avail.
I shall read, write, and shave,
Following my heroes trail.
I will conform but not as a slave,
To fight tooth-and-nail.
To be smart, to work, & to have gave,
Something to those who shall prevail.

12-06-2015

Tuesday, November 17, 2015

Working on homemade gifts

My goal is to do four paintings to give to family as gifts for the holidays. The family portrait will go to my aunt, uncle, and cousin. And one painting will go to my grandma and grandpa, and one to my other grandma, and one to my dad and his wife. My mom, boyfriend, and siblings will not get paintings as gifts, because I never get them anything for the holidays anyway--and really, it's because these are the people that actually don't want to celebrate a capitalistic holiday affiliated with a fear-based-homophobic-misogynistic religion.
But like I said, I confess to making crafts for the holidays, such as potpourri, ceramic bowels, rock paintings, and canvas paintings. The potpourri was actually from found materials outside, like pine cones, sumac berries, pine needles, cedar wood shaving; and I found the glass jars in the woods too.
If you're interested, you can see the crafts I made last  year for the holidays in this post: 7 free last-minute holiday gifts.
Below are the paintings I have finished and will be giving away as gifts.



And here I have finished a painting of a flower garden and outhouse. This painting is of one of my grandmother's backyard, and so I am giving it to her for the holidays.

 

I bought these items for myself, but the yoga magazines, Dr. Bronner's hand sanitizing spray and lavender soap would also make great "stocking stuffers".


Wednesday, October 28, 2015

I know women that...(poem) by Cassie Kinney

I know a woman who can barely write, spell, or read,
And I know many women that are scared to eat.
I know many women that have had kids at sixteen,
And some that are desperately mean.
I know a woman who sells her body to pay her bills,
I know a girl that slept with her step dad for pills.
I know a woman that's husband dug her a grave,
And shoveled the dirt to the kitchen in a rage.
I know a woman who never came out to her husband,
I know a woman that married her second cousin.
I know sisters that were molested by their uncle,
And I know sisters that were raped in a struggle.
I know a married women that has yet to have sex,
And I could go on and on because women's lives are complex.

Tuesday, October 13, 2015

I eat a fig from the tree (poem) by Cassie Kinney

These fall nights are becoming cold,
But I step out onto the porch,
To feel the temperature of the day,
As the sun shines over the hill.
I slip on my shoes,
And walk among the plants.
I go to my fig tree every morning,
Eyeing a plump, purple fruit.
One or two are usually ready to eat.
I eat a fig, then a strawberry, then a radish
From cool October garden.

I uncover the lettuce garden,
And the potted plants too,
So they can breathe during the day.
I pick a piece or two of the greens,
And some carrots too.
From inside the house,
I take my potted plants out,
Onto the porch to catch some sun.
I read by my garden;
And as the evening draws near,
The sun is going down,
I cover my gardens once again,
And bring my potted plants inside.
I do this again, everyday, until the plants die.

Thursday, September 24, 2015

A birthday poem to my Mom by Cassie Kinney


As a Libra, you are clever & romantic,
As well as imaginative & diplomatic.
You avoid confrontation by all means,
But maintain social balance like a queen.
49 years ago on the 266th day of the year,
Grandma and pa met you with cheer. 
On September twenty third,
"Charlotte!" is the name the world heard.

Monday, September 21, 2015

Commence transcendence! by Cassie Kinney (poem)

I have no skills and have no goals--
I do not fit the traditional roles.
I don't want to be someone's wife--
Pretending this is a perfect life.
I neither need Marriage--
Nor a career I cherish.

I don't want children--
Or to make a million.

I once intended to achieve--
Something the world could not believe.
But, I am otiose in this state--
As there's nothing to anticipate.
And I have become a pariah--
When I live my life without desire.

If I continue like this, however--
My uncertainty will impede forever.

I got shit to do and no time to waver--
I'm ready for life's gifts to savor.
To be a painter, an artist, a writer--
Would make me wiser.
As long as I take the next course--
And find my confidence at its source--
I will gain my independence--
And commence transcendence. 

Sunday, September 20, 2015

Thursday, September 17, 2015

Drugs

Even if you're homeless,
You're not worrying about war,
Getting your head blown off,
Having terrorists run you out of the country.
You're not so much concerned about money,
Because there's always food in a dumpster,
There's always clothes given away.
America's inundated deal a different struggle
Than other world's poor and enslaved.
Here, drugs that sell are the drugs that kill.
20 dollars a day can satisfy almost any fix.
People can't escape the pit that has been dug,
When they get high to forget about their past.
To forget the times and places of distance memories,
 They're blocked by euphoric substances.
Still those things exacerbate the pain till--
After a decade of abuse as a poor kid,
Your life comes to a inevitable downward spiral,
Running away to another state--
Away from your two daughters,
So that you don't have to face jail time.
Your life warps into another cruel fate,
Where you're living under a bridge
Alone, and pressed to dissipate.

No more original thinkers (poem) By Cassie Kinney

In the hopes that life will somehow inspire me,
I have mastered waiting and listening to which I am prone.
I regurgitate and replicate what I hear and see,
Because I haven't an original thought or creative bone.


Thursday, September 10, 2015

The death of Aylan Kurdi by Cassie Kinney (poem)

Three-year-old Aylan drowned during a dangerous quest
Him, his mother and brother all drowned heading north west.
A desperate journey across the Mediterranean Sea,
War and poverty they must flee.

The death of Aylan Kurdi by Cassie Kinney 

Peace doesn't pay the bills by Cassie Kinney (poem)


Peace doesn't pay the bills.
I am not qualified for hire.
I have no skills in selling evil
I cannot, in the name of money
With the faces of slave owners,
Set aside my convictions.
I will not work in fast food
To fast track poor people to diabetes.
I will not work at a factory
To pollute the lungs of us.
I will not drive a car
At the risk of hurting life. 
I will not eat animals
Because I would not want that same fate.
I will not work in government,
To do "good" on the inside.
I have zero control over the world,
Because ignorant, racist, sexist, bigots--
The Donald Trumps of this world--
Need more money:
More money for protection,
Surveillance, world domination.
They require servants,
And pons to their schemes.
They pay the media
To personify him as a hero.
The people who love men like this,
Will continue to make him powerful.
It is not until we give up...
...On the industrial complex,
Despise fame and fortune,
Condemn authority,
And kill politics
To start planting fruit trees,
Growing a garden,
Living off the land...
But, peace don't pay the bills. 

Untitled by JH (edited by Cassie Kinney)

I can't help myself,
I can't help anybody else.
No one wants my help,
And I don't want to help myself.
We know we are a burden to life,
And meaningless to the universe.
If you have compassion in heart,
Rid yourself of it.
You will only be taken advantage of
And ran into the ground.
There will be no compensation
Or appreciation--
Only expectations to do more.
Your deeds will only become mandatory,
And your sorrow will only be taken as hostility.
Learn to be selfish like the rest of them--
They've never cared for you,
And you're only wasting your life.
You are weak--
And they feed on weakness
For anything that makes their life convenient. 
Respect, love, and appreciation would go far,
But that amount of effort would be too much.
The more you care,
The less they do.
Be weak and continue to be used--
I promise!
You will end up dying without real happiness.
C'est la vie~
But if it isn't relevant--
And life is just life, then why try?
Only through the happiness of others do I feel content.
And yet that leaves me with unrest.
For if I should be selfish--
Wanting compensation or indulgence--
I would be filled with guilt. 
Money is all anyone cares for
So if you want to pay me
I should accept.
Maybe if I had money,
Someone would give a shit.