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Casey Thomas McClain
45/M/Rio Linda, CA    I am a freelance photographer. . My photography is better than my poetry (in my opinion), it can be seen at: God bless, ...
Casey McClain
Sacramento, California    I am now 33, I suffer from schizoaffective disorder, OCD, major depression and migraines. I have had no formal classes or courses that teach poetry. ...


thevagabondking Apr 2013
she used to light her cig
and let it hang on the
bottom lip as she
spoke about god
or denny mcclain

i never understood
what they meant because
they were before my


so i’d sit and listen to
dad say he was an agnostic
and my mom say she was a
christian and my grandma laughed
and said she believed they were
both correct on different days

mcclain turned out to be
a criminal, embezzler
i believe

maybe that was lolich
or god
i don’t remember

i was drunk on
pepsi cola
made right chips
and love
Londis Carpenter Sep 2010
There's a bad stretch of road on Route Sixty-Six,
  that I've often heard truck drivers say,
is silent and bare, with a chill in the air,
  where travelers have oft' lost their way.

And the birds never fly in its overcast sky--
  the air always seems strangely still.
The dogs never bark and the moon casts a strange
  eerie shadow across the mill.

Most truckers avoid accepting a load that
  would cause them to pass through or near.
But I've never believed and refuse now to heed
  tales of superstition and fear.

Back in October of seventy-three came
  an offer I couldn't decline.
For a truckload of brew would be soon overdue--
  if no driver was found who would sign.

Having hard luck for cash, I took the dispatch,
  with no reason in my mind to fear.
I'd carry the load past that bad stretch of road
  and folks there would all have their beer.

With my cargo all sound I was soon out of town,
  on the road that led to the mill.
I felt happy and free--I'd received half my fee--
  I left bad luck behind on the hill.

Then a lightning bolt flashed with a thunderous crash
  And the sky turned a strange colored hue.
The clouds poured out rain in a world gone insane
  And a chill froze my flesh through and through.

I drove through the storm feeling sad and forlorn,
  then I rounded a hazardous curve,
where I got a surprise, as a sight caught my eyes,
  that caused me to veer and to swerve.

At the edge of the road stood a lady in white,
  with her thumb out to ask for a ride.
I hit the brakes hard and I slid to a stop.
  The girl eagerly climbed up inside.

I popped her a beer and the lady began
  to talk, as she sipped at her brew.
From the words that she spoke, it was clear she was broke
  and had missed more meals than a few.

So I took her to dine a little past nine
  at a cafe we passed on the road.
I watched as she ate all the food on her plate.
  then she smiled, as her story she told.

She sought a new life to escape all the strife
  of a past she could barely endure.
She'd left all to be free from her past misery,
  taking naught but the clothing she wore.

She told of her schemes to build on her dreams--
  to someday be a nurse wearing white.
She was nobody's fool--she could breeze through the school--
  and she'd work as a waitress at night.

When I got up to go she told me goodbye--
  said, "I know there's a place here for me."
She thanked me and smiled as she told me her name,
  "Just call me Nurse Nancy," said she.

So I paid off my tab and got into my cab feeling
  glad to be back on the road.
I soon reached the mill and delivered the ale.
  I was proud to be rid of that load.

The storm had now eased to a mild autumn breeze
  so I turned back the same way I came.
I hummed an old song as I rambled along
  and I wondered Nurse Nancy's real name.

I reached the cafe at the break of the day,
  so I pulled in for coffee and eggs.
When a waitress came by I said, "Tell Nancy hi!"
  And her hot coffee scalded my legs.

I had startled her so she had let the *** go
  and the glass shattered over the floor.
The poor waitress said, "You dishonor the dead
  making such jokes inside of this door."

I was sorely confused, feeling some sort of ruse
  had made me the **** of a scam.
But the glances and leers and the waitress's tears
  gave me cause to ask her to explain.

I could see her surprise by the look in her eyes
  that a trucker like me hadn't heard
Of a girl who'd been slain, named Nancy McClain,
  who'd been dead now for nearly ten years.

A man had came in from out of the rain
  to attacked her here in the cafe.
Shot her twice in the head and left her quite dead.
  then he somehow had gotten away.

She had worked for six years saving tips in a jar--
  "To pay for her schooling," she said.
But Nancy the nurse had left in a hearse;
    Nancy now rested safe with the dead.

There are poems that say in a lyrical way
  every thought that a man may employ.
But what lies in a heart one can only impart by the
  music a song may enjoy.

For music rings clear when it reaches our ear,
  bringing tears and laughter and hope.
It can sound the same as the autumn rain
  and say things that mere words can't emote.

There is music that's born in the heart of a storm,
  amid flashes of lightning and din.
Its a rushing sound of floods coming down,
  like the marching of ten thousand men.

It can sound the same as the cold autumn rain,
  saying things words can never explain.
Its a score so sad it can drive a man mad--
  so I cried as I drove in the rain.

There are things I believe and things that I know
  there are some things I just can't explain.
But I've driven that road with many a load,
  and I never saw Nancy again.
Nancy the Hitchhiking Nurse
by Londis Carpenter
all rights reserved
Graff1980  Nov 2020
Untitled 557
Graff1980 Nov 2020
Compassion informs my outrage,

Skinny black kid,
super sensitive
playing the violin
for kittens,
pacifist vegetarian
tried to tell policemen
“I am not violent.
I’m an introvert.
I am different,”
as they choked him
then had paramedics
dose him
with ketamine.

Buds of pain
do not bloom
but burst, spray,
and sprain
my brain
that was self-trained
in the art of
kindness and reason.

It takes
less than five minutes
to break a mother’s heart,
to tare her world apart,
to shatter and claim
that they are not to blame
after unloading a full clip
on an autistic thirteen-year-old
who wasn’t mentally equipped
to do exactly what he was told.

Love and mercy
should rule the day
but cops make
violence great again.
Human suffering
is not magic
just unnecessarily tragic. cont.

Micheal Brown,
Eric Garner,
Tamir Rice,
George Floyd,
Freddy Gray,
Breonna Taylor,
Elijah Mcclain,
Linden Cameron,
Jacob Blake,
and so many other names.
There has to be a better way.