Tuesday, December 05, 2017

New Parody Lyrics: If I Drift Along This Shore


If I Drift Along This Shore
(Parody of Jewel’s song, “Hands”)
by, Melissa R. Mendelson

If I could push this boat out to sea,
Then all the burden I carry would fall away
And there would be no worry of tomorrow from yesterday
And I could just drift, and I could just stay
And in times like these
I just need to get away
Or my mind will stray
There’s just too much uncertainty today
Too much violence and rage and fear
And I want to push it all away
But they’re here to stay, standing on the shore
But they’re here to stay, standing on the shore
And I cannot take any more
I see you watching me as you sit on the street
I wish I could help you but I too live in defeat
And my heart has left me
To disappear deep beneath
And I’m sinking in, and I can’t breathe
This world is killing me
For someone needs to stand up and fight
Cause there’s so much wrong that it’s not right
Won’t someone turn on the light
Won’t someone come and give me life
But they’re here to stay, standing on the shore
But they’re here to stay, standing on the shore
And I cannot take any more
In the end, what are we fighting for
In the end, what are we fighting for
I just want to push this boat out to sea, away from the shore
I just want to push this boat out to sea, away from the shore
I just want to push this boat out to sea, away from the shore
I want to think no more
But if I’m lost, I’ve gone too far
But if I’m lost, I’ve gone too far
And I am so much more
You will hear me roar
And you can just stand there, upon the shore
And you can just stand there, upon the shore
I know what I am fighting for
And this madness needs to break
Against the rocks on this shore
On this shore
On this shore
We need to fight so much more
On this shore
On this shore
We need to remember who we are
Before things went too far
Went too far
We are so much more
We are so much more

Monday, December 04, 2017

Parody Lyrics: Misty on a Monday Morning


Misty on a Monday Morning
(Parody of Lionel Richie’s song, “Easy”)
by, Melissa R. Mendelson

Know the news isn’t sunny
But I can’t stand this misery and pain
If only this trouble could leave tomorrow
And end this falling rain
You know some have done all they can
But you see the villains won,
They’re here to stay

Ooh, it’s so misty
Misty on a Monday morning
It’s so misty
Misty on a Monday morning

Why is the world
Wrapping its chains around me?
I struggle every day to make it,
But nobody wants to look at me
Everybody’s afraid of what they see
We want to believe the world’s okay.
No, it’s not okay.

Ooh, it’s so misty
Misty on a Monday morning
It’s so misty
Misty on a Monday morning

If only the stakes weren’t high, so high
If only this rain would stop to fall
If only life could remember the good days
If only I could be free, babe

It’s so misty
Misty on a Monday morning
It’s so misty
Misty on a Monday morning
Because it’s misty
Misty on a Monday morning
Because it’s misty
Misty on a Monday morning

Photography: Misty Monday Morning







Photography by Melissa R. Mendelson

Saturday, December 02, 2017

New Poem: When The Axe Falls


When The Axe Falls
by, Melissa R. Mendelson

Is this the future for my home 
as the tax man heads my way 
with his orange hood 
and razor sharp axe, 
demanding my blood 
for all I have sacrificed, 
and if he bleeds me dry, 
where will I live 
but on cold streets 
as you speed by, 
refusing to look 
because you won’t see me. 
You will see you 
as your home lies in ruin.  

Friday, December 01, 2017

Poem: Cracks In Our Foundation


Cracks In Our Foundation
by, Melissa R. Mendelson

I don’t recognize my home anymore. 
I’ve invaded someone else’s space. 
When I open the door, 
I don’t recognize the streets 
or the road rage drivers 
that miss me by an inch. 
The land is not the same. 
It is gray and broken, 
and even the lake nearby looks angry, 
ready to swallow the fishermen 
that dare to steal its fish. 
And when I try to remember home, 
look into the eyes of those here,
I see distrust. 
I see hate. 
I see fear, 
and nobody wants to say anything. 
They don’t want to say
what is on their mind, 
for if they do, 
they might be struck down 
or have their tongues ripped out. 
This isn’t my home anymore. 
The skies have taken over the past, 
and the present’s cold, bitter. 
History’s ripped away, 
and whatever future we have, 
we may not have. 
And all I can do is close the door 
to this broken, ruined home 
and hope for all this pain, all this misery 
to go far, far away.    

Photography: December Drive 2017












Photography by Melissa R. Mendelson

Wednesday, November 29, 2017

Poem: Moments Unreturned


Moments Unreturned
by, Melissa R. Mendelson

We never thought that the terror would find our home.
We believed an invisible door locked monsters out, 
and we would only see them, 
see what they’ve done 
on the television set. 
But then a gun went off. 
My world shattered, 
raining glass over a panicked parade, 
and even with the chaos silenced, 
I feel cold. 
I feel that the door that has kept me safe 
has been obliterated. 
The tv set is displaying my home, 
and I don’t recognize it. 
I feel like a stranger robbed of sanctuary, 
and the monsters are laughing, 
tasting blood in the water. 
It might have been an accident, 
but don’t horrific things begin accidentally? 
All I want is to go back, 
return to memories that kept me warm, 
but my tears are no longer laughing. 
They’re pouring like winter’s rain, 
and I’m drowning 
for the future is a black hole 
inhaling all hope. 
And the past is falling, fading away 
like this photograph.  

Monday, October 30, 2017

Short Story: The Absence of Love

The Absence of Love
by, Melissa R. Mendelson
They always come at night. Every night. Since we moved into this old house. Since that first night. They nearly had me, but somehow running into the closet saved me. They couldn’t penetrate the dark, a tight womb that held me from their white claws. They stood there, glaring at me with those empty orbs. They stood there for hours on end until the first sign of dawn, and then I blinked. And they were gone.
My parents never believed me. I begged them to return to our old home, our old town, but then they would glance at one another. It was like some dark secret that lingered between them, one that a child could not bear. I would learn much later down the road that they were forced to leave, but did they have to come here? This old house was separate from town, and it was separate for a good reason. But still, they would not believe me.
The moment I stepped into this old house, it was like Death had stepped through me. Every bone, every fiber inside screamed, “Get Out,” and at first, I didn’t understand. Then, they appeared, the hollow residents that once lived here, their souls sucked out for the house to keep, and their shells to keep the walls warm in winter. I did not want to know this. They told me this as they stood before the closet door, and then they even smiled. And that made me shudder more, but what was so special about the closet? Why couldn’t they enter the dark, or was it some kind of void that held them prisoner still?
Then, one day, my parents stopped eating. They stopped speaking. They refused to go outside, outside in the sun. They pulled the shades down, and then they sat for hours on end in nothing but the quiet. I tried to break them from this, but I was slapped across the face. And then I was sentenced to my room and warned to never come out, but I escaped whenever I could. And at night, I slept in the closet.
The last night that I would live inside this house came on swift wings soon afterward. The hollow residents of before did not appear in front of the closet. Instead, my parents walked into the room, looking confused at the empty bed. My father glanced underneath the bed and then up at my mother, shaking his head. She then proceeded to look around the room, and then her gaze fell before the closet door. The two of them threw the door open, reaching inside with their white claws, but they too could not penetrate the dark. They stood there for a long, long time, and then dawn came. As the first lights of dawn slipped into my bedroom, my father shot my mother, and then he blew his brains out right in front of me.
I stayed in the closet for a long time, staring at their bodies. My mind was quiet. My heart refused to beat. I knew. I knew that if they had succeeded in pulling me out of the closet that I too would be dead, but what was so special about the closet? What was it about the dark that protected me? It wasn’t the void. It wasn’t the house. It was the absence, a hole where love once lived, and to this day, I sleep inside the closet.