Current poems in progress...
Thereís a river by this island,Add to commentary
Barely see the other side,
Once in life there comes a ferry,
But itís just a one-way ride.
River waterís cold and choppy,
Ice chill sunís a cloudy blue,
Waves that knock the wood deck dancing,
Shakes the boat without a crew.
This is not a destination,
Adventure not its own reward,
Understand that life is motion,
Face the shore youíll move toward.
Leave your ego on the water,
Wash away your pride-earned shame,
Dance the child that sleeps within us,
Nothing ever stays the same.
When you reach the equal distance,
Step on shore the other side,
Donít look back towards the river,
Life is just a one-way ride.
Pride earned shame, love it. Love the whole piece /tv
a tough way to live life. great write -turps
walking, walking, waking
I walked acrossAdd to commentary
and caught a sight of blinding white.
My eyes shut close
for just a second
and I stepped back again
Dark little secrets
from where I've been.
and now I know..
I walked across
a field ablazed.
There was no fear,
only a memory-
on the strings of my guitar.
I walked across
and I came back again.
I saunter down the strange avenues
of your affection
where the lightness in my heart is rivaled only
by that strange rapture
at the moment of my death.
my shoes gain miles.
Black little flowers bloom as I walk by.
I like the hill-like shape of this piece. It starts out gently, slopes upward, then peaks at that beautiful line: "your fingers on the strings of my guitar," before smoothly descending back into reality. The feeling is of completion and satisfaction. I also loved the way the "little flowers bloom as I walk by."
the Infinite Thimble
There is a character who gets some special shoes which let him take gigantic steps even while just walking normally. /rv
some links for yoo
troll song-Add to commentary
this one made me so happy:
Then, you have permissions. /rv
we love batman.
here's "what's going on" by he-man.
you were like, number #43 in my cds of 9 furlong'ed bongs!
man, i really loved you guys.
sadly, batman has to go into a place where he may no longer be recongized by anybody. not even the woman that love s/d it.
In the meantime you have joker.
I Miss You
There is a song where he finishesAdd to commentary
"I miss you."
I think he really does miss her.
He probably fell in love with her.
So he still has that kind of feeling,
I don't miss her anymore.
More accurately, I don't
Decent Excuses For Assholism
One of my best excuses is saying I'm a pro grammar.Add to commentary
Loads of kudos are provided, and all I have to do is ride the F train home.
In the middle of the night, with Her. And her bottles.
It My Wife
I mean,Add to commentary
"It's My Wife"
I lts enough, time to release control to Sauro--
Unlike the travesty of a two-half word punterAdd to commentary
this two-word motherfucker fucked on on just two bits.
Shaped like a coin, born in Des Moines,
no one told this guy to grow any teeth.
approaching your area...
The lynching of semblanceAdd to commentary
and raciest bastards
who from port call backwards
Also, by using a small secret mechanism
the game becomes open.
You have 20 or so lives to shoot the main alien.
Secret is so good you forgot what the secret of it is.
river so shot shallow with warmth, now totally fr0zen again
"I can't move my hands, Ana," he said, sounding a little bit like Clint Eastwood v.s. that guy who did a thing with Nine Inch Nails.Add to commentary
"You don't go around supporting the Union now," said Ana. She had seen what a president looks like in the hearth of her run down town. "You best support the Confederacy," she cried.
She had been warm and nice as if a kiss by your mother when you were a baby, with a sunflower.
Then time you started focusing on the sun.
And seeing how you could focus its wonderful energies at your own will. Sun Flower.
"I can't move my hands, Ana," he said, sounding a little bit like Clint Eastwood v.s. that guy who did a thing with Nine Inch Nails, and then died because the woman he was singing about had died earlier.
"You don't go around supporting the Union now," said Ana. She had seen what a president looks like in the hearth of her run down town. "I have seen him. You best support the Confederacy," she cried.
She had been warm and nice as if a kiss by your mother when you were a baby, poking your face with a sunflower. Mothers always get to poke your face with whatever the hell they have in their divine hands.
"I can do it," he said, and she tied him into the desert, with a very strong sort of vine. Over the moonlight hours, he tried to determine how he had been tied up by her. He didn't think she had much camp with materials, but he was quite sure she was very good with knots.
He, personally, could give two shits about different knots, but it was an important maritime practice. Apparently. How could you sail the sea, if you have not knot skills to tie you bloody footing? He rummaged in the desert for evidence of her handiwork. He rummaged until he got very tired. And then he didn't care any more whether she or the Sun would speak to him.
"I HAVE GOOD FOOTS!" he declared to Ana.
"Time you started focusing on the sun," said Ana. "I'm not really going to be here much longer! I'm a whiff of a girl, me laddo!"
"Try to see how you can focus its wonderful energies at your own will. Flow, Sun Flower, Flow It"
The Brain In The Tongue
As one proceeds to get drunk, you'll notice that speech tends to get faster.Add to commentary
This is because the brain (in the skull) is starting to work much faster, under the influence. However, despite this increase in speed of thought, this brain is also thinking in increasingly erroneous directions. It'll follow along certain trees of assertion, and then suddenly shoot into an entirely wrong branch or direction.
My theory is that, when this starts to happen, there is a brain in the tongue that begins to try and correct the errors of the brain in the skull. This brain is located toward the back of the tongue, just behind the lingual tonsil.
That is why one feels, as they get more drunk, as though their thoughts are occurring at a faster pace than they can spit out through their mouths. It's because the tongue brain has started to do all the heavy lifting; it is correcting skull brain's crazy directions, processing vocal matters and trying to keep up the pace, all at the same time.
Unfortunately, the brain in the tongue is much, much smaller than the brain in the skull. It is a sprinter, not a marathon runner. This is why, after some time being very drunk, the brain in the tongue begins getting tired. It loses steam.
That is why you see the person's speech start to get slurry and disjointed.
Tiny Bit Rhymes
"Hi," he said, "I can rhyme a little."Add to commentary
No you can't, "said the bakery," not over here.
"The bakery sweated a little."
"Can't I rhyme just a tiny bit?" asked Bitty, "just a smidgen? A skotch? An itsy bitsy, or eensy weeny?"
Of course not, "said the soft cakes kiln," what makes you think you could ever do that at all?
During my mind elephantine
latching at the ravine
where an avalanche of sweat beads
impedes progress to your divine
My stethoscope malfunctions
"Wasn't made to analyze such junctions
This being is going against the strain!"
Ah My God I got an alien
safe and trying to break free
If I stick my chest against you closely
sooner will this alien escape me.
"Personality is becoming not useful and not at the least parse-able by other humans. Time to sleep"
Hit reverse thrusters.Add to commentary
Oh my god he is not hitting the reverse thrusters!
"I have done acrobatic maneuvers in space to give you this message."
The oblong shape continued to proceed into space, without reversing any of the thrusters.
"It's coming online now sir!"
Jot the note, while uninterrupted communication flows over the headset, tricolor pen is almost out of red. Click, smash the paper on the console in the face of the stickman. Emphasize by finger pointing. Coordinates. Keep it clean. The drone must approach, and then skate, use IR S-band for capture, sweep with a local alaska bird, maximize contrails, and deliver the payload in the fogbank.
At the chrismas party, tell the civies that we design video games for a living and laugh so heartily, our dirty martinis spill a bit, but never worry the new packet designs keep the stream clean.
"civvies" ? ugh. you're here too?
why can't you just fuck off?
There is no reason to fuck off. Envelope. /rv
I don't think I've been myselfAdd to commentary
But then again,
Why would I be that kind of retard?
Because certain thing changed in terms of how I thought women were
Now just hanging around
Honestly, just fucking laughing.
Because your reappearance in my life unbalances me;Add to commentary
On one side of the fulcrum:
there are grotesque memories of things you did
allowing that man to fuck you in the ass for crack.
no pun intended.
You told me
(-because I begged for details,
somehow thinking that knowing the minutiae
would set things aright)
and i have haunting visual images to this day
of him bending you over a chair
and taking you
and you suppressing the right to smile in enjoyment
-the enjoyment you denied vehemently as you
peddled your wares.
On the other side of the fulcrum:
A tenderness exquisitely unrepeatable
and pink, flecked with a new type of joy.
Soft recollections of intimacies and words whispered
we were playing together on such a excelled level
it's a wonder they didn't tear down the paradigm
and accuse us of everything!
Now in the middle;
near the tip of the pyramidal point:
there is no absolution...
From this vortex writhes all manner of agonised absurdities.
If only you'd have kept your stupid promises
this poem would have an apotheosis.
Instead, it's teeter totters in the void,
incomplete and hungry for itself.
Santa's working extra hard this year, ewml. He's coming to save us...all of us. Now what do you say when you've been given a prize for which you have absolutely no victory to show?
Nary a single prize in mah ENTIRE life have I ever had victory to show for it, so I says what I always says: nothin. What? Hark I hear a clatter pon my roofs! Is that be you sanity clause?!?
First's of all, let's not go with the old school. /realitybros
Never did nuffink
While cute, still losing; whileAdd to commentary
whale, still dolphin.
Accusations of being an asshole
met with speedy remedy,
concoction of which is
Always, and everytime
forever and never,
neverity being a point at which one's
eyes may start to bleed,
This is not inside /etc/shadow
or little lists you may self-construct.
The quality of my personal disasters is mine,
only mine, not others.
You are still reading.
But it's still mine.
/War Veteran with a *real* beef (no just kidding, runningvein)
of for dolphin's sake. GO AWAY. we don't want war veterans looking down on us pathetic "civvies" here. or ask ann to make a war veterans forum so you can all lurch around self-congratulating with the medals you earned murdering people (oops i'm sorry, "protecting our freedoms")
Your 'Guns' are history. I have more stuff coming up, too. /rv
There is word out there of a...secret couch. This couch has been around, and will continue to do so, some people say. It has lived in hotels, rest-stops (in the hand towel dispensers), and even homes of some people.Add to commentary
When it couches, never shall ye mention the words: "bed", "orthopedics", "slumber", "mattresses", "matrices"--you get the picture. Also never tickle this secret couch's ears with a thin straw, or he turn around and...well, ok, it's not turning around, but can you understand what I mean?
It's secret. Couch.
Hit Own Nerve
"The nerve of her," she had said.Add to commentary
I immediately put on my Batman suit. With these augmented technologies,
there can be no possible nerves.
(Ten days later)
"You can't hit my nerve," said man in Batman suit.
"No," said the Joker. "But you can."
"Why is everything so simple for you?" asked Batman.
The Joker took a step back. He went back to browsing his comics.
The man in the suit hit his own nerve, and it was really painful.
He had to apologize first. But he could not even do that.Add to commentary
"Treason," he tried, noticing the keys had got sticky. "Fuck. T(sticky) REASON, I said what I did was that..." but it was all going dark.
Nobody believed him now. He coughed a little. "Ahem. So the reason I performed in that manner was that I needed to gain absolution for a lot of older sins I had performed."
Nobody believed him. "Performed? Really? You 'perform'?"
As the night rocketed to morning, as the sun set to dawn, he used the last word in his vocabulary to express his apology.
The Art of Main
I can't do it.Add to commentary
Yes, you can. You do.
Your voice sucks, it's like a hundred old grandmothers ready to give a blowjob.
"I see. And how is your voice?"
I'm a man who prefers slightly older women.
"Not 90 year olds, then."
I'd prefer about 33-40.
WAIT, she said, and went to sleep.
He pulled out the telescope that a baby had given him in an old war. The baby had hoped he might value it for her, but then there were bombs and fire, so he just kept it. Anyway, that baby had no currency, it was just another thing in the middle of that war.
Ut was am old, chrome war, she told him.
"Your toenauls," he said, and sat down, and painted on her toes. Each toe was a story, sometimes terrible, sometimes wonderful. But each one slightly rising, slightly tinged with an excitement. As he twirled his brush around her heel, and bowed, Sphinxes emanated.
She watched him, from her place as he blessed (and sometimes cursed!) along her legs. After a few hundred year, it wasn't even clear what the hell he was doing. He was still doing it. And doing it.
Kept doing it again, again.
One evening she asked one of their sons whether he may enjoy high-speed racing in anti-gravity vehicles.
"Of course," said the baby, and she was very pleased, and he just wanted to shunt that baby whenever it tried to get in the race, and do the race by himself!
Have a Chat With Me, Before It Ever Gets Really Dark
That copyrighted bastard who secluded himself in...Thurma,Add to commentary
Moa Thurma...We didn't really burn him.
We just tried to show...
Unlike others, I don't suffer depression, merely an art of boredom.
For example, this should be a poem
typed by a person
with a lot of guts
Hello? Do you know about telephones?
My phone number is not like my finger recently,
since Ive become a victim of
cubital tunnel syndrome
it's nothing to joke about.
Some of my palm is numb, especially the 'lower area'
Top part is pretty good, can still shoot fuckers on games.
But holding a controller, or baby in my hands
...I start to question myself
It's not painful, just tingly.
shoot some juvederm and botox into it. you'll fall in love again immediately, apparently.
Sorry Sob Story Of Tubad, the Vulcan
He was given the choice to use a different set of letters.Add to commentary
When their ship was first breaking up,
he knew she wouldn't have any trouble
just slipping in with another guy.
She had even said so to him.
For him it usually took about 3-4 years,
but due to some unprecedented risks he had taken
with this specimen, the downturn would take five or six (6) years.
Five years without sex because of her fucking face.
He'd gotten rid of all the 'letters' she had sent him.
Those were thrown out of the window.
Maybe a hapless neighbor might have found them amusing.
They weren't what was important about her.
Nor were the myspace photos.
As though he was some retard who had never seen cool images.
She had said to him, "These were carefully selected just for you..." blah blah blaH blah.
Fucking assholes who post 'nice photos' for each other. REALLY? YOUR PHOTOS ARE NOT WHY I LOVE YOU.
I'm not a photo-ey person.
Often times, she would say, "I gave you everything", leaving me unable to respond to apparent graciousness. We had sex, we had some good times in a bathtub and on a bed...'Everything'?
Little tit. Let me tell you what everything is. Everything is five years later still having nightmares about you and another man.
Again, the sorry switch from third-person to first-person. It sucks. /rv
it's difficult to overcome the loss of love which is every bit as profound as a death. the loved one just lives on, not even having the courtesy to die. we perceive love as conditional and inter-dependent; we perceive these emotions affect the beloved the same way they do us. the only way i have found to avoid the painful aspects of love is to love without condition and practice loving without attaching the expectation of requital. admittedly, i am terrible at this. but i still practice. if you can hold love in your heart without requiring that love (or something of equal value to you-- protection, sex, intimacy, friendship, understanding, e.g.) be given to you in return, you'll find your world opening up in a way that frees you from this kind of painful longing.
the painful longing is the attachment to the process. to set yourself free, whenever you feel love, simply feel it and let it move through you without taking action or even thought. just let it be. eventually this practice will become routine, such that you can welcome love in and out of life as you would watch birds landing on your balcony and flying off again. you don't require them to stay because you know you can't dictate what they do. such is love..
"The password is one of your favorite paintings. See how much we care?"Add to commentary
"Savories," he replied.
This is the definition of savories, if you type into your google:
An aromatic plant (genus Satureja) of the mint family, used as a culinary herb, esp. the annual summer savory (S. hortensis) and the...
A savory dish, esp. an appetizer.
He waited there, that night, for the chef to open a can of condensed milk.
I think It Will Crash
in your apartment for a couple of days.Add to commentary
Just leave it a lone, it is sleeping, regenerating.
Don't offer breakfasts or lunches.
Dinner is out of the question.
It just wants to feel comfy for a little while.
Entertain a lot of far flung dreams.
Before it has to go back to its sternest meanings.
webuser: You catch the game?
sternest: My! Ace ace thought.
sternest: Enable joy.
sternest: Been lad.
sternest: Been wet.
webuser: I make computers feel sexy.
sternest: Expert, false Mickey mouse.
webuser: No, Donald Duck.
sternest: Clunk and dodo.
webuser: Landing gear, mostly.
sternest: Laggardly mentions.
webuser: Abrupt change of route.
sternest: Protuberance of a thug.
webuser: Better a thug than sliggish.
sternest: Tightest blights harangue.
webuser: Sweet nosey.
sternest: Eye wet sons.
webuser: You're pouring.
sternest: I or up younger.
webuser: Still a baby after all these years?
sternest: Flabby as heartlessly retaliate.
webuser: No, we just love you.
sternest: Joy! Tenuous vowel.
webuser: We love you.
sternest: Low you eve.
webuser: Love you.
sternest: You vole.
webuser: Vole indeed. We love you.
sternest: Wound evil-eyed eve loo.
webuser: Evel who?
sternest: Eh! Vowel.
sternest: Lumpy Lt.
sternest: Why? (Message is too short.)
webuser: Divide by 0
sternest: I've biddy.
webuser: Don't be scared.
sternest: So decent drab.
webuser: Good night.
i can see you, -o-, turps, amber, 3mj every night
free.Add to commentary
We may have nestled
uncomfortably in pain.
Except I'm not about pain.
So any pain
Rains upon Spain.
I love people. And how they count.
I like to kiss them secretly as they count wrongly.
I like to kiss everybody.
My hand was on your finger
I was owning it.Add to commentary
Your finger. The way you arranged everything.
As soon as
you spoon us
as though mere melt
we're watching edgar allan poe
or not watching him so much any more ;)
My hand was on your finger.
My mouth upon your breast,
sorry if it sucked
...My brain is working again.
Or at least claims. Claiming makes good poems.
*Tickles your slicing tomes*
Better Than Dimples
I'm sure many of you have already written to yourself over gmail to give yourself a note, or something. Missives collect such as this:Add to commentary
Subject: Go beyond their face structure
Good to see that you, too, are still alive and living well and breathing well. At least my message hopes that is what is going on with you.
Anyway, down to business:
I want to see if dimples are important in determining whether your face structure is beneficial to me.
When can we test?
oops. meant to send this from my gmail address. /rv
don't really send things to irfanbaig@gmail...
I'm sure he gets a lot of messages, and we should not confuse him. /rv
Alright, alright. Your assumption is that theere will not be an end.
I find that very telling. Of the shirts you wear.Add to commentary
And your pants.
The socks, the little bootsies.
The tiny gloves we can put around your fingies,
to keep them warm and safe.
Luckily our chest is a magnet.
I know you thought you were flying away
into oblivion, but no,
you were being drawn back to the safe zone.
Sometimes you may feel angry at me.
And you can punch. And kick.
Even say some bad and terrible words.
Maybe you say something like, "The Days Are Getting Too Slow"
Everyone looks at you, so you add that, "And There Is No More Water."
You come back, and we give you a gentle applause.
You curtsy, for some reason.
A friend leans in to a hair upon your ear
"That was epic."
They are watching you do your moves. How you react.
So much dynamism in the universe, so many possibilities.
You rise, "This story can take many shapes and forms.
It can go on forever," you say.
No, there will be an end.
Not a romantic or a legendary end.
Not even that much of a horroshow end.
Horroshow. Like Burgess.
But it will be a very satisfying end.
A stratospheric end, some may say, but then
they only dive in the murkiest puddles ending,
not truly with the description.
Later, after a few years, the society asks, drunkenly:
"It's never going to end, is it?
Just gonna go on."
You touch society's hand, and begin to hold it.
"Is it so bad?"
"Well, I....it's never going to end, right?"
"It's going to end."
"I grew up a type of aparrow."
Well this is a new direction.
"I keep flying. I fly."
A landing and take-off pad is created.
"Check it out, I'm flying in," she says happily.
We roll out the red carpet, and she glides in, majestic.
She wears green shoes, to contrast with her subject.
And with buoyancy.
"Let's do this forever," she says.
"What, the green shoes?"
Destruction, scratches on the face.
"I mean, yeah."
"The coolest, emerald entrance."
There is a second trick to the red carpet,
an undulating hemming way.
I tell her that she could land her foot here,
upon these woven threads,
or even there, upon those other threads, also woven.
"You're a snake, you devil," she tickles my cheek.
I want to say "Hardly".
But sometimes you don't.
"Really long piece tonight," she says.
The effect is ruined. She walks off to her dressing room.
A knave slips by. Says it's okay to spin a good yarn.
"You can keep going with a yarn," says the knave.
A knife slips by the knave, and he goes along
his merry way.
"You're not that dark," she says, returned.
"I thought you would never email me again," I say.
"I am returned." Green steps hoard my senses,
and I am lulled by a type of mint or herb,
a poison, which takes me into her world.
This is the most laughable fucking world, and we leave.
"Wait, I want to show you!" she says, and we are scooped back.
"You will sit still, and you will listen to instructions."
"No, that is not me," I try, but there is already a booklet.
* Use 'C' to release counter-measures
* Press the 'R' button to fire a rocket
* Hitting 'X' will let you fly by wire--
--I hit 'X'--
* By pressing, 'B', you can release a bomb
* CTRL-SHIFT-U will activate the 'Realism' mode
* While 'Realism' mode you can make one binary decision.
* If you are having trouble in *Realism*, you can press F10, and I'll let you in on some secrets.
I find that rather sexy, so I press F10
She says you can only press F10 while you are in Realism mode.
This has gone really astray, I mumble to myself. I feel like this has to be the end.
"I'm leaving you" she says.
"I'm going to help you bring your 'end' together, I've decided."
"Tuscanny," she says.
I snort cola."Okay, okay, what have I missed, really?"
She is livid, and I'm trying to be reasonable with her.
"It's not that Tuscanny is a bad place to dream of," I say. "It's just, so mundane." I remove a piece of chewing gum from her leg. "Why not just fly off to Jupiter?" I mumble.
"So you think Jupiter is boring," she snaps.
"No, I don't think Jupiter is--fuck! You are messing with my head!"
"I can be very clinical, you know," she says. "Two more nasty things and I'm gone, forever."
I ask her if she has watched The Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.
I tell her I have no guilt.
Sometimes bad things happen to people who could care less. When those things happen, watch carefully, because there is a type of dust that comes out of their beings. It may be a glowy type of dust or a darker, more pungent emanation, but you can see that in their eyes they are actually somewhere else.
My job will be to write stories, and make sure that every single one has an end.
I don't want people to ever feel cheated, like they got into this story, and al of a sudden, wahey, some fucking weird elongation of it. There is always going to be a start, and then an end.
The Beginning And The End Of It
There was a dispute between two men about her.Add to commentary
And only one man that she wanted.
Being contemporary, she was able to articulate her preference.
Rambo fell among the tree limbs, breaking a few bones here and there. He was able to rise after 23 hours of injured healing. He was somewhere in a forest, somewhere in New York. They had just thrown him down there, via helicopter.
He walked back to the village and found them making love. Immediately he released his grenades and this 'love hut' was no more.
Now he live a lonely life in solitude. Can't even watch them make love.
Though Poe to Macabre
Perhaps, in his time, the pendulum slashingAdd to commentary
It is not my idea,
You sit in a chair awaiting execution
Mother comes by. You nod.
The apparition does not leave.
"Mother," you say
"Run along now," which
necessarily opens a dialogue.
"I wish you had got the smarter genes,"
she says, and she writes (Yes, really, writes)
her name upon my shoulder.
I look at the King, all like,
"You lettin' this cunt write her na--"
Suddenly more women are stepping up.
They have pens, pointing.
My shoulder shudders, yet I keep firm.
I remember playing the guitar as they write upon my shoulder.
"What kind of punishment is this?" I ask, rising.
But I am engulfed by mothers.
LOLolol. very entertaining. i would fav this, if we were on another site.~_-
You start mothers, can'r start \
"Or Morhers" ? Reaslismo?
I already know the ending of the movie, and still
I've been watching Se7en a lot,Add to commentary
after she left me.
Maybe that crazy guy will get the brain gurgling.
I have a choice between he who is mighty and she
who is lovely.
"And only one man that she wanted. Being contemporary, she was able to articulate her preference. "
throughout history,Add to commentary
if we are honest,
there has been only one man
that i have wanted.
i cannot speak his name.
too much time has passed,
too many involved.
being contemporary, i understand
the difficulties of obligations
and i am far too discreet
to implicate any of us
in anything at all.
being me, however,
i must speak the truth,
i loved you truly
i loved you night and day.
and i cannot show myself to you
for fear that i would derail you from your path.
you have long already derailed me from mine.
what would our grandfathers and our great-grandfathers
say to this, i imagine,
would they pull out a whiskey and look at the their
like a prized thoroughbred horse
would they flick cashew nuts at you in disgust
and wonder aloud why you chose the lesser woman
or would they already know
and sit silently in shame for all mankind.
LOL. i know to clearly how this feels, unfortunately.
The Flying Flowers
Someday, Iím going to rest.Add to commentary
I will be carried
in a white bed lined with silver
and descend and
and wake up
to unimaginable grandeur.
I will be a bull,
in a lavender field.
Donít send me balloons
or I might remember
Next, Iíll be a child
in a crib made of clouds.
Multi colored sheep may rock me to sleep.
I am a sparrow
ready to take my first flightÖ
I will unfurl my wings and ascend
to the place where you are,
where the sun
Iím going to rest too.
and Iím taking these flowers to heaven.
this is an old poem. it's a part of a series of words and images i called 'shwa grie edh'. it's a in language i made up... i can't remember what it means:D
I'm going to steal some of these threads.
The Devils are too long in the details. /rv
As old as it is, there is a heart of gold in it that my vision enables. Don't believe Lucifer's comment. This is certainly excellent. /runningvein
Please allow me to introduce myself, I'm a man of contact lenses and frames.
Woke up next to her and started touching the hair.Add to commentary
She woke up milliseconds after I nodded off, and hit me
on my cheek.
"I was sleeping," she cried, her eyes swelling.
"I know," I said, gently mending her softer temple. "But I wanted to warn you that there is a problem in the darker part of my heart. And it will be stopping soon."
She looked at my chest and her eyebrows became furry.
His chest began to heave and panic like a baby fish,
a minnow sputtering for want of smooth ocean yet
beguiled by some terrible demoness's wave.
"You diva," she said, running her calm hand against his ribs,
and holding down firm.
He threw his head back and smiled at her, using his other hand to draw a line from his heart to his eyes and to the focal point of her face.
He began to breathe more heavily, then, and she saw in his face a sadness that had never been there before. "Somewhere," he told her, "in an alternate universe, there is a man just like me, who doesn't have you next to him.
And he is calling to me. He is asking me to switch places for a bit."
For me, this is the finest thing you've ever written.
it started with a little lie
that became a game of chase and hide
through the hall behind the door
search and run you'll run no more
a looking glass can surely break
run and hide but you shall surely die
glass can not keep you safe
it only reflects what is inside
you can run but there is no place hide
crawl upon your knees
darkness like a blanket shall creep
covering over you safely sleep
there is no place to hide
you make the bed in which you know lie
oooh! shaking in our boots!!Add to commentary