Blue Like Winter Skycrystal meth eyes, wild as the moonBlue Like Winter Sky by Bark
empty as a newly dug grave
midnight blind walking
on the path of soon, child, soon
freedom whispers in her damaged ear
drowned out by too much rain
shaky stick legs walking
bruise small flowers along the way
the sound of buzzing flies is louder
than the sweet hum of somethingness
eyes blue like winter sky
searching for a place to rest
she never had a goddamned thing to give
but she'd give it all away
for something that's not nothing
for a time that's not today
-keeping step-in this spinning, silent dance-keeping step- by ScottMan2th
where our words are out of place
the merest touch, a thousand shivers
race back and forth ‘cross infinity
-postcards-the stories were brief,-postcards- by ScottMan2th
sparse in their details
but, enough to comfort
the eyes for whom
the lines were intended.
in faded green cursive
forty years removed
from the present.
an echo in search
of a receptive ear
i feel like an intruder,
peering in on a family
i have no business
of the stack of thirteen
only four were addressed.
many were blank,
to carry greetings
and to be held by relatives
no longer living or
for whom the meaning
no longer mattered.
i left them in order
Thirst of a Poetthe bards have bumblebees in their mouths,Thirst of a Poet by Vigilo
for language is babbling,
a brook in a bowl, joy brimming;
billowing, rippling, surging
and spilling; sashaying down,
with a swaying sound (oh-so wistful, oh).
language is burbling,
an impish kiss of mouth from mouth;
bewildering, baffling, bemusing
and tricking; tumbling round,
to touch a fellow Fool and his nought (so wistful, oh),
and disturbs a Poet, who slips
into a dream of a vagabond
"where are you calling from?" he murmurs,
in his sleep, and the newspaper flutters
with a snore; then rests on his chin (just so, oh),
and language sidles past him up to me,
and places a river upon my lips,
today sky and grasstoday sky and grasstoday sky and grass by Vigilo
are the same :-
, and the sea is dreaming,
, and the field
is courting the wind
simply, with dandy lions.
let the women work
the sun's world
, for many-then tell me
over a cup of smoke and tree:
"it is a time to find love in palmistry"
"I have found a
time to harness the sky
with love clasped in my arms"
bird sigh sun drown heart dance
, looking for
hooray, my sweet heart
- to a greeneyed lad muse as joyful
as eros in silence
|'Cause I dig... <3|
|A hero, if ever I had one.|
MovementThere’s enough anger in the airMovement by FuzzyHoser
to strangle anyone. Anyone can
say they’d do this or that. That
isn’t the point here. Here and now
makes our tomorrow. Tomorrow
is the focus. Focus on that – that
we need tomorrow. Tomorrow
will be our truth. Truth is noted
after the fact. Fact isn’t respected
in the now. Now is when we react
to what happened then. Then was
the foundation of it all. All must
recognize what is needed. Needed
now is ground to stand on. On this,
plant yourself – yourself, and not
someone else’s voice. Voice instead
your hope, your rage. Rage against
the wrongs, with your rights. Rights
ought to be as free as breath. Breath
should never be taken by hatred.
Dear Parents:Strike the soft skin of your children; leave marks.Dear Parents: by FuzzyHoser
Go on: show them how hard they must become
to be like you.
Mold them to be mindless: coach them to react
with fists; make them believe that words have
Shape them into an almighty monster: modern man.
Destroy their purity and imagination by damning them
with absurd words of a god who previous men
Teach children to follow a leader, and to not ever
break the circle they belong to, so society never
Above all: train them to question love, even your own.
WindowsHere am I, repeated,
and beyond waits everything
but everything is more
than I can bear.
I am not built for altitude
nor looking far afield;
groves and granite-sided mountains
stop my gaze
like rest for every tired wing;
a cover in the coldest time
snugged up beneath my chin.
Windows nothing more,
but safe lies there behind them
as the chambered hours pass;
safe sleeps there behind them
on the soft side of the glass.
The Town WitchEvery town has its witch. At least I think they do. I know ours does. She isn't scary like stories say she should be. She has a face like my older sister's, the one who isn't married yet, with an eager smile and bright eyes. Her hands though are like my Momma's, calloused and stretched with small roots under the skin.
Her cottage is just outside of town with a small path that runs down to the sea. Her garden is full of overgrown plants that Momma would always "tut" at when we walked by, but it's full of herbs and flowers that she tends with care. She always smells like the honeysuckle that grows around her door and like baking. She bakes often, with her windows thrown open, her singing drifting through her garden all way to the road, the thick sills stacked with rows of cooling pastries. She always leaves batches of small, sweet buns on the outer edge where us children could easily reach. Not that she ever let on that she knew we were taking them. It was the great game amongst us, pret
|I'm around if anyone needs to talk about anything. I miss being active with you guys and a part of your lives, so any time anyone needs an ear - I'm around. And if I don't know you, you're still welcome to give me a shout. Everyone needs someone to talk to sometimes, and I never mind listening (or reading) anything.|
|I can't always keep up with proper thanks, but know that I do thank anyone who reads anything of mine. |
Also, you're already welcome. So no need to thank me for a thing. (: