

The Giving TreeCertain of a spirit to give, the Tree throws its arms around all. In its midst, naught but mist, the night wind beckons the living.The Giving Tree
In a grove of ghostly shadows, you could nearly pass it by, its aura so spooky and its limbs so wry. To in fact approach is to deny ones skin.
The branches are bare,
and not but a sound could make it out there, save the baying of hounds.
The ones whom are called
through the stillness of night share a peace with themselves that they claim could unite.
They are driven by dream without


TwelveI. A Part of GeologyTwelve
Scattered thoughts; Fishnet-dreamt slumber
So direct as to hit the eye
A Canterbury-blue.
Moors, the faded scratches on walls of gray. Thumb, thumb. Thumb, thumb.
Purity soldered into a vein coat of arms. Language of harps. Treaty of fools.
A palm reader orates 'Muse-from-her-childhood.' Dancer-in-time. Accuser of self-proclaimed realizations. Trying but not getting past "carnival folklore," or
Laughter in paradise. Aha! It's Eureka!! It is evidence and declaration. Oration and musical palmi


IllustrationsWanting to get ahead is the only disease in life. Its tantamount with going unsatisfied. Long ago, people lived off the land. They made their home inside a bushel and ate what grew on trees. But Im a transient thinker to begin with. Thats what my shrink told me, anyway, the last time I sat in his tasteful office. Hes got two pairs of teeth, one pair to chew the fat with, and one pair to lie through. Or hes just tongue deficient and embarrassed by his shaved balls. I came into his office 2 years ago as a crippled member of a society centered on pubescent thinking. One second, HIllustrations


The JettyThe Jetty
With patient stillness, a gentle beckoning. Two figures interpret a single sympathy, Immersed in silent accord; the arching flight of dawn Sings to able tree tops twisting in our wind.
This passing is just our care. This speaking is just this air That you remember with a stare, the feeling neither here nor there.
That we are this fabulous breadth to give, To give and there to live.
Such a promise, wounded by description, Asks not to be perceived, but to be born of one's embrace. Sullen, inquiring; the horizon which breaks the light of morn. A


I'd gut that hill just to --And whenever I think of writing it up I'm torn; torn like birthday cake and buttons. I doubt you're half as composed as you don't wanna pretend. But it's okay like breathing is okay, like writing is. If you want to be angry and dazed but not enough to think twice when you peel a mirror out the envelope or the brick or the sweating man --- think Star wars. I don't mean any specific scene just, you know, think about the movie. When I talk to people at class, it is contrived as anything. I am so gullible as to fall for tricks and all the backwards cheer of people I look down at. Not that I sI'd gut that hill just to --
Devious Comments
con mucho gusto y tambien OK bueno!
--
down drain. no pork- images of oval track you fell.
--
To twist one purest cause
Into an honest verse,
Itself, a call to angels.
The saddened lips of song that
Kiss away our innocence
From the vile mundane.
~justb
--
To twist one purest cause
Into an honest verse,
Itself, a call to angels.
The saddened lips of song that
Kiss away our innocence
From the vile mundane.
~justb
--
yes,
us people are just poems
we're 90% metaphor
with a leanness of meaning
approaching hyper-distillation
and once upon a time
we were moonshine
rushing down the throat of a giraffe
just repaying the favor. you told me that almost 2 and a half years ago.
thanks for being you.
--
There are no goodbyes for us;
Wherever you are,
You will always be in my heart.
[Gandhi]
--
Poison oak, some boyhood bravery
When a telephone was a tin can on a string
And I fell asleep with you still talking to me...
--
----
turn the breeze inside out
[link]
Second Natural!
:Nerd:
--
once you begin to do what is right, who will be able to do what is left?
--
"Poetry is the perfume of the soul." - Otep Shamaya
--
To twist one purest cause
Into an honest verse,
Itself, a call to angels.
The saddened lips of song that
Kiss away our innocence
From the vile mundane.
~justb
--
Art is the beauty of that single fleeting moment of explosin it is something that blossoms for an instant before withering away, KATSU!
--
"I've taken enough walks alone
to know how real nothing is."
~dystopian-dream-girl
--
To twist one purest cause
Into an honest verse,
Itself, a call to angels.
The saddened lips of song that
Kiss away our innocence
From the vile mundane.
~justb
--
"I've taken enough walks alone
to know how real nothing is."
~dystopian-dream-girl
--
"I've taken enough walks alone
to know how real nothing is."
~dystopian-dream-girl
...I'm being kept! yay...
...i love YOU...
...go girl horses...
...*sigh* what a hunk...
--
What ceremony of words can patch the havoc?
--
down drain. no pork- images of oval track you fell.
--
Be God's
[link]
--
What ceremony of words can patch the havoc?
--
down drain. no pork- images of oval track you fell.
Situation corrected.
Carry on.
Previous Page12345... Next Page