January 2012
34 posts
Consistency is not really a human trait
Watch
In general
Nothing in particuilar
I’m not an open book
I’m a private whimsical journal
With frayed edges,
Ripped out pages,
Doodles, lists, notes, love poems,
Stories and studies
You are what you perceive
I believe
The Telephone Number by Vernon Scannell
Searching for a lost address I find,
Among dead papers in a dusty drawer,
A diary which has lain there quite ten years,
And soon forget what I am looking for,
Intrigued by cryptic entries in a hand
Resembling mine but noticeably more
Vigorous than my present quavering scrawl.
Appointments—kept or not, I don’t remember—
With people now grown narrow, fat or bald;
A list of books that...
The frivolous, superficial, shallow, petty, drab realities of personalities
“And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.”
He asked what his dark, beloved witch went by
Sent from a nest of blankets
Received in a sea of pillows
Natural impulse to fight natural impulses
Nature fighting nature
Bizarre tendency
What if we slowly turned to stone
With every impulse we fought
Scattered statues of
Stone, cold, emotionless faces
Would we still deny involuntary instincts?
I wrote him a note telling him:
He’s charming, adorable and lovable
And someone will always love him!
I wanted to slip the scribbles into his pocket
When I returned from the restroom he had slipped away
He’s slipping away
“Each moment seems split in two:
Melancholy for what is left behind
And the excitement of entering a new land.”
I find myself daydreaming about being rooted to the floor of the Earth
Roots of tangled tresses
Twined and twisted around my headphones
Flowers begin blossoming and braiding themselves within
Vines attach
Buried on the floor of the Earth
Little critters begin inhabiting my nest
Embedded in the soil
Seed of the soul has been planted
Heart of the ear
Just a natural Earth mother and her...
“Your mind’s a wreck but that’s fine
It corresponds to mine.”
“And he tells me all his troubles
And he tells me all my charms.”
Strong desire to produce energy rather than material
Saving an experience rather than a souvenir
Finding rather than buying
Mending rather than building
Floating in the clouds
With all the stars I’ve wished upon
Tonight we sing about the future to the future
As I blossomed around you
I had flowers in my hair
Stars in my eyes
And roses on my cheeks
Growing and glowing
Fascination has bloomed
December 2011
3 posts
I thought we were going to run away together
I misunderstood our stroll for a waltz
I’ll be sleeping with you every night
Until you wash our dirty love sheets
I’ll be dreaming every night of you
Until I wash away clouds from my hair
We bit, we gnawed, we licked, we sucked
Moans washed your curtains
Misinterpreted as love bites
He gave me his body but I wanted his heart
I...
Does he think of me when he sees my tea cup perched on his windowsill?
Does he think of me when he sees my book sleeping on his night stand?
Does he think of me when he sees my movie watching him on his dresser?
Does he think of me while I think of him?
November 2011
2 posts
October 2011
3 posts
Sing it and tell it and observe it and know it
Song to story to study to science
I will wonder and I will wander
What is there?
What is like?
Eyes of curiosity
Ears of science
Mouth of knowledge
Puzzle transforms into poetry
Head in the clouds
Hair in the sea
Heart on the ground
Hands in the fire
Another day, another dress
Another day, another mess
Another day staring at the ceiling
September 2011
16 posts
Hands can be soft
Hands can be rough
Hands can create
Hands can destroy
Hands can tickle, mend, write poetry, play music and hold other hands
Hands are capable of lacing together and praying
Praying we won’t use our hands as fists
For no one would see what she had seen, hear what she heard, feel what she felt, no one understood. She was accustomed to this feeling.
“The trouble with personalities, they’re too wrapped up in style
It’s too personal, they’re in love with their own guile
They’re like illegal aliens trying to make a buck
They’re driving gypsy cabs but they’re thinking like a truck.”
The war of magic and religion
Venus’ eyes see the beauty of the cratered moon
She found the pimpled, blistered, raw surface of his face charming
Attracted to thee unconventional
Social idealism vs romanticism