we fool ourselves no longer
we believe more in rain than we do in oceans
we fear nothing now
last night’s untouched bed proves it.
we need the other no longer
there are many roads laid out for either one of us to take
father always said that we had dreams too large
and hearts too small.
we listened to him once. but he is gone now. and we forget.
we are just two sides of the arrow
north and south, you and i
we lose mariners in soulful stares
and they sail in our surrender towards the impatient seas.
maybe father was right all along.
once, i felt like 1932
and i remembered you disagreeing
we were us even before years had names
and you said that 1932 was too dark a year
for our cheerleader tendencies.
Devoted exclusively to the creative process. Here you will see photojournaling, poetry, prose, an occasional review--journaling or philosophical writing can be found on our other blogs. This is our attempt to use our imaginations. Enjoy!
Wednesday, January 25, 2006
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2006
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January
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- Waters edge (interlude to Toffee Love)
- Things You Left Behind
- Celluloid heroes never feel any pain
- 1932.
- blugtot
- If only
- If the night has to fall
- The Persistence of Longing
- Toffee Love
- "A Patience Unit" [55 words]
- YOUNG BOY AT THE COFFEE SHOPis down on his knees h...
- Sewerman
- "Landscape with desire" [ghazal]
- freedom sessions
- Through the missing window...
- Martyr
- High Plain Drifter
- Carved & shaped [a responsive sonnet]
- Further to Jyotsna's sonnet...
- A Sonnet-Untitled
- The Fan
- No title
- ON WATCHING SLEEPLESS IN SEATLEOr was it Romeo and...
- Under the "influence" perhaps, Sir?
- Baad Hair Daay
- Mice and Men
- god is dead (and how we know)
- The Writing Specialist
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- To the Seedman
- Flowers
- Prone to atrocity
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16 comments:
written back in the day when i still called myself a poet.
there are but two real giants in this blogging universe whose talents leave the rest of us breathless.
you are one of them and i wish i was the other.
poet then.
poet still.
sigmund fraud. thanks very much.
cocaine jesus. so very kind of you. i don't consider myself a giant, though. but what about the other champion? if not you, then who? i think number two stole the cookie from the cookie jar.
and this poem, oh dear, i think i wrote this straight out of high school. one's archives make the strangest companions on a thursday afternoon (GMT+8).
trans>>>ok, ok. maybe giant is over egging it a bit and i don't want to go down that old chestnut of a topic again BUT you do have talent girl. enormous talent. we are so fortunate here to be able to visit so many talented people and i am not dismissing anyone of 'em but you stand (small as you are!) head and shoulders above the rest.
the other is a dark and prickly mojave desert cactus who was fortunate enough to work with Rozz Williams an also be in EXP. she is the dark queen to your white queen co-opposite and she is my partner on discharge. doriandra of PICA.
"we had dreams too large
and hearts too small."
"and they sail in our surrender towards the impatient seas."
both of these lines are lovely and stick out in my mind even after having finished and walked away to other things.
well done poetess
cocaine jesus. oh, yes. doriandra. i agree. you make me feel six feet tall now--and that's quite a stretch.
blog this. my favorite lines compose the last verse. i'm still trying to remember why, at 16, i would channel such feeling like so.
silvermoon. thank you! i've yet to reach your poetic proportions, though.
Great poetry! written when you were 16? *Showers of praises* *fanfare* *applause* :)
you're so very sweet. but then i've stopped writing poetry altogether. your appreciation makes me want to pick up where i left off, though. thanks much.
I've been missing ut on a lot, and I can't even call you tranny
LOL! well, i would prefer trans, but that's alright, too.
Maybe you really must start again then! better late than later!
i will try. thanks for your encouragement, xfreakx.
1932 was a great year. this is a lovely poem. it's not easy to call yourself a poet, is it?
no, not really. i have varying degrees of denial.
...she writes poetry. I'd have to say my favorite line is: "we believe more in rain than we do in oceans"
The words of a jaded teenager?
At 25 I wish I could write like that.
but you do, honey. and jaded or no, i always could do melancholy justice.
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