|
amurkytiedyeadrivingrain
|
read my profile
sign my guestbook
Name: vRock
Gender: Female
Interests: playing. imagination. innovation. kickin it with a tasty groove. orange crush. || do it hardcore. rock it, don't drop it. juggle. mix. hug a tree. save a life. save your sanity but letting yourself let it go.
i'll sing it for you, but please don't ask me to say it. i'll write it for you, but please don't make me explain.
Expertise: a blade of grass a blinding dancing ray. an awkward glance that inner scream a misty eye a streaked cheek
Occupation: Student
Industry: Media
Message: message me
Member Since:
3/9/2004
|
|
| Wednesday morning
and I'm sinking in the sand in my eyes.
Flashes of the inky river -
under the scent and shade of Elms,
below a harvest moon -
still tide against the back of my mind. I rock with the current.
Light to dark, to light.
Revert from day to night.
When the bright white
tight around my neck
shakes me stiff
and I come to
though I don't want to come to
this room within a room with no room.
A child of the moon
under a lamp
in front of a window to the world
that offers no breeze,
for five days of steady noon
that offer no light. | | |
| I realized that poetry just isn't that exciting for everybody. So I'd like to apologize for the recent onslaught of half-assed verse that has (graced? sabotaged?) this weblog in recent months. Truth is, I've lost a bit of my knack for public journaling. Frightful prospect. Let's try to do something about it.
So here's a goal, for the nebulous near-future: I will post more stream-of-consciousness updates when I can, and I will try to include pictures. I think this blog was best when I mainly shared nonsensical tidbits.
It's always better not to take ourselves tooo seriously.
I'm going to go add a photograph to the weird beluga ballad...found below. bah! i'm bubbly with bits of bad balliteration.
| | |
| A Ballad for the Beluga!
Strung up in the nets of anxiety,
whose fray nicks my neck with razors,
I search the sea for a savior, or scissors;
in the doldrums between air and the End,
I find no out or oxygen,
just floods of brine where oxygen should go. In visions of tarantulous tentacles and rows of fangs,
I grow colder, freezing to blue,
immobile, implacable, unhinged,
and sinking. Until I remember, you said,
to always look for a beluga,
the absurdities of the world,
when things seem too dark for sanity. And so, I think of you.
Your button eyes and furrowed brow,
your squashed snout and whiskers
nuzzling my blues
until they become a warmer hue.
Releasing me, finally,
from hardened frozen grip of the sea. 
(some kinda sonnet)
| | |
| I added some poems.
It'd been a while.
X.x..
V
| | |
| The cream sky was lined with pink city light.
No sleep tonight.
We counted flights heading west to touch down,
twelve redheaded angels heralding dawn,
when you would go in the blinding morning, two stars sank into my cereal bowl,
ashen embers from alabaster skies.
dried raisins mimic your dilated eyes
burnt black by the sun. And I cried, cloud cover, cover me
I'd sleep in your drowning rain
I'd drown in your thinning night
if never to reemerge in day, bright, starless, dry morning, but we're off the roof.
Now four flights down,
I'm knotting my tie,
with you in the sky. Day breaks. | | |
|