wind chimesone bird on a wire,two birds on another -wind chimes
Dullsome days the rainenvelopes time,stamps the pavementwithout a soundthrough the window passing.I, en-chambered,not waking but sleepingat the post,receivingunwritten messages.
Fish and Frog.A Frogologue.Frog is sitting on a log that is lying across a small pond. Fish is swimming around in that pond.Frog: We are all objects moving through space and time.Fish: You are not moving; you are sitting. Neither am I moving through space; I am moving through water.Frog: Mere quibbles, Quibbler. The water and the log are both moving through space as the world turns, and because you are in the water and I am on the log, we are moving too.Fish: I object.Frog: Why?Fish: You said I was an object so I am objecting.Frog: Ha, ha, very funny, Tiddler.Fish: My name is Fish.Frog: To me you are a tiddler. I am old and wise beyond your imagining.Fish: You have no idea of what I can imagine. Besides, there's a lot I don't even need to imagine, such as pompous frogs on logs.Frog: I rise above you, in
Behind the curtain.maybe it's good to be depressed because:all the tawdry rags you've worn make sense;you don't have to believe in finery anymore;you can see that all your friends are fools;that the biggest fool is you,that you are me.
Letters From Holmes sampler.This is a sampler of part of the Secret Santa gift I made for PresentsFromSanta. Unfortunately I forgot to take any photos of it before I sent it away, but it is primarily a textual gift. It consisted of a series of letters and post-cards from Sherlock Holmes (modern version) to his friend John Watson. They were placed in random order and put in a folder labelled Top Secret with accompanying instructions from Watson to sort them in to order and also to extract from them an embedded text which will lead the recipient to my DA account where I will reveal the end to the mystery and lead to the recovery (hopefully) of the missing Sherlock. There are some red herrings in the letters, but I hope the solving will be fun and not too difficult. Words that I have capitalised here are actually written in red ink in the original documents.A few of the letters in no particular order:Letter:Dear John,You say the lady vanishes? I wonder.I have procured
thought and memory-thought and memory-Wait three seconds, then hear crowsstorm approaching... how it mutterseyes are closing, breathing deeplywaiting for the chimes to weepdistant rumbleof man and machinethoughts are silentstorm approaching...how it mutterswaiting for the chimes to weepgliding form of shadow crowSlowly waking from a dreamthe childhood homebulldozed and carted away butnot from my mindGliding form of shadow crowFar away the thunder comments One more day, without existingYour perfumed scent, lingers stillkiss meunder the arching rosesonce againOne more day, without existingEyes are closing, breathing deeplyYour perfumed scent, lingers stillWait three seconds, then hear crows
Finding Lossin the sky, stars now fallingfrom the river rises steamwishes made, but seldom grantedFate is cold...and sometimes meanunseenfaster than the speed of lightsnow fallsfrom the river rises steamFate is cold...and sometimes meanbetween us both a candle flickersand by your lips i often burncold kissesupon the groundflaming leavesbetween us both a candle flickers with just whisper it is goneand fields of ice your eyes soon turna foolish game of breaking heartsa thousand firesan invisible lakebeyond the citywith just a whisper it is gonewishes made but seldom granteda foolish game of breaking heartsin the sky, stars now falling
Oral sex haikustretch, yawncrow and swallowthe moon
The Gathering.The Gathering.Where are the crows of yesterday?The sky is blue, no longer black.They've flown, they've flown, they've flown away.I feel, I feel, I feel the lack.Feathered shadows laughmorning slips into daythe crows follow meThe sky is blue, no longer black;No raucous cries to fill the gap.I feel, I feel, I feel the lack.A thousand feathers land in my lap.stale bread crumbled...tossedthe field soon dotted with knotsof conversationNo raucous cries to fill the gap,But tears I weep to lure them here.A thousand feathers land in my lap -A beating sound as they draw near.evening tints the sky...trees grow quiet as crows dreamof stars and chasing hawksBut tears I weep to lure them here,The sky is black, no longer blue.A beating sound as they draw near.Here are the crows that we once knew.moonlight finds glimmerthe glint of sharp eyes...minds and beak sharper
What a Wonderful WorldI’m noticing thingsI didn’t before;Things that IJust can’t ignore.Kids getting shotFor the colour of their skin,Loving being treatedAs though it’s a sin.Sexism running like bloodThrough the veins of the media,Kids killing kidsIn High School Hysteria.People dying instead ofBeing who they are,Children getting shot downAs they reach for the stars.Faith forming the targetFor society’s arrow,You’re either in too deepOr you’re way too shallow.The faithful using the Prince of PeaceTo excuse their hatred,And yelling ‘terrorist!’At the followers of Mohammed.Women walking the streets at nightWith fear in their hearts,Men being told to ‘man up’When their soul is in parts.Children starving to deathIn the land of plenty,Bigots with medieval viewsIn the twentieth century.So,Hell yeah,We’re angry.
Chrysalis...Chrysalis... by David Nicholas As I grab food from the fridge, I can’t help but glanceAt “Welcome to Holland”; a renowned autism stanceGives a message that life’s gift ain’t always perfectBut teaches to embrace what some may call a “defect”.Sure, platitudes are nice, but simply not enoughTo describe a life I should call complex and toughPlease, sit by the fire and feel warmth’s sweet kissShare a drink with me and allow me to reminisce.I can hear enraged wails echo through the homesteadClearly see walls soaking fierce thuds from my headAlways felt like a ticking bomb when left aloneNever sure when I’d explode, having no comfort zone.As time vanished like air and I struggled to adjustI was off to school; I’ll summarise it thusItaly was of family, of freedom from dangersI was left in Holland, left at the mercy of strangers.My sham social skills only got me in troubleWhile books further shrunk the size of my b
Here's my stupid homeworkThe poem is the scaffoldFor stories not yet toldWire frame of word songFor tickets not yet soldThe poem is the cameraWhen stillness starts to shatterSplashing spells from one true wellBeing well is all that mattersDon't blame your professorsThey don't even knowThe truth behind these stupid wordsIs that our eyes actually glowAll the ancient teachers knewWhat reason bear is telling youThen Aristotle came aroundAnd they put this truth in the groundOne of those cool ancient guysWrote of light seen bursting from eyesThe eyes belonged to his best palBut could have been any animalWhen his buddy's skull got smashedTwo eyes saw the truth of oneWhen this check is finally cashedWe go back home - to the sunWhen Alexander banged his gongThey began to teach a different songNow all the books on every shelfAre mirrors that blind me from myselfWhy don't we see light in eyesIt seems to be just in the skiesReason bear is always rightWhy on earth would light see light?I hat
The TigerYou are a childish boy,Nothing more than my chew toy.An ignorant youth acting all tough and enraged -It is easy to taunt the tiger when it is declawed and caged.And I try to stay quiet, and I try to stay kind,But the kitty has grown up and doesn't want to stay confined.I keep the tiger hidden though it is meant to be outside...But when it gets free there will be nowhere you can hide.You play this game as though you can keep the tiger in your hutch,But you're a cowardly child who deserves to be treated as such.You are only in power so long as the tiger stays quiet,Chooses not to fight and not to try shit.And you, so stupid so as to think you canBeat me and treat me like the kitten I was when this began.This abusive ring will end, and of this you can be sure,Because the tiger is picking the lock as you spit in its fur.And as you grab my tail and poke me with your metal stick,Don't forget that I can turn the tables just as quick.And with a growl I will warn you to just s
Bring back bomb vest hugsSince we can't always be 'F' ingDon't let yourself get 'U' edTry to get better at 'C' ingShow one finger to the 'K' ing..!.,
SnailI’d of thought I’d gotten over it,In a moment, heck! A beat,But the sudden contradictory,I’m halted at my feet.If delayed a single second,Maybe put off by the rain?I'd be merry - you'd be breathing,I could skip along again.But the hurtful truth is heavy,Like a hammer to a nail,Forgiving isn’t easy,With my foot upon the -
Our CollapseI hope we all understandthat one day we will, asa race, fall but by whatreason? because we couldsin our pride and admitdefeat by a powerfulforce other thanourselves, so where welive another day tofight?Or will it bewe could express ourfeelings no longerand not being able tospread our wings andinstead have them become crippled andsmashed things thatfall apart like brokenglass so continue ouruseless wars and throwourselves into ourfoolish desires andfind nothing in meaningin peace to inspire todiscontinue repetitiveand childish feats?Because I believe we,a race, will our downfall,our collapse.Nothing more,nothing less.
I know shitThey tell you to just be yourselfWhat does that even meanCan a beanstalk even knowThat it can also be a beanSurely I can't be a beanI'm a magic fucking towerCharging up towards heavenWith people slapping powerWait a minute I'm confusedMy magic mellon's mighty bruisedAm I a beanstalk or a seedAm I a cash crop or a weedSpeaking of weed - here have a tokeThe punch line will NOT mirror a jokeThe more words you apply to meThe more pissed off I am going to beI'll stick that tongue up thy own assFeed your starfish broken glassThere is an easier way seeWhat spells have done to you and meClose your eyes and you will seeHow corrupt our language can really beWe're going to play a little gameBreak the spells that are to blameThis won't be pleasant, but it has to be doneNext time we can have some funHere's three words that'll wreck your sanityPrepare yourself for true profanityTell the glass that you know goodSay it out loud - as voices shouldDo your best to imagine th
It's Just...White lieWrote in chalk on the black boardGrey lieLike the lead of a pencil on a note passed alongBlack lieWritten in the dead roses by the grave
april seventhtimepresses onwardsIam flattened