View RSS Feed

All Blog Entries

  1. Menu

    by , 11-02-2006 at 05:41 PM (Ramblings from the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia)

    Sautéed cerebellum Julianne,
    Served with a small bowl of diced dreams
    And a mixed emotions salad
    Topped with Cream Of Hope dressing.
    Off to the left,
    A side order of shish-a-bob of chopped remembrances, flambé.
    The wine?
    Absinthe of Lethe, please.
    And hold the slice of cold reality…

  2. aloft

    by , 11-02-2006 at 05:41 PM (Imported Poems)
    i am in the kitchen
    studying o-chem
    making muffins.

    my despondency
    leaks into the batter
    out of the D-glucose
    onto the blender and
    under my tongue;
    i taste the swirls of
    pain the absence of
    her laugh, her
    smile, the absence of
    her angel eyes

    and am startled when

    handel breaks
    in upon my
    silence with "hallelujah!"
    and various other
    choral ...
  3. message to an artist

    message to an artist

    No one understands.
    The ability to create something,
    The ability to create beauty,
    Out of nothing-
    Out of nothing but the suppressed emotions
    You keep within,
    You long to release,
    Are what your masterpieces are made of.

    No one understands.
    The passion for beauty,
    The seeking of the truth,
    The desire to transcend your limitations,
    The need to express your confined emotions, ...
  4. masterpiece


    In you resides my entire being.
    I hold nothing back from you.

    You have seen me drown in my sorrow
    You have seen me scream for freedom
    You have heard my cry for justice.

    You watched me evolve
    From the human I was
    To the monster I am today.

    I created you
    Out of the tears
    Crawling down my cheeks
    Out of the blood
    Flowing out of my icy heart
    Out of the wounds ...
  5. Voices In the Wind

    by , 11-02-2006 at 05:41 PM (Ramblings from the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia)
    Voices In the Wind

    Standing on the barren mountaintop the wind is like a whip.
    Beneath me the turkey vultures soar by me once again.
    Why do I feel I’m on the edge barely clinging by my fingertips?
    Listening to the Voices In the Wind.

    Oh, the contradictory clauses in the things we do and say.
    I really think I’d fit in here, if I could only find my place.
    While all the time we’re packing bags to go and search for better things. ...