Friendship Scale

Opening up
For all to come in,
A victim,
Waiting
In a world full of sin.
Balancing out,
Still, guilt lies within.

Caught on the inside,
And trying my best.
Opening,
Outward,
Stretching eastward and west,
Straining each smile,

And yet I feel pressed.
Compressed,
Squeezed,
In the vise of demise;
Is it wise to despise
All thought of compramise?
Or is it too late,
When in the middle she cries?

Twas the Night...

Twas the night before Christmas, shoppers ran in a hurry.
But no snow had fallen, not even a flurry.
My father worked at the computer with care
In hopes that the morning soon would be there.
The kids sat - plopped - down in front of the TV
As tired, and as silent, and as bored as could be.
And with piles of presents I still had to wrap,
I sighed and awaited my long winter's nap.

Merry Christmas, everyone!

Booth

One last collection.

Brittle-Glass Heart

Two lost souls

Drifting a ways
Neither conjoles

the other, or stays

Instead, on they fly

Freeing their minds in a crystal-ice sky

Numbing their hearts in the clouds

One made of metal

The other of glass

Neither will settle

till the other they pass

Each heart cold as ice

No warming or stopping, no food will suffice

Until, for each, true love is found

Taking harsh tolls

In such untimely weather

Two lost souls

Come crashing together

like gravel and grittle

In clouds made of snow, cold thoughts are brittle

One heart shatters, one bends but a little

There's no worse murder or ripping apart

Than the eternal shatter of a brittle-glass heart.

Cafe Talk

Okay, okay, so you're probably wondering: WHAT'S WITH ALL THE CRAZY PICTURES? The answer? We took a little roadtrip to the Andy Warhol Museum today. The experience was thrilling, to say the least. The majority of pictures seen here were taken in his "silver cloud" room, where giant silver balloons filled with an air-and-helium mixture float and soar around freely, and visitors are allowed to wander in and play with them at their own will. Of course, the artists in "Mindless Daydreams" and me started screaming and we went photo-crazy. She and our friend are pictured here, and you'll see me featured in some of her projects. Anyway, that's the reason for my little explorations here. This next one is a collection of pictures I took while we were eating in the cafe, all the while trying to avoid the server, who was quite clearly trying to undress me with his eyes.

Reflections: Critical

We feel nations fall
Beneath our feet
We crumble like towers
And crash into streets
We weep and we rain
Full of hate and disdain
Forgetting that life is sweet

Reflections: Joy

Cavernous

Ready for a fair few posts of Andy Warhol madness?

Think about now.
And now.
And now.
So many nows have passed
That you can only think about then.
How could you possibly think about the future
When the past is taking over
And you can't measure the present?

Walt's Inferno

Funny how some of my best photographs are accidnents.

"Hey light fixture, you are much too bright

Why don't you stay with me tonight

Just grab a pillow tight

And wait for the dizziness to pass..."

-"Bobbing for Apples" by Regina Spektor

More Winter Wanderings

Some more pretty Winter pictures
My dog's favorite walking trail...

Winter

Snow swirls

Eddies

Drifts

Settles softly

Taking a rest on the hushed Earth

Sleeping until sunrise

Unaware

That warm mortailty rises with the sun

So this is Christmas... and what have we done?

Some lovely pictures I took for Christmas

Happy Holidays, everyone

Light

Edison gave us the electric light bulb
An eclectic plight bulb
Burning, burning every day.
We turn it up brighter
Make things lighter
Only Lady Earth's fighter could see
Such blight in the light
A gift of the Lady since we first walked
First stepping in the night
So slightly knightly, Her fighter
Fought for her light nightly
But how we did stray, overcome by fright
And light bulbs chase out the dark of the night
Kept close to man, for men are like mice
And neither candle nor star could ever suffice.

Poetry
I love poetry.
I love digging
Through the cavernous catacombs,
Unlocking a chest of brand new meaning
That gives life to its beautiful façade.
Uncovering the secrets of the slightest scratch.
Looking into a life unknown
As words of gold spew forth.
They speak of their ancient maker
Like shiny crystal-glass skulls.
To dig up the fossilized meanings of poetry
Is the greatest treasure.
None have kept it under a glass case in a museum.
None have dated it; meaning has no age.
The simple pleasure of digging up poems
Is the golden whisper they emit at the first prod of the spade.
Soon enough, they swell in dynamic volume
A rising choir of enlightenment.
I love poetry.I love listening.

Incense

You burn your incense like a gold filament.
You wave its golden smoke under my nose.
Your golden scent is the best and worst sensation
As around my body its swirling invitation goes.
You smell too good to turn away,
So in the burner your incense will stay.

You wear your clothing like silver thread.
You brush its shiny warmth against my skin.
Your silver body is too beautiful and awful
As around my body its sparkling arms spin.
You look too good to turn away
So against my heart your clothing will stay.

You lick your lips like a mouth of bronze.
You brush their smooth richness across my cheek.
Your light, warm kiss is too sweet and bitter
As around me visions of love softly speak.
You taste too good to turn away.
So in our kiss your lips will stay.

You open your heart like a treasure chest.
You place its precious gifts in my open hands.
Your bronze, silver, and gold both heal and hurt
As you speak to me of true love's plans
You love too good to turn away
So in my hands your heart will stay.

Welcome to my Music Box

Stuck in the cage she created

Pale white in a world of color

Sound disappears

People disappear

Creations of solitude

A painted-on tear marks hidden fear

She blankly stares on

For what is clear to the eye

May not be to the touch

As she is sucked into a void

She once called her own

People look on

People laugh and smile

They do not see pain

They do not see fear

None can read the blank, plastic face

Of the mute in her own

Clear

box.

-88-