storm, part twoI kissed her--the storm had made me daring.storm, part two
Then the world broke in two
with a noise like splitting wood or splitting air—which it was-- against my closed eyelids I could see the forked, bright track of lightning. It struck a rock so near I could have run to it in a heartbeat.
She couldn't hear, but I
made her see, and we ran-- I never looked to see if she was behind me or ahead. I ran hard and fast while lightning struck on all sides, through rain too thick for sight, forever.
storm, part oneHis lips were electric; I tasted ozone, sizzling, sharp in the back of my mouth. I didn't know why he broke away, gestured-- the sky had opened intostorm, part one
a world of cold hard rain,
a world without room for any other sound.
I had always loved a gathering storm, had come to the water with him to watch clouds darken, to see salt waves reflect the turmoil in the sky. “It's green,” I said, and
the sky opened above us-- but he was afraid, because a jagged finger of lightning had kissed a rock in the water just there... He made me understand, and we
PrismOncePrism
when I was small I stepped into a room of captured light, where colors danced on all the walls and more bits of glass than I could count hung in the windows. The plants drank rainbows; I drank juice while light was broken all around me.
Big Bad"What big eyes you have, grandmother!" He bites back a sigh, recites his lines, anticipates indigestion. The walk home is wet. His pay is heavyBig Bad
bills in a thick stack-- not good work but honest, who would tell the tale without the wolf?
His wife and cubs are waiting, warm at home.
Despite the spitting drizzle, cash a brick in his pocket,
his feet whisk him swiftly down a different street--
careful, unseen, ears pricked-- to the shabby door with its worn sign and collection slot: "Widows and Orphans" in faded grey, made shiny by the rain.
Stopping by yet again...
--
"If the doors of perception were cleansed, everything would appear to man as it truly is, infinite." -William Blake
I've been all right. Busy, not writing much--but I'm trying to change that.
Please keep making art I can enjoy and admire, okay?
--
I believe in nothing; everything is sacred.
I believe in everything; nothing is sacred.
Hope you don't mind if I watch you.
I'm not fit to crit, but your writing, it is wonderful.
--
All your arms are belong to me!
...you just don't know it yet...
One of the most important things about my writing, as far as I'm concerned, is that it needs to make sense to non-poets. What's the sense to writing poetry just for other poets to appreciate?
So if you read it, and it makes you think of things or feel things, even if you have no idea why, I'm really happy.
Also, your drawing, it is wonderful.
--
I believe in nothing; everything is sacred.
I believe in everything; nothing is sacred.
--
All your arms are belong to me!
...you just don't know it yet...
You still use the icon I've provided for you!
I'm back, well ... sorta. Come and see me.
J.
--
Driving down the 405 again.
:: photography
:: poetry
If you use meter, or would like to learn, please drop by!
--
Metrical poets of the world: Unite!
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