|Single, Mom to my 3 sons, FurMom, & GranMeowMa. Recently discovered the fun of digital art with GIMP. Have been drawing with pencil since childhood & painting as a hobby almost as long.|
just.iceeclipsing silence between wax-worn hands
there is poetry in this,
as we sip the dregs of discontent with cheerful
lips, polishing our heartbreaks to worn-out
powder blue and comparing the stains left
on our fingers;
there is poetry in them, too.
we spent a week in silence watching the walls
erode, spent a month rebuilding them only
to tear them down in a single star-spent night;
there was poetry in that,
i planted an orchard of moth-orchid wings,
you gave me mountain ranges with crooked spines,
we swapped soft for granite and edges for merge
as we sharpened our tongues on each other’s secrets;
there was poetry in them, too.
i told you i loved you without speaking, after
the moon had pirouetted across my bedroom walls
and i lay bathed in incense and rose-dust, you
awash with sunlight in a far-off place, pouring
away turquoise seas as if rescuing a bathtub from
drowning, and i said nothing more than
how the sky that night seemed emptier than usual,
there was poetry in that,
Where There is a River Bent by TimeI am dead and out of ideas. I look to the grass. Something about the grass emasculates me. I am lonely because everything is hiding. I am hiding. Youth has erupted into short walks with nothing at all to do after. I am not beautiful. The humans are crying. I am somewhat sure of this. The grass emasculates the crying human inside me. Grass bends, but human frailty does not. I am glued to my own becoming. Nights are forever. They dwindle in bare keeping. I turn to them like a child to a parent, looking for something to scatter the undoing.
The answers are mostly forgotten. The ride has ended. You can get off and walk up to its side and peer at its majesty. The ride is beams, gears and whirling cylinders. The backdrop is the aperture of space. Space recedes, but it does not form. Where space recedes, the emptiness ignites. I am taken with the ignition of emptiness. The gears are my legs. I am the caught cog of becoming. I am entrapped by my own research. I stand subject to clouds. They ar
California 2019Constantly on the move.
Every day is a new fight
Never backing down
We must have revenge
We must never give up
I will fight and I will win.
I will fight until the day I die. I will fight on until my last breath. I will never give up the day. I will win this war. That's what we're fighting for, this crazy war. A company on a rampage, taking over the world. Have they taken it all yet? I don't know. I don't plan on having them around long enough make sure they have..
I am a lone ranger, my group left me behind. My family is long gone to Better Living Ind. Anything normal has disappeared. Dust bowls fill the country, America is no longer America, it fell long ago.
I will never give up my life. My gun, mask, my identity, the things in my pack is all I need. It's time for the rebels to rise up to the fight, every man and woman together. They can't keep us down any longer. It's time for the first strike.
I am Radio Electric, and every day I spend here, is another day closer to a new beginning
NiceShe keeps her afloat when others use her like a raft.
The beating of the heart is the pulsating dance of life.
Bubbly folk fly. She, heavily bubbly, could not.
SolitudeIt wasn’t like I’d never seen one before, just not in the flesh. I’d expected something else, something tormented, ugly, maybe even evil. Whatever that is. But that’s not what I saw before me encased in glass supposedly to protect us both. No, what I saw was beautiful, stunning even.
Was that why they’d all been taken, removed from our world and hidden away? So we wouldn’t get jealous?
It looked at me from its perch with eyes of hunger and perhaps longing. How long had it been kept in this sterile, white solitude? I wondered if it even know and shook my head. Such a cruel, lonely life to be human.