My posts are becoming less frequent as I busy myself with more and more stuff. Twylla is starting to emerge from hiding as her revisions got underway. Someone's stuck a stick in the works at present, but she should be in fine old form soon. As soon as I get over there and demand what happened to her part in the onion blog.
Less and less
Harder and harder
it is to write
one measly
good sentence.
A sentence should roar
sing
proclaim
resound
ring
the reader with
heart and soul
make them nod
and say
'yes, that's right'
or
'oh, so true,
but will you read that
sentence?'
art
language
words
flow
bring to life
the inanimate.
11 August, 2011
06 July, 2011
middle day
From the highest heights of depth
to the lowest pit of zest,
there comes the growing of middle day,
the glowing light,
at even ray.
It betters thinkers
and those who stomach
ravelled blinkers,
to journey near
and journey far,
and progress further
than that distant star.
For with the coming of the least,
and confused roars of written yeast;
shall be enveloped by the sight
and with no more echo,
be taken with one
bite.
Dally no more with mouth a-wide,
Scatter thither with fastest stride.
For the home that you once knew
has changed,
become
a battered
stew.
to the lowest pit of zest,
there comes the growing of middle day,
the glowing light,
at even ray.
It betters thinkers
and those who stomach
ravelled blinkers,
to journey near
and journey far,
and progress further
than that distant star.
For with the coming of the least,
and confused roars of written yeast;
shall be enveloped by the sight
and with no more echo,
be taken with one
bite.
Dally no more with mouth a-wide,
Scatter thither with fastest stride.
For the home that you once knew
has changed,
become
a battered
stew.
17 June, 2011
This day
On this day the water flies
from the bows of sprinkling falls.
In the lettered lines of 'why's
imaging there the thickest walls.
Let no obstacle block the way,
in every circumstance just pray
for the end of shadowed night
and the cease of oppressive might.
Now is the time to stnd indeed,
all time given to thank 'spite need.
from the bows of sprinkling falls.
In the lettered lines of 'why's
imaging there the thickest walls.
Let no obstacle block the way,
in every circumstance just pray
for the end of shadowed night
and the cease of oppressive might.
Now is the time to stnd indeed,
all time given to thank 'spite need.
30 April, 2011
dusty seas
I have in my lifetime sailed all the dusty seas. From soap powder to manure clouds, I have survived all of these. There have been talcums and there have been perfumes as sweet or foul as celery. There have been sands and coloured friands, that tasted as good as gelatine.
In Cream I saw a giant who ate nothing but yellow beans and the ensuing clouds of gas powered cities from Scones to Greens. In Mocha there were powdered jellies that suspended all who screamed. In Jamity were agar whirlwinds which picked apart your seams. By the Jug of Fetta, did dusted icing run wild and over Torte De Omelette, heavy eggy clouds air defiled. Beneath the Bread of Pork and Vinegar, salt riots were the thing, while fashion sense in Maizely Cake was decidedly ricey themed.
Oh, I know all the types of seas and have swum in burning soda. I've even tried the border cayes where lime meets cream of tartar. There is no dust I have not sampled, no powder I have not tried. In all the world there is no mist or fog or cloud that I have been denied.
Save one.
You can see that I am old, but in my age am young. There is but one sea I have still to sail and here you bar it from me. Step aside and let me peek. Just let me have a look. For before I die, I would still like to try the rejuvenating Tea of Cook.
Fine. Stop a while and glare, you hulk. Show your head all bare. But by and by your eyes will sigh and I will slip in through that nook.
In Cream I saw a giant who ate nothing but yellow beans and the ensuing clouds of gas powered cities from Scones to Greens. In Mocha there were powdered jellies that suspended all who screamed. In Jamity were agar whirlwinds which picked apart your seams. By the Jug of Fetta, did dusted icing run wild and over Torte De Omelette, heavy eggy clouds air defiled. Beneath the Bread of Pork and Vinegar, salt riots were the thing, while fashion sense in Maizely Cake was decidedly ricey themed.
Oh, I know all the types of seas and have swum in burning soda. I've even tried the border cayes where lime meets cream of tartar. There is no dust I have not sampled, no powder I have not tried. In all the world there is no mist or fog or cloud that I have been denied.
Save one.
You can see that I am old, but in my age am young. There is but one sea I have still to sail and here you bar it from me. Step aside and let me peek. Just let me have a look. For before I die, I would still like to try the rejuvenating Tea of Cook.
Fine. Stop a while and glare, you hulk. Show your head all bare. But by and by your eyes will sigh and I will slip in through that nook.
14 April, 2011
23 March, 2011
hallucinations
Mountains scatter in the sky as clouds in waves float right on by. Dizzying colours in putrid puke dance along to happy uke. And then come whooshing out from Mars the dotted frenzy of the stars, dressed in yellows, pinks and blues, as many whites as could be used. Along the crawling, squeaking sand run thousands of spiders in a band. In people's toilets, they hide to scare, especially when your backside's bare. If that happens, don't run screaming, until you're dressed more seeming.
I don't feel so well today. Sigh.
03 March, 2011
on a break
Wow, my last post smelled of sewerage. Anyway, just so you know... going on a few weeks break. Too difficult to get a post up at present. Give me a few weeks, ok? I'll try to think up some good post-able topics in the meantime.
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