"And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die."

bitterness is not for the bones
or anythingelse for that matter
it is causes blindess
within a darkness
you can not see yet certainly
get shipwrecked in


i wonder who is blind
that is content
those who have no choice
yet still peace of mind
bitterness is a choice

clear tonight
being picked up from the fog
lying down on this wet trampoline
constellations
existence shooting out of
my tiny lungs

so self-critical all the time
and yet
His blood

where did you go? how come
work as overtaken you and you have
no space to
grow collect breathe be
anymore
you miss that creek water on your skin,
ages and ages it seems almost
disappearing
all the skippers about us like music,
the night drives
long and music floating through
the morning mist
kites flying in brilliant full moons
and
freedom

it seems
the most truthful
joyous things in
this life, my life
must stay
hidden from the diem diem diem
and talking
yelling hushing voices about
that i must
hide
from the world
yet i exist here
and must
be

the place where all sense is
collected and alive
drains the sense of me

sometimes
speaking of these emotions
sells them sort
it is like they are
uncontainable to any expression
at all
unless only inside of
you keeping you
alive with
joy to serve

yet human minds are tricky
they deceive easily the
heart soul
trying to be rational all the
flipping time

'11 nov 08 17:21
this one thing my chemistry teacher taught
green eyes and crisp white overcoat,
he received at the end of the year,
'matter cannot be created nor destroyed'
in the lines of science
you can not create elephants out of mice

but love out of hate

no matter how much we find way to defile
the moral law
or pretend to cut it away from society
and try boil it down
to no existence

you can not escape it or over create it
nor destroy it


the same must be with souls,
we can not create them entirely ourselves
but piece by piece as much as i have blindly fallen in
i am still there
among the ash of my failing and
misguided deceptive nature
that is so vain and corrupted by my own lusts

i must be found somewhere in the
rubbling aftermath

still not boiling a green crayon to wax though'

something has left my life
and i don't know where it went to
but.. somebody caused me strife
and it's not what i was seeking..

all my plans, they fell through my hands
they fell
through my hands, on me---
all my dreams, it suddenly seems
it suddenly seems
empty.

-the cranberries, empty

another note:
i love life
but do not want to be
vain with it

its 12:37 and i
am working at seven for a
horse farm which means
shoveling digested sweet feed and barley
into the pooper
trying to remember that horses treated like
children
act like
a pirates parrot but this
really ridiculously gargantuan parrot
that could rip your
face off and eyeballs
and not say sorry

my head is going in circles now
happy since i just saw the seamonkey of kyla
waving
and depressed for i have three hundred and sixty three days left till i turn
twenty now

As a character he was certainly different and unusual. The small man with twinkling eyes and shaggy grey hair (often wearing his pyjamas under his suit if it was cold) became a familiar sight wandering the lanes of Cookham pushing the old pram in which he carried his canvas and easel. http://www.stanleyspencer.org.uk/

resource for 1-20:http://www.specialphotographers.com/pages/gallerysearch.asp

book number two from the bakery
and his hands who calm down horses and dogs
stutters the joy and
anticipation of mine receiving the gift
and that made the whole universe
make sense

i would like the whole world of people
except for one
to go away from me since
everyone else only wants me to do
what they firmly suggest
to kindly leave my mind alone

why do we have to grow up? have to speak of death and taxes and how the coffee tastes? moneymoneymoney and time or the lack of it
troublesome pride and

i miss who i was before
i feel as though i am breaking
falling apart

i walked to horse work at seven seventeen,
the mist hung sleeping in the trees
huge hills rolling, the sounds of the creek
and the horizon became
clear and lovely and i was alone

no more talk
of coffee spill trays and that
pizza needed another minute thirty
no pointing fingers and condescension
mixing standards and contractions,

jealously and anger
only of the time i had before
these ones

in that proximity of space way up three stories
where do man and woman share the same breathe
mystery how so? fingers brushing
like the fall colour on leaves
over fingers and
your love is permanent
and i will fall blushing
gone brown only our bodies

well, how long should romance last in a day? he asks her
'oh, about twenty-five' laughter relapses

I went out late one night, the moon and the stars were shining bright.
Storm come up and the trees come down, I tell you boys, I was waterbound.
Waterbound on a stranger's shore, river rising to my door.
Carried my home to the field below, I'm waterbound, nowhere to go.

Carved my name on an old barn wall or no one'd know I was there at all.
Stable's dry on a winter night, you turn your head, you can see the light.
Black cat crawlin on an old boxcar, rusty door and a fallen star.
Ain't got a dime in my nation sack, I'm waterbound and I can't get back.

It's all gone and I won't be back, don't believe me, count my tracks.
The river's long and the river's wide, I'll meet you boys on the other side.

So say my name and don't forget- the water still ain't got me yet.
Nothing but I'm bound to roam, waterbound and I can't get home.
-Dirk Powell



this song evokes such mystery to me
forbearance and character

sarah gave me many a listen when dropping a line for me many times now
i miss too many things that have vanished
or are yet to become stronger and farther yet
are distant
grow into my veins,
waterbound

love must be beyond our brains
and desires
not beneath us or
only residing by us
in us
not only burning
yet breathing
a most quiet
oxgyen
purpose
and being

yet i twist it, wrestle it
must name it or melt it
drowned

i desire to be known in
weeping without shame pride or pity
in this care not in
condescending vainglory
dark creature whose
hope
as been blown by
the future
who has been drifted aflood
with cursed altering
whose own shadow has fallen behind
pale in
bitter grief
and conviction
half open and cut
to be tiny
insignificant
encased upon this mind
hands empty pocket light
soul heavy

harvest radishes, baby carrots, pak choi in the outdoors
write lettre in daylight after farm
establish lib card at ..




fly kites
let them go
tangle ina tree
into this killah design
but its wicked tight to get through
and all you can do is look at it
sit in the tall grass and stare at the string and the
kite encased in the limbs of a tree sprawled with
branches and limbs
and waving waxing leaves
too tall to climb without effort
too tangled to figure outwithout some care
too work to grip and clamber up
not bust a thread
yet everyone walking past
from the ground they usually watch
sees it as a lost cause
except the man with the white beard
two sea blue eyes lofting high
colored with the morning
many years on his back
bended nearly over that man
full of sleep not tired of life
work written on his hands
like knobbly wood
thick wide hands
yet his shell gone thick
he watches and warns
that man
is strange as the old trees
no one gave him mind
yet he whispers thats why
everyone is too loud and can only hear what
they themselves say
everyone walking past wont care if
the kite gets
found
they only want the sky to be blue
and grass greener sovereign

stepping out of the me box consistently
and realising the truth of what it is to
touch and move and make
demands

so many things connect us to
our minds, nerve endings and telephone wires
i wish could connect with you
see your insides

hopes in
the strings
of this carousel world

they fly off
into the sky

i finally realize the
world
exists outside of this
little bakery that smells nice
yet contains particular folks
all these desires return to me
escape freedom adventures

creek swims and clay drawings
admiral, i have you in my enclosed hands
chasechase

the garbage bags go out and
feel the cool night on
this heated complexion
outside is bare and silent
foreboding
the stars constelling
asking nothing not at all patronizing
estimates my figure as
small

it is defeat that has to win
silence speaks louder then all
this clambered proud garbage noise

all the petty festering
all the excuses
tormented rest searching
my eyelids that open
alone


lovely and becoming
are you to me
fading wrinkling away
are these expectations

let us become this silence

a thin line between this past life
and the new-

eternal? where have you been
where do you go?

its like going down lake
you can see each lily
each soaring vulture and
gliding pair of swan reflections and
silk universe
dipping in your fingers
your whole hand
ponder catching bass of wadding turtles
view the colours of each evening, morning
new
every detail
the pace latches on
takes root

then someone is
behind at your back
or taking each first breath in front
or
beside you
the morning all
through till dark
and you must join
pace together
or drown in the
falling
falling
floating
beneath
among the
vines and snappers
into the rapids you found your
whole entity in in

you see the land ahead
and it always sooner
or later than you
ever
had planned

i wish to feelknowseeheargrowin all your landscapes

every corner has a hole puched in in
there are no corners like those outside

restocking with pop
napkins
pecan tarts
step out of the basement and there is a
hopping heaping fumbling
toad with a soft tumor
to the right groping the darkness and
bitter air on these muddy dank steps
gather her up and
run outside
the lcbo dude is shocked

holy smokes
i miss you outdoors


you don't demand for room and board
and are forthright without conceit
speaking truth
indignant and do not squabble
you listen
only to speak, prove, against me
in a calm manner
lines of maples thick and robust in age
that i am a dormouse near you
spinning webs of narcissistic materialism
and headlong lies of lust

for it was the man that was arrogant
and not the swallowing sea

When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim Soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

w. b. yeats, when you are old

some folks take themselves way farout life defining serious about icons, whoa

yes, it tickled

all these little eager shining faces
eyelids closed or open and in taking silence
anticipation
i painted with nose tickle scrunch geckos
and snail snakes with maracas,
a busy buzzing honey beehive
and one shifty seagull goose duck

please do not grow up
up up
and away
from us

find me within
you
are found
here.

these branches are not
fingers,
these wings are not
words


the sincerity of creation
and its silences
i want

workworkwork

yet
i give them
my respect, my time of day
and it is returned
tenfold
smiles and sincerity


sadly, i can't recall word for word as well..


'youre new arent you? are you going to school here?.'
-"oh, can't you tell? college hopefully, library science.."
'library science eh?'
-"what were you hoping to do in life when you were my age?' his brown eyes light up.
'i became a doctor at your age. not payed half so well..
the most important thing i can tell you
is your peace of mind,
your health'
and he leaves with a linger in his step, his words,
a smile on his hesitant mouth

i have to carry a smile in my pocket
and its not so hard when you think not about it

'she's preganant.. again, tellin' yah..
lotto to the wife and
kids! wife and kids! and she's craving a large deluxe
hold the mushrooms half the sauce,.. extra ten mins and onions.. i know the whole shabang '
-"youre right, i need to write this one down."
i wrote in green highlighter the pizza box
enjoy smiley face, congrats!


' i am wondering, can i buy something over there and come back here?..'
-"nah, i'm sorry they are two separate entities"
'entities, i like that. very good choice'
-"thanks, i try."
'would you grab me some of that fresh gloppy pizza stuff over there while i go and get soemthing..?"
-'sure thing, i can do that :)"
(in a few moments he comes back for the pizza)
'you seem very intelligent to me, you have that thing about you..'
(ring in pizza at the till and tousle change coins)
-'ah, intelligent in someways, not in others'
'always learning aren't we?'
-"ah, life, take care!
enjoy the gloppy pizza"
new people come in carry
(after exiting a few moments,
he runs back in to the store,
i wonder what gone wrong with the 'fresh gloppy pizza'
he was served)
there a book lay,
'signed and everything! perhaps, it will be worth money someday!'
the man with the white worn baseball cap
and grizzly beard, calm blue eyes gave me his book and
rushed out with a grin.
whoa.


my faith in the human race is restored.

if how they
think and have
faith is
s e p a r a t e
then how they
love
and will live
is so,


if each faith is in

separate rooms

than so is the
love-

a p a r t

from one another-
even if they breathe
on the face of the other
and study the dance of
eyelashes and
clambering fixtures of light on
ghostly spines

then
the future on
earth
is a truthful lie
since their eyes have
deceived them

i hope they never have
fingertips
and noses
and eyes
tell them with much
whispered guile
what is
Love

where are they moving?
out of doors, i hope
to have the wind come
beneath their manmade coats
and shed them to
the waking brillant Sun
bearing souls
alone
calmly gathering
the movement of
eternity
without their
measuring sticks
without
their boxes of time
without lips
without pride


do not speak in burrowed,
stolen words-
move.
breathe,
the intangible key
shall open
the door

in search of a well
and a cave
sent the telescope pointing
another way i knew
horizons before
not so
delicate tiny
for all i see
is

you
and me

here is the ship
where is the sea?

no wish for
summer
heat
bring winter
taciturn, neat

this is quite the grave
of self consumed noise
now (already answered i ask)
how do i behave?
who is my joy?

"..But true Love is a durable fire
In the mind ever burning;
Never sick, never old, never dead,
From itself never turning."

walsinghame, sir walter ralegh

me too

http://www.tapdancinglizard.com/findingblue/index.html
http://www.youtube.com/user/indigopage

'..if the pattern is very complex or if you’re uncertain of your ability sketch knotwork on skin with a watercolor pencil. Sketch on slightly moist skin, or dip the tip of the pencil in water. You can correct mistakes by dabbing them with water.

very similar to watercolor painting technique.
can not predict where the pattern will stain the best.
must learn to improvise the pattern on the spot, accommodating body form, skin texture, hair, and the nuances of your vat.
meant to be the basis of freehand painting improvisation..'


oh oh more oil pastel and marker skins me thinks!

coffee;
my mind and blood vessels
are on a
nascar track

ribbit says:
we never feel good enough because this temperamental standard we have placed for ourselves
ribbit says:
and that standard goes away when you know Christ, personally
ribbit says:
you no longer try to be a god or something and feel like all has its purpose
ribbit says:
your body and looks and all inside
ribbit says:
you know things you no longer have to feel incomplete or unsatisfactory
ribbit says:
love is Gods
ribbit says:
we can not measure it by our experiences, bodily or not

'oh look who's joined us for supper!' aunt christine leans over the table
laughing soft and long
its the masked men, the guinea fowl.
black molasses curious eyes and
white plastered featherless
faces,
frontal facial wattles stir
as they stir quizzically at
us behind
the door of swinging glass
frazer, boy who wades creeks barefoot and
will perhaps never marry save a woman sarcastic and brave
looks up at them
'yeah, look who's in the cage now' and
after a few moments
returns quickly to his supper plate

http://www.bballet.com/reg.htm

oh my word, when i am able when i am able!
stretching and retaining what i learned and solid books for now

"..According to the authors of Please Understand Me, Kiersey and Bates claim that introverts feel like ugly ducklings who can never be swans because they have lived their lives believing that they ought to be more sociable."


so now i know all the thoughts i could tie
a kite to are
blown away by other
winds

quiet quiet, i am still growing
(let the inconspicuous leaves unfold to the sun)

writing and writing
night walks and conversing to the evening air
ideas and reality no longer little
frightened fledglings ("is it today, little bird? is it today?")
(am i awake? truly, to sing
with eyes carefully
quietly
boldly open?)
nothing anylonger compressing
my worrying throat
hiding no more in
silence of mind, heart,
quivering reaching soul
yet still silently, recklessly
wishing i found the
nestled sound of
breath
gathered behind this
neck of snow
in the eager,
soft light of
morning

ontari-airi-o!
a place to know!
a place to grow!

je suis ici mes amis