Silver WInd

Wow this was rahter fascinating as well as quite impressive, I think this is the first time I have seen one of my surrieal oddities anylyzied before, and you did a good job with it. The jester is something of a regular playeer for me, he has made several apperances in a lot of my older poems, I just have not written anything quite like this in a while, have to be in the right mood to do so. I really like that, becasue honestly I am not sure where that last image came from, it just embeded itself in my mind so I figured I would just right it down but I really could not think of anywhere else to take it, but to just leave it as is. I had a sort of inqusition image in my mind with this one, and the fact that often times an answer can lead to even further questions.

Well I have been in a wierd place today, so this is one of my more surreal peices that I have not done in a while. Mayhem The jester laughed over the cup that crashed a splash Watched from behind the eyes of the mask standing witness, judge and jury. There was a gasp filled the room right up through to the dome where the sky was painted a flesh and bone fresco Questions pulled like teeth grown infected out of every presented answer. While the maiden wept within the corner a blood spotted handkerchief. The child born unwanted within the ally cried for the forgotten but they danced on the graves of those who never came home. So wove the tale the jester did for the profit of a pair of watching eyes decked all in silver and gold

I fround that throughtly amusing. Just one little thing I wanted to point out That is techniqually not true. There were in fact both Germans and Italians who were intured, it is not as well known and it was not in as great of numbers, but it still did happen.

"Right of course, I nearly forgot about that" Taps her index finger against her chin for a moment in thought "Well you know there is not much light up there in the snow, but every now and then you get lucky and the sky clears up and then the sun catches on the snow, just so. It makes for quite a lovely affect. I had to wait for just the right moment to take the picture to get everything just so. The light has caught her dress in just such a way to make it appear almost transparent. And her silver white hair has a shimmer to to it and is blown back slightly within the passing breeze. She is posed standing just upon the snow against the white winter backdrop surrounding her with her head turned up slightly toward the sky and her face nicely out lined showing the rather strong line of her jaw, and delicate curve of her neck. Her lips are pursed together in a look of wonder, and one of her hands rests down at her side and the other arm is borught up so her hand is placed just against her chest in a light finger touch.

Drink Serenity found at the bottom of a bottle where troubles seem to drown steadily drip drip drip drop by drop like liquid in an IV it is too late by the time you see your own life is being drained away slowly it begins to fade as old images in a sun worn photograph faces once were familiar now gone it is not lightness that is felt of bad memories washed away but a heaviness like stone in which you sink even faster far below find yourself standing alone drop by drop

I have just started reading The Silver Wolf by Alice Borchardt and so far it is pretty intresting, right now I am only a little into the thrid chapter but it seems like a good story thus far.

I really like the way each stanza has its own rhyme For some reason this one in particualr sticks out to me

Empty Space The darkness falls in a quiet space fill the emptiness in silence serenade Memories tinged around the edges made bittersweet. Blurred is the vision of images once painted in the sunshine But there is a tenderness here that seems to loose itself among colors and noise. Peacefulness inspired by these melancholy days to close our eyes and drift away.

Thank you, re-reading, I think you are right, it would sound better without that "to" there

Thanks for catching that for me, I always seem to have a habbit of leaving them out.

I must be in a wierd state of mind these days. As my work has been taking an odd turn, but here is another of my more odd piscies. Fright I have heard it said before to a frightened child in the corner that if monsters come close your eyes and count to ten, they say it does not exist does not exist I would like to think that I could close my eyes and make the world go away I thought I would try on one dark day, yet it still remains still remains So I am the child living among nightmares and ghosts, I imagine they all point and laugh with grim faces, and I closed my eyes closed my eyes But they did not go away everything is just the way I had tried to leave it far behind within my sleep reality chases me, wish I could shut it out shut it out

This is so vivid, it turly paints a picture and the end in particular was turly gripping, and so sad. The only thing I would suggest, is giving "The girl" a name, as the use of the words "the girl" and "her" throughout the story did become a bit redundent after a while. This seemed a bit awkard, as swamps and ponds tend to be too sperate things. It might have been better to just say frozen swamp, or swampy pond But those are just little things. Overall, a great story.

"Well I first I had to hike up into the mountains, and find a spot within the icy snowy barren land to dig out a little snow cave for myself to keep wore, well I sat and waited. She is very shy in most cases you know and does not come out very often. I had to sit out for days in the snow, and was just staring to drift off to sleep when I saw something. A movement out of the corner of my eye. I grabbed my camra and waited and there she appeared. Her skin is quite pale, she does not really get much sun you know. She rather dislikes it really, sensitive and such to the sunshine, and she has long flowing white hair and the most pericing blue eyes. Though they are tinged with sorrow from being so lonely and all. She wears a very lovely white gown, quite flowy in the wind. Oh yes I almost forgot " Digs around for a moment before pulling out a peice of parchment and sets it on the table. "Here is the profile you requested" Hair: very long, hagning slightly past waist level, chest nut colored. Usually worn in a braid to keep it out of the way. Eye: Hazel Basic charactertis: Full figured, voluptious, somewhat light skinned, with a bit of a tan. About 5'6. Wardrobe: Favoers long flowing skirts, and peseant blouses with bell sleaves. Likes to wear lots of silver jewlary, espcailly rings. Usually does not bother wearing shoes. Is most found of the colors, green, blue, and purple.

I just finnised reading it, and it was intresting. I would have liked a little more of Franny's story, but I did quite enjoy Zooey.

Thank you very much for that, it is most apperciated, and as always glad you enjoy and it is good to hear from you

This was quite intresting and enjoyable to read. Perosnally I like the inconsistency of the repeated last line, and the way it changes slightly with every verse, it was a unique way of presenting it I thought. For some reaosn this kind of made me think of the Grapes of Wrath

Lost Childhood Remember those careless days in the sunshine with sun tanned bare feet kicking up the waterhole Now lost it seems, as if within a winter's haze, the seasons pass just as fast as innocence begins to wither away Dreams blown upon the wind like daffodil wishes will they ever been seen again? No longer chasing dragonflies for dragons, or dancing with the fairies. The world seems to shrink and nothing is quite as remembered a favored tree appears less noble It is a bittersweet realization summer days loose their sacred meaning and something is lost that can never be regained.

Thank you for sharing that poem. Thank you, it is nice to see I accomplished my intent, as I was hoping it would end up sounding negative.

Thank you it is a pleasure to hear from you. I am glad you enjoyed it

Fragile Warrior A rose among the snow last fading rebel still holding on long has its comrades fallen wilting begins to encroach yet it has not withered and died brown tinges eat away within the chill color begins to pale but with valiance it still stands wavering in the winds bit by bit life drained away soon it will fall scattered like drops of blood. Weep not for the defined blossom while it shudders upon the stem bravely it had made its stand but now as all things a time has passed back into the ground it must return at last.

hehe yes I know what you meant, that is what I was refering to, sorry if I did not word it very well and did not make myself clear.

I really loved the first stazana and the comparison of writer/poetry to architecture, and building the foundations of a building. Some unique imagery I thought I loved this line. I really like the way the secound stanze was structured. And the first line I think really grabs the attention. And I loved this

That is an intresting way to look at it, and yes I can see where you would get that feeling, and well I suppose there are times when I do feel ghost like in my observations of the world, or of myself. It is more or less intentional, when I frist wrote this I was not really thinking about it but then when I decdied to strcututure into more of a poem, there was something about the affect of it that I liked, so I decided to leave it as it is.

Stumbles in teeth chattering and mumbling to herself as she dusts off a few left over flakes of snow from her coat, feeling the warmth of the Banquet room start to spread over she makes her way over to the hearth and shrugs off the coat to hang it on a peg on the wall before taking a seat. Rubbing her hands together a moment to help get warmed up for a few moments, and begins to feel sensation come back into her fingers once more before she pulls out a carefully kept folder and sets it upon the top of the table and opens it up to remove the photograph from inside. "Well it was not easy, you do have rather difficult tastes." She says as she glacnes up to the scaely beast for a moment and just mutters to herself and shakes her head. Wondering how she keeps letting herself get talked into these little escapdes to start with.

Well this one is a bit different, and a bit strange, and sort of abstract in nature. It started out as a stream of concious of sorts, but overall I liked it. Just made a couple adaptations to it. The Lost One There is no one here to release our fears so we must give into tears bitter where they fall searching through the wall we all just float by upon the air but I was left hiding behind the stair. The cold comes for me and yet I have embraced her icy fingers, trying to drag me down. Flailing limbs hit the backside but those watching eyes take all in stride. I am the lost one I am the fallen one Wonder where that door leads down another unnamed floor all these flowers stacking coffins into towers and there it is, that smirk that tells all and I know I have lost.