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MysteriumLo there do I see the seraphic eyes of Freya, her memories piercing thru ripples of time.. And my soul stood frozen like a beacon lost to the ages... Ever her passion, haunting the blood & wisdom of heroes befallen. I flew thence over realms of Earth ... and darkly I wait in raven-mists, breathless, unto where I shall see her again — in the hallowed halls of Valhalla.Mysterium2 months ago in Personal More Like This
— Arthur Crow © 2013
self-image stands in the wayhey, stalk meself-image stands in the way11 months ago in Personal More Like This
there are so many conflicting philosophies
and i'm writing.
keep watching for when i explode
tonight, tonight
i remember san antonio,
where all the art was too expensive
and a white-bearded man watched me and breathed to his loud wife
as i shook out my hair,
and that's how i know
(she echoed his soft intonations in a bird caw as she glanced over pink and red cowgirl boots)
he loves me, plucking nostalgia and regret from my sunstreaks
the radio tells me
there is only now,
only now, tonight, tonight,
but how can i believe that
when men of sixty-five
use musty longing from forty years ago
to compliment me?
mostly i just felt humbled in a proud texas way.
god, i loved san antonio
god, i love pretending i'm beautiful
pretty words and little lies
so lonely but look at me tonight
vanity stands in the way of all that calls itself art
and falls short.
lurklurklurk5 months ago in Personal More Like This
she knew the way
starting off that morning
to the roaming sky
of criss-crossed lines
and darting lights,
still believing
they all led somewhere
down old rickety stairs
steps that would take her
into the gallery
of her rest,
mending the bending thoughts
that came next
in those moments
of caution and ease
following the flower keepers
and water bearers
where those lost days that remain
will follow her forever.
31-i wonder what my next tattoo315 months ago in Personal More Like This
will be like and when i will get it.-
i had thought about getting your
fingerprints tattooed on my inner thigh;
just so i could remember how far you'd always been.
(i dreamt i kept you close to my heart.)
the scorpion scratches my shoulder blade and i pet it.
my fingertips outline its head and claws;
my fingertips wait for its venom.
Isis had seven warriors protecting her;
i have a twin that claims my skin.
i get sleepy and grumpy and my brows ripple;
the scorpion moves down to the small of my back
and stings me, again and fierce.
its claws draw blood just because;
just before the paralysis takes hold.
The lateness of Trainscannot be explained by a jamThe lateness of Trains11 months ago in Personal More Like This
of red admirals on track-side buddleia,
the errata of wild bees, or a cathedral
tipping its bowler hat dome to pigeons.
The lateness of trains might be down
to spilt tea, undelivered roses shrinking
in their cellophane and the suddenness
of cows causing traffic to holler.
These explanations might be true
were it not for a man - perhaps
someone you might know - sitting
with his crossword and not noticing
the birds crashing when biroing out
two down, five across.
Snowed InSlumped in the armchairSnowed In1 year ago in Personal More Like This
you watch the blizzard make
snow leopards of the cats
and mammoths of stalled buses,
there is still time to examine
what lurks under the skin -
not the formal dance of chromosomes
but further down the biological plumb-line:
where people kaleidoscope
into the purest form of elements
and can be thrown like darts
on a periodic table. Sit up straight
and watch the trees walk
upright along the freezing roads.
FairytaleThe paperweight moonFairytale1 year ago in Personal More Like This
holds the sky in place
above an orchard of ripening
cherries. A girl with Rapunzel
hair is climbing a ladder
to reach the first ready-to-eat
of the season. She cannot
tell which is ready by the skin
alone, so her common sense goes,
and must bite deep into the flesh,
savouring the taste and letting
the juice flood the barn of her mouth.
Some are still green, others worn
sapphires. Picking through the fruits,
she cannot see the moon highlighting
the necessary reds - the ones needing
to be opened like fairytale pages,
not knights saved by princesses
or children lost under a mood bizarre
as the troll living in a giant tree.
DragonfliesA paprika-red dragonfly sunsDragonflies1 year ago in Personal More Like This
itself on a stone slab by the pond.
Its perfect fuselage unmatched
by the moth bouncing off the curtains
in the bedroom or the houseflies
flying their daily circuit. Inspired by
four near a reeded area in the park -
two red, one blue and one yellow -
I pored over plans for a helicopter
powered by muscle. Constructed
wings from plywood and cellophane.
Parcel string and thread reels for pulleys.
Testing in hilly parks flung me straight
down. I hovered only in disappointment.
Da Vinci, though, must have been inspired
by them on the banks of the Arno:
these ancient acrobats reflecting
their colour like a firework display
while nearby fishermen turned
to marble from the languid sunset.
Friday MorningCoffee steeps. Chaplinesque birdsFriday Morning1 year ago in Personal More Like This
perform to an audience of smudges
and houseplants. The spell-check
refuses to co-operate, underlining
its hate for anything esque or not
completely understood. Trees
from my window are not yet known
and I want to label them so this
scene will be finito. The angry
man in the computer is at it again.
Perhaps he ought to be let out,
ready to put a question mark
on the unpunctuated earth, a red
noose on unknown genuses
of trees and insect - like that thing
on my windowsill which might
have been a moth once. After
he's done I'll sit him down and offer
a cup of coffee while squirrels
clamber trees in search of meaning.
Her Silken Shallow Watersto the standing waterHer Silken Shallow Waters1 year ago in Personal More Like This
the leaning trees in the wind
and the blue sky hovering over above
and beyond.
the light pouring in
from the west
through the steel meshed windowpanes
while the stillness lingers
and the clock ticks to it's steady beat
The Dead Woman's PicklesI work for two siblings who independently own a massive commercial maintenance company. I don't have a job title. I get sent on adventures every day. Sometimes I'm sent on personal errands like Tuesday. The owners' mom had just recently died of cancer, so they were in the process f emptying and selling her house. I was asked to go help while on the clock.The Dead Woman's Pickles2 months ago in Personal More Like This
The house is beautiful, modern, not very big, and mostly empty at this point. I met Cindy, the sister owner, over at her mom's house just as Cindy's friend was arriving to pillage some furniture. Cindy introduced me to her father, who was also there, spooling some cable or something. He was very pleasant, but a wreck was still reeling behind his soft, amiable expression. The reveal was in his eyes. Anyway, Cindy says I'm in charge of the craft room and the kitchen. "Good Will, trash, or keep for yourself we want it all out and don't really care where to." Cindy says she's going to help her friend with the furniture, make a d
. camera obscura .. camera obscura .3 months ago in Personal More Like This
. camera obscura .
Helen sits in the waiting room, the lighting is acceptable to her; two sources only, one a lovely green shaded brass Stiffel table lamp at the far right corner of the room, the other a single recessed fixture in the ceiling directly above the receptionist's desk. The desk is unoccupied, Helen's appointments are now always scheduled for late in the day after the middle aged forbidding woman with her grey bun wrapped hair and green business suit with the frilled white blouse has left; well after her part time hours at the bookstore her friend owns have ended. The small hooded brass desk lamp is off but the tiny green power indicator on the laser printer set on an office buffet file c
lethalshe dresses in death colors andlethal9 months ago in Personal More Like This
the look in her eyes is every funeral in the universe
because through her cosmo laughs I can hear the stars burning
(stars burning are like flowers blooming, both painstakingly beautiful and dying simultaneously)
Oceanic is the mind, the empty paper represents
(all possibiioties)
the sky was lieke plastic wrap sealed over bleeding wounds
of the lost soldiers [not lost sorrow]
and
bleeding
downwards
onto
dying pavements.
Your stare is like the cherry pavement approaching closer and closer
Until delirium screams
Devious Journal EntryGraveDevious Journal Entry1 year ago in Personal More Like This
When she was eight, Emily used her hands to dig the hole, fugitively poking the earth with a pointed stone, digging it deep enough for a shoe box. The shoebox was bigger than a bread box, smaller than an elephant.
She dug a hole big enough for a shoe box filled with her mother's postcards, tied with brown twine. One, two; tie your shoe. It took forever for her to learn how to tie her shoes because she kept telling her father that she was waiting for her mother to come home and teach her. First you make a loop, than a noose... three, four; shut the door. Once while drunk and despairing, Emily's father told her that if her mother walked back that moment, he would not even open the door to her. "She made her bed, now she have to lie in it," he said and for weeks, Emily kept hearing a faint knocking on the door. She would run flinging open the door hoping to see her mother. Once she surprised the mailman; but usually there was no one there.
Knock knock who's there? Orange. Orange who
A toast to the bluesA toast to the blues1 year ago in Personal More Like This
I got myself together, you know what that's about.
I showed the blues to the door and ushered them out.
I shut the door and locked it, so I was safe inside.
But there was blues in my kitchen, looking me in the eye.
I said, "How did you get here, when I just threw you out?"
The blues said, "There's a way, Slim, with any old house."
"You may live inside a castle, you may live in a shack.
Throw me out the front door and I come in the back.
"If there is no back door, then a window will do.
And you won't even hear me, in my cat burglar shoes.
"If there is no back door and no windows at all,
I come like electric current, through the socket in the wall.
"And if you have no sockets and you have no juice,
one door and no windows - then you really have the blues."
There was no more to say, and there was nothing to do.
I poured some wine in a glass, and said, "Blues, here's to you."
Image: :iconkrizzio:
Words: :icontinkwig:
12 Views of a Yellow Chair12 Views of a Yellow Chair1 year ago in Personal More Like This
My yellow chair is waiting, I can take a break soon,
I'll sip my tea and think about our boys on the moon.
I've been into the forest where the blackflies filled the air,
but I would rather be here sitting on my yellow chair.
You seldom find a Christmas tree down in a copper mine,
but if you wish to have a seat a yellow chair is fine.
You dug a hole all summer and filled it in all fall,
but sitting in a yellow chair, you need not dig at all.
There are biscuits in the breadbox and bones beneath the skin,
the yellow chair sits on the street and no one takes it in.
Marching bands go booming by and music fills the air,
I love to feel the big bass drum that shakes the yellow chair.
The satellites are overhead with juju in the sky,
the yellow chair sits where it sits, neither low nor high.
One day my mind is clear and bright, one day I'm in a fog,
I'd rather have a yellow chair than be a yellow dog.
Some pledge alleg
. a street scene .. a street scene .3 days ago in Personal More Like This
. a street scene .
Back in the World, Starbucks is a quick stop caffeine grab and run for the well heeled and fashion threaded to get a fix while still doing their hustle. Some will work from home in more casual clothing and perch here for hours with their laptops and IPads glowing. There are the sounds of half conversations about quotes and bids and negotiations; the elder patrons call children and friends and speak softly of family concerns and plans and their eyes sometimes mist and are quickly dabbed with a handkerchief. In CONUS there is a tidal flow to the day at Starbucks. Long lines at daybreak both in store and drive through then quiet key taps from perched office workers then that lunch t
ForeverI open my eyes. The smell of death crawls into my nostrils. I look around to see total darkness. The only light is the large moon reflection on the glass window. Where am I? How did I get here? The moonlight is enough to get a few sights in the area I'm in. My clothes are tattered. They are the clothes I wore last night.At least I think it was last night. The last thing I remember is talking online with some of my friends. Some kids said that there was a family in a Victorian home. In 1968 the house burnt down from unknown causes. They say that the family's son still is in the home and they say he is responsible for stealing victims. Otheres say that everyone in the home died.Forever3 months ago in Books/Graphic Novels More Like This
Of course I don't believe any of it. I look around some more. I lie in a cold yet comfy bed and try to figure out where I am. My hands are tied up to the bedframe. I struggle to try to get the rope off, but it's no use. Maybe I can feel something that can cut the rope. I look across trying to picture
I'm sorry I have so many thoughts for today..."Do not judge, or you too will be judged. For in the same way you judge others you, it will be measured to you. Why do you look at the speck of sawdust in your brother's eye and pay no attention to the plank in your own eye? How can you say to your brother you've got a speck in your eye, while all the time there is a plank in your own eye? You hypocrite, first take the plank out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to remove the speck from your brother's eye." Matthew 7:1-5I'm sorry I have so many thoughts for today...4 months ago in Personal More Like This
More so in the past I have had a reputation for judging. I guess when it says do not judge, or you too will be judged, it makes a lot of sense. If a person is judging someone else they will usually judge in comparison with themselves, which basically sums it up that they are constantly judging other people then they are themselves getting judged too by their own judgements, which is very discouraging.
We need to separate ourselves from other people and stop comparing. Every human being is unique, with a un
Fall Of The RepublicWhy must you want to take my guns?Fall Of The Republic5 months ago in Personal More Like This
Why must you want to take my voice?
Why must you want to take my constitution?
It is not your right to tell me how to live my life.
It is not your right to tell me how to eat.
It is not your right to tread on me.
The republicans are the democrats, the democrats are the republicans, why cant society see.
Behind closed doors they laugh and joke, about the curtain they have placed before society.
They are all friends, they all make deals.
With bankster thugs to, authoritarian steel.
They run your life, you just dont know.
Welcome to the Ignorance show.
Upon truth, the people run.
Running to their honey bun.
Games, Pop Music, Reality TV.
It is all be manufactured to keep you from being free.
They want your body, so they can eat your soul.
The New World Order.....This is their goal.
Devious Journal EntryI am constantly trapped under a waterfall of pain.Devious Journal Entry8 months ago in Personal More Like This
The water is so heavy I can hardly move.
The pressure so strong, I think I'm turning blue.
Day in day out, I block the flow.
My frustrations grows, I try not to let it show.
The only true break I get is thanks to you.
Thanks to the love that we both undoubtedly know is true.
You came out of no where, umbrella in hand.
Shown me that together we can
Take a stand against this pain that I have.
a minute with death and lifeI've been with death, felt its toucha minute with death and life1 year ago in Personal More Like This
a surge of fear thinking I reached the end
me, the indestructable, the survivor, the lucky one
time is up.
my first thought, a flash of sorrow
the agony my Mom will feel when she is told
first missing, then dead
years of crying looking at photo albums.
I won't go easy
intense awareness, hyper awareness, fear and focus
moving without thinking, all the right moves
a lifetime of training coming to play.
and then relief
realizing I would walk away
from a minute that would change me forever.
had I beaten death or had it let me go?
was it luck or skill?
it doesn't matter, in the face of death I didnt give up
I faced it straight on, My nature was true
live or die, I won.
The Fourth DayI walked outside into the dark.The Fourth Day6 months ago in Personal More Like This
I had my dog with me.
Not that she could protect me against anything that could have been lurking in the dark.
I stopped and put my hand to my head, my knees wobbling slightly from the sudden pain.
The red spot on my head where blood fell earlier today and the previous headache.
It came back again. I was hoping it would be gone.
A headache that remains for four days is not something I'm fond of keeping.
The stars are out.
I looked up at them and smiled.
The wind blew and the smell of autumn graced my senses.
And I thought to myself "I hope I never leave for the big city"
I would be leaving all my happiness behind.
Lack there ofThat moment when you realize that you're going to be left.Lack there of8 months ago in Personal More Like This
But why don't I feel anything?
Why is there no ache in my chest
Throb in my heart
No stinging in my eyes
Or drastic change of temperature running down my face
Why is it numb?
I don't understand.
Sta.sh
