Architecture, Urban and Rural Spotlight Vol. 60klapouch'sMore Like This
Spotlight Vol. 60
Architecture, Urban and Rural
Kyoto Nights II
Tokyo Rainbow Bridge
Our last playground IV
cloud on the wall
Still Still (YouTube Link Included)See me perform this hereMore Like This
The boy I like
told me that everything in the universe
is made of stars.
He described them eating themselves,
the iron corrupting the heart,
the spat out destitution of a would-be sun;
I could relate.
I went home and wrote
‘You are the ephemeral glitter in the eye of a manic universe –
and I am the debris clogging the arteries of stars as they
That’s the difference between us.
In the world of evenings as poetry –
he is the star studded sky.
His heart is the rocking moon that generously shares its sun with us.
He is the moment when you realise that you live
in the space between brilliance and beauty,
and you still matter.
As for me,
in that same evening,
I am a lake.
I reflect a reflection.
I refract a resurrection of a sun
I can only see the sun through smoke
and my heart is so drowned in anxiety
that no warmth will ever go right through me.
So I look at the bo
A Telescope for PolarisThe strands of my percussion stringsMore Like This
turn dull in the sight of
your subconscious bearings.
You are like the hail
who threatened to come;
I can’t quite place.
And I write letters
to the archers
and the mermaids-
hoping they’d bring me a swallow
to hunt the raven-like insect
in the recesses of my hair.
[So far they haven’t replied yet.]
Thus I’ve found
I could distract myself with pastimes
I’ve come to name as habits--
like drinking the tepid water
of other people’s drudgery,
while I ponder on what sorts of poems
when she called herself yours.
It must have been quite nice,
while the coffee was newly brewed.
And I see how clouds
could pass for stars some nights;
why cicadas sing
and nightingales don’t.
I see your eyes
and how they see things differently,
how I want them to know
a little part of what they don’t.
And in staring in them
as if I could knit my universe
straw by straw, I’ve reali
The Other Side of the Page(This is a piece of random writing I did a bunch of months ago, but forgot about until now.)More Like This
Ever wonder what it would be like to be read on a page? To be the one people are reading about, the one the story is about. Your life becoming words on a sheet that is looked at by hundreds, maybe even millions of readers. People letting their eyes move through the book and almost feel like they know you through the print. Love you, hate you, cry for you. Would your story be a tragedy, romance, thriller, an adventure? Are you the hero?
Meeting a person who read all about you might be exciting as well as horrifying. Someone knowing your every thought and action and making judgements on what they know.
What if every person's life story was written somewhere... that would be a lot of books. Characters/people would be constantly switching roles, from a hero to a villain to a side role, or one of the people running in the crowd.
How many lives might you have