you're making me thirsty, man.

:)

white is all the imagination
the north can muster. the primer
through my window builds and builds
into a nothing crescendo.
what of conifer green like squatters
in the snow. a winter red;
road kill has no season.
blue is a mock hue from an occasional sky
masquerading as a warm. violets, orange,
purple and golds; there are no rainbows now.
only the creative mind sees shades;
grey from black, white from beige, but you
flash skates on the pond with your scarf
in orbit and you in held whirl.
this is only done by one
who knows that white is the colour
that holds them all.

some poetry
is a secret handshake

.

I flow where the river flows
without its broader plan;
a busy bricklayer on a stone ark.

  .  .  .  it was fun

                      Happy Xmas
                                          Scott

                                                     ciao
                     
                                                                     d






.

Dear SkaaDeee
Nice flow.
silent lotus

Tomas

I tried to enter your mind
to the point of a plagiarist's pen
and found the harsh energy
that propels.
I arrived as a babe at the doorstep,
this abode took me in,
you were the one that asked,
 "can we keep him ?".


Silent Lotus

you embody subtleness
to the point of formlessness
to me.


I hope you both have a wonderful holiday season.

your grey is the innocent hush
of a skyline awaking
to its turn beneath the sun.
mist and smoke spurn steam
in the indiscernible grey,
before day.
seen from above, the bay
is a vulnerable calm
and someone in seven-fourteen
has left their porch light on. 

I hope you had a great holiday season, Silent Lotus
and thanks.


********************************   

from me,
lips move while reading.
I'm comic books
and album covers,
book reports with pictures,
information, disinformation
yet I never say die.

the depth and caress of the intricacy of dialect,
guttural lingo, street smart, book dumb
and here I am with a critique
and desire

spill

explode what blocks
disentangle the tangle that runs the body, stuck
like a cardiovascular system in disarray,
red and blue, an electrician's nightmare

the expertise necessary for the crème de la crème
my crude etchings, a travesty
to the ones who have stood before the Taj Mahal of words,
the palace of crystal thought,
a vein of untouched gem stones
and spill their desire
into the inkwell of the writer.

a new world inauguration


the radio gets me out of bed, effectively.
 
"... and what do you think of the President Elect ?"
"... like, he's totally hot for someone in his forties."

It's a brand new day.

dead roses on the kitchen counter
she should have asked for more