Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

I wrote about it too
before I met you
I was afraid of the dark
I was afraid of the light
I was afraid of being alone
In the winter of my life

I used to be the jack of nightmares too.

It went into quite a bit of my writing, but it's still lurking and sometimes I'm there.

her private thoughts
a lamp unto herself
in the forest silence
she heard
His frozen breath
falling softly as snow
that covered his foot prints
and she was alone again.

Not minding confessions in death
nor minding what's false
when there's truth to it.

Thanks for that beautiful piece.

I wanted to toy with the other more.

She hadn't a need of his identity to go on with him
she'd only need of his finding a place for his foot,
so her small girl ones could follow,
if her mind surrendered to tiring.

In the dead forest her voice was soft
and his became exaggerated.
Only a monstrous type withstood the thick of it
and her with her private thoughts.

What is true for me is the picture.

As Einstein said
The picture is everything
The rest is just bookkeeping

Watching my footprints disapear beneath my feet'
Beatrice could be waitng for me beyond the winter light
Toys R Us




Einstein Image Generator

I like her, and her guts to stand up to him when he thought her merely braided. Shakespeare 101 is all I know. Then, I know her ribbons.

The snow is illusion, masking or altering, anyway, it's at least blank or rendered blank.

Well, we cleared that up...I might have met you there, maybe and maybe not.

Maybe not
not that time
not day time

I remember the silence
I remember the cold
I remember the fear

Pitch dark
for the angel in the light
Beatrice in white
More Dante than Shakespeare I guess
Not in midlife
but in late life.

oh well

fine, I'll pretend to let you win
maybe not then.

Did I win?
Did I fail?
was I competing
was I tripping more than you

Did I cheat
Did I deal a five of pentacles off the bottom of the deck

I thought we were competing on maybe and maybe not, but shrug, maybe not.

Aversion.

Could be
I was thinking about a night In phoenix maryland
a lot of fear
nothing to do with that picture
I wish it had been daytime
It was as dark a darkness I ever saw
I would like to imagine I could go back
And replace that image with that picture
Truth
as a lemonade stand
where old fears
are lost in beauty
plenty of monsters still lurk from childhood
they will always be there

like teddy bears
having their tea
so becare if you go out to the woods today.

aversion,

well there it is.

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Loved that, it reminded me
today is Dr. Seuss' birthday--
here's my favorite

The Lorax

woke up from a nap just now
to the sound of falling snow
tinkle tinkle tinkle
I was back on Monarch pass in my dream
there must be a better word to describe it.
tinkle?
the sound of snow flakes falling on snow (susurrant?)

spooky feeling to watch your footprints disapear behind you if not under your every step
never saw such a beautiful sight
or felt such dread
of virgin snow






I was a little old for Dr Suess in 1971
I was thirty one

But I remember his work during world war two even if I did not know who he was back then.

http://orpheus.ucsd.edu/speccoll/dspolitic/Frame.htm


No we never met
and I have not been in that picture yet

I never asked panta rhei for permission to use that picture
It just so metaphorical for me
I think I should take it down.
and replace it with a thousand words

Maybe you are never too old for Dr Suess
I enjoyed the clip

thanks

No I was not competing with you
I was competing for you
I want to know my intentions
I wish I had the courage of Camus
Awareness means more to me than happiness too


I am not a poet
you are
how could I compete with that?

I am Esther Greenwood's medical school boyfriend in the bell jar
poetic poser
do you know him?

There was no light in my picture
It is cold in here
I got a chill

Toy with it dame
All that matters is
to write a bit
that pleases you

She hadn't a need of his identity to go on with him
she'd only need of his finding a place for his foot,
so her small girl ones could follow,
if her mind surrendered to tiring.

In the dead forest her voice was soft
and his became exaggerated.
Only a monstrous type withstood the thick of it
and her with her private thoughts.

I should have sat on my hands and let you toy with it and not try to reply
Spooky
But spooky good
I knew a little girl named spooky
That is what her mother called her.
And she was a spooky kid
She was her mother's favorite child
Of her two daughters
spooky reminded her most of herself.