Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

parched desert
alphabet lies
cactus shadows
blanched oasis

old rhymes
never rang
sublime
as thee

the desert's not so parched
right now
there's a grudge against
my fairy duster
shadows aren't an option
when the sun's on holiday

icicle stabs
melt,
at the touch
of warm hearts,
will yourself, to
watery
dimensions,
mirrors,
ripples,
shores,
tides,
warm hearts,
can only
survive.

we evolved from ice
from mercury
a savage bond
awakening of dust

liquid suspension
of god courage and sympathy
a violent flower
a shower of eternity

frozen on
cracked concrete
still radiant
never discreet
no deceit

Let us send Winter a one-way ticket to
Orbit Mercury, lift-off to a Jupiter crash,
Ablaze to skim the edge of the Sun until
His arrogance is singed and blisters
Devour his skin, launch him into blackhole
Deathspace until
He is annihilated by Saturn rings,
Hang him to a cross in a public square,
Dare the crowd to plant a crown of thorns
Upon his brow, slaughter him like a calf,
Spring, the resurrection,
Spring, the greenery,
Spring, the garden,
Spring, the Eden
Arising, hearts proud of the
Murder.

cackletus must ride away,
fly off singing
on her broom again,
a rap on the door,
calls her off the floor.........
but you can bet your ass
she'll be back for more

smoochies!

she's barefoot!
my european friend,
everyone walks barefoot
on the streets of dallas
think nothing of it
even though it's january
as we ride by
so warm in our car
past the wall
where the shoes start
and end

here is some more music for all you burgers and fries fans

http://www.studioeight.tv/musicpost/cruisin.mp3

written and sung by Lrod
guitar by Stupid Bob

Heather greets a morning breath,
scents of Prynnecess desire,
Kate awakens sunsmiles,
Cracked pavements prepared to bloom.
We make room for a thaw.
We make room for air where
Vernal paradigms fill our lungs with
Love.

Above, the Gods laugh.
We attempt to discover their mockery.
Humor is cyclical as the ghosts of
Seasons trick us with a riddle,
Same answer each time.

Spring and Love are siblings.
One of a kind. They travel hand-in-hand as
Paramours.

We serve them tea on the
Veranda, grape vines
Draped to blanket us from view.

I walked barefoot on truth,
pealed my jane mansfield shoes off
to find pavement heat making whoopee
with my sole.

poetry is made from words not made from ideas

everyday a new revelation

looking for a presence

some connection of a spirit and flesh

a joy of communication of word and flesh

but tenderness could work I think

so I listen and wait

and do my best not to toy with her affections

meanwhile there is a presence here that I follow

good night strangers

Jayne was pink with giddy light
And heavy hair with stardust flight
When fog and dust and street converged
All giddy, heavy sin to purge
A moral tale of slimey paint
Louisiana's southern taint
And once she was but now she aint
No shoes, no smile, no squeal, no faint
A memory in pink
Granite

i have followed the presence of flesh, met
death as a friend at my dor, wore my hair
in glistened shades of grey and gold, sold
memories in exchange for glances of affection,
tested the depths of ponds and floods on lawns
with bare toes, each fresh blade affectionate between
the distance of doubt and wonder, and i have heard
thunder increase on the corner of a storm, a warm front
confronting ice, and just as joy became flesh, i have rested
in the shade of ideas, the goodnight moon my child's story,
revelation becoming my worth.

birth is snipped from an
umbilical cord.
we were once connected to a
universe. today we wander
free, tenderness, the mercy
offered.

i try not to toy with
miracles.