“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Showing posts with label who will be there. Show all posts
Showing posts with label who will be there. Show all posts
Friday, November 13, 2015
Will there be cake?
Consciousness tingles, it is innuendo.
Inference must mean Independence.
Did you feel it too?
What is made is meaning,
adding weight to white.
Creativity expressed, is a calculated
release of logical liability,
lingering in anonymity.
Who knew: What it signals: Symbols
And suggestions are like trees
noticed or not
we breathe and need.
My name, like yours, I borrowed
because of its beauty
which withers when said by self.
This Time, made new for you,
an apparition, re-rapt; a peek-and-boo
solely for your special occasion.
What's inside? It is red.
Firing systematic flares in synapse, see red.
Silence is listening as loud as possible.
Aren't all words formal invitations?
-Nevermind-
We are all too busy to attend.
Image By Ministry of Information Photo Division Photographer [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Half-dozen Mud cakes
Back to wood decks, quarter-size spiders, webs, moss and creatures stirring in the hollow nights Back to no side-walks and skirting into th...
-
1. Of my Soul a street is: Preternatural Pic- abian tricktrickclickflidk-er garner of starfish Picasso...
-
I have served between eight and twenty-five thousand meals for my family, I make coffee for them more than once per day, equatin...
-
Lies About Love by D.H. Lawrence (1885-1930) We are all liars, because the truth of yesterday becomes a lie tomorrow, wherea...