artless words

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southpaw warrior

southpaw warrior
wielding a just sabre
for righteousness
unsheathed in sparking white
gaining action by wind arc
inked blood contract
philosophies demanded
upon lofty principles
enforced with pride
beliefs carved upon singular roads
will not lead
southpaw warrior
to peace

Who

Who

madness be damned

perpetual motion has been busting my fold
between wake and sleep
sometimes it is present when I am not
other times it sits on my lungs
it is following a bit too closely
fearing it will tease me and leap out the window
like dust particles that once belonged to the ground
in every room a pad and pen
the nagging words, nonsensical sometimes
inked and captured
if they aren’t, I do not rest
then it starts
each strand of hair yanked one by one
in every room a pad and pencil
images for the lopsided prose
forms exsanguinating from bodily dreams
I might lose my mind
alas, it would be something I’d capture
before the last grey cell disintegrates
perhaps I might finally understand
Ensor or Poe
minds wild
madness be damned

Although sometimes I have felt that I held fire in my hands and spread a page with shining, I have never lost the weight of clumsiness, of ignorance, of aching inability
–John Steinbeck

TopHead

My little madman is losing his head to hats…

Shy-Low Series

While I toil away on a writing/illustration project dear to my ‘monsterish’ heart, I hope you don’t mind more youth-fare. I’m having way too much fear-fun perusing my teen journal(s). Reading ‘backwards,’ reminds me of sadder, awkward times. I’m relieved  shades of darkest blue leaked out when I was a kid. These days I spend much of my time, tickled pink. 😉

Shy
In my lifetime
I must have used up
over 3 reams of loose-leaf
– letters to you
but the only ones you ever received
were birthday greetings
and get well soons

My Music
When the symphony plays
No one can touch me
The music I hear
No one else can

Mind me
Here I am
Again
alone at last
I don’t mind
’til someone minds me

Low
do you see me
i’m feeling so low
please don’t push me
i don’t wanna go
unspoken comments
so cunningly snide
cut off and choked
my last ounce of pride
i’m not feelin’ real young
’cause my bleedin’ heart
died

Hair Hiding

Hair Hiding

May you dream of your sadness floating away in a bubble…

All ‘poems’ written 1977-78, Hair Hiding created in 2014 with Prisma pencil.

June 21

Alas, another diddy from my Poe-fluenced teen journal…

June 21

Time come back
You leave and forget me
Embarking shadows
on steel shafted ships
Good times go by so fast
Pitiful moments last forever
Why must you
avenge me so
When I cry, you crawl
When I laugh, you prance
As you move
I learn
too much, too soon
When you leave
I’ll be dead
and you’ll go on
ticking, ticking, ticking

Dancing Flames

Dancing Flames

May you dream of warm spring flames to melt the last snows of winter.

Poem written 1977, Dancing Flames – water color marker previous published 2014

Frustration and a Talking Tale

Another selection from my teenage journal.

Frustration

Frustration looked down the path with eyes of anxious fire. She, like the muskrat, embedded herself into the ground. A grin of one-hundred teeth repulsively staring. Her scent left no space untouched. Always, Frustration an unworthy creature, attacking from the back. Shadows cast beneath the fold. Frustration, like the starving animal, unsatisfied and hungry for the lagging one.

Blue Tale

Blue Tale

May you dream of happy memories…

Free verse written 1977, Blue Lion created in 2014 published with another post a few months back (I still like this guy, he makes me smile. I hope he makes you smile too.)

 

A Red Rhyme at Blue 14

I adored when the 4:30 movie featured Vincent Price playing characters straight out of Edgar Allen Poe stories. Images of men strapped to tables – sharp pendulums making slow descents – are forever sliced into my brain. Remarkably, my young teenage journal from those influential Poe Days, has withstood the test of time. Here’s a piece from my 14-year-old, drama-infused self.

If I should die in silence
what reason would there be
to have no other hands
share in my misery
so I shall ne’er expire
’cause I can’t cry for me

Paper Shadow

Paper Shadow

May you dream of pristine poetry in rhythmic lines of slumber…and if there are teens in your life, may they be happy and drama-free. 🙂

Poem written in 1977, graphic created with Prisma pencil in 2014 🙂