About Me
- La Feroce Bete
- Greenville, South Carolina, United States
- ..everywhere i go someone tries to set me on fire..
Friday, January 15, 2010
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Whimsical Wednesday
I have this thing for gypsies. I don't know. But I like 'em. So here's a short poem about one of them and me.
I met a gypsy along my way. He said, "Hey little girl, would you like to play?"
With no hesitation or fear in my heart, I lept for great joy and jumped onto his cart.
His wagon was filled with most sparkly things, red stones, pretty scarves, magical wings.
I asked the gypsy, "If ever he flew?" The answer that followed was mostly untrue.
With a gleam in his eye he turned back to the road and steered the great wagon and its magical load.
I crept near to the wings, for they glimmered with shine. I touched them, caressed them, and wished they were mine.
I heard music, great music. Song filled my mind, I never heard the gypsy creep up from behind. The wings shook and fluttered as though they would fly, but it was too late once I heard a deep sigh.
I was pushed with a force to the edge of that floor and would have fallen right out for there wasn't a door,
But the flutters and glitter and sputters, and magic, attached to my shoulders and saved me from tragic.
I flew from the wagon, into the great sky, leaving that gypsy without a goodbye.
I flew and I flew, and I never came down, because gypsies abide in any old town.
If you're thinking I lie, just look deep in my eyes -
Not a sign that I'm tipsy when I speak of the gypsy.
I met a gypsy along my way. He said, "Hey little girl, would you like to play?"
With no hesitation or fear in my heart, I lept for great joy and jumped onto his cart.
His wagon was filled with most sparkly things, red stones, pretty scarves, magical wings.
I asked the gypsy, "If ever he flew?" The answer that followed was mostly untrue.
With a gleam in his eye he turned back to the road and steered the great wagon and its magical load.
I crept near to the wings, for they glimmered with shine. I touched them, caressed them, and wished they were mine.
I heard music, great music. Song filled my mind, I never heard the gypsy creep up from behind. The wings shook and fluttered as though they would fly, but it was too late once I heard a deep sigh.
I was pushed with a force to the edge of that floor and would have fallen right out for there wasn't a door,
But the flutters and glitter and sputters, and magic, attached to my shoulders and saved me from tragic.
I flew from the wagon, into the great sky, leaving that gypsy without a goodbye.
I flew and I flew, and I never came down, because gypsies abide in any old town.
If you're thinking I lie, just look deep in my eyes -
Not a sign that I'm tipsy when I speak of the gypsy.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
"The Edge... there is no honest way to explain it because the only people who really know where it is are the ones who have gone over.” H.S.Thompson
Pull me back from that which I step too close.
If I must, better to go over than to lose.
Being that of reason; straight and cutting.
Live on.
Monday, January 11, 2010
my chest rises and falls out of grace
evil smears calamity in recess
my conscience is reason light, alibi tight
i gulp tempest thoughts and finger the wrong fight
my whitewash tongue sings peace and songs of freedom
scattered seed and flowing rivers wild
it is the wrong season, a misinterpreted night
i taste your tempest thoughts and point to failing sight
a salty sea swallows our right
my starry starry night deceives me
evil smears calamity in recess
my conscience is reason light, alibi tight
i gulp tempest thoughts and finger the wrong fight
my whitewash tongue sings peace and songs of freedom
scattered seed and flowing rivers wild
it is the wrong season, a misinterpreted night
i taste your tempest thoughts and point to failing sight
a salty sea swallows our right
my starry starry night deceives me
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)