Monday, August 11, 2014

Intermission: Giraffe

No poem today,
Instead a Giraffe,
You're Welcome.


FYI, The cheyenne mountain zoo in Colorado Springs has an awesome herd of reticulated giraffes you can feed.

Monday, August 4, 2014

Poem 12 - Shards


Shards of broken glass
Catching the early light
Flying through the morning air
Shattering the solitude
As cars meet in fatal fury.


Today is a twofer.  I didn't really like the first piece of art I made.

Thanks for the glass brushes goes to :dev frozenstocks: 

Tuesday, July 29, 2014

Poem 11 - Desert Night

Desert Night

The desert sunset, darkly red
Clouds of shadowy moonlight
Hitting the starlight far above,
The symphony of desert night.

Crickets click, owls call.
Campfire burning yellow bright
As I watch the moon move on
In the symphony of desert night.

As I sit with the low fire
I begin to drift into dreams of flight
I see myself fly above
Through the symphony of desert night.

Hear me as I sing my song
Vocals of wailing might
I become the coyote running
I am the symphony of desert night.

I run, pure freedom.
A rabbit comes into sight
A howl of deep frustration.
Added to the symphony of desert night.

Slowly an owl takes form
I soar among the starry night
Wings sliding through the cool air
In the symphony of desert night.

I fling myself awake
The fire gives forth no light.
I lay down under soft down,
Drifting into the symphony of desert night.


Not sure I've every actually been camping in the desert.  You can tell from the cliches.  

Thanks to Horhew for the tree brushes 

Tuesday, July 22, 2014

Poem 10 - Marble Statues in the Yard

Marble Statues in the Yard

The marble statues in the yard
Sometimes dance late at night.
They possess a secret inner power,
Which lies hidden in sunlight.

I observe them from my window
From my room in the dorm.
They ignore me as I watch them
In their elemental form.

Demons and winged angels swing
Horse and gremlins fight.
They dance to a single rhythm
The cool music of the night.

Rolling, turning, moving as one
Shapes winding by on a top.
In and out, figure eights
Dancing with out a stop.

Color erupts like a kaleidoscope,
Broken fragments and form.
Purely abstract roiling
Clouds churning in a storm.

My eyes grow tired,
The spells almost complete.
But this night the dance changes, 
It takes on a ferocious heat.

The dance rages, moves ragged.
Swirling into a chaotic swarm
Something detaches from the discord
A single white carved form.

Emerging from the center
From the twisting broken core.
Different in its simplicity
A sculpted man, nothing more. 

He raises up his hands,
Begins to control the dance.
His presence quite commanding
From his fingers to his stance.

The dance gradual shifts
More beautiful than before,
Under new direction
The statues suddenly soar.

Shifting and altering quickly
Changing more and more
I feel my eyes grow heavy.
A slide softly to the door.

When I awaken in the morning
The yard is like before,
Except their is no man
Leading the sculptures off to war.


With thanks to Auguste Rodin.  I have no idea what this poem means.  Maybe a night after too much pizza before bed.

Friday, July 18, 2014

Poem 9 - Abyss


I fallen into a deep abyss,
I watch the wall stream by.
Hands reach out to help me
I don't even try.

Masked by the deep delusion
Everyone else can but me can see
The folly of simply falling,
What a nuisance reality can be.

Well I tried my best to reach you
This abyss is my reward.
I always felt, if only you just knew
It was a chance I could afford.

So this is my apology
To you, my heart, and all.
Sorry I thought you might be interested
Next time I'll know not to call.

Wednesday, July 16, 2014

Poem 8 - The Candle of my Heart

The Candle of my Heart

The candle of my heart burns bright
For only a few to see
Shedding a brilliant light
For all that is to be.

It lights the way through dark times
When misery blankets all,
It widens the radius of sight,
Guiding me from a fall.

I keep the candle aflame
With passion against the night
I burn with hopes and dreams
Battle darkness with their light.

I hope my candle gives you sight
Before my heart burns to ash.
I hope my light burns bright enough
For you to see the path.

I've lit a single candle.  For you.

Monday, July 14, 2014

Poem 7 - The Lifeguard

I was a lifeguard at the Craig City Pool for many years.  It was a great experience, if sometimes very boring. The worst place to be all day was in the west facing chairs at the wave pool at 5pm.  The sun struck full body and it was unbearably hot.  When I was a head guard I always let the guards who drew that rotation stand on the other side of the pool.  Besides, its not like they could see anything with the sun in their eyes anyhow.  I wrote this poem sometime during the summer after my senior year of high school.


The Lifeguard

Memories round a Wavepool

He stands,
Head held high
An observant eye
Watching all with benevolence.
An occasional whistle of warning,
Or at least that's what he portrays to the public eye.
He sings silent songs to keep himself aware
Or counts the waves that pass him by,
Figuring in his head over and over
How many will pass in an hour,
A day, a season, a year.
He knows how much he gets paid for each
.0075 cents a wave,
And he knows how long it takes for each to pass,
1.33 seconds,
And it scares him.
He watches the sky
With an ever hopeful eye
Mourning the white clouds that pass by
Or the black ones that dissipate
Upon reaching the fence.
He relishes every cool breeze
And ever shadow
As a confused cloud
Wanders between earth and sun.
He watches the pool
Sickened by yet another disgusting couple
Taking full advantage of the waves
And each other.
he whistles at them to stop, 
And imagines his day off
Far, far away
When he can get away.
He listens for lightning,
And looks for thunder.
Amused silently at his silly game.
And slowly
Five o'clock rolls around
When the pool rats go home.
And then six
When the water is slapped into submission
By the lap swimmers.
Rain or sleet they show.
Then seven
Nearly empty,
Are his eyes open behind those dark glasses?
Then eight
The final whistle blows
And the sunset stains the sky.
Life slows downs and picks up.
And the lifeguard
Now sitting
Head held high
With an observant eye
Cleans and goes home,
Exhausted from doing nothing.