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The Green SeaWe have two boats in the lawn. The green sea has swallowed one of the boats,The Green Sea
punctured at the bottom, sinking slowly.
We sit in the other boat drifting on the sea, our boat is sturdy and manages the waves well; we watch the lands we knew
drift further away
as we glide in the green sea.
Bright lights in the night
rush by and then disappear, the moon tells us which way to go.
The green sea grows
in the passing days. The other boat is claimed by the sea.
We fight the waves and adventure forward.
by ~martyrofdreams
The ClockThe clock was the craftsman's finest he made. He only made his clocks out of Spruce wood, and this one was no different from the others in that sense. It could tell time just like all the others, chiming with the hours; the craftsman's tailor feature. But this would could talk. The craftsman talked to the clock as he was making it.The Clock
At first the clock could only speak the language of the trees , but slowly the natural tongue fades and he adapted the tongue of his creator. He could not hear what the craftsman said, but would comprehend. He began to tell stories of what he saw as a tree, and the world outside the craftsman's window
by ~martyrofdreams
The SongThe grass was knee high when the song came to me among the Service Trees. It blew through the grass and the leaves, swaying with each note. The song took me by the hand and guided me, as one of it's own.The Song
They spoke a language I couldn't understand, but would comprehend when the words came. I was shown deep hallways adorned in decorations only coming to me in memory from the deepest dreams of the soul. The corridors were endless, yet, the song knew them all. We flew past them, illuminating them in our wake. And I came to know those corridors as my own.
The song had no shape, and was nothing more then the which I follo
by ~martyrofdreams
GiantsWe exist in both myth and reality, neither, especially not both.Giants
You tell stories of our absent-minded marches destroying as we please. We're hairy monsters, with big noses, and desire for blood and mayhem. That we eat your companions, though we can never cook the meat just right, and so you for last. Only the hero can destroy us. The better tell of our games in the snowy mountains. And our brief moments of sophistication.
We tell stories of the craggy mountains. How they gave us life from their lifeless stone. Our beards stained white from the mountain snow. Our hair dyed yellow from the sun of the meadows. My nose is no bigger
by ~martyrofdreams
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Devious Info
- Current Residence: My Home in the Clouds
- Interests: Writing, Folklore, Southern Gothic
- Favourite movie: Amelie
- Favourite band or musician: The Decemberists, Bjork/The Sugarcubes, The Clash, The Cure, Joy Division
- Favourite genre of music: New Wave, Electronica,
- Favourite artist: yoshitoshi ABe
- Favourite poet or writer: Neil Gaiman, Isabel Allende
- Favourite photographer: Anton Corbjin
- Favourite style of art: Impressonism and Pop Art
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- MP3 player of choice: mine, duh.
- Favourite game: Dance Dance Revolution
- Personal Quote: "All I can do is be me, whoever that is."
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An Irishman has an abiding sense of tragedy that sustains him through temporary bouts of joy.
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The spell this magic flute can cast
More than gold is worth
It calms the soul and brings at last
Happiness on Earth
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Brain tingles ftw
I was browsing thru various literary profiles and came across your poem "Sacrifice" and then I read the "Beach" and before I knew it I had read all of your poems! I really enjoy them. I hope you get published, because I would totally buy a poetry book with your work in it.
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The spell this magic flute can cast
More than gold is worth
It calms the soul and brings at last
Happiness on Earth
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a-poem-a-day
my artwork
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I Go to Seek a Great Perhaps.
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Steve: Jane, could you stop doing this? Could you stop just wandering through my front door? Because this is not, I repeat NOT, an American sitcom!
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Why do we fall?
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