three rolls of filmi think i will call that painting, small crescent it has been weighing on my mine now its settled, that is the name, title it was very windy today blustery, blowing, bursts of air the electric power blinked several times but never quite went out it seems now the wind has past still drinking coffee my wild rampage raving last night tell the husband, about all the men who want cyber sex on my computer mass masturbation “these people are crazy,†i told him yeah the wind is gone daylight is also almost gone i had 3 rolls of film from my new camera he complained that he waited for them in line at least a half an hour and they weren't ready “ i waited in that line, at least a half an hour†“ and they weren't ready†so he is going back he's supposed to pick them up tonight
idont know i like nice people i wish my blogs would work my first day here how do i put up my art think i need some friend the one it says i have is just the my space guy
My passion is a cold wind, A flame, an ice cube,… A box of rose petals,…. Nettles and barbs… Caresses and scars,… A throbbing head, remembered dead,… Tears, on the carpet….. My love is a smoke signal… A silent scream choked in dreams Sometimes the pain becomes ecstasy…. All of me focused in that welling,… Dwelling inward, torso cyclone…. Hearts reaching…the hallucination jells…. I am not alone,.. I reach the soul of my desired spirits meet…. Mingling, sharing, hurts so sweet… Softly talking in the nighttime air… The sweet, painful, misunderstanding…. The meaning of the pain,.. Its essence, its beauty.. The lonely togetherness,.. Of desperate searching…. The end
One Winters Poemi Cool air comes out of cavesI do not begThe rose picked this morning,Looks like a balloonThe air has gone out of.He seems to take a stab at meWhile looking at a she,A cute brunetteWith a short white skirt;He would have deniedTo have ever seen.I could never copyThe spectacular glory of the clouds,And shrink the fabulous,Awesome and amazing skyDown to fitOn a two-dimensional planner surfaceTo hang on the wall.Woe for superficial, materialistic,Image seeking, fearUnloved persons with truly beautiful essencesFloat by like doves.iiThe mistletoe encompassesMy dreams of blizzard walks.Toward a place where evenings hence;A firelog engrossed in flameAs deep as mine was for you,Was sure to burn.The largest flakes,Sticking to my hair, my hat, my coatAnd on pines they coatedLooked like an ice cream float.The demon you, bigWith bubble bath fingers,My sweet baby dreams.For awhile, by sheer forceI thought this seed would live.For the family tree,This branch has no fruit.Those times so effervescentLeave me dreaming, for a spell,And silken trousersBeneath my pants of wool,With mouton and knitted scarf;I tread through the snow.iiiYou said to me,"You are special".I uttered a protest, and to this dayOf what consequence…that meaning was,Would have incurred?…Is vague and blurred.When you called me angelI began to balk.I told you , you were dreamingAnd barely let you talk.Now I deal with regrets.Wishing we could speak,Painfully it’s all in the past.You’re hulking gentle form,Quick as surprise,Dear as first prize,Dark , smooth and strong;But sure we were wrong.I was not free and still,Though id seen you cryingTrembling lips and I was so cold…I tell myself you never loved me.Eva Rogers- from a small poetic sampler ©1996