zach profile picture

zach

I am here for Dating and Friends

About Me



from The Picture of Little J.A. in a Prospect of Flowers

Yet I cannot escape the picture
Of my small self in that bank of flowers:
My head among the blazing phlox
Seemed a pale and gigantic fungus.
I had a hard stare, accepting

Everything, taking nothing,
As though the rolled-up future might stink
As loud as stood the sick moment
The shutter clicked. Though I was wrong,
Still, as the loveliest feelings

Must soon find words, and these, yes,
Displace them, so I am not wrong
In calling this comic version of myself
The true one. For as change is horror,
Virtue is really stubbornness

And only in the light of lost words
Can we imagine our rewards.

-- John Ashbery

My Interests

I'd like to meet:


I CELEBRATE myself, and sing myself,
And what I assume you shall assume,
For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.

I loafe and invite my soul,
I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass.

My tongue, every atom of my blood, form'd from this soil, this air,
...
Hoping to cease not till death.

Creeds and schools in abeyance,
Retiring back a while sufficed at what they are, but never forgotten,
I harbor for good or bad, I permit to speak at every hazard,
Nature without check with original energy.

- Walt Whitman

..

since feeling is first
who pays any attention
to the syntax of things
will never wholly kiss you;
wholly to be a fool
while Spring is in the world

my blood approves,
and kisses are a better fate
than wisdom
lady i swear by all flowers. Don't cry
—the best gesture of my brain is less than
your eyelids' flutter which says

we are for each other: then
laugh, leaning back in my arms
for life's not a paragraph

And death i think is no parenthesis

- e.e. cummings

My Blog

a sonnet!

The Reaper Unfathomed shape treading a misty trail,bloodhound that makes no sound following souls,with icicled hood, at each step, full sail,the reaper stiffens victims, filling holes. His scythe, win...
Posted by on Fri, 29 Aug 2008 05:00:00 GMT

View of a Working Man

A wheelbarrow stillstands in Minnesota twilightwith an expressionof obtuse discordance,the metal twists and rusted boltsbent under the strain of weary handsgrappling with an uncontrolledinclination to...
Posted by on Sat, 01 Mar 2008 21:01:00 GMT

haiku and more!

(Not Necessarily Chronological) -Kerouac   it's where it takes you,the end a yellowed sliver,curved, entering hills   ride those waves in lifefleck mist, careen with the spraydipping up from...
Posted by on Fri, 22 Feb 2008 21:43:00 GMT

Tree in Winter

Empty of all noisea tree stands nakedlyaware, becoming dead.Blackbirds are cradledin the bent lines liftedoutward from the past,icons of former budding.Each entwined inbrooding, voiceless,elements of ...
Posted by on Tue, 08 Jan 2008 12:07:00 GMT

Puzzle

Flex the last singular piece into place,saturate the picture with your gazeand caress the rumpled curvescarved by jig-saw veins.This is the abstract universal,the color our minds conformon this world....
Posted by on Sun, 05 Aug 2007 08:20:00 GMT

A nonnet!

A corpulent phrase recedes in ears,stepping lightly through spiral folds.Crestless ripples sink alongdeserted banks of sandworn by tired waves,like seashell soundsstilled to sleep,needingrest.
Posted by on Sun, 15 Jul 2007 21:24:00 GMT

Birds in a Landscape of Air

Birds awaken from his sleevealive and fluttering in a breeze,beating strength against his feathered chest.At each stage of soaringa lens is built to shear the air,the glass refraction of an eyeclears ...
Posted by on Wed, 20 Jun 2007 10:28:00 GMT

Night Dancer

Her ankles move like tufts of string, a rhythm unravels as she steps. The dress defies its frame of threads, a gown painted, chromatic shards drip beauty like a morning petal. And her fingers dissolve...
Posted by on Fri, 30 Mar 2007 22:00:00 GMT

Short poem

The ticking strums like painkaliedoscopic in one's mind,pricking vain illusionto surface in due time.Shards fall like fettersand minutes too shall pass,the moment's all too fragilemy clock is made of ...
Posted by on Thu, 01 Mar 2007 10:33:00 GMT

Shaded Reflection

A semblance play of myselfthis shadow sprung from the slanted sun,the grey sidelong profilestretched across the grassy stage,leaning aside by leaden rays.Eclipse of my shape that dims the ground,accid...
Posted by on Thu, 21 Dec 2006 10:00:00 GMT