Thursday, September 24, 2009
My memories museum
I think we should all strive to live richly. Never overlook an opportunity to create a memory. The legacy of a life truly enjoyed will reverberate across the walls of time the same way the melody of a transcendent song bleeds over into new generations.
Pics taken one fall day with my sister back in my hometown of Newton, NC. Good memory. :)
Monday, September 21, 2009
Drake: Fear
Dont believe the lies.
Look me in my eyes.
Please don't be scared of me.
I remember you.
This feeling isn't new.
So please dont be scared of me.
Look me in my eyes.
Please don't be scared of me.
I remember you.
This feeling isn't new.
So please dont be scared of me.
Sunday, September 20, 2009
The Sultry Escape
I was supposed to study all day... this is what happened instead.
The Sultry Escape
The Sultry Escape
Cold feet, dark bottles, & heat
she taps to the street's
seductive bold beat.
The moonlit march sinks
summer wishes, & hopeful spoons
in dirty dishes.
Fuming with rush &
childhood blush, frail flowers must crush
in the tread of contingency.
Old faces were flushed as the
sensuous strut left an honest lush
on the kitchen floor.
she taps to the street's
seductive bold beat.
The moonlit march sinks
summer wishes, & hopeful spoons
in dirty dishes.
Fuming with rush &
childhood blush, frail flowers must crush
in the tread of contingency.
Old faces were flushed as the
sensuous strut left an honest lush
on the kitchen floor.
Not studying paid off... this poem will soon appear in UNC-Greensboro's bi-annual arts magazine ! Ka-Ching :)
Monday, September 14, 2009
Rootless Tree
Damien Rice may not be everyone's cup of tea, but the way he plays is just so fearless. Every word is drenched in passion and intensity...
I think that's the main thing that draws me to this artist. He bares all. Unafraid of hurting those who have hurt him. Unafraid of exposing himself for his art. Unafraid of using his pain to fuel his fiery music.
I think that's the main thing that draws me to this artist. He bares all. Unafraid of hurting those who have hurt him. Unafraid of exposing himself for his art. Unafraid of using his pain to fuel his fiery music.
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Your Mother's Quilt
trickled over the stain and
sent me steeping
into older kettles.
Another severed season,
August themes stir
autumn dreams
that will fade into winter.
The changing leaves brought us back
with stained socks and heavy breath,
that raggedy couch our sanctuary
sacred exchanges beneath your mother's quilt.
Another evening storm stained
my transparency white, like
the paint under my fingernails.
Another fated fall
left its mark,
on the only part of me
that is brittle and clear.
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)