it is as if i've been writing love letters with dead pens stranded here by mistake and never quite got round to moving on fingering this rosary string of sacred rememberings with accidental joy
-i-loved-him--i-loved-him--i-loved-him-
i will not defile this with cliches
to forget he who diminuendoed out of life seems as futile as trying to airbrush mondays yet it seems the grainy quality of memory betrays me
My friend Leo gave mention of you as a treasure. Now here's a chinkable poem if there ever was --"dead pens" and "airbrushed monday's" --really?! Drop-dead brilliant word combos. I'll pay it forward and mention a few more treasures: Hightower, Carswell, and Durrant. --Charlie
Reviewed by blue soplain (Reader)
Reviewed on October 13, 2007
your voice~ finally.
i have come to expect nothing less than this beautifulness of finality, this soft needful breathing from your words. ..
this feels near breaking point to me; a fine line walked between realness and otherworldly; lucidity and madness; touch and intangibility.....
wonderfully composed and conceived
ness
Expanded as you are ~ More beautiful you become ~love Ted
Reviewed by Jerry Bolton (Reader)
Reviewed on October 13, 2007
Aw, putting it in bold with strike-out lines will not make the passion go away . . . Time will, however . . . Nice . . .
Reviewed by Missy Cross (Reader)
Reviewed on October 13, 2007
what a piece to come roaring back with. you've been very much missed. the depth of this just rocks my soul... thanks for coming back. (i imagine any dead pen cannot help but spring magically back to life in your poet's grip.)
Well well well, welcome back stranger! so you love him like when you airbrush mondays and writing with dead pens? girl you need a big glass with Glenfiddich on the rocks, you got the blues.
Georg
Sherlyn Powell opens up about her love and devotion to her family and the overwhelming repercussion when communication breaks down. Heartbroken and distraught she learns to release her prayer and realize with faith God would reunite her family.
On February 20, 2003, pyrotechnics at a rock club in West Warwick, RI set off a devastating fire that roared through the crowded club, killing 100 people and injuring hundreds more. Gina Russo was one of the survivors, and she retells her harrowing e
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Lovely...
Ch'erie
Be safe,
Karen
Fee
i have come to expect nothing less than this beautifulness of finality, this soft needful breathing from your words. ..
this feels near breaking point to me; a fine line walked between realness and otherworldly; lucidity and madness; touch and intangibility.....
wonderfully composed and conceived
ness
Where have you been? Have missed you!
No dead pen here: just pure poetry! Excellent.
(((HUGS))) and love, Karla.
Georg