park bench audiophile

anime music back drops,

a violet sunset

tell me it's okay

old willow tree that speaks the truth

do you ask the wind?

empty crop circle,

wishing to grow dreams, not grain,

who visits you next?

a million eyes watch

painted strokes across the sky

and the lives below

red courthouse standing

above smoke, souls, and music

your gaze is so old

rotted unfed root

peeking through to find the light

such perseverance

whiz, spin, huff, let's ride

old secret docks, lost and sweaty

still part of my home

culled nonsense shouted

to modify depression

across empty land

small bugs walking trail

hoarded plants that I protect

this is not winter

wishing-well wishes

unburdened by desire

I am lost for words

my knuckle is cut

from work I give myself to

it leads me through all

Weeeeee life is beautiful.

Life if painful.

Sometimes I'm dehydrated.

Obvious poem ends.

new poetry project

I be bear the dance floor.
You be the bear of it all yo. Tis no pain but truse, and all have been broken
They are no deer in the headlights of my predilection. So breathe and leave
For this eve I have vanquished the fear that leaves men in seats


- poem of in-and-out extreme drunkeness.

un homme

I am a man who hates great passions.
Leave me to the peace of inevitable change.
Et si je te permettras, me demandais doucement une reponse.
For I am more inclined to stare at the clouds, and into the soul
than to break hearts and start fires.

Le Balai, Rimbaud

C'est un humble balai de chiendent, trop dur
Pour une chambre ou pour la peinture d'un mur.
L'usage en est navrant et ne vaut pas qu'on rie.
Racine prise à quelque ancienne prairie
Son crin inerte sèche : et son manche a blanchi.
Tel un bois d'île à la canicule rougi.
La cordelette semble une tresse gelée.
J'aime de cet objet la saveur désolée
Et j'en voudrais laver tes larges bords de lait,
O Lune où l'esprit de nos Soeurs mortes se plaît.

F.C.

100

1/10th done.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/jonoliver/3247396837/

Udder Failure update.

I am quite enjoying my attempt to throw 5 and 7s at all that i can write on and in. I have noticed the following:

a) do not write while tired, aka when i've been staying up late
b) do not try to write about lofty ideas, the more successful pieces are more sporadic
c) do not limit oneself to the basic haiku ideology. its stifling
d) do try achieve some kind of non-narrative quality in the "switch" line
f) do have fun

I wouldn't say I'm churning through. But it is strange that alot of the pieces are turning out to be tanka.

old clothes, winter

It is a small hole,
desire of something new,
the sweater is warm,
billowy arms room for more,
faded fibers still look good.

sloopy

droopy cold tree branch
winter is nice sometimes too
but sun will warm you

Au premiere moment

It sees wandering,
overcast subservience.
Hot winter rain cloud
sprinkle a dram of fearful,
to drink from a pool of now.