Verbosity

About

shadowy sketches of emotion and thought

Location: Salem, Oregon, United States

"His house was perfect, whether you liked food, or sleep, or work, or story-telling, or singing, or just sitting and thinking, best, or a pleasant mixture of them all." Tolkein

It has been said...

"...the events that led me to comprehend that art can transform pain." Roman Polanksi

"Women have a thirst for order and beauty as for something physical; there is a strange female power of hating ugliness and waste as good men can only hate sin and bad men virtue." Chesterton

"The riddles of God are more satisfying than the solutions of man." Chesterton

"To the humble man, and to the humble man alone, the sun is really a sun; to the humble man, and to the humble man alone, the sea is really a sea." Chesteron

"Men do change, and change comes like a little wind that ruffles the curtains at dawn, and it comes like the stealthy perfume of wildflowers hidden in the grass." Steinbeck

"Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket--safe, dark, motionless, airless--it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable." Lewis

"We're not necessarily doubting that God will do the best for us; we are wondering how painful the best will turn out to be." Lewis

Tuesday, October 25, 2005

Blank Verse Joy

Un-rhymed lines of ten syllables.

pin pricked skies cascading small drops of life,
rolling down my nose, into my smile, fresh
bright beads of hope whisper laughter, dangling
from dancing ear lobes. sunlight pierces each
droplet, shatters into brilliant orbs of
kaliedescope light, rainbow hughs of love
running across every inch of my skin,
carbonating my life with contentment,
softening a lifetime of concrete plow
pan. torrential floods carving through thickest
darkness, to make a sure way of escape.

posted by Michael | 8:55 AM

3 Comments:

(not here) said...: I think this is one of the better "happy" poems I've read. I think that too often it's so easy to write depressing ideals.; 1:52 AM
Michael said...: I concur. Melancholy is the sacharine syrup of poetry.; 4:27 PM
Tyler Hill said...: The idea of melancholy makes me all giddy inside. I get happy just thinking about it. Sounds strange, but I kind of like it? Perhaps it's the break of routine, or that it gets the sacharine syrup flowing in abundance that I like so much.
Sacharine syrup sounds like a cheap romance novel ;-); 9:36 AM