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, November 22, 2005

Traffic Report

tail lights skidding across a flat black sky
on through the night, paired red hots fly
lacquered nails rake through raven hair
tears of blood stain a face so fair

one headlight, the Cyclops goes home
a piercing sword of justice, the mortician's comb
bright beam of mercy stirs gentle winds of fate
It winks and is gone through the pearly gate

across the crinkled pavement bald tires turn
burning up memories in this windshield urn
Sunday, Bloody Sunday a soundtrack for this ride
RPMs a little faster, it’s always time to hide

“Those in Love at Risk for Broken Heart”
listen to my science, ignore the art
lane markers count circadian beat
tired eyes peering through a foggy sheet

posted by Michael | 4:40 PM

3 Comments:

Tyler Hill said...: How is it possible to reconsruct a traffic report into a beautiful rythym of interest and fascination? A yonder of words lifted up to the expansive universe, like an sacrifice to the gods... limited by nothing other than, well, the reader.

Edgy, gripping, tailored to the dark side, tailored to myself.

Again, how can a traffic report contain such wonder? Verbosity... Michael G.; 10:24 AM
Michael said...: Thank you all for the encouraging comments! I feel all bubbly and fizzy inside. Or as bubbly and fizzy as I can feel during an abysmal week at work.; 9:22 AM
Anonymous said...: Boo hoo... get it all out Michael, write another dark poem! You underestimate the power of the dark side. You want this don't you? The hate is swelling in you now. Give in to your anger. Good. Use your agressive feelings, boy. Let the hate flow through you.

No really, all of us enjoy the dark side from time to time. It is a part of life. I think your pretty darn good at it too.; 10:22 AM