The Right Column

Please visit my DEMOS

I've got many other demos that I don't link

Dove, dove
  up in a tree
    look at you!
      cooing at me!

 In the Winter
      Blizzard
  or freezing rain
    you treat crows
           all the same.

  Dove, dove
      no mere pigeon
    paired up with your 
          lovey dovey.

Thoughts, all thoughts, are just passing creations of mind that we ought to be able to access and throw away when they are incorrect or total fallacies.

inline svg sample 1,inline svg sample 2,inline svg sample 3

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March 30, 2014

All Year

and till the end of time

Celebrate the arriving Christ in everyone!

🌛 

(ver ii)
 why blame anyone, 
   especially the moon
 maybe too busy to talk today? 
     won't talk to me
 Why do you need him giving you constant loving glances?
  Maybe stand offishness is really just him trying to make you aware
                                   of your selfishness?
 What you imagine that the moon is is just you working from a
                    more centered place it seems.
    because, of course, personification of inanimated masses
         doesn't help
            people to see you as an enlightened
                   person worth hiring.


    So let the moon ignore me
 I have my new LED to use to light up the room
     So what he used to be
   the clock of love forever true you thought.
What do thoughts do for you except befuddle and misconstrue
            the glorious destruction of day as
                   the sun explodes
                          into oranges of night
         and that giant moon
                     arrises in your sky?
     
    In my sky
  the sound of the Springtime arising
    comes forward, 
      ascends from the forest swamp.
    Millions of tadpoles
                billions of Junebugs
     swarming below the moon.
 The moon sings to each of them individually
        a different song.
      Zillions of souls all the moon
       hear what the moon sings
           right inside of their head.
     So why blame him?

 oh you amphibbian dreamers
    of the mucky lower-downs, off beyond the cliff, before the next cliff,
       how did you get all the way up here to this mountain place above the 
                          valley town?
       Little kids don't come here by themselves.
     how do they know of such elaborate perches?
    Frogs growing wise before the moon
           croak about the fall, becareful to not leap
                  in the wrong direction.

 Mist and muddy mire, boot schloornicking-sound as it gets pulled out of it.
  He is careful to not desturb the frogs, midnight croaking
         sounds like half a billion years of Summer midnight
               come here
           listen to the moon's full moon song,
       not just a sonata but a full fledge infinity of existential vortexes of
                 connundrum.
   Don't hop out boldly 
         in the wrong direction.

  The vision of the snow fields as fallacies of mind
       that make one slip and slide and go down below.
  who do those midnight frogs decide when it is time to arise?
            is it just the moon that lets them know?
    

  Mist and mire, muck
    and forest swamp
    where higher boots are needed.

  At midnight he deludes again that the moon
       talks to him
    tells him secrets
     speaks of obligations and
           lost Misty and her blue blue.
       she was the one who he always adored.
     She was one who could not be true.


    Did the moon write that song or did you?

  If the moon leaves me,
   and looses me in the forest
  way down inside a hardwood bog,
   probably be able to back out of there and make it home
          OK,
       so don't blame the moon for
         the lost sojourners.

 And if you fell down into a quick place of sand
      where the world sucks you in,
           do you blame the Earth? Of course, not the moon!
    
 The cold snow storm towers over the world
    and shutters off everything, not just the moon!
 
 And when Mr. Moon leaves you
      it is just that you stopped paying attention to him.
 As there is no debt owed, no coupon to date, a check to sign
      the moon has not interest and doesn't give dividends,
        blameless all the way till Sunday. Mr. Moon.
 

 In my stupidity personification became a tool
      of my benign sorrow, a funk that settled over the town
            like a toxic cloud.


    retrospection
 and meditation
   needs silence of mind, even if
      furious tangles of interaction
      skitter worrisome darkness
     like waves of regret
  and pangs of loss, 
    It's already Wednesday and
          still he is not home.

 danger, loss,
    cold, frozen body in a bog.
 It is a mummy from 1400 years ago!
     Laddy never made it home.
    hardwood bog,
         sad  story of murder in the past.

Turn back toward the hill and shire.
 hook up the steal strand wire.
    Shutter up the room
        from the flutter furies of gloom
 dark night of early spring blizzard.
     no moon is seen or known of then.
     

     What path back to any neighborhood
  can lead one out of the deep worlds of loss,
        ah, a Suburban home, stone wall, barking thoughts of dogs
             stranger passing through
    Dogs will speak to the moon, 
        and howl along with his song.

  To loose a friend
           and not bring him home
      in the sadest of stories
   of a deep forest roam
        outside of time
    at a quarter to three
    is it really the moon
   talking to me?
    And out into some strange dreamland neighborhood
 on some far part of the forest, miles and miles of roads to travel
      to get home
 and they are all buried in ice.




 Dark night
  no thoughts of Moon.
 Moon breaks through the storm.
  
  light up the snow squalls with 
   midnight speckling
  rainbows glistens,
    and ice melts rolling off of eyebrows,
    and down ruddy faces.

 Car pulls up.
    moonlight.
 a friend
  who'd been out looking.
    Seems a whole bunch were.
  
  who can show us
    how to escape the ice that freezes over
         all the fields
  that should be full of love?
   How does one return to the faithfulness of loving
         others joyously?
 The moons sings these lamentatious songs
     so we imagine.
    It's all in our head. 
frozen icesheets on all the fields.
 
 forgiveness for friends always.
 forgiveness for enemies always.
 forgiveness, oh
 moon, is the way back home!



🌛

Please visit my DEMOS

    Praise the Lord!

Praise the Lord!

😇 😈
Dude,
    did you do
 the same to her
     as she did to you?

  cold heart of ice water
    and you want warm buns from the oven
           from the others?

  She gives you a cup of ice water
        by throwing it in your face.
   
                
😇 😈

I got nothing more