Throw him a bone, he’s finally alone
Looking like Johansson Lost, In Translation
The scene where she stares out seeing
Japanese buildings and people, glass…
I see something subtle as a gargoyle’s snarl
Out my window, and it made me think
There’s water water everywhere
And only Coke to drink
Thank you for following my blog, http://www.englishmanual.wordpress.com. That gave me a chance to have a look around your site and read some of your impressively evocative poetry.
All the best!
Hey thanks for following my blog. I like what I’ve read here. I like your style.
Been browsing through a few of your writings, very good. That demon lady….creepy nice. Glad you stumbled upon my crazy little blog.
Thank you for following my blog and introducing me to your poetic world. Good luck unravelling your troubled mind.
Hi Luke. Thanks for following my blog. Your blog has interesting reading for me. Thanks for bringing me here.
Means a lot David
“Water water everywhere
and only coke to drink” Those lines remind one of the fact that humanity daily changes the natural course of nature.
Glad it got ya thinking
Poetry expresses truth with emotions.
Your poems are exactly the same.
Thanks for the follow.
All the best.
“Water water everywhere and only Coke to drink”
Thanks for following my “Weaving the Magic Thread” blog. I hopeyou will continue to enjoy it!
Your writing is beautiful. Thank you introducing me to your writing by following me.
Canary Row Hoe Ho
There’s a hippy girl in my class who wears Mao’s cap, dates
a long-haired boy and wrote a kick-ass environmental piece.
You’d like to poke through every long-leafed elephant-ear on
campus, stroking nature, this beautiful sub-plot, with hoe, adze,
al or clipper: chopping down in order to raise back up, involved
with earth as is intended. Some say a new time has come, White
Buffalo and all. Consequences outnumber rewards at a twenty to
one clip, as Mongolians suffer from bad air and China’s expanding
desert, even though they’ve done their part to live in a preservationist
way. But global means brutal these days: global trade = wage slave,
global warming = no food, global war = death for the multitudes,
profit for the stinking rich few. Love abounds in campus towns,
while “repo-men” reap millions, and songbirds still find seeds around
as legs spread out the leaves. Our new man is African, and that’s
so fine with me, and babies laugh, and mothers smile, here in the
land of the free. So what that free means money, instead of love
and food. When no one has a dime to spare, friendship will lift
our mood. Or will there be the occasional hijacked truck or plane?
Who cares as long as we can load up the kids, drive south to live
in a genuine, warm, Steinbeck-decorated pipe that used to be a drain.
Evocative insightful interesting stuff you write. Thank you. ‘The Void’ resonated – close to the bone for me as I embrace the old cliche of empty nest.