Singin' in the RainI'm so happy. I'm absolutely, beyond the shadow of a doubt CERTAIN the planets aligned and the heavens opened. God-if-there's-a-god, I do not want to grow up...
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Welcome to the CathedralA sigh quiet-stirring the sanctuary air, Interlaced, gazing at the threshold –Welcome to the Cathedral
We are wound and treading a thin edge. ? he says I say ! And the blue TV-light flickers impassively Over my shyly-smiling please.
Fabric rustles muffled to the floor, Like prayer and silly string unconditionally Surrendering to the very final grace of god. These complex fumblings, earnest acquiescence,
Oh-arching toward the stained glass, shattered... Easy. (“We being brand” e.e. told me once) Painting over these old stains, splinters, With his particular simplicity,
by ~Valdrine
Variation on the Word LoveIf claim you love is the heart-bright fire consuming blue velvet curtains and stageVariation on the Word Love
lights, even the soul of the long-legged chorus girl who wanted lead, Then so, too, is laying wrapped and covetous in nature’s rapture love, swinging sultry
from the green (except that the trees are mostly gone now). Just as surely does the dog mindlessly love the master who feeds him at the same time
every morning and drags him leash-bound through the suburban labyrinth A quickened heartbeat, sparkly smile…maybe Mom says she isn’t o
by ~Valdrine
Goddess of ChlorineArms opened to an untouchable sky My own giggling in my ears, so like a child’s (because sometimes girls are allowed their childish whims) I remember this, sun-drenched and smiling –Goddess of Chlorine
Water coursing from my hair, My temples, Off my shoulders, Between my breasts, Down my arms, Past my stomach in rivulets.
I am, indisputably, a goddess of chlorine, Of blue-and-white polka-dotted bikinis With the unfortunate tendency to tug loose, Of perpetually chipped toenail polish, Carelessness and affection and gentle desire, Scarred l
by ~Valdrine
The poem I won't writeThere is a poem I am not ready to write; The words jostle for position in my mind, It lurks out of sight, still unformed and fragile. I fear to crush it with lack of eloquence.The poem I won't write
There is a poem tickling beneath my fingers, And it breathes life into my waking moments. Elusive, it lingers, content to wait for release And vent my remorse to the literate world.
There is a poem in my heart to stand alone; Though inept in the face of my profound regret, Hope, at last, has grown to cast all traces of doubt Into the true, accepting chasm of creation.
I will fe
by ~Valdrine
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Devious Info
- Current Residence: Black Mountain
- Interests: musical theater, singing, classical guitar, writing, reading
- Favourite movie: Moulin Rouge
- Favourite band or musician: Billy Joel, Pearl Jam, Simon and Garfunkel, McKeel, Smashing Pumpkins, Chili Peppers, The Eagles...
- Favourite genre of music: rock
- Favourite poet or writer: J.R.R. Tolkien and Amy Lowell
- Favourite game: Egyptian Rat Screw (cards!)
- Favourite gaming platform: What is this gaming of which you speak?
- Favourite cartoon character: Popeye
- Tools of the Trade: Word Perfect 9, InDesign
- Email: forestrose@gmail.com
- AIM: soccerpoi
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--
ESTRAGON: Why don't we hang ourselves?
VLADIMIR: With what?
ESTRAGON: You haven't got a bit of rope?
VLADIMIR: No.
ESTRAGON: Then we can't.
(Silence.)
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Escapism is my favorite ism.
--
Evil me, oh yeah I know.
--
"Je me'en vais chercher un grand peut-erre." (I am going in search of the great perhaps.) -- Rabelais
--
You become what you think.
--
El amor es viejo, amor es nuevo
amor es viejo, amor es tú
--
"Je me'en vais chercher un grand peut-erre." (I am going in search of the great perhaps.) -- Rabelais
Well, I was gonna be the first to comment here, but looks like I got beat... ><()
--
ESTRAGON: Why don't we hang ourselves?
VLADIMIR: With what?
ESTRAGON: You haven't got a bit of rope?
VLADIMIR: No.
ESTRAGON: Then we can't.
(Silence.)
-------
Escapism is my favorite ism.
--
"sorry, but your princess is in another dungeon. please try again." xD
--
"Je me'en vais chercher un grand peut-erre." (I am going in search of the great perhaps.) -- Rabelais
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