Home
From The Personal Standpoint
Topics & Articles
Book Recommendations & Reviews
Resources

Go to: My Blog
Go to: My Deadjournal

- ED Edition -
- - - Nutrition Facts
- - - Food Science
- - - Disorders
- - - "After Effects"
- - - Diets [Disordered]
- - - Safe Foods
- - - Recipes
- - - Exercises
- - - Comments

Poetry

Undescribed

I have spoken in a thousand voices
but feel not a spark or vibration
for this simile that beseeches me.
A comparison is too stark
for a personality I’ve only mentally read.
An object is but the paramount
to foretell a wisp of my thoughts.

Autonomous Human

In the world of subjugation and virility,
I am the ‘opposite sex’.
In the world of ongoing and region-indexed feminism,
I am a chief activist.
Some people think I’m that cute and well-rounded girl
who feels the need to be involved in everything,
but I am really an autonomous, sublime woman.

Hands Too Time Ridden

Archaic these hands may be --
by a mere sweep, a flame is lost.
When curved as moist, fallen leaves
their shades contrast.

By oil, a painter can define this near-subtlety
in fleshy folds and curves.
By acrylics these hands can be bared
for the precision that is fierce.

I remember the fine arts
that proved physical personality,
without admirable augmentation --
when bodies and spirits were not yet ‘modernized.’

Capturing an Image

Stained paper is scented and matches the color of my coffee,

crystals are stuck to the alternate edges of the cup.

Running wax to dried wax,

an aroma ever sweet fills my nose.

A flame too radiant burns stationary wax and

glistening glass holds the vulnerable solid.

Schemes

Women’s schemes
couch marriage,
straightening the avoided and missed like sheets.

mama - cradled and loved
woman - laid the scent slipcover

hope and dreams in dear hands
cushioning the lover.

Journey

Journey the loom
where brutes skirt. . .

demeaning, strangely,

observation brought peril!

Mind revolting
and sickness spew,

where humankind has not gone,
for they apprehend that change.

Temporary Psychopathic Coma

When and where,
then and now,
no matter. . .
whenst wither.

Banished!

How, why,
what, and nothing.
Now reach to strain
the genius and significance in interpreting.

Why, my successors?
When, my ailments?

Nothing? - The BLAST of my indulgent tenants. . .

Then?. . .they ail?
Now?
No, perhaps later when smitten.

Where, my ominous pack?
How?
Did it become SO adverse?

Where will they bring the last of lasts?
How, with addressee's mirth inclined - I say "Ha!"

But. . .
What has happened to integrity?

Nothing, nevertheless - And the BLAST I'll see to.

.