caramel macchiato flavored coffee with mint cigarette flavored kisses with your dreamboat lover is the quintessence of what i call "perfection". if there was a way to describe the way your lips feel against mine, i could only describe it as "cigarettes and coffee". cigarettes and coffee isn't simply consuming caffeine or inhaling tobacco in your lungs, it's sitting on the roof at 1 am looking at the stars with a blanket around the both of you. it's laying in the grass with a slight breeze blowing making smoke rings between the arduous kisses. it's simply sipping a vanilla latte on the corner of a new york city street with a cigarette in your hand, making swirls of smoke as more ash forms above the filter, looking like some sort of bohemian gods. it's walking along a deserted sidewalk in your black jeans and doc martens with a big t-shirt and coke bottle sunglasses on with your lover on your hip and your menthol in one hand and philter in another. "cigarettes and coffee" is whatever you can interpret as pure bliss; it's simply whatever makes you happy and whatever makes you want to sit in the grass all night and talk about anything and everything. there's a lot of people that would argue there's no beauty to the feel of tobacco in your lungs and arabica in your mouth, but evidently, they've never tried cigarettes and coffee.
the first dusting of snow
blankets the fall leaves
carpeting the Oak and Maple grove floor.
a distinct snowflake vanguard
paints the imminent winter solstice
daylight wanes …
now measured by moments
and melted candle wax
~ tick tock ~
~ tick tock ~
paces the silence ...
passing time cannot be stopped
only the diminishing firewood pile
reminds that the passing season
of darkness is gauged
by the depth of abandoned fireplace ashes
from whence warmth had come recognizable…
the abundance of the crackling fire,
the flickering glow hypnotizes
into a vulnerable trance.
fighting back the weighty feeling
of a heart growing cold and dormant
as the changing season
after such sublime awakenings ~
…an unnatural sadness accompanies
the frosty wintertide darkness
waning daydreams evanescent light ,
seasons' metamorphosis to winterlude.
a life without light of love shine
is a life to which hopefulness
subtly vanishes ever so slowly
like the snow flurries blanketing
the fallen and decomposing leaves
beveiled by the imminent winter solstice…
…December 16th, 2012
...baby it's cold outside and headed towards single digits
stoke-up the fire and spike the eggnog (!)
*another year has passed in the blink of an eye
yet again , sliding one small bead along the rod ,
in this groove , on my abacus of passed time ;
there is not that much that changes , perhaps we just repeat ...
I could have written this today , as well as last December
... or perhaps another abacus bead's manifest destiny
... that just makes me melancholy on this particular day ...
" blue river " by Eric Andersen
...performs solo vocal & solo piano ... this song takes me to a place I like to go ~
Original member of "The Band"
As I lay in the bedroom,
My own personal confinement'
in which I oh so willingly created for myself,
I feel myself on fire,
My hands shaking out of utter frustration,
fighting every tear welling up in my eyes with all that I have left of my sense of mind,
But for what reason?
to be strong,
to reassure myself,
I ask myself what use is it to be strong if your utterly alone,
With no one to care weather your strong or not,
So I let go,
but just for a moment,
I allow myself to remember the pain,
the memories I locked away,
hoping someday they would cease to exist,
The troubling feelings that twist my heart and bring me to my knee's
letting out slow puffs of breath I calm my emotions,
wipe the water from my eye's ,
clear the tortured expression that once lay on my face,
I leave the moment and enter back into the world I made myself believe in,
I pretend to be strong.
Here we are again.
At the insides of my conscious identity.
This wholly human entity.
The ever growing obscenity,
that helixes off into infinity.
The voice of a thousand
concentrated into two or three pounds
of intoxicating intelligence.
the utter lack of brilliance overtakes us.
I know I tend to ramble but
I wish I took the gamble.
Return me to the stage
when I first studied the dance.
I never found the gold
at the end of a rainbow
but I'd gladly try another chance.
Well, to be so bold,
even if I did
I’d still think it a shame so
I suppose that its better off I slept it off.
You know, bro?
I imagine petals of light pink roses or of cherry blossoms gliding in the air
Slowly, they turn and fall, gliding through the empty space
I see a pretty woman, with mesmerizing hair and pretty ears and earlobes, sitting there, in a pink dress and with an elegant white hat
Her hair is pulled back into a knot and she plays with little flowers dancing with the wind
I cannot see her face, but I know that she is beautiful and I know that I feel something for her
Perhaps she has blue eyes and small pink lips
Or possibly she has penetrating dark eyes and luscious lips
This woman, is surrounded by the pink petals
Flowing with the gusts of wind that blow the pink dress and white hat
Hundreds, thousands of petals that surround her like little butterflies in the time of love,
Turn and swirl freely, spinning vertically and horizontally
They fall and fall, as if from trees atop the clouds that hang above
But then they rise, too, can you see? Rising, flowing, going everywhere with the waves of blowing air
The lady holds her hat and grabs a petal that far-off mountains and the trees, the rivers and the streams, dedicate to her.
The petal, smooth and delicate, a reflection of her tender hands
The petal, pleasantly aromatic like her fragrance
The petal, soft with subtle shades of pink, a reflection of her gentle nature and all things that surround her being
Lost in my thoughts, I imagine a fragrant atmosphere, with scent of pink rose petals,
And there, a sweet and pretty woman sits surrounded by floating petals in the air.
Muchas gracias =)
What if I told you
you are wanted
I have seen many openly contemplate
to take your own life
you have all heard this
many who contemplate suicide
forget that they are loved
forget that they are wanted
by others on his god-forsaken world
It is a deadly thing to forget
don't let it get out of your
the anthem of the lonely
is the subtle ticking of a clock
a bomb preparing to explode
a cola can gathering pressure
a planet with crumbling plates
i am lonely sometimes
i know what true desolation is like
it is a slow aching
i am subject to quick fits of rage
i rarely fall in love
but when i do i am completely and ultimately committed and lost to it
in hope that i have finally found a truly close friend
we learn to be let down
we learn to cope
we are the strongest
those of us that are not destroyed early on
the thin white and pink
scars are not a solution
i have seen that
i drain the emotions through
i drain the emotions through
Lorde music and
your small sonnets
are a curious sensation
i feel that burning in the back of my
head, as my hands touch the keyboard to
try to express my appreciation for your work
most responses are terminated
your voice is loud
and your clothing is louder
your writing is poetry
and your poetry is art
i detest you
yet i feel a need to
you seem worthwhile
you remind me a little of myself
the part that never speaks
and that frightens me
i feel as if you will get to know me
better than i know myself
i could never meet a trespasser
of that caliber
and that potential