#stilllife
To be as still as flowers in a vase –
Ones captured on a canvas bare and white,
Sprung forth by a Renoir’s or O'keefe's delight,
Delighting me when I see face to face
The painted hues and light imagined first
In frenzy, and slowly then crafted,
Created through practice, then mastered
Through weeks and years, repeated and rehearsed –
Oft comes, it’s said, from quiet in a life.
My serene certainty comes while racing
Through the woods of life, with stumbled pacing,
Crying as branches lash across one eye.
My stillness springs forth, with largesse,
With joy and sorrow, from distress.
Jul 6, 2025
Jul 6, 2025 at 11:39 PM UTC
As I write these
The written words
Of the emotions
That I have while
Going through the motions
The ocean is so blue
The perfect blue
That I must say as I write these
Written worlds of the soul
To help promote the creation
Not only of peace but of
A better society
One where you don’t have to hurt
One where you don’t have to conform
The idea of the idea
The thought that was there in the first place
The leaves change colour at every fall
As I play basketball
The Big Dipper is out in full force
To be shine as bright as a diamond
A diamond in the sky!
Ci is yes in Spanish
See id to see with your eyes!
See that person wanting to help you!
Mar 7, 2025
Mar 7, 2025 at 9:46 AM UTC
It's poisonous claws
scratching up from the inside
of my chest, they open
a path of lurid squalor
festering the internal wounds
with rotting meat
that spreads from within
to the skin that crawls
and dies, cell by cell
into the empty stale air
surrounding our conversation
The words float
from one breath to another
without ever really landing
to a precise spot
of connection
They just mimic meanings
and thoughtfulness
when they are void of any feelings
There is no spark of life
no life itself
denied to us
by the putrid scent
we ignore the existence of
No knowledge of pain
or reality
just a dull sense
of immortality
as we still
like the dust suspended
motion our lips without sense
nor sense of self
Corroding second by second
by second 'til we
become dust ourselves
Apr 25, 2022
Apr 25, 2022 at 8:53 AM UTC
Mens sana in copore sano
so they say
which these days is a worry
as the sedentary blur
sees a time-lapse
of my fattening *** shift
marginally on the sofa
while the pallor of my skin
makes corpses wince
and message u ok ***
Given my increasingly potato shape
what state will my cabbage brain be
when they finally give the all clear?
When we are once again allowed near
I envision sitting with my primates
grunting fear as the brave one
reaches for the monolith
Mar 23, 2021
Mar 23, 2021 at 3:49 PM UTC
orchids, three days in the vase,
bent-stemmed and dropped heads hung;
the pollens filter the tabletop with
a coughed out dust across which
noon shade, interrupted by light, grows.
The shrinking water has stained the glass
to darken into a pool of brass and stench.
Above the vase a craze of tiny flies hover
like a troubled thought in a comic strip.
Jun 11, 2020
Jun 11, 2020 at 12:33 PM UTC
I am frozen, my life is hidden away, I can't see you, or anyone, I'm rejected, heavens full up and I'm frozen, why does god deny me? my life is fading away....
I'm frozen, under a river of ice, and I lay there under the moon at night, the great deceiver, oh how I pray for the sun to melt this ice away
Cuz I'm ready I just need a chance, I can make it, just like everyone,
god can't deny me, not now I've come too far,
the great deceiver, doesn't just deceive anyone, oh when will the sun be melting this ice-age away?
Oct 5, 2015
Oct 5, 2015 at 8:05 AM UTC
Still life may be silent, may be violent,
May be a green sight, may be a street light,
May be the nature's scent, or maybe it's cement,
May be moving, or maybe it's never evolving,
May be repeating, may be remaining,
Or maybe what's still is just an idyll
And life is not meant to feel,
Just to fill, fill, fill...
Until life's still.
Oct 8, 2019
Oct 8, 2019 at 7:37 AM UTC
A taxi drove past
at two in the morning,
blurring through the street lamp halo
painted on the sidewalk.
A click.
Flash frozen,
stuck speeding stationary,
clipping the spotlight.
And the night hanging off the lamp pole
does not appreciate
being caged away
Apr 21, 2019
Apr 21, 2019 at 2:08 PM UTC
Lousy with life
warm with haze
on walls, idols hang without any names
Dull with growth
bored as bloom
curtains, drab
a lifeless gloom
what was once the music, the life the dance
now is silence
the quiet trance
Like stones, words are stacked atop drawers
language it gathers
dust it falls
Dec 13, 2018
Dec 13, 2018 at 7:39 PM UTC
a pair of headphones with the mufflers missing
the wire that goes from said headphones to the computer
a ceramic pug in a red scarf containing tubes of paint
an ocarina that i picked up in a ghost town/tourist trap in california
a red cup for water during painting
a book called the artist's mentor
an adjustable lamp
wristbands a lover made for me
a book for savannah college of art and design featuring someone holding a large inflatable red ball on the cover
an incomplete abstract painting on canvas paper, slightly crumbled,
a box for the savannah college of art and design VR kit that they sent me
a book on writing
a book about color line and form in the visual arts
a red squishy ball inside a a fishnet containment, creating organic bulbous abscesses when squeezed
a book of poetry with a red cloth on the cover
a small packet of konpeito, a japanese sugar-based hard candy
a novelty necklace designed to resemble christmas lights, complete with glowing LEDs
a red colored pencil
a red marker
a red mechanical pencil
a gigantic anthology of american poetry i have yet to dive into
a packet of cherry jello
May 20, 2018
May 20, 2018 at 4:43 PM UTC
As if every autumn leaf has fallen
As if everything that seemed eternal is going further away
You’re my fifth season
Because even if I try to see you
I can’t
To me you're still green;
Bright and beautiful
Our foolishness, is being hung piece by piece like laundry
Only the bright memories are *****
It falls on me
Even if I don’t shake my branch at all
It keeps falling
Why won't you just stay with me?
Mar 12, 2018
Mar 12, 2018 at 11:18 AM UTC
Her fingers are freeze frame waterfalls,
Beautiful. They always find a way to glisten
even when the sun feels like sleeping in a little.
It worries me how unresponsive they are.
I just want to taste the brush strokes
until I develop a fondness for still life.
But I don’t want to look towards her eyes,
I'm afraid those will be just as dead.
Apr 5, 2017
Apr 5, 2017 at 11:50 PM UTC