#strokes
Julian’s voice hums through the static,
"Can’t you see I’m trying?"
and yeah, I am.
Trying to stay awake
inside the rhythm of repetition.
Every day feels rehearsed,
coffee, clock, conversation.
I tell myself it’s fine,
that everyone lives like this.
That maybe The Strokes were right!
no one really knows what they’re doing,
we just pretend it’s something.
"I don’t even like it",
but it fills the hours,
and maybe that’s enough.
So I keep going,
half-tuned, half-tired,
waiting for something to change
or for the song to end.
Oct 22, 2025
Oct 22, 2025 at 10:14 PM UTC
My Brush touched your Canvas,
With it's timeless and Mystical Flow.
Shadows got cast on surroundings,
mingling with the Crimson Glow.
Strokes that tempted your Passions.
Were framed with My every Whisper.
Bristles lighted Wants and Desires
and Moanings got a lot more Crisper.
My Love had found it's Destination,
As I Sketched all Night Long.
Palette was fueled with imagination,
As your Eyes blushed at every ****
Design of Love finally got crafted,
as My Kisses landed on your Hands.
Searching for Light and Textures,
Created for U to Understand.
Jun 16, 2023
Jun 16, 2023 at 1:16 PM UTC
-
what do you say to someone
you love from such a distance ?
a stroke could be measured by
how far it is from the first floor
to the intensive care unit
or from the steering wheel
to the door **** of the
hospital entrance
or from your drive way to
the spot where you have to
pay for parking
or from the handset of
your telephone to his ear—
exhausted,
you can only
whisper
into it—
"i love you Daddy"
and hope this time
he can feel your
breath...
s jones
Nov 2021
.
Nov 27, 2021
Nov 27, 2021 at 5:29 AM UTC
With you, I had no sight
I was left blind
When you whispered the words
"I love you"
The careless kisses you gave
left a scar on my lips
feeling only pain
when another kissed me
The gentle touch of your hand
left a burn on my face
to only flinch
when another strokes my face
But my love wasn't real
nor was yours
it was just easy to say "I love you"
Dec 14, 2020
Dec 14, 2020 at 12:58 AM UTC
#*Candy floss clouds merrily
Twirled in the clear blue sky
The sun knew its rays were best dressed,
golden yellow
Beneath
Above the trees, flew some birds
They chirped twittered and whistled
To each their own
As luxuriant flower beds
Welcomed, fluttering butterflies*#
Jul 26, 2020
Jul 26, 2020 at 2:30 PM UTC
All in, do nothing, or do this
line by line imagine-ing, the verb behind what if,
the quest ion, sparking attention at the mention
cognosis troubler, bull in a china shop,
bringer of missile launching knowledge to fight with
a fuzzy visioned ****** breed of Andre stature,
pinged, 'im. Right between the eyes...
imagine doing that on the nineth at Pebble Beach,
with a nine iron, poised to
smack
a pink and white Ping classic purchased on Ebay for six bucks.
-- can't get that picture,
-- never had the feeling of whacking ball after ball into the desert, for the helluvit... if you missed that
you must have a metaphor of your own, for aiming at nothing,
and hitting dead center every time.
Apr 19, 2020
Apr 19, 2020 at 4:20 PM UTC
I had this big TV in front of me. No sofa. The living room was just
the computer desk, and I was using this big TV as a monitor.
The kitchen light- next to the small living room- was on, the light from the hallway behind me was on. But I kept the living room light off. The screen was bright and the night was dark. It was too bright for my eyes and the room felt like a sad, private wonderland.
I heard that song for the first time. I didn't know what to expect. As the song started, and Julian Casablanca's voice- raspy, young and confused- filled the house, I came alive. My eyes lit up, I sat up, I put my knees on the chair. I loved it. I felt like my wonderland was real. This house- this cage, it was small and miserable and magical. This dimly lit living room, empty of furniture, the sound of my neglectful mother watching TV at the end of the hall in her room. This room. This small, miserable wonderland.
It was a portal to hope. The screen, the light. It had been a year of isolation. I heard his voice, the song, and I was a child again, and all I knew was eternal wonder and hope. I wasn't consciously thinking about it all- it's hard to explain- but everything was real. I hoped for a future, and friends, and a life, and in that moment the living room and the light and my mother and her TV were real, and that future I longed for and cried for was real. Everything was real.
Feb 16, 2020
Feb 16, 2020 at 9:21 PM UTC
Layers of life laid out
Words like scratchy stroked paint
Scorched Harsh brush over
Life brushes new thoughts
Stillness can prevail the mind
Where once was cluttered
Splatter moments stay
In the stillness of my heart
Canvas of my life
Oct 25, 2018
Oct 25, 2018 at 11:25 PM UTC
The sea was
a shade of the
deepest blue,
the waves,
moved by
strong winds
made thousands
of white strokes,
as if touched by
a painter at work,
a seagull, with
black tipped
wings flies
in the sky,
home to the
sun, reflecting
upon the ocean
the brightest
shade of pure
diamond,
touching
my feet,
clear and
the bringer
of colorful
stone
treasures,
I allowed the
waters to take
me over,
I closed my
eyes, within
my heart and
soul, still it
echoed,
the endless
music of the
waves, asking
for my embrace
and calling
me to the
tides, moving
as the heavens
through my
hands as I
wander in
my mind
amongst the
bird in flight
Jan 9, 2018
Jan 9, 2018 at 7:02 AM UTC
I love pencils
Every tiny stroke tells a story
But never shares the glory
We are nothing but pencils
Jun 13, 2017
Jun 13, 2017 at 3:57 AM UTC
Finger strokes attacking the keyboard…
Nothing to do, so he typed a few…he must be bored
Mind state blank Equivalent to a chalkboard…
He stares into empty space…and finds it a little bit awk-word
That someone was sitting in the same spot, with a different posture…
Opportunity cries indubitably, to write what the mind ponders
To think vast is the life of wonder…thoughts spark ideas…what is swelling down yonder?
Looks like a field of opportunities...arm stretched wide..close to reach, goals aren't necessarily gold
But they are soon to be...this is the land of outlandish style and unity...primitive tech collides via space and speech
Calamity is a fade...to serenity we retreat...outer extremities absorb energy then repeat..
It's exciting to be alive today & the following week
What does the future bring....who do we seek?
Embrace what you see in good company
For life doesn't revolve around a money tree
Enjoy the fruit when it falls for it is a Taste of luxury
Oct 19, 2016
Oct 19, 2016 at 11:05 AM UTC
**You Surround Me
I find in your aura
a mighty tide of emotion
into the long hours of every night
with an endless yearning of joy and light.....
The time does not permit to have you with me
you bolted and ran after the ********** was over
why did you leave and find another, the canvas is gone
your muse i lost, in the faraway lands of tomorrow
your tender touch has faded, the devotion
I had for you, makes me wonder what could
be could be....
Your aura surrounded me, your passion for life
astounded me, as the tears flow they know me
as your presence had drawn my face....
Within the strokes of your artist touch
your inevitable emotion brings me to my knees
you were the sweetest heaven i knew
now draws the tears as they flow
to the scented candle so low...
You may be gone, our passion destroyed
but love yearns for you.... through you I know
and maybe you hate me, maybe you despise ...
I was caught in a current of surprises
melting upon the current of my tongue
drawing the strings of love
that held me captive....
You surround me even though you are gone....**
Debbie
Feb 22, 2015
Feb 22, 2015 at 10:23 PM UTC
The music climbs inside my empty shell and fills me up with fountains of color and swirling geometrical patterns, becoming a vortex ready to touch down as soon as the gentle bristles kiss the rough canvas.
Oh, the canvas!
My life raft in a sea of faceless, indifferent individuals who exclude any person with the sense to push back against their idiocy. Anyone strong enough to demand answers.
Dec 18, 2014
Dec 18, 2014 at 11:26 AM UTC
My feet are bare, my toes are curled
I stand upon the wet winter morning grass
My arms are down, my nose is up
The winter morning wind is on my face
But as I stand there, what is to catch my eye?
It is, indeed, the winter morning sky
How I love it, the way the sky glistens beyond the treetops
The rainbow of orange, pink, then purple
This show of colors, it brings the cardinal and redbreasts out their nests to sing
And yes, we do have them in the winter
This display of wonder
How it makes me feel so warm yet so cool
This display of beauty
How it makes me feel at home yet so far away
This display of greatness
That paints the whole sky from horizon to horizon
This display of colors
How they dance across the sky from cloud to cloud
It's beautiful, isn't it?
How He starts every winter morning with His artwork
His brush strokes are perfect
He makes sure every colored cloud is in its place
He truly is a genius
To think He does this every morning, different every time
To think
It's so beautiful and complex, so elegant
To think
He does it on purpose, just for us
To think
Every winter morning, He sits down, and paints the winter morning sky
#12_2/25/2012
Apr 30, 2014
Apr 30, 2014 at 10:37 AM UTC