I'm not too sure what the assignment on "line" was about exactly, but the prompt asked for thirty lines in the style of Robert Creeley.

This is nothing like Robert Creeley.

Off the RoadI’m not sure how I knew ( Read more... )

...such as alliteration (possibly consonance)
One choice was a poem à la Emily Dickinson

Dear Ones  The Classic Furies would reclaim ( Read more... )

  ...so I immediately thought, "Sex..."

Blinded
  We left the lamp beside the bed alone ( Read more... )

( Read more... )

  Here is the poetic adaptation of the "impossible letter" from my preceding entry ( Read more... )

I have more to say, but first I'll leave this unfinished:

I'm just a guy crossing the road with his hands over his eyes
And I know you'd like to love me, and I know you sympathize
But it's not my place to wait and make you realize
You're also blinded in the street guided by someone else's lies.

I shall return...

  A jazz musician dies in his sleep one night and goes to heaven. Upon arrival, St. Peter leads him immediately through heaven to a dark, smokey room where the greatest jazz band ever is performing. Everyone was there. Earl Hines and Duke Ellington were complimenting each other on the piano. Dizzy and Louis were trading fours on trumpet. Sonny ( Read more... )

  I don't often post things of this nature, but this time beauty, significance and ego have won out.


( Read more... )

  Context? Context! Has anyone seen a context? He's about one foot in the grave with green skies and last seen without of. ( You have been warned )

  I don't know if it is vanity, chance or the manifestation of a deeply-rooted psychological disorder that causes me to identify with every literary character that I read, but The Stranger by Camus broke my heart last night. I had forgotten what it was like to cry myself clean, but I felt good afterward. I love French existentialism. When two ( Read more... )