Tuesday, February 24, 2009

The Bellringer

look there, upon the hill
a solitary man.
he is the bell ringer,
i know his gait

listen sir, hear his trill
a fool out in the cold.
he sings love songs,
he sings of fate

turn away, my ears they fill
leave him to dance.
singer without understanding,
he never knew a mate

why then, does he have will
to sing alone?
not gone even now,
the day grows late.

he rings the bell for joy or ill
ringer singing on the hill
the bell must toll again until
God has given all his will.
to each there is a time and wait
so knows he, there must be a mate.

The Tool

Resilience hardened,
picked from the pile
to be choked by black greased claws.
Shoved face down into the engine
to gnaw with grooved mandibles
each bolt and loose screw
in the motor of her mind.
Tuned; unburdened
engine sounds sweeter still.
but that trusty partner
is discarded
unclean and tired.


piston shakes its rigid walls
pushes angry, seething hot
upon the apex again it falls
with the inches more it brought

steam like fog seeking my shoes
foaming from the ghostly maw
of the iron monster, gray-blue
that makes its final call.

My hands are empty, gritty, hard
gnarled and laced with veins
but my packages are on the car
and my back complains, unstrained.

At the end of the porch over the stones
i watch the train pull and scream
pushing faster; grinding bones
and pulling from port with a dream

I sat on a bench, splintered and cold
and looked to the dawn with a sigh
i gave as much as i could hold
never empty: new train draws nigh.

I'm Quitting You

Pitiless demon, warty and foul,
built out of a million faces.
Eat my soul and into thy bowel,
are all our names nameless?

Identities based on pictures and words
grinning with lifeless glee.
Infected with pox and meaningless blurbs
we scratch and aimless bleed.

And I'd stand against! (if i wasn't so for it)
Start a revolution! (or a new torrent)
This monster must die: cut the leech from its host!
I'm quitting you, Facebook. (right after this post)

Warbling creature made of code,
Time is the pap from which you've drunk
A growl you utter, deep and cold,
knowing your fangs have deeper sunk.

Built from single into evil whole,
Your collective conscience cries.
We are weaker for your woeful toll,
staring from red-rimmed eyes.

And I'd stand against! (if i wasn't so for it)
Start a revolution! (or a new torrent)
This monster must die: cut the leech from its host!
I'm quitting you, Facebook. (right after this post)


Such a calm and peaceful thing
Silent and graceful upon its wings
Should never be so evil as its dragon ancestry.
Oh scaled innocuous beast
That feeds on fear in peace,
With long and curling snout
Violence from silence without.
And hairy segmented back
Emerge from that hell-scorned sack.
They may not know you as well as I,
But trust I am wary, oh, butterfly.


there was a marble statue,
bold and beautiful and proud.
i told it of its beauty
but it stared and heard no sound

then rain came and wore its face
and wind rent its pearly skin
but it was more beautiful yet
and i offered it a crown

the statue heard me not
no matter the truth of my words
but reiterate time and again
i will, is that absurd?

The Fisherman

"I'll catch the creature of me dreams, burr aye."
The man made of sea-scum said to the blue,
As he, old and sour, stared out at the bay.

Determined sad sailor, hope thrown away,
He stunk of dead fish and old rubber boot.
"I'll catch the creature of me dreams, burr aye."

He croaked low through his choppy beard gray
Nothing was missed by the eye in his head
As he, old and sour, and stared out at the bay.

Beneath the water did a shimmer play
And under a stony pale face, hope bled
“I'll catch the creature of me dreams, burr aye.”

Up swam the mermaid, and to his dismay,
Her watery arrival shocked him dead
As he, old and sour, stared out at the bay.

Ghostly purple eyes to the body stray
Before she turns around and swims away
“I'll catch the creature of me dreams, burr aye.”
And he, stony cold, stared out at the bay.


windshield splintered, lightning blast
car hood buckles, crumpled foil.
over me flew those things of my past,
to greet the future in angry turmoil.

in between the warring factions,
i, stupid look on my face,
think about the actions
that led me to my place

i did not heed that stop sign,
pretending it said go,
now i, crossing a fine line
learn the meaning of no

same stop sign, different day
and now it says a different thing
and hurtling forward on my way,
i thought i heard a siren sing


cacti, though prickly,
have beautiful blooms
and are a home for those homeless.
survivors, and saviors
straight, tall and true.
rebellious against the death of desert
cacti, though prickly,
have beautiful blooms.


The moon a solitary tear
On the soot smeared cheek
of the night sky
made its way down and into
the mouth of the heavens,
which opened, filled with
the glowing embers of
daytime’s furnace heat.
The crystal lace of
morning dew danced into the fog.
I sat and there watched the face
Of the heavens
sad and ebullient and terrible and beautiful and magnificent…
touched by God, and unlike anything.

Sonnet of the Cameleon

Deary see,
i love love love you
and am nothing
but a fool,
for disguise.

Dream of mine, know
i think think of nothing
except always
your cone-swivel eyes.

Beauty, feel
my heart pound pound pounding
contain it my
scaly chest tries

Sunlight, look:
i hold-
breath breath breathing
to the stick i am on
my strength wonder unties

Bella, behold
you make cold, cold blood
with your lizardly prize

Wonder untold,
we could make the day old
and camouflage our hearts to the skies.

Blind Love

Since that bold dark night
when we came at once, wing to wing
i have wanted for your starlight
i have wanted for your warmth.

It does not take eyes to see love
i could hear your beauty with every screech
you are perfect, it echoed
you are perfect, come back to me.

And now i sit on this branch
shivering with excitement at your thought
my head is upside down
my heart is right side up.

Let me take you to the moon above
passionate, tender, blind with love
the day has no hold on us
this night, we have no limit

The Morning After

"I really need a shave," thought he
leaning into the sink to rinse
"and I shouldn't eat all that I see."

He brushed brambles from thorny feet,
and scrubbed at his face in the mist.
"I really need a shave," thought he,

his bristly hair hanging, sticky.
Uncomfortable, he reminisced:
"And I shouldn't eat all that I see."

Icepick teeth, caked, wafted stink
behind dried husk lips amidst grits.
"I really need a shave," thought he,

howling at the mirror with glee.
Memories of last night made him wince,
"and I shouldn't eat all that I see."

"Next full moon I won't be so free..."
He pawed at the sink for a spritz
"...I really need to shave," thought he,
"and I shouldn't eat all that I see."

Steelshoe Ballerina; the Typewriter

steel shoe ballerina
awash across the stage
her grace not in the movement
but left in clumsy wake

others nimble and quick
quiet but not so bold
make impermanent statements
while she her silence holds

may she one day take up her crown?
will we remember and love again?
or shall she ever be forgot
alone, without hope, and dead?

a cold metal gleam her sadness
weary and wanting for one
but with no fibrous companion about
to etch her soul upon

then let the curtain draw upon her
alas audience close your minds
no longer is she a performer
but a fossil of remembered times

Decide Nowhappy

knives thin: steely cold
stabbing through coat and hat and lungs
even in winter the Sun chooses to
smilesweet iris
shake not with brittle bone
decide nowhappy
Winter wind be damned.

invader; malevolent

Tape that binds
cat-tongue scratch resolve unto the last
—angry jaws clamped aggressive to placid sheets
combining leech
One to another
tearing skin
raw and splintered
tightly bound mind
unraveled thoughts impressed upon
until ideas run dry— ragged river bed
left craggy; sharp stoned.

outsider; alien

Tape that connects
one upon
another upon another
ripped skin from scratched
brown bones
gaps to those dissimilar
its fibers torn in jagged Worried patterns
lonely among
those it clings desperate
around and around and around
ever down unto
cardboard marrow an
empty heart shell-smooth and
cold as moonlight


I remembered in time,
though it were
the wind a brittle cold
raking my eyes and my nose and my cheeks and
prompting my body to action

A pang — I twitch to think of the moment
contortion my mouth
A yacht upon an increasingly turbulent tide I reach to the sail
and yank hard, pulling down
and down
This wind will not sway me.

But the chilly spray wakes
that damp icky cling itching and sticking and stinking
This water was cerulean and shining a
magnifying glass clear and beautiful
now green churning and gritty no longer innocuous

I hold to the mast solid and rough and steadfast.
What was
comes again storm cloud redundancy on a bland and
icy gray horizon; clammy hands slap the hull
This wind will not sway me.

A golden blinding warmth shall rise from ash skies
color vibrant and living will spring from the dull
and lifeless
I hold to the mast solid and rough and steadfast
ignoring the gust and the spritz and the numbness of circumstance
This wind will not sway me.

A Little Ditty

A little wittled fiddle plays for the dance done by the by,
Upon, anon, a worried wire, for which crazy cut doth vie.
Alack, looks like I'm losing, tip toe tap dance o'er the fire,
You may say son, seek sanity, well father, you preach to choir.
If I felt fear for being burned, as I have had before the storm,
My meager making might muddle more, conservative and torn.

Monday, February 23, 2009


I write lists. And then I lose them. I never mean to lose the lists I write, they just seem to grow legs and walk away. I should stop putting legs on the list...

But again, I write lists. What should I do? What needs to be done? What do I want to do? And when? Somedays, those especially lazy days, I find myself writing lists about things I have already done as if they still needed doing. At least those lists get checked off.

I write lists. When I panic, when I'm bored, when I need a moment to clear my mind. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, 8:00, 12:00, 3:00, set times and schedules like intangible puzzle pieces that all fit together when they hit the page.

But I don't ever write lists about girls. Some things are too complicated to organize. But they do have one thing in common. I can never find them when I want them.

(though I can't imagine girls being tucked into seat cushions or stuffed into the far reaches of my pockets. I will make note of it to look there)

Friday, February 20, 2009

Logo Update 2.0

Here's another concept I am working on. I may like it better.

Thursday, February 19, 2009

Logo Update!

Alright. Here it be: the latest and greatest innovation to me logo work.

Wednesday, February 18, 2009

Humorous Illustration

Is my other stuff done? No. Am I starting on new things? Yes. Am I stressed? Not enough to require medication yet... Here is what I am about to start on. It is an ad for the Columbus Zoo.

Tuesday, February 17, 2009

Cowboy Carrion part 2

K. So I did my painting up, right? Then I made changes. So why not show them, yes? This got into AOI, by the way! I am very excited about that. Now I get to frame it up nice and whatnot. I feel like a doting mother sending her child out on his first day in kindergarten. Except licking my finger and wiping his cheek would be toxic.

Troy? Yes. Troy.

You thought I was kidding about the post attack? Yeah, well I wasn't. This was finished a while ago, but I just got it photographed, so I figured, why not? Troy. You remember how long ago I stopped posting about that one...

More more!

Post attack!! Here's John Lee Hooker, blues legend. Not done with the guitar, obviously. What d'ya think?


Late into the night he worked, sweating and grunting with his tribulations. At the end of it all, he bore a great and wonderful fruit... that had to be redone in illustrator anyways, and probably needed scanned in the first place. Lots of work for almost nothing. But hey, this is sort of what my logo will look like eventually.


observer of the sky
your telescope held high
peering at the heavens
are you looking for a sign?

digger at the earth
working for your worth
pulling at the dirt
you are in need of mirth.

writer of the verse,
are you better or worse?
eyes open wide enough
to know the human curse
you only know enough to
know you know you don't.

What I am not

I'm simply not for subtle,
As any would attest.
But if I were, I'd subtly say
For you, I'd give the best.

I've never been a cryptic,
God knows I'm not complex,
And if I were a mystery
I'd be the one perplexed.

I'm not a fan of formulaic
Though it's nice to know the end
Will always have an answer.
Unlike: could we have been?

Still, I am a realist.
Well, as real as one with hope.
Which makes a bit too blurry,
Perspective when you cope.

So never mind the subtle
Or the secret coded kind
This equation could befuddle
But I don't suppose I mind.

Want Havenot

Silly bird, surefeathered
the clouds his
frosted domain.

But oh, to be a swimmer
breathing sweet darkcurrents;
seabeast born.

those kind waves taste
only of death for

It is not his decision
to be made
but his burden to bear.

Crappy Facebook!

O.K. so usually I post my poetry on Facebook first, if anything. But, due to a sneaky move by the fine makers of Facebook, I will no longer be doing that at all. Ever. This means two things: more posts, and a whole lot more poetry. I hope you like to read. :) Oh, and, I'm taking pics of all my artwork, so don't worry, that's coming too.


Brain, we need to talk.
As of late we don't agree.
I'm trying, but I must know:
Compromise to what degree?

Well, Heart, this is simple.
You don't love what you can't have
I recommend another choice
This girl is not so bad.

Listen closely, friend,
I've been beating for a while
I don't care if there's a list
And the girls are single file,

Sometimes I cannot choose
That which I would want.
Unlike you, my mind and mentor,
Common sense is not my font.

Wingdings then, my hearty friend,
Just punctuate your words
And one day we'll write sentences
That won't be as absurd.

Just remember, like I said,
What you can't have should not be loved.
Sampson died and Troy destroyed
History teaches, so rise above.