Some Stuff I've Done In The Past, Perhaps Worth Revising.

Most of this is poetry I wrote when I was very young. Some of it not so young. Mainly here so I have a place to look at it and try to make something new.

Bound by many cords

The heart is pulled in five directions

Each rope is held by loved ones

These are important strings

Made of silver, they shine balefully

As the moon's cold light

East, west, south and north

These ties will spin your limbs

The rope made of gold 

Is reserved for the beloved
Give it freely, this one will grow back

Shorter, it is harder to extend

And if severed, it is painful

Even worse to put forth again

Choose its holder carefully

Finally there is line made of diamond

Carbon crystals formed, the rope held by none

This flies to the Divine

Sometimes you cannot see or feel it

Do not doubt its existence

Pull with all your might

Ascend!

--

Today I saw the sky 
Like never seen before 
The giant rolling clouds 
Like some far off distant shore 
The blue vast like the rolling sea 
Such a sight was never meant for me 
The sands and the seas 
Make beautiful harmonies 
Sights and sounds--Nature's song 
All this beauty was never meant for me 
God's beautiful creations 
Objects I don't deserve 
These beautiful creations 
These we must preserve

--

She walks in the night 
Beauty her right 
Tiger's eyes 
Much like fire 
To the left 
To the right 
Something in sight 
In harmony of the night 
Sparks fly 
Tongues lie 
Eyes flash 
Lives crash 
Deception her name 
The lying game 
Beauty's impression 
Leads to depression 
The pit deepens 
A child weeping 

--

A flaming arrow 
Flying 
Piercing flesh 
Eyes like fire 
\Slowly scorched 
The fire spreads 
Through my soul 
Eyes like fire 
\Sparked by words 
Truth quickly ignites 
Yet some will not take it 
Eyes like fire 
\I look 
Surrounded by flames 
Darkness 
Eyes on fire 

Today's Written Shiat

Drowning in his own sputum he looks around at the people lying in the beds next to him. The rows of beds and their patients remind him of the garden he tended as a young boy. Each person a rotting carrot, their taproot bodies eaten from within like burrowing rabbits below. The consumption is slow and agonizing. The man looks up and sees the city of shining quartz. The city has been calling to him for some time. His neighbor in the bed not an arm's length away coughs loudly. The spasms racking his body from expelling the tiny bits of pink lung and mucus shakes the whole bed and nearly jitters the bedpan from the night stand. The other patient examines the product of his efforts that have been deposited on the hand towel. The city fades away as the man fades back into a laudanum induced oblivion. Some day...

Brain Blurbs

Erm... another miscarriage of a poem or one that just needs some time in the prenatal care unit? Can't tell yet.

It's the same old you
The same old me
Just the rise of technology
Distract the man on the street
Keep him blind
To the hand of the elite

Something that hit me, perhaps as the start of a spoken word piece.

Do some women think of their children like I think of the results of dinner at Del Taco? Do they think to themselves, "Well that was marginally satisfying. What is this brewing in my gut? Oh no not the cramps!" Perhaps they look down and stare at the product of their efforts and repeat something similar to my thoughts, I put in all this work for such a small result? You'd think it would have turned out a little bigger. I pushed and sweated for all this time and now I have this. Do these same women wish that they could have flushed their children away like a Macho burrito?

This is the Grey Space

For a long time I've taken part of the name Mithrandir from J.R.R. Tolkien's Lord of the Rings series. In the Elvish tongue that Tolkien constructed the name means grey pilgrim. For those of you that know me well online the remainder of my name is Shrike. Most people mistype this as Strike. The Shrike is a character from Dan Simmons' Hyperion Cantos. This is an interesting amalgam of a name: Gandalf's character was an integral part of Good's struggle versus Evil whereas the Shrike is first perceived as a malevolent but is later illuminated as its own force no matter how violent. This is a basic explanation of the tick and tock of MithShrike. Committed to doing good, grey in more ways than one, morals and motivations occluded behind walls of pontification, just a space to throw crap up and hopefully I can mold this turd into something worthwhile and then plate it solid gold son!