~rask

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About Me Member General Poet raskMale/Unknown

Recent Activity Deviant for 7 Years
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144 Comments
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Sorrow

The air is a knife sharp and cold. It scrapes my face and cuts my clothes. I'm raw and flushed but clean.
The smoke, like a cats tongue, is warm and rough as I draw it.
My hands are broken radios, sparks and static jumping, dancing. Palms to fingers and back again.
Head tilted back hair dancing icicle fingers test my brow. Dragon-like now, I exhale.
Eyes caught suddenly, between towers, by a star, I notice how orange, how fouled by light the sky is.
Real sparks

Newest

Scribbling in the darkScribbling in the dark Have I made a mark Broken line and Marred the white?
Castle building Figments move-   Is that a ghost   or just my hand?
Letters and words That will only be Half read and hinted Guessed at, invented.
What purpose? Why why why
A thousand times. Why not.
Who among you Would reign in The beast unseen? Scribbling in the dark
by ~rask

FootfallsFootfalls, sanctified and holy Echo down halls, around corners. You roll with the Father You ride with the Ghost Walk with old knives,
You get with the host.
Feet sheathed in calf-skin Your head wreathed in smoke. Palms like embers, too hot to shake Clouds of sulfur, born on your breath. All fear of man burned out in you Holiness or Hell is your cry. Footfalls
by ~rask

Coming HomeTake your place son, Rest your weary self here We're your fellows. You have been
So long absent I scarcely recognize you. But then prodigals Always come back With a few extra wrinkles, And dull eyes Do they not?
I knew you would Be back though, son. Never gave up hope, You might say. We have been thinking Of your travels, son. Wondering what kept
You from our table For so long Kept you from The common meal. Missed more than a few You did, son.
Take your seat, We kept it warm, son Coming Home
by ~rask

SorrowThe air is a knife sharp and cold. It scrapes my face and cuts my clothes. I'm raw and flushed but clean.
The smoke, like a cats tongue, is warm and rough as I draw it.
My hands are broken radios, sparks and static jumping, dancing. Palms to fingers and back again.
Head tilted back hair dancing icicle fingers test my brow. Dragon-like now, I exhale.
Eyes caught suddenly, between towers, by a star, I notice how orange, how fouled by light the sky is.
Real sparks Sorrow
by ~rask

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Space Age Day DreamSpace Age Day Dream
There is something enigmatic about the rain, something
hidden within its falling folds:
a blanket
descending from bed victim of an idle leg
I wonder: what
lies between the rain? What sibilant mysteries whisper while we are inside staying dry?
.
There, amidst
its liquid cage the silhouette of a girl dressed in water brazen in its translucence as if she wore nothing at all
She slips away leaving no
footprints in her wake
&nb Space Age Day Dream
by ~epimetheus

PsychopompPsychopomp
New born and lie slick toddling after cattle still wet eyed and soft boned fresh from the cave where your mother bore you and lay still sleeping
Sneaky son strung between heaven and men tightly as strings across a lyre, your motion a
careful resonance against the sky
watching the roads and the birds and the exchange of money and men trailing milky souls to the water's edge to wait for Karon's call coin's cold weight upon their tongues Psychopomp
by ~epimetheus

Cowboy CatechismCowboy Catechism
A lot of people are talking about Jesus these days I guess if he comes I don't have much to say I'd just tell what I done'n what I ain't
Probably wouldn't work if I tried to lie So just leave it at that and let 'em make up his mind End up wherever, and see what I find Guess I'd like to go to heaven, but I ain't done much for wings Probably get on my nerves all that harpin' and singin' Course hell's not much better for those sorts of things Ain't done much that I'm ashamed to tell Not much to get me to heaven, or send me to hell I've cursed at the Cowboy Catechism
by ~epimetheus

Mask of Confusion
by ~brianf

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wakka wakka

Wed Apr 2, 2003, 8:28 AM

bye bye journal!

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Comments

!n03113 Apr 10, 2004, 1:10:53 PM

Have you had your daily dose of smiggles?

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Find me at: ~HelpWithLife

...

#HelpWithLife

It's like a texturized craziness in my mouth

!n03113 Nov 21, 2003, 8:10:34 PM

-RANDOM DRIVE BY SMIGGLE-

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Find me at: ~HelpWithLife

...

#HelpWithLife

It's like a texturized craziness in my mouth

~epimetheus Aug 14, 2003, 11:50:37 AM

Ya, you're right. The poem isn't one thing or another. It lacks the liquid language that I'm so good at, right? Ha ha. But I've been moving over it the last couple of days and I can't find a place to change it. Or maybe I'm afraid to deconstruct it and rebuild it entirely. That's a possibility as well. I don't know what to do with it, so for now until I find a niche in its armor it will remain unharmed.

=wildmonky Aug 4, 2003, 1:03:51 AM

sure there could be night in a Dyson Sphere. Orbiting satelites blocking out portions of the sun.
Surely a civilisation capable of building a Dyson Sphere would be able to devise a system for night. :) (Smile)

--
Stile's going after Hulk in 1A!

~boxingrebellion Jul 25, 2003, 8:46:08 PM

Yes! Constructive criticism! Thanks so much for giving me the note about the rhyming rhythm of "Song of Myself"-- I'm gonna go back and look at that again. It's a good point, and prolly one that I wouldn't have thought of myself, since I haven't done rhyming stuff in a while. You rock! :D (Big Grin)

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"We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful what we pretend to be."

:: Kurt Vonnegut ::

~epimetheus Jul 17, 2003, 7:58:49 PM

It's entirely possible that death is an uncurling armadillo. It's also possible that it's a zig zagging trout or a napping dog. Maybe death is all of these and more.

Adam

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www.strangejournal.com

~epimetheus Jul 10, 2003, 4:41:37 PM

Thanks for the comments and the fav. Haven't been around much, don't know that I will be in the future, but it's nice to see you're here once and awhile. Until later.

Adam

--
www.strangejournal.com

~epimetheus Apr 23, 2003, 12:40:44 AM

So, you seem to be back. Is that just a momentary thing or can I expect something more, you tease?

The end of the world was really just the rising of the sun and the feeling that the world that two people can create within the context of a single evening seems to dissolve upon the dawn or the departing whichever comes first.

And as for let it drown, I don't think it was forced so much as left raw. It was more verbal than scrpited, and I'm not as familiar with regular rhythm as I'd like to be so it came out pretty lame. I'm not going to go back to it, but I am going to continue working within the strictures of rhythm and rhyme.

Thanks for the comments.

Adam

--
www.strangejournal.com

$spyed Apr 10, 2003, 2:15:49 AM

Have you ever had a dream, that you were so sure was real? What if you were unable to wake from that dream? How would you know the difference between the dream world and the real world?

What you know you can't explain, but you feel it. You've felt it your entire deviant life, that there's something wrong with the story. You don't know what it is, but it's there, like a splinter in your mind, driving you mad.

You take the blue pill, the story ends. Your browser closes and you believe whatever you want to believe. You take the red pill, you stay in wonderland. And, I show you how deep the rabbit hole goes.

I offer only the truth, nothing more.

Take: The Red Pill
Take: The Blue Pill

Fella