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| | From:  Mindmanuk (Original Message) | Sent: 10/30/2007 10:25 PM |
Sometimes, tere are moments.... Secreted in the cracks of the woodshed that is my head. Occaisionally a brave spider of thought spins a track across the beam before scuttling back to the darkness of it's bed. Sometimes, a fine wine lubricates the thoughts and sends tsunamis of intoxicated sentences swimming in a torrent of the moment and then its calm after the storm for much too long. Sometimes I allow love to touch my fickle heart and crack my stony mind, and in the process of concussion swear that love is blind When really Im barely concious in your arms Back in the woodshed the bottle is empty the spider is trapped and the heart is decomposing 30/10/2007 |
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|  1 recommendation | Message 2 of 9 in Discussion |
| | Sent: 10/30/2007 11:37 PM |
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| | | From: Zydha | Sent: 10/31/2007 1:17 AM |
Love the analogy of the spider in the woodshed, Mark, that works well for the purpose of your poem, the muse needs whatever keeps her lubricated, lol, but she can be as fickle as the fickle heart. Nicely transcribed, (but if filing...check a couple typos in the first stanza) Zy |
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Well composed work. It brought several different pictures to mind... bear |
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| | 0 recommendations | Message 5 of 9 in Discussion |
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Is that what I need, Mark, a spider, woodshed and a bottle of wine to get my muse going? Argh...what a combo, but if it works, I'll try it... Thank you for sharing, I enjoyed it very much. Maria |
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loved this, i am going through a stage of total disenchantment with my woodshed of a mind at the moment, and am finding creativity so difficult. thought this was great. ani |
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this is a wonderful pen Mark! Don't have a woodshed and cannot drink wine, but a spider is welcome! |
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