Robyn's Journal
[Most Recent Entries]
[Calendar View]
[Friends]
Below are the 20 most recent journal entries recorded in
Robyn's LiveJournal:
[ << Previous 20 ]
| Monday, June 6th, 2005 | | 12:33 pm |
Summer is never easy. Men try hard with their hats under the sun. What a great crush we are under! But enough to run the blue is open the birds are exploring they chip and slide off into shadows and are lost to us. we lose them. summer is never easy. for those not in it, for us... for us, it is the greatest giant for our running its legs stood we were able to fly in the blue it outlined where we never could | | Monday, May 23rd, 2005 | | 6:59 pm |
gardens pounce on my life's quitting gray stones lay in wet waiting to be eaten but neither I nor anyone not I can do what they want for them on my walk through there alone i could feel that the air was cleaning... on my walk along i could feel that the air was cleaning... but neither I nor anyone can do what they want for them gardens pounce on my life's quitting gray stones lay in wet waiting to be eaten but neither I nor anyone can do what they want for them on my walk alone i could feel that the air was cleaning... i could feel the air scrubbing | | Sunday, March 27th, 2005 | | 7:04 pm |
Not seriously, but awe. and so a sublime beautiful marvels up but incomplete to soul, a cavity is left the space outside it escapes you so. the too easy sublime. the whimsy. the effort. awe, not 'seriously.' necessaries forces. colors, attention. plot and poems. you don't want to be upset later. strange. and what's truly sad? on the wall, things are on the wall. yes, and that's so. yes, so. it is so. and people are staring. the wall is built. and people are staring, to pass and go, narrow horizon roads. leading out, gone in black holes. but people are staring at the wall and do sometimes care for one another the object and soul and who will be who and what lives on i do not know object and soul soul and object. | | Saturday, February 26th, 2005 | | 9:02 pm |
You've got to make it lighter if you want to sail Travel is a matter of flying above fears Crashing back into seas of it If you ever want it back you know how to fall to get it. Homes aren't made when shivering in homes Watching darkness outside as if by telephone Homes are made while stuck in blackness all alone By making candles into squares and lying down. swum in blackness all alone as if heavens were a garden well I was a fool the coldness, seems total but we travel to the moon upward kicks to surfaces with better breathing soon. at break, better breathing. with flash, then dark but easy breathing knowing, no tent emergence...in the middle of the sea. | | Friday, February 25th, 2005 | | 9:23 pm |
It tided in sometime after the blue wave
is it too much to ask that I get past blue waves break their caves a curling til the smattering smeared fears, jumped out of water horizon wasn't wavering sun skipped like a rock from the high sky over to the side it didn't have it all birds called fished the tides, flew in not knowing how to drive but who is to accuse white wings get confused, fall into sea i see someone come up for air a peer of me a silver fish flashes in the air life! last! in our blue then its the birds gullet I tried to swim and felt the fear sink below my feet whirlpools, craters, rumblings from shorelines tied to that sparkling shore... i swim back to the winks made by sun and join the sand in growing warm before being pulled back to the ocean tide | | Wednesday, February 23rd, 2005 | | 12:53 pm |
we'll all die in paris under stars and moons and things dwarfed by bridges as high as skies but through which we can still see the night that floats above and watches us below the bridge's gates below the bridge's grates. | | Sunday, January 30th, 2005 | | 2:35 am |
"Hey" Looking to the sky For nothing Winds blowing by most things are bending the littlest things are twirling as if it were soaping the forests reaching out and about but out of obstaince perhaps I stand and look to the sky for no reason my hair taken by the wind, for sure my nose tickled by the sun to movement but my eyes locked on despite the motions of all, much like the water beneath the sunny surface and shining hanging bucket of the well that the wind pushing past me is ringing like a bell. Susan says the damndest things Most days I try to lose her I go beyond the sight of buildings In the brown orange autumn rain on leaf paths my eyes are glued to No relief from forest shedding, still bright sun boned, is wanted Just to be able to see white clouds in blue skies soaring clouds like little ducks and not the things I've left behind, that is what's desired. in the complex forest sunlight I could hardly move my limbs straight over the roots and branches my head was searching for something great in a break the sun tolled, the light splattered ghosts ran away as the sunfloor gathered. I don't have a special name to justify my wandering below the leafy orchards on a purple rippling evenings in little clouds of red kicked up dust from the row's beginning to a still red horizon I wait with a kind of lust for night's sure arrival [leaned against a trunk that's as skinny but taller than me]. And no one's come for an ear to cut or a hand to tear away and out the now shadows of leaves shake in the wind the branches a bit more slowly cupping my face and curling my hair the wind over the dirt row comes for me between the sea and the town, this is all that's around and to the birds that don't stay, and circle back to the waves, and foam feed, it's only a little purple patch on the land. Nestled near the sea arise then, evening breeze! I look for it somewhere over the beginnings of waves it comes at me from the side sand flies on my sleeve rides up my hand now warmed. the pleasures of the shore its gentle population of things that don't even exist mother of pearl, wind diaphanous and sunlight slanted moving like the sea which makes the beach no final shore for sailors long drowned but the dancing crab's life or a young ghost shell hunting dared by wind and night, glaring at the green. | | Friday, January 7th, 2005 | | 10:03 pm |
I that is the shape of a lighthouse, I, that would send its light over us in the darkness, scared, then glowing Had I begun sleeping in the day it would have been my sun. We were just rocks, without it. Just stooped near the sea, without it. [Salt, and foam, on our personal darkness.] I, that is me, some shape on a house in a hill through the window to a tourist, to a visitor, inside another house by now, and warm, I am longing for my subject, that great swallower that holds night's darkness shot and slipped by fish, hah oh the sea, familiar, I am longing for you, where I gave you my dreams on a shore and looked for yours and yours alone! as the tides came in and then were gone, I'm longing for you, sea. | | 9:45 pm |
I cannot get you as close to the sun as you'd like, sand blows over your thrown down bike the heights you wanted me to climb the stairs I don't yet make. Some mythological loon can swim swim well across the curls of lakes but still finds it cold and unpleasurable it's winter hunting through the bones and even fish are sighing down below. There's questions yet that stand in the way A body did not follow the path born by a body years before. Born a boy and wandering, hair teased longer, teased by wind imaginary friends run through park trees. Shoulders pulled another way by winds shuttling through cities I've read enough to form a city made of books with freaks walking down pages. One day a sword will make my leg glorious by the light of day allied to the sun but darkness comes by night, so burdensome. let the hounds, let the hounds, the world would be better with the hounds if they'd been let go, if i'd been too as their muzzles grizzle I start to go oh better, had it been long ago. | | 2:14 am |
What of these days when the heart sours? Tell me these days what is done? When the sun doesn't mean anything When you don't answer the knock on the door (nevermind that there is no sun it is night nevermind there is no knock, it is silent) What of these days when the heart is smaller than a child when the heart is smaller than a stone in the road? Between these mouthfuls of bread and water beneath this heavy load of sleeping bodies lingering separately, alone, flesh clogging ghosts and the driveway swallows down to its last stones on the between it and the road it swallows night as it swallows the day's sunlight? Which is more delicious? I tell you I am eating by one lightbulb I am eating alone my neck is cold and this small chair, uncomfortable, it needs to be sold well, I tell you, I've gotten something another wave mounts and crashes, because the sea says so. [oh what beautiful waves under the moon! what beautiful waves under the sun!] | | Thursday, December 16th, 2004 | | 9:52 am |
Explorers cold in oceans cry For nothing and hear the slap of waves below on hulls those lucky hulls with their whole bodies. Birds weave around them, their eyelashes shut and open. Night rears up and over, plunged into the sea off somewhere they can't see. The planks whine in their dreams. Birds scitter down the decks because the sea is long and there's nowhere to land, and beaks are hard but soft inside. Bones inside cabins hear the call of the sea below them return your bones to me. Throw us over this boat, they say, poetry, or sea. | | Sunday, December 12th, 2004 | | 11:56 pm |
The day's kisses are done. We walk toward rivers in the night five feet five inches of skin Whom caves do not serve Who look to plastic rivers breaking and the wet balance of the float. | | 8:51 am |
Why do I sit and write When the sun expands from my window? the sun clothes hang from much higher than here to suck that air in, divert the stream of finer rivers is something I want, but will never do, so I follow you, and travel about your knees, as they walk past hills grottos and heaving seas, careful or they'll take me, try to mind, try to mind when I'm taken too deep, when clouds are stolen from the sky for the sea and we sit on the other side of a wall beaten by the tide the wind and the rain and our quietness is a type of praying to the only light evident, on the table, but there are two more upstairs, in separate rooms, as the house shakes, I remember them, and the world, and I forget you. | | Tuesday, November 30th, 2004 | | 8:35 pm |
LISTEN! How many millions of fishes would I give you for another two stanzas like that! And how many loaves of bread! Loy ! Loy ! She benefited from the invention of the boy. Lady boy, L, the sound of the person living, the sound of the I interacting and going under, oh how "L" is going under, for intimacy and discovery? Is not discovery intimacy itself? Hermitinmacy, oh hermits, the straight line trudge of the caravan, the dust, makes [head wants ]me look up and left unlushed, to see the hills far in the distance, on the landscape like green homes of hermits. and my desire/ grew and I carried the shack on my back , for brown and green miles . nightmares, fears . but i slept open limbed, like a child . "say to mine no, say oh no, oh to mine say no" made me look to the sun world [pony rears/sees over the mother's arch the sun] I am tired, we can't know very much, but the little that we can know splices. then sleeps, like one between the red sea his red sea sleep brought him to a surface where above it dawned | | Saturday, November 20th, 2004 | | 7:02 pm |
It can rain all day if it wants The wolf won't die But I saw you do it I saw the wolf die. | | 3:34 pm |
Crosses, crosses, thousands of crosses are there this many crosses normally? Usually they're trees. Wolves, wolves, hundreds of wolves Not where they should be I walk safely though the trees survive below wolves died I suppose they're less dangerous Hold high but less dangerously. At least I can know what a wolf is like tundra, tundra, rain when there should be snow and bitter fur becoming twelve parts as they become snow on a long hunt, a long hunt that will stop and start, but always restart. You never come to my room when you should You never keep me good I have to feed on bones, bones bones, and many woods. There's nothing here for you to see NO one can give me what I need But I can find what I have lost. | | Friday, November 19th, 2004 | | 7:23 pm |
Through the city up and down the city up and down the streets all the same, wave and wave from above, it blends into the sky. (under the light gray cat, on a red chair under the light gray cat, on a red chair red cat, on a gray chair under the light what did I want? If anything at all Now I forget If anything at all what did I want?) Up and down the city, up and down with a friend, and a giant invisible third. Love and children Love sometimes make strange children ah strange child - but you're not even mine. All the lights... (On the road All the lights thousands of lights on the road, all the lights, I'm driving, half a we.) the living part of we. | | Thursday, November 18th, 2004 | | 10:49 pm |
The sun reminds me to pray to something I can't see my doubt is in its heat. | | Wednesday, November 10th, 2004 | | 2:38 pm |
When I am old Of fifty years but no taller Trees shrugging upwards, When I am old Will my mother and father now dead, come from me? Would I lose an arm and a leg for their bodies to arrive again Will I be caught On the side of the road Crashed with the dark, smattered with light? If I die sooner When I am young Will I sit my parents In the living room A ghost of tree height That's what I'd like To take breakfast, tree tall with some alcohol at three, three in the morning. | | Tuesday, October 26th, 2004 | | 7:55 pm |
As soon as I say I love you I will not love you anymore. |
[ << Previous 20 ]
|
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
neurasthenic's journal