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I am a Mask Saturday, Feb 18 2006
I am a mask.
Usually one puts on a mask
However, underneath my painted smile
And my dramatic frown
There is nothing.
I am a mask.
Many different faces have I
Layers of wood and colors
Surround my nothingness
Pile them
Two, three, six
At a time.
The crowd laughs at my sorrowful expression
Painted tears that never fall
Until they are replaced.
The audience, watching every move
Watching the flow of emotions
Embodied in these faces.
I am a mask.
But am I?
Surely there is something more
Behind my face I swear, there is nothing
I am just a mask.
My many faces protect me
From the demons,
I am a many faced God
I am thousand faced Sitatapara,
And four headed Brahma.
My million arms each hold another face
Wooden extensions of my soul
I am a mask.
When the performance is over
And the crowds leave
Still I dance on stage
Lives peel away from my faces
The floor is littered with veils
The masquerade is over
When the only mask left that covers my soul
Falls
I become a phasma
A bodiless spirit
So you see,
I need my masks
I am a mask
Wanton Olive Friday, Feb 17 2006
text 1:54 am
This is a poetry/writing blog. I will post my poems and short stories here, and sometimes misc. photographs, or other visual art… My whim. Bwa.
We all like olives.
All the content on this site, unless otherwise noted, is copyright {S.H.}. If you would like to copy or repost any of it, leave a comment here first.
A Dream Deferred Thursday, Feb 16 2006
Uncategorized 10:15 pm
Hermit sits in his cave
And watches the oceans tide come in.
Dashed upon the rocks, a boat,
Splintered and rotting.
Tangled and wild, his beard
Matches his eyes, staring straight ahead.
The sun is setting.
Orange and pink and gold are replaced
With black.
There is no moon tonight.
And watches the oceans tide come in.
Dashed upon the rocks, a boat,
Splintered and rotting.
Tangled and wild, his beard
Matches his eyes, staring straight ahead.
The sun is setting.
Orange and pink and gold are replaced
With black.
There is no moon tonight.
*Note*
This poem was written in an english class after the poem A Dream Deferred, by Langston Hughes.
Le Monde Thursday, Feb 16 2006
french 10:13 pm
J’écoutais aux appels
Du monde.
Et je partais.
Chaque nuit,
J’écoute les voix
Le cauchemar récurrent…
L’esprit du enfer.
Dieu… Aidez-nous.
Du monde.
Et je partais.
Chaque nuit,
J’écoute les voix
Le cauchemar récurrent…
L’esprit du enfer.
Dieu… Aidez-nous.
Isle Thursday, Feb 16 2006
celtic 10:12 pm
Golden spirals
Neverending knots
Traps memories of an ancient race
Crystal pools
Silver mirrors
Ghostly remembrences of a womans face
Blood and war
Love and lust
History changed forever
Circles of stone
Dances of grace
My people remain together
For two thousand years
The dragon has dreamt
Mountains and valleys of green
Arthur is still sleeping
The earth is still spinning
We wait for the return of the queen
Neverending knots
Traps memories of an ancient race
Crystal pools
Silver mirrors
Ghostly remembrences of a womans face
Blood and war
Love and lust
History changed forever
Circles of stone
Dances of grace
My people remain together
For two thousand years
The dragon has dreamt
Mountains and valleys of green
Arthur is still sleeping
The earth is still spinning
We wait for the return of the queen
Left Alone Thursday, Feb 16 2006
A child weeps for the ashes
One hundred years in a jar.
Wander through empty rooms
Of furnature, coated with dust.
The hours chime by, the days, the years.
But saddness fades
Lonilness dies too.
Her body decays
Tears still stain her dress.
No one can see her
She exists no more
And this house slowly
Crumbles.
One hundred years in a jar.
Wander through empty rooms
Of furnature, coated with dust.
The hours chime by, the days, the years.
But saddness fades
Lonilness dies too.
Her body decays
Tears still stain her dress.
No one can see her
She exists no more
And this house slowly
Crumbles.
Ghostly Recall Thursday, Feb 16 2006
gothic and horror and imagery 10:10 pm
Rushing back… I wish it was in grey…
But I see the piercing blue
Of accusing eyes,
The scarlet remains of life
And I am next
But I see the piercing blue
Of accusing eyes,
The scarlet remains of life
And I am next
I cried out to the Fates
But it is written in the stars
So I had given up hope of time
My body was subdued
My movements graceful and dignified
I asscended the stairs
My face ashen and calm
Seeming oblivious to the shouts
Of dirty men and whores
This rope is a jeweled necklace
These planks, a golden stage
Until the moment I fall…
Slowly now, I see myself
Hanging in the air for an instant
Then the quick descent…
Annwn Thursday, Feb 16 2006
celtic and imagery and welsh 10:09 pm
An ancient grove
Of willow and yew
Found by the wise, the daring, the fewCerridwen’s motherly call
Offerings of lilacs and iris
Waving the branches of the cypress
Of willow and yew
Found by the wise, the daring, the fewCerridwen’s motherly call
Offerings of lilacs and iris
Waving the branches of the cypress
Macha comes in dreams
The White Lady waits
The srongest fall before their fate
Lambs and oak leaves
Adorn these ivy strewn stones
Soft whispers in the wind groan
Where the villagers once danced
They take their sleep
Memories the bards to keep
Time comes to a stop in this grove
Ruled by three boars
The ancient mist, the ancient door
