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Star-Thrower

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Member since: Tue Mar 3, 2020, 07:01 PM
Number of posts: 274

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I am

I am old.
Made of dust
and dirt. Soil.

I have sea water
in my tears. In my ears.
If I have been
before.

Will I be again?
Thus come
thus go, but
from where
and when?
Posted by Star-Thrower | Fri Mar 5, 2021, 09:44 PM (2 replies)

The

Mermaid
Posted by Star-Thrower | Thu Mar 4, 2021, 07:56 PM (0 replies)

About of

Astral Travelers On Parallel Paths

The winding of the
disparate path of a
you and me
began at a point
of time that years
and eons ago
was trodden by
a you and me.

Those vestiges
of we traveled
on through time and
space, on different
planes in different forms
of consciousness.

That once united became
disunited and like
astral travelers unable
to reunite and reenter
we were unable to rejoin.

Although
through the eons
we could hear the echoes
of each other calling:
"where are you?
.
But then the echo
would fade and I would
only hear myself.

Despite the fact that
time, in its move forward
brought our paths
to a parallel plane
and although still
miles apart, we began
the final journey to merge.

Gaudeamus igitur

let us therefore rejoice,
While dancing inside of a grater.


On a trip to NY city with friends we got caught in the The Blizzard of 1966 I ended up in Montreal a

Bus Trip From Montreal

The scattered remains,
strewn carelessly
here and there,
flutter down a
never-ending highway.

An endless sea
of unimportant faces,
erupting from what once was
tranquility,
is now fighting a hopeless
battle to retain
the importance
that once was.

The broken rotting bodies
left behind to fertilize
the younger fresher plants,
not yet set in their
growing habits,
turn to ashes
and ride with a wind
that cries "efforts wasted".

The barren desert
strains for the mountains
in the distance.
Made entirely of thought,
they rise into the pitch sky,
ready to crumble if a new
strange dawn arises.

Flying in another country,
a faded tattered symbol
fights to regain dignity.
Forgotten it becomes but
a mockery

On it's battered dead face
is a look, frozen, crying
to be burned.

Caught in a cement jungle
of uncomprehending minds
and twisted foreign tongues,
an alien wandered aimlessly,
lost in muddled thoughts,
caught and unable to escape.

The remains floated into
once visited, now forgotten
cities. Picturing faces as they
once were known, brought a
cover of emptiness over
the alien's eyes.

Gaunt bodies with
piercing bleeding eyes
crouched together.
with thickened tongues
they went back over the
sea of faces, barren deserts
and rotting bodies.

The acrid odor of a
burning symbol
enveloped the wasteland
and stretched on to eternity.

About mental illness

The ward. Digital manipulation.

About Despoil

Despoil


It pulls me back to other times
dragging me through
the sometime choppy waters.

Sometimes over the
smooth rocks, slippery from
the verdant green moss.

The mind is industry. Its
mechanisms grind endlessly.
There is no broken cog in this
whirling wheel of time.

Hidden within the footprints
of my life, a secret smirch
or two attempts to despoil
all that is good and fine.

Like patience waves lapping
the shore, eroding silently
that which went before.

I wish not to fall into a pool
of tears of my own making,
yet glarringly like nails on
a blackboard, images
intrude that which cannot
despoiled.

It pulls me back to other times
dragging me through
the sometime choppy waters.

Sometimes over the
smooth rocks, slippery from
the verdant green moss.

The mind is industry. Its
mechanisms grind endlessly.
There is no broken cog in this
whirling wheel of time.

Hidden within the footprints
of my life, a secret smirch
or two attempts to despoil
all that is good and fine.

Like patience waves lapping
the shore, eroding silently
that which went before.

I wish not to fall into a pool
of tears of my own making,
yet glarringly like nails on
a blackboard, images
intrude that which cannot
be denied.

There is no heaven in the
sky, vast, nor hell in the deep
bowels of earth, that fantasy
netherworld of suffering.

There is only this earth
that we traverse daily
enduring our own personal
triumphs and failures.

The only fairy tales that are
well noted: the Grimms and
Mr. Andersen. Of lesser note
are our own book of lies.
You know that one. There
are none other. No other.


There is no heaven in the
sky, vast, nor hell in the deep
bowels of earth, that fantasy
netherworld of suffering.

There is only this earth
that we traverse daily
enduring our own personal
triumphs and failures.

The only fairy tales that are
well noted: the Grimms and
Mr. Andersen. Of lesser note
are our own book of lies.
You know that one. There
are none other. No other.
Posted by Star-Thrower | Sun Feb 7, 2021, 09:25 PM (4 replies)

Another pen and ink

Lady With Flowers

Untitled Acrylic on Masonite

Waiting at the

Bus stop
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