Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

I ain't moved none. My arms been still as a shut jack blade, my look been soft on you as a barber chair shave; I don't want nothing from you. Yeah, maybe I look your way, maybe not at your eyes right first; maybe I watch you move 'neath that silk, maybe I like your bounce, wonder what you got there,...

A moment ago I began a poem and its first line was: "You, too, have known the promise of rain." But I marked that through. I mean, who are you? And who am I to think I know your mind? Even now, I bring you here assuming you care at all what I have to say. Odds are you don't. Where I sit as I write t...

Oh, my goodness, Ms Peri...

I enjoyed this so!

So very wonderful. Thank you!

I've been followed from the burning by a thing I will not turn to see, but choose instead to dream her up from the darkful, sleeping depths of me. Thus, I've lit her steps with sparks of hurry and forged her breathing from the brands, and from the hissing of the smoldered coals I saw there seething ...

Very nicely done! This is one of the better offerings I've read at this site as of late. I like the way you have crafted the line-breaks and the strophe arrangement. And it's somehow timely and timeless simultaneously; not an easy trick-- most poems err too far to one side or the other, but yours wa...

On the ride home you lower the window and the air hushes down the low throb of song. You are warm beneath your dress. Your hands lay in folds in the heat of your lap. Before I came you doused my wife's "Joy" on the soft of your thigh. You are tinged with sweat and secrets. I breathe a deep, slow dra...

"I am no brighter... than a doodle of the sun."

Quite quotable!

I will remember that line!

Personally, I like those Oh's.

Very musical piece (appropriately); I do like
the way it reads aloud. Performable. Nice
sound.

"...six roses red like her lips' and the passionate words you want to say before she falls asleep alone" That's a strong, strong closing. That made the poem happen (for me). I also like how you began things, in that way that says (without directly stating): "This is a poem. It is not merely prose a...

...dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return." --Book of Genesis It whispers about him in the field, gathers in drifts where soles light to earth, tumbles in grit among the leaves of his cup. Come dusk, his lambs wander the rows floured, shake soft clouds from the fleece, bleat for him at the ...

Indeed! Your poem reminds me of a passage: “The truth about the world, he said, is that anything is possible. Had you not seen it all from birth and thereby bled it of its strangeness it would appear to you for what it is, a hat trick in a medicine show, a fevered dream, a trance bepopulate with chi...

Hell yeah.

Those last three lines sing. I hear that music. I do.

I am absolutely thrilled that you have been encouraged
to read Ackroyd. Thank you!

(after P. Ackroyd) And so he will go to dance among the beggars' fires and seek the secrets of their sleep among the lintels, and he will learn what dreams come beneath the lamp- light most times linger on at waking, that they mat and tangle in a burn and an itch of lice and burr. And he will rend ...