Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

At night, I rise with ambition,

dreams to achieve planned, 

oh those lofty dreams, but then

the vicious sun, the damned morning,

the overwhelming wind, the motivation

quelled, the envelopment of a shadow cloak,

paralysis sets in.

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dp.12.7.10

real cool doreen......i wake to a slap in the face chily morn in the rebar patch....the wind be the killer...i continually ask myself, "how many more years?"
this has to be the shortest poem i've ever read by you, i like it...a lot!

Thanks, Mark... yeah it's bitter cold out there! I donno how you guys do it!. I'm dressed in layers in the house!!!! LOL... You're lucky you have work in this economy. Unfortunately, I am currently unemployed...but working on figuring it out. It will all work out as it should.

(ps - I do write short ones sometimes... I have a rather large collection of haiku, as well)

Thanks for reading! I thrive in the night. I've been having a harder time getting through the days. Sort of a depressing piece, I realize. Sorry about that.

in sweet solitude
i conquer all obstacles
intention, a perfect fit
inspiration burns within

hold me up to reality
my open-mouthed dreamer
wonders why no one else got their script

- this may not be a poem, but i hear you, Doreen
lucky that new chances keep coming--

most complain of the long nights of winter angst, but you flip that on end...
I think we all identify ourselves, to a great extent, with our job...get nervous
when we aren't working, yet dream of the time when we can stop....it takes a lot of resolve either way...to go out and look......to hang in there doing something miserable, or boring......*I think you have effectively captured the dichotomy of living and working......lets hope the cloak blows away.....

I love this poem of yours, Doreen.

paralysis, sometimes is slow moving.
it takes years of rivers to achieve.


excellent poem.
I enjoy the brevity,
condensed. Good Job Doreen!

Reality creeps in with paralysis. The boy couldn't wait to get up and get going. The old man prefers to stay abed. jim

Long and dark, the night of the soul
– like valleys of shadows of death –
is soft and cold and endless and whole
and filled with a peaceable breath;
come and play, the moon’s in his role
and new in the theater of stars
while seated the sun’s like a mole
in burrows of Venus and Mars.