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    dots Submission Name: Brushstrokesdots

    Author: trinityfinger
    Elite Ratio:    3.53 - 136/344/209
    Words: 187
    Class/Type: Personal Quotes/Longing
    Total Views: 1810
    Average Vote:    4.5000
    Bytes: 1180


    Make the font bigger!! Double Spacing Back to recent posts.


    Too much in all of this a sense of calm, dilution, between the whorls of fingerprints
    left on windowpanes, outside where the world turns and flows much like the time
    we travelled the length of the Kaikoura coast, anxiously waiting for the spume
    of whales to breach air and daylight. You told me I should never break

    Unless I mean it in all dimensions: the physical, the emotional,
    the immaterial, all in sullen blue, with streaks of marigold, ground shellac
    and varnish our landscape and easel, one I would paint your body with
    until nothing else glows and nothing else is the same because

    This destination always becomes a well-worn pair of jeans, a faded buckle,
    the taste of cinnamon and cloves scraping the air. You, scattered yet motherly,
    moon and ova, the penumbra and corona where soil and water meet, where
    traces of sky and fire is our only escape, where hemispheres clash

    And destroy what is left
    of winter leaving this canvas.


    Submitted on 2009-11-21 23:26:22     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
    Submissions: [ Previous ] [ Next ]

    Rate This Submission

    1: >_<
    2: I dunno...
    3: meh!
    4: Pretty cool
    5: Wow!

    ||| Comments |||
       This to me describes a wildly wanton love affair and the warm glow of aftermath. I like your style.

    | Posted on 2012-04-11 00:00:00 | by monad | [ Reply to This ]
      I like the painting best of the two, that is, if it's a huge one that could dominate a bedroom or whatever.

    There is a flavour or atmosphere in the poem which I have flinched at in many a modern poem; but it just doesn't occur before the 1920's for some reason. That is: the very strong feeling of being trapped with one's love or one's other happinesses, bogged down or gummed up in a world of rich emotion, but the poet's comment about that is a sort of forlorn
    feeling, the whole thing is a bit sheepish.

    I think humans are comfortable with struggle and embarrassed by comfort - if they are grown-up.

    That is a good reason not to grow up, do you think?
    | Posted on 2012-02-03 00:00:00 | by Glen Bowman | [ Reply to This ]
      ..... i wonder if this is similar to how an artist grows?

    i have always loved the artist in you, and it is a joy to see you painting on this fresh canvas.
    i will be back!
    | Posted on 2009-11-28 00:00:00 | by Alter idem | [ Reply to This ]

    I am in awe. Nothing more can I say. Just.... amazing... normally I'm not so blatantly blown away by pieces on here, but... this is just brilliant.


    | Posted on 2009-11-22 00:00:00 | by Shadowstar13 | [ Reply to This ]
      I always think of good writing as soul-painting.
    You always have the best canvases... and the artwork on this (like with all your pieces) is outstanding. I am curious, do you see the painting and write the poem, or do you match them that well? I need you to decorate my walls.

    This completely shines... things no one ever paints: fingerprints on window panes... cigarette smoke curling in a stream of sunlight... the pussies, no, they paint another frickin sunset.

    the taste of cinnamon and cloves scraping the air.

    That is as perfect as it gets.
    | Posted on 2009-11-22 00:00:00 | by Runes | [ Reply to This ]
      This piece reminds me pretty much of all the good things in life and all that can be celebrated from those experiences, you portray alot of taste here and it is what makes the pice stand out from the rest. A sense of companionship amd exploration crossed with a plethora of colors and emotions all make this a pretty powerful piece. I liked the flow and rythm also the whole construction is perfect to my ideals.

    | Posted on 2009-11-22 00:00:00 | by Clayman | [ Reply to This ]

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