"We Will Show Him America..."

I finally found that poem I've been muddling around LJ looking for for the last three hours or so. I wrote it back in December. O_o What the hell ever. Anyway, it's here, and I will not lose it again.

*wibbles* mhari, where have you gone?

And. Um. I'm sure I had other things to say, but I'm getting distracted again.

I adore sparklychibi so terribly. ^_^ She is the best alleged girlfriend anyone could have. *pounces her*

"The People of Harlem Respected and Admired Him..."

The people in town always used to ignore me when I took my walks. Now a lot of them actually wave, and some of them even say 'hi' or 'nice day for a walk'. O_o I love the way people change. One minute it's 'oooh, lookit the freaky girl who lives in the big house with all the trees!' and now it's 'hey, how ya doing?'.

I wonder if this means we're part of the town now...

Also, yardsale season is coming up! Huzzah!

I am still not quite getting along with my writing... Alas, I hope to correct this soon, because it annoys me. I shall write!

And I've got armfuls of books from the library to-day...

"Daddy Played Piano; Played it Very Well..."

...Ah. I remember. I had a rant. Ought I still subject everyone to this rant? Can it be all that important if I've forgotten it 'til now?

Alas.

( RANT )

I hereby apologise to anyone I may offend. *_*

"Music From Those Hands Could Catch You Like a Spell..."

I love Russian poetry... I borrowed the book from Mum. I don't know who the author is.

UNTITLED

What makes this century worse than those that came before?
In fumes of care and sorrow that we feel
It penetrated to our deepest sore,
A wound so black it could not heal.

And still Earth's brilliant is shining in the West;
There, city roofs glisten with every ray.
Here, Death marks crosses on our homes. Obsessed,
She calls the ravens... and they're on their way

You will no more be alive,
Rising from the snow;
Twenty-eight bayonet and five
Rifles holes now show.

Friend, I sewed with my own hand
Your last uniform.
Bitter cloth... but Russia's land
Treasures blood still warm.

MUSE

When in the night I wait for her arrival,
My life seems hanging by the smallest hair.
For what are honours, youth, freedom, survival,
When such a guest, Pan's pipe in hand, is there!
And here she enters. Unveiled, she engages
Me with her eyes most scrutinisingly.
I speak to her: 'You gave Dante the pages
Of the Inferno?' And she answers: 'Me.'

"For Turning Harlem Into Art..."

anti_snark. Well-intentioned as it may be, I can only forsee DOOM, GLOOM, and teh_3xtr333m wank.

...Although, so far, most of the people in it are being very mature about the whole thing. That's rather comforting.