Poem #18

He walked along the road,
To the city
He rents a quiet room,
And sleeps during the day.
At night he paints,
Illuminated by an electric sign.
He paints in simple, broad strokes
She told me so
Last night before she went to bed.

Masquerade!

First Annual MY OLD SKETCHBOOK MASQUE!

Not any Phantom masque, but a truly glorious My Old Sketchbook Masque. Each one of the artists for MOS must draw their bloggity selves in a costume (with mask) that illustrate their blogger identity’s. AND each artist must bring with them an imaginary companion of the opposite gender that complements the artist the best. All guests must arrive (posted, it’s not real you know) between December 24th and January 6th. Please RSVP by December 6th.
Also suggest music that befits the occasion, so we can play it on our computers at home (don’t you wish it was real?). If anyone show up with the slightest suggestion of Phantom, I will not throw you out, but I will throw a fit.

Copyright 2005 by Andrew Price, all rights reserved.

What Is It?

[Photo removed.]

Copyright 2005 by Andrew Price, all rights reserved.

Boots Of Spainish Leather

Oh, I’m sailin’ away my own true love,
I’m sailin’ away in the morning.
Is there something I can send you from across the sea,
From the place that I’ll be landing?

No, there’s nothin’ you can send me, my own true love,
There’s nothin’ I wish to be ownin’.
Just carry yourself back to me unspoiled,
From across that lonesome ocean.

Oh, but I just thought you might want something fine
Made of silver or of golden,
Either from the mountains of Madrid
Or from the coast of Barcelona.

Oh, but if I had the stars from the darkest night
And the diamonds from the deepest ocean,
I’d forsake them all for your sweet kiss,
For that’s all I’m wishin’ to be ownin’.

That I might be gone a long time
And it’s only that I’m askin’,
Is there something I can send you to remember me by,
To make your time more easy passin’.

Oh, how can, how can you ask me again,
It only brings me sorrow.
The same thing I want from you today,
I would want again tomorrow.

I got a letter on a lonesome day,
It was from her ship a-sailin’,
Saying I don’t know when I’ll be comin’ back again,
It depends on how I’m a-feelin’.

Well, if you, my love, must think that-a-way,
I’m sure your mind is roamin’.
I’m sure your heart is not with me,
But with the country to where you’re goin’.

So take heed, take heed of the western wind,
Take heed of the stormy weather.
And yes, there’s something you can send back to me,
Spanish boots of Spanish leather.

-Bob Dylan

Copyright 2005 by Andrew Price, all rights reserved.

Poem #17

I unzip my coat,
Enough for my hand,
I open my pocket,
And take the handkerchief;
I take your hand
To raise you up,
Bring you up to my eyes,
And I wipe
Your tears away.
But I kneel,
My knees are muddy,
In a field under the rain.
You fell, and
You cried for a minute,
And for
seasons that have died.

It’s time for some color around here!

Copyright 2005 by Andrew Price, all rights reserved.

As Big As Alone

Copyright 2005 by Andrew Price, all rights reserved.

Poem #16

It is dark,
Not demon black, a
Flag for forces of darkness.
It is dark, the
Sun has gone down
The wheel has turned
It is dark,
A simple finger
Flipping an everyday switch.
It is cold,
Not like it is in outerspace,
Inhaling starshine and
Exhaling black holes,
It is cold, the
Day has faded,
The curtain is lowered,
And I’m asleep.

At the stores
I discount metaphors
smilies are cheap.
Life is normal,
Days are simple,
And nights are
Simply when
Darkness enforces, the
Air chills and the
Stars are alone.