you're more advanced than a cockroach,
have you ever tried explaining yourself
to one of them?
~ alan bates, the mothman prophecies
i've had this with actors before, on the set,
where they get upset about the [size of my]
trailer, and i'm always like...take my trailer,
cause... i'm from Kentucky
and that's not what we brag about.
~ george clooney, inside the actor's studio
a straight edge for legends at
the fold - searching for our
lost cities of gold. burnt tar,
gravel pits. sixteen gears switch.
Haphazard Lucy strolls by.
~ dennis r wood ~
we were shooting for february because Avatar was gonna be back
full time to participate.
but he's actually not back full time yet.
we could shoot for April, which is National Poetry Month?
Av will surely be back full time by then.
you're more advanced than a cockroach,
have you ever tried explaining yourself
to one of them?
~ alan bates, the mothman prophecies
i've had this with actors before, on the set,
where they get upset about the [size of my]
trailer, and i'm always like...take my trailer,
cause... i'm from Kentucky
and that's not what we brag about.
~ george clooney, inside the actor's studio
a straight edge for legends at
the fold - searching for our
lost cities of gold. burnt tar,
gravel pits. sixteen gears switch.
Haphazard Lucy strolls by.
~ dennis r wood ~
Seareach wrote:...I'm busy April so that counts me out!
bull hockey.
you're more advanced than a cockroach,
have you ever tried explaining yourself
to one of them?
~ alan bates, the mothman prophecies
i've had this with actors before, on the set,
where they get upset about the [size of my]
trailer, and i'm always like...take my trailer,
cause... i'm from Kentucky
and that's not what we brag about.
~ george clooney, inside the actor's studio
a straight edge for legends at
the fold - searching for our
lost cities of gold. burnt tar,
gravel pits. sixteen gears switch.
Haphazard Lucy strolls by.
~ dennis r wood ~
O to be a robin or a sparrow in the garden of an English summer.
Amid the detrius the fallen leafs are dried and crisp,
Each leave their story briefly splotched in glorious detail -
a squirrel's stash of prickly paws,
a foxprint or a doggy tear,
- But time slips away on the gentle breezes that go who knows where,
Untill Christmas lights and autumn sparklers flicker in the magic hour,
And the waving boughs waft cool the setting fury of the sun.
And far off on the other side,
The bluebird sings tomorrow's song,
Blessed and new and brightly brushed
Unto the stem - and that is all there is...
Yours Truly
Yabber Monkey
So in writing this peom
I don't feel I'm alone
At that crossroads of gold breathless days
When perhaps other times
I'll revisit these rhymes
And the jogs of those far memories