tales from the murky splurge

By spiderfly - About Me - E-mail this page - Add to My Favorites - Add to Blog List - See other blogs in Poetry

Wednesday, October 2, 2013

survival.

Through tinted glass of inevitable mysteries, our love survives the boundaries set by other souls who beckon our wisdom to seek reasonable doubt for nothing has really been untold, no lies only truth grown and cultured, i give and you have given neither of us have taken if we should be isolated or... Sign in to see full entry.

posted by spiderfly at 12:42 AM | add or view comments (4) | leave calling card | link to this | view only this entry

Wednesday, September 18, 2013

The words which captivated a withered soul brought light and softness served on wishes on glass crystal dishes we drank from coniving cups steaming but no poisen did we swallow only meaning the cross fire missed us i care not now of your love or lies you broke the twisting time of tales on dusty... Sign in to see full entry.

posted by spiderfly at 1:21 AM | add or view comments (6) | leave calling card | link to this | view only this entry

Monday, July 22, 2013

lets just throw it friend it is not worth a mend it is tattered on the corners and the sides now will not bend the screws are loose the wood is scratched and this years fashion will not match lets just throw it, dump it scrump it designer not lets lump and bump it. his wife wants another the latest... Sign in to see full entry.

posted by spiderfly at 1:56 AM | add or view comments (4) | leave calling card | link to this | view only this entry

Thursday, May 30, 2013

Poetry from the splurge are the muddy words we just cannot scrub clean. Sign in to see full entry.

posted by spiderfly at 11:23 PM | add or view comments (4) | leave calling card | link to this | view only this entry

the air was not of confusion but of enlightenment i danced through the support it gave me i glistened and was met with pride i am me and i felt true the lie appeared and it mocked us all my dream, a mere infatuation my strength, built on a crumbling rock my future, blank as a canvas my paints are... Sign in to see full entry.

posted by spiderfly at 12:29 AM | add or view comments (3) | leave calling card | link to this | view only this entry

Tuesday, May 28, 2013

hometown

I still feel the wishes we had waiting for the summer to begin we had talked whilst walking through the spring flowers trudging throungh the deer park to Medieval castles floating in the mist we drank coffee in the little shop and planned our journey we created aspirations and times ahead I felt so... Sign in to see full entry.

posted by spiderfly at 11:50 PM | add or view comments (3) | leave calling card | link to this | view only this entry

would be really grateful to my blogit friends if you could spare a moment to LIKE my facebook page. www.facebook.com/pages/Spiderfly/137013083102543?filter=1 Many thanks. Sign in to see full entry.

posted by spiderfly at 9:35 AM | add or view comments (4) | leave calling card | link to this | view only this entry

sleep has forgotten it's way when it held your dream in place sleep has abandoned the breaking of rules and laughed in the face of all that was valued balance believes no more the scales are so sloped and tipped towards tested and crossed out. sleep is no more now on hold and paused hopefully not Sign in to see full entry.

posted by spiderfly at 12:39 AM | add or view comments (0) | leave calling card | link to this | view only this entry

Thursday, May 16, 2013

The truth had been sinking for a time, washed away with shallow moments where care is pushed aside. the water is now green and stagnant insects wallowing in sludge stuggle to stretch their fine wings She spies the butterfly from the balL as it lands on a leaf to observe the truth floating beneath... Sign in to see full entry.

posted by spiderfly at 11:28 PM | add or view comments (4) | leave calling card | link to this | view only this entry

Thursday, January 10, 2013

Arms wrapped so tightly his breath is shallow and short he questions his sorrow and needed to talk his grief was once outspoken the wench he called again to listen to the moment and repeating of his pain and like radio waves floating through the air he remembered that feeling running fingers through... Sign in to see full entry.

posted by spiderfly at 1:02 AM | add or view comments (5) | leave calling card | link to this | view only this entry

About this Blog

Poetry is about expression of thought. Sometimes the best work is the kind of stuff that just leaps up from within our soul. I write a lot about the murky splurge...This defines a place where we are are given the freedom to bare our souls in word but understand it is between the lines where most truth resides, In a world which has an abundance of love for all to share there is a whirlwind stirring. these words come out of a storm, but reader of my blog, please see although we write about many things, we may just mean another...well that is what the villagers said..... have fun.

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