[x]

sparsestark hard beauty
windblown
few things move
few things grow
pipes skirl their wildness in the air
above mountains and water
in the moments of a life without fire
when I can feel clearly
I am born and borne aloft
and truly fly

Lancelot Price 2012 February 06

grass and lightninginside a paper sky
the more I paint
the less of real I see

circusInside the cage, the door secured by a lock he didn't have a key for, the man played Russian Roulette with tigers. He'd first ride one, and then another. Each time he survived, he'd ride another. He had to, you see, for the cage was full of tigers, no clear ground to step down. And away. It's just the way things are.

interregnumThere was an earthquake here once.
Then twice. And then again.
And several more times.
And each time ended
Life came again
building hidden layers on
what had not sunk in the sea

At last, though maybe not
the deep break moved on east
the hole was sealed
the island left in peace
a large high ring
not quite complete
surrounding the abyss of calm cool water
that was all that was left of mountain

It was here we began

to build a home again

to make music and beauty

Even if explosions come again, we had our time

Lancelot Price 2012 May 13

singularityIt was a country with no exit sign.
Nobody wanted one.

I ask you a question>
What sort of place is that?
And another>
Where can I find it?

I Am EyesI am eyes, that unholy duality.
There are six deer in the dead field
who have survived late fall,
with its plague of men and guns.

I am eyes, turned to the pregnant sky.
There are pockets for hands,
thick wool for feet,
but eyes take the cold head-on.

There is clamor far away. There is cackle and bray.
There is grumble and wine, there is raw meet.
Handed over like suspicion, taken like greed,
like gold from the cocoa-skinned hide-hidden
lesser gods, there disappears my world.
But I know nothing of this. I am sleepy.
I am eyes.

water processspirit-sloth and overdone;
wonder-lost and undercome:
still.
you are trenchant, sweet love.

you planted early mornings-
I lay coffee-drunk and thin;
oh,
the stir of your brown hands.

I Am Not A ShrinkThere is a dryness about you
A desiccated crackling and rustle
Your mind quiet heat lightning
Surfacing thoughts burst into flame

Your body vibrates and lurches
Seething with imagined assaults
A fortress repelling all compassion
Unwanted and unnecessary

What surgical strike hit home?
Or was it little drops of water
until you could take no more
of this mad world?

I so wish help was forthcoming, but
the same mean world made us all
Survival alone, a poor substitute for living
Life is so much more than not being dead

The comet of meThe comet of me

contrails are my past
vapors... partially remembered
burning away with the sun of today
whether I move or no

cigarette holdercigarette holders
---------------------

It was a multi-level restaurant
Sleek
Moderne
Streamlined
Glass lights and arty-facts
hung from the ceiling
or were glued to the walls
below my beloved unholy trinity
three thin lines
like a Lionel train track
turned on its side
without crossties
but tying together every cornerless wall
on the way back to any start place
Streamline Moderne
At night it became a club
Whiskey-laden tables
Rising smoke from cigarettes
in holders between the lips of ladies
elegant in their sparkling gowns
The men took their cigarettes direct
while suave and charm

the power of twelvean extension of an earlier writing to a prompt about body parts:

I am brain, the rest is transport

I want to make the rest into
an early
lightweight
V12
Ferrari
with not one transistor in it

painted Italian Racing Red
12 explosions in every step
going nowhere
in particular

fast!

SPICE        Quickly, before they fade,

      abandoning their ship of pages

      Gather the words together and

       mix them with seeds of spice

       Preserve their fragrance in

         windswept fields waving

        Hands and fingers dangling

        Grazing the buds of verse

weaklingsweaklings
---------

I hate it when the wind steals the lightest and best thing I have.
How I wish it would take those who should be dead
those dragging weights
throw them over cliffs
let them rot to food for something better
Wind is willful in its random purpose
seeking goals that are not mine
How I hate the wind.

whosomewhere in the country
there's a crater and machines
and deadness
somewhere someone
made it happen

somewhere in the country
there's a tiny white transistor
it starts to hum so sweetly
glorious music flys and sings
someone somewhere
made it happen

who do we kill?

Anticipating A WakeMister Summer
his course not fully run
his purpose not quite done
feeling not quite fulfilled
took up his raven quill

His untutored indelible scrawl
tried hard to tell it all
but somehow seemed to stop before the end

"Shall I sleep?" he said
"Shall I take now to my bed?"
"Will I arise?"
"Will I dream?"

"And if I don't do anything,
will I even want to scream?"

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Hail to the MasterWe humans, who so much desire to think that we control our selves,
are overcome by the desire of our chromosomes to dominate other individuals
in order to reproduce a particular sequence of chemical connections.

Our minds are not controllers, but are a tool of molecules.

Lancelot Price 2010 August 24

The more individuals there are, the more intense the fight becomes.
Blood flows out. War goes on. We feel the pain of love.

days of heavenDid you ever see that movie
the one where the giant harvesting machines
crawl under awesome late sun smoky skies
clouds angled downwind in drama
days
days and days of heaven
I was lying hiding in the gold-turned wheat
they were hunting for me

all was right when the wheat was green
i lived in careless love of world
smelled fresh wind and watched the swirl
of clouds grand and playful in the sky

then the autumn came
and harvesters

he lives with"He lives in Brooklyn with his fiancée and two cats."

I wonder who is the most important one in that relationship. The Siamese do you think?

Wouldn't it be more interesting, more exciting to the spirit and other things if he were living in sin with his twin-brother fiancées, a black-and-white cat, a cheetah, a Chow Chow, a pair of endangered white rhinos on loan from the breeding program of the World Wildlife Fund, and a dark blue 1961 Lincoln convertible modified to four-wheel drive?
And a parrot.

I'd like to read his reviews.

blistered silver facesat night, by river
shore like a beach
we walk at the edge of jungle

the moon lights all
you are a shaman
a wizard of love

your heat makes steam
rise over river
up toward the innocent moon

I'm astonished when
I see the fires
break out in jungle

the craters of the moon
spout lava on its plains
smoke blackens as it pains

like the moon's own face
mine blisters
open wounds leave scars

all around, the land
the water
heaved up in burnt and hardened waves

you leave me with no traces
on your entirely empty face

how could I have ever thought I'd marked you
that you'd leave me lonely
in this pla

pantomime forceGringo the lilacs
the catless grin has said
Stick 'em in the desert
Leave 'em all unfed.

Dried up watercourses
fit for killing horses
silently in pantomime
grinless cats have left us all behind
seeking fertile ground
in far distant clime.

Lancelot Price 2010 August 20

sign waveUndulating underneath you
world-encircling serpents
never move together
How might firm stand be had?
What can I say true?

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overcast - with pale thought

by *LancelotPrice, Dec 8, 2011, 5:12:41 AM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

I breathed out clouds
hoping they would rise
and write great things in sky
But heat of breathing billions
vaporised all sense and beauty
The sky became a mere grey haze

overcast - with pale thoughtby *LancelotPrice

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

Triggered by 'No Language' [link] by

*TheMadMulatto Dec 10, 2011

Spreading the mind too thin leads to a fog that could last a lifetime.

*LancelotPrice Dec 16, 2011

Spreading it too thin is almost inevitable for small minds.

*TheMadMulatto Dec 16, 2011

Widening the boarders of an island lands you in the water everytime.

*LancelotPrice Dec 16, 2011

or in deep doodoo.

*TheMadMulatto Dec 16, 2011

ew.

~ExistenceWeSummonYou Dec 10, 2011

Lovely! I'm honored you associate it with something I wrote.

*LancelotPrice Dec 10, 2011

Thanks for the inspiration, Justin.

~EmmaSloane Dec 8, 2011 Writer

Fundamental, and beautiful.

*LancelotPrice Dec 8, 2011

Thanks, Emma.

*clears throat* ahem. I note that you've not been writing much lately. I didn't either for a couple of months. May we expect new creations soon?

No pressure.

~EmmaSloane Dec 9, 2011 Writer

Oh, I surely hope so, Lance.

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overcast - with pale thought

overcast - with pale thoughtby *LancelotPrice

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