hey peoples. I have moved blogging central to tumblr...

you can find it at stonewall.tumblr.com

or by linking through my new website :P

stonewallmonroe.com

something? something.

xerxes but not (a sonnet)

brother, thy anonymous name

selfless, selfish, (droplets falling)

run and run and run and run (droplets falling)

hang on a bit, a bitter fame

the existence of a plane

in which a house exists (droplets falling)

where the earth is steady (droplets falling)

where a man can be sane.

a home

not hurtling

just born

alone

not hurting

just morn

desert (a rondel)

come back to me

fill, rebuild an empty cup

and it is you that interrupt

why would you desire to be

any feat burdened by the sea

wind burns, and stings the lips

come back to me

fill, rebuild an empty cup

calloused by degree

cracked lines disrupt

cracked nails enough

lack taken for plenty

come back to me

smoke and mirrors. though I'm not quite sure what they are for. I've brought them.. here. if you were wondering. so now they are here. I have a jar of smoke. and a jar of mirrors. carefully and somewhat jealously I guard these little treasures. Ah via musicom. So much for luck. Anyway. it's true. I sometimes get worried and nervous. Though at the moment it seems that doubt which I sometimes have has attached itself to something different than usual. It seems that when I work out with my own brain the beneficial path, well, it doesn't quite work out that way. But maybe someday I'll get shoved in the right direction.

not sure how to name this

you are afraid of the cliff

I am afraid of the fall

you are afraid of the silence

i am afraid of the noise of

you are afraid of death

I am afraid of missing you

you are afraid of leaving

I am afraid of not missing you

come look at the moon through the window

see it smiles with a borrowed glory

the end is not beginning to learn

how to live with a broken hand

you’re broken at the gates

and offered all you’ve ever had

on broken plates

chipped and all you’ve been sad

come look at the moon through the window

see it smiles with a borrowed glory

the end is not beginning to learn

how to live with a broken hand

see the little girl play, she sings so sweetly

watch her feet play the sand and her eyes play the melody

come look at the moon through the window

see it smiles with a borrowed glory

the end is not beginning to learn

how to live with a broken hand

COPYRIGHT 2009 WILLIAM STONEWALL MONROE

magnete poetre

And after all this.

Are you living the dream. It isn't enough to sit there wholly contented with some societal measure of success. Once again being defined by that which does not define you. Wearing stiletto's on your ego doesn't make you any taller. This isn't to say that somehow you are the only measure by which you live. Find your definition. Make sure it isn't something that can change based on the weather or the radio.

flash photography.

just sayin. i mean. I just felt like saying flash photography.

fun with rhyming

medical mister

disastrous sister

a death of an enemy.

Cold and alone

in a race to the phone

and a trumped up dystrophy

raining and straining

too corrupt to defame

calling a name

the best, rest canopy.

Come away from the window - Christmas

The elderly woman lingered. She smelled of thrift shoppes and christmas. She must have delusions that such thing is a mark of beauty. Laid on so thick you can almost see the green tag sale and hear the bell ringers. He remembered. A dog. The door to the outside was oak, and it’s glory weighed upon him. Brushing some canine hair from his sleeve, he turned his attention upward. The chair leaned back a little far and fell. He lay, and as his allergies bothered him immensely, a sneeze arose within, he attempted to make contact. long… long… long... short. short. short. long. long. long. . . . attempting to escape cliché at the expense of nonsense.

hand soap and a scottish revolutionary.

why do you sit there like so many bubbles trapped in hand soap.

content, frozen by surrounding, encased in the plastic securities

that bring any other William Wallace to his knees crying for freedom.

a little gnome lore.

the poor little guys.

they never had a even a little chance.

little pointy hats.

green little shoes.

little rotund caricatures.

growing little beards.

saving for a little retirement.

in case of little on the job accidents.

that might happen on little adventures.

all to feed little gnome wives.

it's tough to lead little, gnome, lives.

title

I'm having trouble moving today.

There were orange bricks swimming in the Iowa river this morning.

Sea foam not produced by the sea sank downstream.

The gray sky smiles and innocently pretends ignorance.

and I seem to be having trouble moving today.

tra gnikam em dna arod dora and me making art

perhaps i ought not

perhaps I ought not what I oughtn't have done. but now is a time of review and cognizance of a cognitive dissonance in which my life can not simply be hanging by a thread, for if it were at least I would know what is holding it together. but more well better good i think that floating isn't something i'm doing, but rather a longer more depth of free fall in your hands.

Mr. Potato head picks his nose.

I suppose there is more to life than this.

searching for hay in a needle stack

I am looking for the hay in a stack of golden needles,

You are anything but ordinary, there is just so very much

You will be my, will be my. Every time I try, my hands come

wounded.

that once in the morning I would remember. call you let it fall.

failing to connect, and develop a sight for these things. chances are. well. chances. jump from a metaphorical bridge contrasting your life and mine. I landed on insecurity. He was well dressed with a shirt reading "Insecurity." Gonna hire him to be my bouncer.

melting

melting, slowly melting,

cracking, here I miss the

way. cold and freezing,

slowly melting, cracking,

things used to be so much,

dripping, slowly melting,

cracking, more now, than

here, residing, slowly melt

ing, cracking, where all there

is to think of is one more way

in which the me failed the you,

one more way in which the now

tried to soon to reflect a future then.