fan bios of authors...

Much of King's early works were science fiction based, but because he lacked the scientific grounding, they tended to be a bit thin on detail, but still excellent for someone of his age

I love fan-boy bios of famous people. I want to start a new trend with them ...

"Much of Bundy's early works were not humanitarian based, but because he graduated up from eating other animals, they tended to be more on the cooked side, but still excellent for someone of his age."

Fragments of dreams I never had

Diving in the pool to
never touch the bottom,
wheels blurring as legs,
discarded training wheels rusting
somewhere down below.

A note refusing to expand into a song.
Silence. Silence, but for popcorn
being chewed once & yet again,
leaving nothing of ourselves behind.

A mirror thrown away for reflecting
only what was real.
A star pulled down from the sky
granting no wishes
only
begging to be spared:
it was eaten anyway.

Fireflies turning colours
only seem when hands
press into eyes, pleasure
for the blind.

In the end there is only flesh.

Going To The Bar

Pretending to have a life,
the 10 o'clock rush to leave gone;
getting plastered with complete strangers,
making friends with paychceques
as the loneliness of the stranger,
drunken, siddles up to mine, offering
a spot of relief and dash of forgetting,
saying that the throwing up in the morning
will just be nature's way of telling me
that I should never get someone pregnant.
I just buy it a drink instead and watch
from the place outside the drinking that
it never seems to reach, and my wallet
coughs up some more money with a sigh.

The Oracle at Dachau

The room was not the black hole
of Calcutta, but small enough
for all of that.
Large showers roomy for the living,
filled with ghosts of the dead.
The oracle did not need herbs,
nor chants, nor ritual words.
To those who came clear-eyed
only a sad smiled as shared;
to those who asked, the seer spoke
-- gas as transcendental smoke --
one prediction. Death.
And a slow, mounting sadness at God
and man, who made the predictions
far too easy but still sent an oracle
for all of that.

S-L 9

Bruises visible for months,
Dark wounds visible
Brighter than the famous red spot.
Two years of waiting and it falls,
Pieces of debris, less than a month of data,
And not enough water seen;
Even Shoemaker-Levy didn't go deep enough.

Reading about results is surreal,
Disturbing; destruction on a grand scale.
Satellites moving to take pictures,
Feeding wonder. But, ah - did any of them
Think to send a warning to Jupiter?
To tell people, if any were that, that the sky
Was going to fall, the comet collide?
Only the silence seems deafening.

The delight in destruction seems
A terrible kind of art. I wonder if silence
Will prove our undoing. a judgement
Cold and pitiless, for what we never did
And never once thought to do.
All true regret is for things undone.

Memory

The beauty of age
Lies in time, the creation
Of good old days lies in
Forgetting the pain.

And 'tis better by far
To forget and to laugh
Than it is to remember
And regret and to cry.

Just A Poem, You know?

There's nothing wrong with being dead
We're all dead in side so it's okay
We didn't land on the moon, go where we're led
And sometimes there's nothing to say
But we have too may words to say it with
That we can't find a single one of worth.

On Definitions of Entropy

Increasing disorder is
a child with a crayon,
But the scrawl is not
mixed-up-ness, but art.

Poem

Space serenades silence,
songs suffusing slipstreams;
sensation soaring steadily,
so sincere syncretic success:
sublime, strident - seeking
still supplications swath
shall sinecure, silent.

Rumination

To pay attention to that which can't be seen
Is a trifling matter -- to see what is really there,
Shorn of myths we invent and ways we deceive
Ourselves -- and others -- is the hardest thing.
It is easier to pay attention to what is not real,
But what is real is all that truly matters, even if
The unreal things are stronger and last longer.