Cherry’s Big Dream
Cheryl “Cherry” Baker stepped onto the set of the reality show Big Brother. Cherry had accomplished her dreams. All her efforts on Instagram, Twitter, and Tiktok posting three or more stories per day, saying empty, outrageous things, soliciting a follow each time she’d met someone, posting dance or challenge videos…
“The End” song analysis
How this song, side-by-side with “Light My Fire” and “Break on Through” helped the unforgettable album, The Doors, skyrocket to eternity By Soft Tower Image URL: https://www.billboard.com/articles/columns/rock/8092702/doors-jim-morrison-john-densmore-los-angeles-street-signs-reunited “The End” by the Doors was released as the final song of the album The Doors in 1967. It runs almost to 12 minutes, featuring ominous…
Plip, plop Plip, plop Impact, disperse Miles of travel muffled, humble ‘plops’ Into the dirt, submerge The journey never stops. Plip, plop Plip, plop Slip, slide Loosening soils, awaken Difficult to hide With heartstrings shaken. Plip,plop Plip,plop Splash, rise Vibration carries short Reverberate cries In immediate retort. Plip, plop Plip, plop Never a pause Always motion No matter the cause Always motion.
Bronze Age Nostalgia
Here’s to a copper-colored moon! Shifting quietly to the tune Of bronze past, broken cocoon Rusting turquoise, features cartoon. A stare expedites departure. Stay, please stay! You say, On the horizon it lays, And your heart she punctures. Phasing, phishing emotion The copper-colored moon bloats at the notion, And continues its journey below the ocean.
Release of a Crying Red Moon
From looking at brick walls and alleys, To coasting in a yellow bus out the valley. Grouty, weathering grey streets, Red rooves reflecting a recent burn, In stifling quiet with heads in a churn, To smoking green under palm trees. Blue covers on, off we sailed, To foam and pebbled rocks we trailed. Together we pulled one another on, To burning sand, an ocean glide, salt pond. Together a crying red moon we saw in front, To rocks’ sharp seat, a clear, groovy beyond, We huddled to watch,
Steel ‘scrapers swing slowly, Heavy wind shaking their weight. Citizens watch through windows’ distorting gape, And lose care seeing the others also blowing. Full moon’s hangover reminds of repetition, Routine, regret, a rewinding tape. While they burn for nights in the cape, Irrelevance traps them in human condition. Recurring sway snaps structure. The soft towers fold first, They know, gravity quenching thirst, And watch pressure puncture posture.
The Answer is Blowing in the Wind
Though I have not lived a full life, And I have yet to accrue the proper strife, The space between electric emotional events Grows, widens, requires increasing patience. Ambition can’t wait, but creative output blows Like a falling leaf riding Kansas winds, October snows, Where the crisp rushing gusts continue leaf’s journey, Unsettled, revived by the brisk yearning…
(Two more minutes)
Gently float along, mariner sways with his ship. Passing days, gliding waves, horizon always there. She scoots along, a steady locomotion, pump of the rudder, ready propeller, heat seeking sweaty… WHO ARE YOU? WHERE AM I? WHY CAN’T I BREATHE? Groping for air like a fish flop, sit atop and fall, falling for fiery darkness instills a fairy tale fear. Cold! Shivering concoction of frigidity! A bowl! A bowl! Stars dancing around my corpse, I’m dying, I’m dying? I’M DYING! Do I fight? I’m tired… NO! You’re not today, not in front of them…