After reading the many wonderful reviews on "Fury" (Nov 2002 - FanStory.com), I felt an obligation to provide an in depth look into the characteristics of the work. It's not customary for writers to rationalize their use of words or phrases, but the narrative of this work may also be as powerful as the composition itself.

So often writers will hear or see something that stimulates their creative senses. In an effort to capture the emotion, they will apply their poetic savvy to create the lyrics we read today.

With the many genres used in poetry, a reader, depending on their taste, may find one particular work more obscured than another. The idiom used by the writer has a profound affect on the reader as well as the message that's being delivered.

In the case of "Fury", certain words and phrases were selected with a precise connotation which provides support to the overall message. In fact, some writers in an attempt to stir the reader's emotions, will make use of explicit words that would otherwise be considered inappropriate.

Far too many poems have been lost because writers second-guessed their own judgement. Replacing passion with proverb, imagery with political correctness, their intent is shadowed by their fear of rejection and ridicule. It's a sacrifice worthy of silence rather than false expression. Without these true emotions our message is reduced to mere words of gross impropriety.

But as always, art is all perception. What some may see as random lines embodied by colors, others may see the sun kissing the morning sky as it peeks over the horizon.

Published: 21-Nov-2002

Bold: I stand before you, exposing my soul.

Humble: I surrender my thoughts.

Patient: I await your piercing daggers, to shed light upon my faults.

Inviting: I welcome your words of wisdom; with knowledge I hope to gain.

Forever: I ask that none forget, but remember the death of my pain.

Published: 22-Nov-2002

Art is all perception,
regardless of design.

The way in which light hits it,
plays illusions on the mind.

Some may see its colors,
others see its lines.

I will see its beauty,
regardless of design.

Published: 23-Nov-2002

Damn you Rage,

Let me sleep,

My mind can take no more.

I want to cry,

I want to die,

You want my blood you Whore!

Take your share,

Be gone for now,

I yearn for silent peace.

I've lost my fight,

No hope in sight,

Return when I have strength.

***

I will not go away,

This curse I share with you.

My thirst is strong,

Your hatred I long,

And passion will see me through.

You need this more than I,

Embrace it I will die.

But hunt I will,

Track down my kill,

And feed this hunger you shy.

***

Damn you Rage,

I curse your name,

What more must I concede?

You have my soul,

I've paid your toll,

Just leave and let me be.

For time has past,

My pain is dead,

Your use is now in vain.

Damn you Rage,

To hell with you,

I'll end this my own way.

Published: 04-Dec-2002

One -
Two word
Poem or three.
Four would be better,
But five just isn't me.
Some use six for keeping score.
Seven has been known to be explored.
Eight just might make it or possibly break,
The poem if it's written, nine words or more.

Nine words or more is the challenge at hand.
Eight just might do it unless there's demand.
Seven can't show, the rhythm will flow,
But six very well, if planned.
When five has been done,
Then four cannot run,
With three or
Two just
One.

Published: 28-Oct-2004

She isn’t perfect, no.
Nor does she possess an outer beauty that is envied by others.
Soft? Not like most.
She’s anything but silk.
She lacks grace and confidence.
Even cold at times.
Not the type of cold from an artic wind.
Cold as in what emptiness would feel like.

She’s demanding.
Never can admit when she’s wrong.
Always to have the last word, giving little room for error.
She doesn’t care much for romance.
Wine is to drink, not to be savored.
Candles are only used when needed.
She isn’t perfect, no.

So why her?
Why be with someone who’s short of tenderness?
Who turns away from a public kiss?
Denies you the right for comfort and companionship?

Why?

Because she picked me.
With all my faults and shortcomings, she choose me over all the rest.

Perfect? I’m anything but perfect.

Published: 28-Oct-2004

Death comes for me without restraint.
Like a mounted warrior in black satin paint.
Driven by fear and hands covered in blood,
I fall to my knees in search from above.

Dear God, I pray, my life is but short.
Give me this day of stay from your court.
My ways will change, my story will tell,
You gave me your mercy in exchange for my hell.

I’ll give to the poor and pray every day,
Surrender my wealth and your word I’ll obey.
Protect me from death and my soul I will give.
A walk without sin is the life I will live.

The winds from the west collide with the east.
The oceans erupt in a salt covered beast.
The sounds of the earth rumble deep from within,
As the blade of his sword meets the life of my sin.

Once upon a time I use to submit my poetry to a website that allowed poets and writers to come together and read, critic and share their work.  I was constantly critisized for my lack of structure and punctuation but would argue that my writing style was part of the overall experience when reading my work.

Rejecting the arguement, many of my peers would ask me to re-write the work to fit their standards before they would rate it.  So I decided to give them a new piece to review and rate.  It would demand they step outside the "standard" and review the work from a new perspective.

Needless to say, I was given 5 out of 5 stars from everyone and was accepted as an exciting and unique new poet.

Published: 20-Nov-2002

you ask for original, i invent new wordz.

a comma here, capitalize This There.

it's up surd!

my style is this, hit it or miss,

but you have to understand;

if i drag on a line contradicting the rhyme absorbing your time it's only because i'm...

a complicated man.

flip flop'n chop shop'n words on the fly.

sympathizing empathizing de-emphasizing "I".

it's humbleness.

the writer's unique.

third person verses mixed when first person speaks.

imagery?

tell me what you want.

me standing here just about to punt...

your ass!

imagine that!

that's as clear as it gets just in case you asked.

does it flow?

HELL NO!

maybe it was written 'cause the writer didn't want it so.

(that's flow)

so there you go.

my style is this.

just to let you know.

Published: 04-Dec-2002

A song of death the winter sings
The words of life the summer brings
A smile of peace in autumn's dawn
A mid-spring storm just aft the calm.

A newborn child will give us hope
With end of life we learn to cope
In all that's new we love and hold
And turn away from things of old.

Journeys of life we've yet to take
Questions we have and answers to make
Passions for love with their truth in verse
Those we don't praise are those we curse.

Live for the now for tomorrow's not set
What we pass for another we may not get
When the time has come for the darken spell
The life we have lived is the story they'll tell.