Welcome

-This is my page where I intend to share my thoughts and ideas. Some of what I post is like the paintings of René Magritte (there is no meaning intended in them). Some things I post will hopefully spark a thought in you that will lead to something good. I have stories, essays, poems, et cetera. I hope you enjoy what I've written.
-More important than that though, is what you think. Please, I encourage you to share your thoughts. Leave comments after each post to tell what's going on in your head. (click on the word "comments" below the post to do this) Don't worry too much about making sense or sounding sane, just share whatever thoughts are passing through your brain. You can go ahead and be completely random if you like. You don't even have to agree with everything you say. This is a place where your thoughts are welcome.
-You can also read comments that others have left, and leave comments that relate to those comments. Have a discussion. When you leave a comment, make sure the "e-mail follow up comments to..." box is checked so that you'll be updated if anyone else has a comment regarding the thoughts you share.
---S.Z.Q.Salway

Looking Glass Eyes's Facebook Wall

A glass box. A painted artpiece.

A glass box. A painted artpiece.
Set where passerbys see.
They come, admire, might stop.
They pass their various ways.
A boy stopped. Reached out.
Touched.
He scratched the painted glass box.
"Stop that!" cried the officer
seeing through aviators.
Scratch.
"Stop!" running comes
Scratch,scratch,claw, something?
Baton drawn, swing, beat, bloody.
Dragged the boy away from, "Do not touch."
Crumpled boy. Blood from an empty heart.
Something inside me. A jigsaw heart.
One piece, incomplete, empty heart.
A glass box. A painted artpiece.
The boy returned,
Returns pounding,
His fists to the glass, crack,
knuckle shards dripping crimson.
A hole. Sanguine hands.
"Stop that!" cried the officer.
Widen the opening. Sanguine to the elbows.
"Stop that!" running towards.
Grab edge, stinging palm, pull to the ground.
Opening the glass box. There inside!
Baton drawn, thwap!
Boy on the pavement, dripping hands reaching,
reaching to the exposedundershards
thwap!
But it was there...
thwap!
A jigsaw cut gem.
A surpasser of painted shell.
thw- grab the aviators, painted blindness.
Nails scratching the officer's face.
A yell of curses, wincing, then...
opening his eyes... he saw it to.
Everyone had stopped, for,
A jigsaw cut gem.

7 comments:

  1. Very good writing. Is that haicu? Very graphic in its portrail of struggle and pain. Not sure if I liked the immage it conjured but very well written.
    Are you saying that value is artificial or that great value is in anything we see as valuable?

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  2. Though the surface may be valuable, greater value is inside. Everyone is carrying a piece of the jigsaw puzzle, wrapped up and hidden in their own hearts. A jigsaw cut gem is worth fighting for.

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  3. I thought the boys heart would be in the painted glass box. In a way it was. Very powerful use of words and imagery.

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  4. I was thinking along the same lines as Ryan. It is worth fighting for.

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  5. This basically is about the same thing as "As Far as the Eye can See" (August 2009.) I'm thinking about writing an explanation for that one maybe, after I've read some more of y'all's interpretations (So go, comment, let me know how you interpreted it so I can post the explanation).
    And while I'm on the topic, thank you everyone for your thoughtful comments, not just on this post, but on all.

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