Tag: atmosphere
Posted on March 8, 2020
by Alex V. Weir
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Death is my Religion Death is my sacred Mother Death is the vehicle by which my soul traverses the heavens She is no macabre fancy But a perfumed blossom When I was a boy I dreamed of a rotting woman in an upper room…
Category: Alex Weir, poems, The Fractal Journal, UncategorizedTags: atmosphere, Attitude, Death, Eternity, Lyrical, Poetic Notions, Rebirth, Reccurence, Religion, Renewal, Sentiment
Posted on February 29, 2020
by Alex V. Weir
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If you help somebody It’s an accident Cause the world is bloody Never learn from precedent It pulses and beats In hollers and heats Life flows down streets Aorta greets Whatever passes ‘long Takes it through Circulation washes right or wrong You were there…
Posted on February 15, 2020
by Alex V. Weir
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Wasted days and golden rays of sunshine When will I rise and tow the drowning line Long blonde hair Wicker chair And Summer wine This malaise The milieu It won’t be fine Wasted days and golden rays of sunshine Dew…
Category: Alex Weir, poems, The Fractal Journal, UncategorizedTags: Acoustic Guitar, atmosphere, Guitar, lyrics, Mood, Original Lyrics, Original Music, poems, Schmaltz, Song, Vocals
Posted on December 28, 2019
by Alex V. Weir
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“There’s nothing out there,” I said stepping across decript floorboards. They creaked in protest. “Ok,” I responded. “I guess there’s some wheat in the field. Though it’s wilted.” The wind shuffled the flies on the brick windowsill. “What? You thought they were paper airplanes?”…
Posted on December 24, 2019
by Alex V. Weir
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There amongst the stones he lay again. And again he had no thought. And again he found it good. But now there was no fear. There was no apprehension. For he had reckoned the symmetries. The propitiations had been made. The ginseng laid. The…
Posted on November 13, 2019
by Alex V. Weir
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Notre Dame, Big Ben, the Sistene chapel. These are known marvels. But what of those that crumbled into dust? Centuries of soil at times wild with trees at times green with pasture shroud their memory. Alternating patchworks of increase and decline are the lily’s…
Posted on September 30, 2019
by Alex V. Weir
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The cottage seemed even emptier than before. Luckadoo’s party had pressing matters across the pond. They did not tarry long. It was annoying. Everything was always open ended. Just left there laying vague and cryptic. It felt like trying to get a direct answer…
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