ladroars poems and art

By lionladroar - About Me - E-mail this page - Add to My Favorites - Add to Blog List - See other blogs in Poetry

Saturday, September 16, 2006

Familiarity breeds contempt

‘’As we walk tongue in tongue down life’s salivary slippery wet road together, I wish we would not practice the fine art of skinning our partners with insults only fit for Kings and Queens! Or maybe lets say Iddy Amin. Or there again Hitler, as well, as. What’s his name? That’s it Satan! Please kindly not me. ‘’ Rust Orange stain Your work Has been done Oh rasping tongues As I lay Next to you Under the sun Do you remember How I gleamed And shone, how You would look At me, with eyes Wanting me To... Sign in to see full entry.

Friday, September 15, 2006

Strugle between love-lust, the fire of love warm, spark of lust, dowsed

Waves must Lust The struggle between love and lust, true loves warm forever glowing cared for fire, and the spark of lust that rages with fury for one moment but then is usually stamped out by the insensible, inflammable-arsonist. Passion sprinkled lust Drip your sweat From Forehead to chest Pull and rip Loyalty From that dungeon Within me To a place Without me And fall into the Hole Become me Slice trust from me See me through your Tongue Scream and shout From my eyes Suffocate me Surround me... Sign in to see full entry.

Wednesday, September 13, 2006

Lost Innocents and lies, falling backwards through minds time

SURRENDER I slip slide, backwards through my mind's time Head over the hills To a place called Long Time Ago A street named Regret, where gray misty bad deeds Walk naked, with their hands in no pockets I ask one for a light, memory clear bright! My mother scolding me, for stealing her lover's wallet Rings that stung. Pain in the back of that hand I fall against a trash-can, full to the brim with shame Metallic sound of blame! Echoing down my sidewalk Skeletons awake, jump at me, from shop... Sign in to see full entry.

Tuesday, September 12, 2006

Why did I keep going back for more ? It was, as if I actualy enjoyed. Hurt!

East Wind New Yorker conversation, someone -- I can't recall whether it was Mr. Morris or Mr. Singer -- called crocodile tears, deliberately or inadvertently, "alligator tears." I like the notion of "alligator tears." In this film, McNamara reinvents crocodile tears, you might say; he transcends the more obvious crocodile tears and gives us -- alligator tears. Alligator tears aren't insincere, not in the same way crocodile tears folkloric are. I'd define alligator tears as tears of equanimity,... Sign in to see full entry.

Monday, September 11, 2006

Mystical Cave Painters

I've often wondered why. The cave artists of acient times never signed their names along with their beautiful works of art? Some tell me there was no written word in them times? Then why not some form of mark? Well if they can paint, why not.There again perhaps they had no need, for they were one with the tribe and it may never of crossed their minds in thinking themselves better then the rest. Recording a seen from a particular hunt, of great deed of bravery of one individual. Then hanging it... Sign in to see full entry.

Sunday, September 10, 2006

Rolling along singing songs of time and rhyme

A man can not become a rolling stone But A man can, become.... Rolling and stoned Michael James Burkett. The stone in the road Fell loose from it’s groove, a worn out pair of farmer’s shoes Rolled to a place with no shade, The suns heat Welcome warmth, after two thousand years of Cow dung and clay The stone in the road Had no mother or father, thrown out by a fiery Volcano and its lava Through black, green and white veins, Copper blood flowed hot, Witnessing Beasts rip flesh from bones, The... Sign in to see full entry.

Saturday, September 9, 2006

Portobello Road Market

Peace In Friendship Market's embrace, wares becoming a haggling success, the shake of brother man's hand! A Bombay mix of silk saris Headscarf’s with wide dark eyes Beautifully worn in an Arabian way Romanian gypsies their children at play Dancing to their father's violins They sound just like Yehudi Menuhin Mothers arranging and colouring their stalls Magically transforming their wares Into An eye level catching Firework display No loud bangs though On this Saturday Just the hustle and bustle... Sign in to see full entry.

Friday, September 8, 2006

Dreams of first love. . .

Colleen I love the way you roll your head When you raise gently In early morning From our reluctant bed The eiderdown slides To reveal soft freckles On pure white skin A canvas poppy splash Bright and slim Like a phoenix from the fire You rekindle my desires Green eyes neither say yes or no Until I reach for you Then lips whisper I have to let you go There is no smoke Without lust,we giggle As you dress Then you kiss me Tell me To be at my best I count your foot steps on the stairs Till the... Sign in to see full entry.

Thursday, September 7, 2006

Pollution

Ming Mong I am Ming Mong King Of the land named, Brockendoorbell My subjects Stand before me Hey liege they shout The Sun It's gone out Please Stop burning our forests And Polluting them streams Our sages talk Of Frightening dreams My liege Ming Mong What could this mean? I try to look regal Aloof like the Preening bird That hides, under it's wings Now come, things are not as bad As they seem Maybe no Salmon But Trout still run up Our streams Who needs the day We all have the Night Lets not... Sign in to see full entry.

Monday, September 4, 2006

Propaganda and Spin

Spining their lies and propagandizing their needs and wants, into righteousness. Dragging the good names of the Creator into battle with the poor souls they have blinded with their untruths, weather east or west, north or south. Their own quests for power, spew from their mouths. In the name of Allah shout some, in the name of Jesus scream others, all spining go kill your sisters and brothers. Yahweh is our way alone some walk and talk, sitting on their middle east throne. I ' m Great Like Alex... Sign in to see full entry.

About this Blog

Ladroar just loves a minute by minute take on life, it's ups and downs and round and rounds. Finding myself honest and caring, then in the next moment. Daring the change, my mind begins its games and I must pick up pen or brush, or I might loose my fleeting expression. My brain's rush of thoughts; with my heart I judge each colourful image, that is brought to my attention by my old friend Imagination. I hope you enjoy the work we intend sharing with you all, good luck ! Michael

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