Time says summer comes so soon –
a dream that fills this slumber.
Loki laughs, but not in June
when solstice has his number.
Frigga told me, knife in hand,
a kiss is worth a thousand prayers.
I did not truly understand
love’s nothing but a pair of dares
A dox upon a houseless home,
a thunder God with out hammer,
a paradox of drunken gnome
no lilt of lovely stammer
Sun arise, moon endure,
winter pass, trees regreen
– such promise time will ensure
sleep will pass with winter scene.
The winds sing “Baldur, Baldur – Nanna burns”
the thunder calls the stars.
She knows Ragnarok but never learns
another summer is not far.
Time is just the desperate inkling of
snow and ice and faith and hope and love

12/23/2010

He is, you say, you say he is
and I see hard black coal teeth
biting the rage of hearth-embraced fire.

A fuel, a heat, a statement of need.
He is, I tell you, but you say,
No, no. The earth rent, he is revealed.

A casino of black smoke bets on the breeze.
I ask, Is he, is he? You think he is
Bethlehem.

A void phlegm hangs on a cough
thin compensation for every last breath – so
double down and let it ride.

He is not my concern, he is the sugar coat
the teacher of value as he bites,
as he is consumed.

As the turbine turns
the electricity between us
becomes us.

I profess a candle, I profess again
to your charming silence. Questions build
like a Tower of Babel. I understand

less and less. I imagine only daisies
growing in that fast coal-less hole.

When it rains, when the cash is collected,
when the grit of that long grift grows
into a deep icy pool.

He is you say, you say he is. That romantic
and you dance, kissless
and wanting to watch him burn
for you.

We’ve decided that the door to #432 will be stained, not painted. That was an easy one. The woodgrain is really nice and I can’t see ruining it with paint. I am leaning toward a walnut sort of stain.

It’s not that it’s a big decision, but sometimes it’s good to just make one decision so the rest can follow. Now we’re still trying to figure out the problem of the floor, but the color scheme of the studio, i think we’ve got down.

I’m actually excited about it. I’ll be changing the colors and designs here to match. I think I also need to make an “Anstey Studio’s” Logo.

Weeee

Now that I’ve leased the studio, I have to figure out a few things. The colors – that wasn’t too difficult – everyone knows I love any color as long as it’s green. The problem is the floor. It’s a nasty, grease stained wood and it needs SOMETHING.

My inclination at first was to Killz it then paint it with some sort of enamel type paint. But then, I got to thinking. I like the nasty look. I think I’m going to polyshade it, then polyurethane it.

Decisions, decisions.

1. the moon transforms
every shade of skin to gray
the stars twist westward

2. the second hand waits
for an instant, spring is here
then summer draws near

3.i hear a sad gull
wishing for bread or something
more– for you I think

4. photos of some you
I never really met
strewn across the floor

5. sweet red lipstick print
on the far side of the glass
the chardonnay — gone

Today Ellen & Stephan started their new studio at Western Avenue Studios in Lowell, MA. Stephan will be teaching poetry, offering web hosting and design, and selling poetry and art.

Drop me an email for more information.

Stay tuned for more details!

The gulls speak of wind;
blue crabs dance to endless waves;
we are one – the sea
and me. The old albatross
rising to the sun
speaks of perfect solitude.
My feet, they realize
that this sand is half the truth.
In the harbor, Friendship,
she waits for me to board her.
A bell plays on gray
cold water, and I sail off
to fathom the other half.