MYSELF

Myself ...

Here I am sad

as sad will be

Myself has left sadness

dark and very lonely

Myself has no laughter

no smiles

Myself... all that I see is a very empty world

Myself has no love or freedom

I wish I could just die in peace

By

Yvonne Murray

Tuesday, February 12, 2008

A Stars Death in the Sky (A Dirge)

by Mark Sigsworth

Do you see it up there in the sky

Brightly shaping lights of thine

See it brightly bleeding

Will it die up there in the sky

It watches us from above

Sees us die ourselves from our own design

Floating on what we call land and sea

Breathing in deaths breath from our dying time

When will its lives blood not reach us

That star in the sky

Sight beyond sight

Gripping itself tight

The energy from it

Slowly fading away

We feed on its death

Light feeding us from its death

All the while its feeding on us

Too late for it for it is dead

Now we watch as it fades from our eyes

Creating new life from our lies

New birth new light

Life starts from the beginning

Inverted death oh so sweet

We give our life oh what a treat

Life is over from death above

Leaks from life bleeding onto us

Life done, now death done

Light retreat death obsolete

Retreat retreat

A Night at the Night Cafe

By Eric Rawlinson













The lights are dim, as is the mood, thinks Sarah, stirring her drink lazily with a finger, trying to fight the boredom that threatens once again to take her. She found herself in some backwater café for the third week in a row with nothing to do except look at the other occupants of the room. She does not jump this time when her companion, the cloaked and hooded figure beside her, cracks a bunch of the peanuts in his hand and drops the fragments to the table.

“Must you keep doing this?” Sarah protests, raising the drink to her mouth. Taking a whiff, she places it back down again without taking a drop.

His companion sifts through the cracked pieces, searching for the small red-lined nut. “I’m hungry and they still haven’t brought our food, therefore peanuts.” He pops one into his mouth.

“No,” Sarah grumbled, “I mean why do you keep doing this? Why do you come week after week to this place just to crumble peanuts, eat questionable food and drink a tiny shot of whiskey. Surely there are more livelier places.”

He tosses yet another nut up into the air and catches it in his mouth. He spies Sarah out of the corner of his eye. “Of course there are more lively places then this. But I like this place the best.”

“But, why?”

“You ask that question a lot you know,” Her friend smirks, but with a hint of annoyance in his voice, “This is the best place to observe.”

Sarah looks confused as the youth performs the stunt of tossing and catching again. “Observe what?”

The youth smiles, “Them.” He motions with his hands to indicate the far side of the room and the occupants of the rest of the café.

Sarah shook her head, “They’re not doing anything.”

“Of course they're not doing anything. But they’re still doing something by being here.” He continues, knowing that Sarah will only insist he should, “Take that man by the pool table in a white shirt. Of course it is the uniform of an employee. But notice how he looks at the pool table. He longs to join us, but more importantly, he wants us to join him in a game of pool, to enjoy the evening. But he knows that people come here to avoid one another, while at the same time, trying not to be alone.

“Such as those guys by the window. They have worked long and hard all day at jobs they do not like to support families they barely know. Lifeless and loveless they mingle here. Or the man asleep at his table. He’s here because he has no where else to go. And then there is the man in the corner with the girl. Little does she know, she’s just one of many girls that have been on his arm in the past week. And he is a special case himself. A true visionary of the light places, before slowly moving to the darkness. He’s a tortured artist who works for his art, and for his love. And he finds his muse in his darkness. And his heart.”

Sarah nods, understanding, “If I didn’t know better, I’d say that was…”

The figure nods, “It is. Now you know why I come here all the time. I wanted to see him. And to imagine, what it is like to be here.”

Sarah smiles appreciatively, “Why don’t you go up and talk to him?” She asks, “Ask him about his life. Ask him about how he feels.”

The figure sighs and shakes his head. “I cannot. Because the computer is not programmed to do that.”

Dining Room

When I was young my favorite room was the dining room. As you come in from the kitchen the first thing you see was a wall with two lights on it. Right in front there was a hut, with cups, glasses and plates inside. From the kitchen on the left side there was a large window and door which led to the front door. On the right side you come to a hallway which lead to the living room. As you go further in there another wall with a table in front. In the center there was a dining room table. When I was a young this room was used for many things like, besides eating there, we did homework, plaid card and born game. When we had family meeting it was do in this room. When I was growing up, this room was the most used room in the home.

by Ramsey

My Story of Vincent Van Gogh

This is one of Vincent's portrait painting of himself that he painted himself.

When Vincent was still alive he only sold one of his paintings for 10 dollars or 20 dollars and the one who bought it was his brother Theo. This is two of his quotes that he said.

"It is not the language of painters but the language of nature which one should listen to.... The feeling for the things themselves, for reality, is more important than the feeling for pictures."

"I can't work without a model. I won't say I turn my back on nature ruthlessly in order to turn a study into a picture, arranging the colors, enlarging and simplifying; but in the matter of form I am too afraid of departing from the possible and the true."

Here is a letter that Vincent wrote to Theo when he was only 19 years old in 1872.

The Hague, August 1872.

Dear Theo,

Many thanks for your letter, I was glad to hear you arrived home safely. I missed you the first few days and it felt strange not to find you there when I came home in the afternoons.

We have had some enjoyable days together, and managed to take a few walks and see one or two sights between the spots of rain.

What dreadful weather! You must have sweltered from the heat on your walks to Oisterwijk. There was harness racing yesterday for the Exhibition; but the illuminations and the fireworks were put off because of the bad weather, so it's just as well you didn't stay on to see them. Regards from the Haanebeek and Roos families.

Always your loving Vincent.

His influences that Vincent van Gogh has with was Paul Gauguin. He and Paul Gauguin met in Paris in year 1887 in the month of November. Vincent was born in 1853 and His death was in the year of 1890.

by Jennifer

A Man Who Was Liked By Others

Once upon a time there was a man who worked very hard. I know that he worked hard because he is wearing average clothes and he is beginning to wrinkle. He was a man who was liked by others. He was not married and had one child. His wife has passed away and he vowed never to marry again.

by Mary

Click on the picture to see more about the artist Vincent Van Gogh.

The World and the Fox

"People say we are scary but to tell you the truth we're not much different from people. The only reason why we only come out at night is because sunlight hurts our eyes. We have poor eyesight as it is that's why we make our noise so we have an idea of what's up ahead," the fox remarked.

"We may look different. We have small bodies but big wings. Our wings help us catch our prey faster. We don't mean to scare you humans. It just happens that way. If you see us flying around leave fruit in a tree somewhere. We will be able to find it I promise".

"Thank you and good day!"

By Pete Essery

Click on the picture to see more about the artist Vincent Van Gogh.