for Synopsis in Spoken Rhythm3/23/2005 c1 
2brightflash2
Whoa - *snaps* feels like i'm in a coffeehouse (that's a good thing). Very cool poem - i really liked that one. At first i didn't get the Pumpkins (of course, if i actually read the whole darn thing before wondering i would've figured it out a few words sooner). But once i kept reading, i got it,and really liked it. Towards the end, when you wrote "But nothing's happening - nothings changing - the CD perhaps - or my keyboard - but nothing truly notable " It was a great idea to tie the CD back into the poem and use it to explain life (and another great thing was the poems stark truth.)
Awesome... *snaps, snaps*. Keep 'em coming.K
2brightflash2Whoa - *snaps* feels like i'm in a coffeehouse (that's a good thing). Very cool poem - i really liked that one. At first i didn't get the Pumpkins (of course, if i actually read the whole darn thing before wondering i would've figured it out a few words sooner). But once i kept reading, i got it,and really liked it. Towards the end, when you wrote "But nothing's happening - nothings changing - the CD perhaps - or my keyboard - but nothing truly notable " It was a great idea to tie the CD back into the poem and use it to explain life (and another great thing was the poems stark truth.)
Awesome... *snaps, snaps*. Keep 'em coming.K
3/13/2005 c1 243Manuel Fajar
a sketch,—she paints with an easel of moments,
snippets garnered from a quilt colored daily,
imbedded in mundane,—concrete foundations,
settling into loamy memories shifting,
for the artist has been smoking cigarettes,
with a filter and a mint flavor that lingers,
but the thinking that the nicotine provokes,
leaves a residue of time disturbing,
arising bitter smoke disfiguring gray,
sketching images unrecognizable.
(p.s. i liked your poem)
243Manuel Fajara sketch,—she paints with an easel of moments,
snippets garnered from a quilt colored daily,
imbedded in mundane,—concrete foundations,
settling into loamy memories shifting,
for the artist has been smoking cigarettes,
with a filter and a mint flavor that lingers,
but the thinking that the nicotine provokes,
leaves a residue of time disturbing,
arising bitter smoke disfiguring gray,
sketching images unrecognizable.
(p.s. i liked your poem)