http://slow.writerscafe.org/guyman715 The original writings of author Samuel Ferris en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1776031781 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 I am more than window. More than a thin transparent sheetof glass finally showing signs of liquidity after years stillness,years of allowing light to pass through me,un-impeded, unbent and unaffected.I am less than a word,with less power to bend the minds and thoughtsof those who shar.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/guyman715/551694/ The incendiary word hoversabove the tongues of all self proclaimed receivers; all who have thought that they had seen a ghostor spoken with the dead,all who have sought totranscribed the voice of godor to incite riots with a whisper violently through the circuitsand minds of thos.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/guyman715/550637/ http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/guyman715/550632/ The hot up-flow rising againstthe cool column of airstarts to spin;there are those whowould chase youpassed death and oninto the funneling eye,and when you closeswirling your lids shutto the heavens,they will fall back on themselveslike air clapping backbefore the soundof thunder. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/guyman715/550418/ If i am realthen your slender fingerswill stop at my skin.I will feel the pulse of your thumbsand the warmth of your palmspressed against my owntired hands.I try my luck again and again.Again and again i passright through you. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/guyman715/550412/ The young boywas taken and tossedinto the trash of the alley.The mother sank to her kneesat the news of her new founduselessness.The god said:let there be evil.The murderer of the young childcursed the god and condemned his own design through the barsof his new home.The rat and the roachgo.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/guyman715/550345/ The boy turned on the lamp.The lamp turned on the boy.The boy turned the lamp on.The lamp turned the boy on. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/guyman715/550329/ Breath slowly,we have come up on it.It has been a long and difficult road but we have finally arrivedat the equatorial linewhere all that is left on the slate of manis to unlearn the path of existenceand sink back like a wave cancelling equallyall the forces of it self.God rests above the horiz.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/guyman715/548477/ The lot lit up in orange lightwas overgrown with the little thingspeople left behind: papers,cigarettes, coffee cups,piles of dead leaves and perennial pedals, were left sputtering, battling it outwith the wind and the concrete.I gathered the image of intricate playas i pushed the col.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/guyman715/547828/ I try to have one thought a day worth saving.This was todays. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/guyman715/547379/ The blood thickens and curdles like old milk left out in a dark, damp room;forgotten, sealed, and putrefying, it is consumedwith out witness.The assailant takes hold when no one is watching, or listening;when the mind wanders throughits endless cathedral of thoughtsand desires.It is f.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/guyman715/546554/ Incandescent spread,flowering gelatinous in the deep flowing icy-blackarterioles of the arctic current.Life flowering Blue sparks captured in a lens;blurry, blue, electric light encircling, encompassingall deep spaces.I have lived many hours and many images,       .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/guyman715/539210/ In the golden grasses of Africashe stalks the heard, waitingfor the young calve of a wildebeestto stray away from her mother.The Lion mid leaptakes no pity on the preyand Death on the last breath of the lungswill suffer no excuses. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/guyman715/537777/ As a gift i gavethe sky a mirror,and in return she gave me back my reflection.I have stared long into the surfacesof things, and see nowmy image repeatedbetween a puddle and the skyoff into infinitesimal space. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/guyman715/534322/ The fire flung up cinderssparkling into the branchesof the Black walnut tree.The smoke and heat displacedthe cool air of the night until we couldfeel it only at our backs.The circle of us was light with laughterin the circle around the flames;beneath the black walnut tree,and the shaking of the leav.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/guyman715/534305/ It has occurred to me that the broadness of my subject matter makes it unclear as to what my true focus really is. What does it mean to have your focus be multidisciplinary thinking? The truth is it is founded on an idea i got from watching Leonard Bernstein's 6 harvard lectures entitled "The Unans.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/guyman715/532663/ In these essays i hope to lay a framework for further development and thought that may extend to the end of my life. I hope for it to be useful as a guide into the realm of multidisciplinary thinking of which i am most fond of. The disciplines i hope to include are as follows:Music theorys.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/guyman715/532434/ a personal philosophy as well as a guide into the connections between music the mind and the universe. It is not a scientific discourse though i hope to aptly apply a little science. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/guyman715/532426/ Black ripplesflower out from the centerof a splash.Life is the stone and deaththe wave propagating out,kicking up black mud and slimefrom the bottom of the murky pond.Who could tell that wateris transparent?Who ever sees past the darkripples of their reflection? http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/guyman715/532044/ A crow peckedthe sunken socketwhere the eyes once were.Upon death all is consumedall swallowed upupon death,The eyes do not losetheir usefulness. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/guyman715/529315/ Glacial mounds melt and uncover alluvial remains where rivers under ice flowed carrying sediment over asphalt --a mixture of mud and ice arcing up against the curb -- in places the plow sunk into gravel and tore up ground.The mound is mud-heavy u.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/guyman715/526227/ Accelled through a pin prick,the lucky sun has come shining through the long folds of endless space.Exuberant Orange brilliance has traveled light years through all dimensions of the mind, beyond the jagged edge of inquisition.It has come bending its phosphorescent beams.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/guyman715/515791/ The blue mountain risingout of the mists:A jagged hard stone.Red feathered birdfloating on the wind-down the mountain.Green-emerald seasparkling at midday:the gulls have caught a crab.Flashing neon lightsbouncing about the dance floor-someone has lost a heel.Bed of flowers swayspollinating the warm .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/guyman715/512311/ The Taxi pulled up:a night of booze and laughter,of slow sippingwhiskey and tunes, dancingcaught glancing at the smooth-skinnedgirl in the red dress and heels, flowingthrough the mass of body's a frictionless slithering dancesultry and practicedmasterfully, mysteriously preparedwith e.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/guyman715/512309/ The Struck chordis vibrating in every branch, every flapping wing,every root of the tallest trees,the orange-yellow sun on its rounds,the curiosity of a small-town girl in her summer dress chasingdragonflies and the ghosts ofdandelions floating in the air;All in white-hot-ha.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/guyman715/512191/ I sunk back lazily       into a field          of the brightest  yellow flowers. The air mixingconstantly the scent of dandelions and daisies, the aroma of sweetness and desire      floatin.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/guyman715/512188/ originally started as an exercise in hyperbole, but then i decided to make all of the hyperboles, moments, or variations on the original. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/guyman715/509815/ The sea was bright, gleamingacross the dock.The Morning sun, shinehorizontal raysrefracting over the seassurface.With a vast ocean before meRocking, the dock liftedme up and up, as i waitedto pull a meal, clawing out of the darkness. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/guyman715/509810/ Pencil and paper, the objects of an action;  to know your self is to erupt upon the pageat that fractured moment the two collide.  Like a spasm,It is to scribble mindlessly a window on old leavings turned amber with age,to sit waiting to hold the imageof the moon i.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/guyman715/508571/ I went there with some friends when i was in ohio, creeeeeepy as hell. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/guyman715/506801/ 1 of several more poems to be written. I. The Chandelier Ballroom (a crystal ballroom in a cave i saw on planet earth) http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/guyman715/506793/ I,I,   I,I......It's not meToo and fro around we goThe Hum of the TV is coming through the doorI can't make out the voicesI wonder what it's like to buzz around with wings?Like the fly....Swat at it...It came; It's to close.Am i structuring my sentences to the right affect?BZZZzzzzz;;.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/guyman715/505418/ The Olive grove glistenswith the white light of the moon.A slow, hollow light, sliding downin fluorescent beads and settling,quietly; it collects in little pools.The quick-silver heart of the groveis overflowing, mixing moonlight andblue flowers.The bees have left Buzzing with the day,and the c.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/guyman715/497288/ rolling rhythmsa steady swinga modern swing-jiveand slidebehind my earsand curl up be freethe whisps of smokearound and up and downthe rolling hills of tones and tunesa little night music pleasea little smooth releaseand the warm voice of a saxophone.  http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/guyman715/494603/ i wrote this after reading garcia lorcas early poems. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/guyman715/494256/   The colors;Radiant colors Amidst the ever etherSuspendedInLittle white pearlsAnd the perfect formOf luminous giantsScattered amongst the “dark backward And abysm of time” http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/guyman715/492726/ .La tierra del fuego The shrill cries ofnatives echo, skipping over theCool, still, water.There are no glimmersof lightLeft dancing over thehorizonThe sea is StillThe bow sways,Back and forth, ourbody’s caughtIn the perpetual.She cradles.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/guyman715/492722/ a wave like amberfell upon the citiesand the beatingof the mortal machineticked like a clockpounding between the crackedcolumns of concrete.As the tigers of wrathburn at the city gateswaiting to feast upon the fleshof the Dead,I shall beg my Heart to heave itselfthr.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/guyman715/475889/ In the soft, Green, Valleyof voices.Where the childrenof the daybeat their drums;O Sweet whispering windcarry meon their rhythm. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/guyman715/475721/ Inthe LightI AM a Wave,Summoned from the depthsof some unmovablepitch-black spring. Inthe DarkI AM a Vibrationechoing across the moon- mellowed surface of a silence brokenby the push and pull of the wind. I am a quiet, borrowed light, ringin.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/guyman715/472654/ Time like an echoof fluttering wingsbeating into the airendlessly. Who knows himself trulyin the vast chasm of repeating me's.When the days pendulum breaks,who will be left to claim that once,Time had no dominion? http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/guyman715/445453/ Of all the passers byon dingy streets andavenue one wayswhile the days run dryin sunny dustly etched out crevices, the peoples and their sheeplook for water before the god-star heaves its agony over the horizon. and of all the yous that pass me byyou who i.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/guyman715/445446/ just about the shape of things, and the connection between beauty, form, and freedom. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/guyman715/445439/ not finished http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/guyman715/440804/ On the Evening of Birdsi pass my body my fleshto you. (In sheaves) The bark of me, the ripe fruits of my labor. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/guyman715/415681/ The air has taken me cool, away.From the sweet flowing forth of unearthly.The immeasurabilityof your touch. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/guyman715/415679/ The crackling hum of a transformer near byseem's to hiss from all angles.A train rattles in the distance; the ominous engine beating, lurchingforward, metal against metal,screaming like banchees and old horror flicks. The giganticness of it overtakes the electrifi.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/guyman715/415678/ I wrote this after reading a poem by Oscar Wild. (sonnet on hearing the dies irae in the sistine chapel) I tend to hear and associate different colors and timbres with one another. In the poem Wild is reminded of beauty through nature rather than fear of http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/guyman715/415554/ Far beneath the waveswhere the ghosts of men crack and crumblethere is a great pressuregreater than the weight of stone or greed http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/guyman715/415553/