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The Journal of Elle O'Connor Limerick: Repost for XMAS
12/09/2007 11:21 p.m.
REINDEER GAMES
Old Rudolph, he wanted to play
with a doe on one cold christmas day.
He mounted his choice
and was heard to rejoice
but it scared all the children away.
Comments (1)
Limerick: Repost for Xmas
12/09/2007 11:20 p.m.
MY APOLOGIES, SANTA
There was a fat elf named St. Nick
who lost focus and fondled his dick.
He slid down the flue
and deposited goo
that had sprung forth so jolly and quick.
Comments (1)
POTD Thanks
09/29/2006 08:25 p.m.
I have no idea how it happens, but thank you, whoever you are. Now back to obscurity I go!
Comments (0)
A horse is a horse unless it's a rose by any other name.
11/22/2005 01:12 a.m.
With words, I want to slice through all the layers of you, the skin and the tissue and the muscle and the resistance and the defenses. Like the fin of a shark gliding effortlessly through water, I want to cut to the core of you and move you...with words, waves and waves of words that flood over you as you receive them effortlessly, willingly, and experience them buoyantly as you bob to their flow, being held up by them. I want to create arrangements of words that affect you as the wind affects you in the spring, closing your eyes and being transported, riding the crest of the wind and the waves as they soar seamlessly to the sky and invite you for the ride. I want your skin to respond when they're soothing and your hair to bristle when they're harsh. Feel them, because they move you, take them because you want to, experience them because you cannot help it. I want them to sting and slap and soothe and hold...your mind ignited because of words on paper. I want to affect you by touching you as you ride through my mind with me while it twists and turns and dips and crashes lightning fast sometimes, but it's a good mind and I want you to see it from the inside out...
I am currently Random
Comments (1)
Oh where, oh where did you go?
11/18/2005 11:52 p.m.
I had this posted in my library, but decided to move it. I guess I didnt like the comments it got, which probably doesnt make sense to you (or you, either), but it makes sense to me. And this is my journal, after all, so it seems like a nice place to be weird and territorial. I am weird. I've always been weird. Weird is subjective, though. But sometimes, even armed with that knowledge, I think I'm objectively weird, which doesn't really bother me, except...... when it does.
Into me, you ploughed
on tiptoe, so silent and forceful,
a new sense of direction
knocked into my pilgrimage
toward isolation.
Over me, you watched
as you pillaged through my ruins
and with finesse
sequestered the arsenal of hatchets
I'd grown so skilled
at hurling toward myself.
Away from you, I walked,
a victim of nearsightedness
and too many fairy tales
and continued my desolate trek
down the yellow brick road
that could never lead home
as the screams of your absence
accompanied me.
I am listening to James Blunt.
Comments (2)
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