What are we when the sun dims
        And the moon is queen of the sky ?

When the leaves brown
                         And the birds vanish

When the wind chills the body
                         And the bears sleep forever
                                                  And everything seems dead

Then a glint of hope
                         A small delicate thing
The only sight of beauty in this frozen wasteland

                         A snowflake

                                                  Then two

                                                                           Then five

Then five hundred freefalling like feathers
                         daintily landing upon the frozen ground

                         Long times pass

                         and then the snow melts
And what should I see out of my frostbitten window but

                                                  A flower

                         Spring at last


//Todd Hollow//



Recoloured Version: /The Flamenco Dancer/: Leopold Schmutzler

Stirring wind of wing:
splitting rock underhoof,
spurring song from stream:
romp in the rill,
stomp on the foothill
of Helicon.

Heavy the footfall
of flamenco
skunk bluff-scuffing
and rabbit thumping:

Steam of snort fogs the short
hoofstamp and sand dragging,
the jogging cloggers—
percussive souls folkloric.
Toe-tapping, heel-slapping
meter meteoric.

*[ WSB ].

On Imagination



hy various works, imperial queen, we see,
How bright their forms! how deck’d with pomp by thee!
Thy wond’rous acts in beauteous order stand,
And all attest how potent is thine hand.

      From Helicon’s refulgent heights attend,
Ye sacred choir, and my attempts befriend:
To tell her glories with a faithful tongue,
Ye blooming graces, triumph in my song.

      Now here, now there, the roving Fancy flies,
Till some lov’d object strikes her wand’ring eyes,
Whose silken fetters all the senses bind,
And soft captivity involves the mind.

      Imagination! who can sing thy force?
Or who describe the swiftness of thy course?
Soaring through air to find the bright abode,
Th’ empyreal palace of the thund’ring God,
We on thy pinions can surpass the wind,
And leave the rolling universe behind:
From star to star the mental optics rove,
Measure the skies, and range the realms above.
There in one view we grasp the mighty whole,
Or with new worlds amaze th’ unbounded soul.

      Though Winter frowns to Fancy’s raptur’d eyes
The fields may flourish, and gay scenes arise;
The frozen deeps may break their iron bands,
And bid their waters murmur o’er the sands.
Fair Flora may resume her fragrant reign,
And with her flow’ry riches deck the plain;
Sylvanus may diffuse his honours round,
And all the forest may with leaves be crown’d:
Show’rs may descend, and dews their gems disclose,
And nectar sparkle on the blooming rose.

      Such is thy pow’r, nor are thine orders vain,
O thou the leader of the mental train:
In full perfection all thy works are wrought,
And thine the sceptre o’er the realms of thought.
Before thy throne the subject-passions bow,
Of subject-passions sov’reign ruler thou;
At thy command joy rushes on the heart,
And through the glowing veins the spirits dart.

      Fancy might now her silken pinions try
To rise from earth, and sweep th’ expanse on high:
From Tithon’s bed now might Aurora rise,
Her cheeks all glowing with celestial dies,
While a pure stream of light o’erflows the skies.
The monarch of the day I might behold,
And all the mountains tipt with radiant gold,
But I reluctant leave the pleasing views,
Which Fancy dresses to delight the Muse;
Winter austere forbids me to aspire,
And northern tempests damp the rising fire;
They chill the tides of Fancy’s flowing sea,
Cease then, my song, cease the unequal lay.


//Phillis Wheatley//

Source | Poems on Various Subjects Religious and Moral (1773)

*[ WSB ].

Ample Cover


There are stars that never rise or fall
offering ample cover from the trickster
gamboling the rushes with a tambourine,
the percussive cymbals in three degrees.
The dimple deepens with the curling smirk
for the dying kings swallowed by darkness,
black holes patient for every random star,
tangerine sunsets after the harvest.

Ouroboros shrinks into quarks abuzz
regardless of amber snapshots of gist
and the painted minstrel marks the folly
of the crouching predator in plain view.
The jester clutches madness as the only
answer since the prey only prolongs fate,
always snipping at beleaguered fare
not sussing that hope is also genetic.

*[ WSB ].

Let’s Not Be L7


Fixed in the grid
with angles squarely set;
locked, as it were,
in the matrix:
newspaper columned.
Let us not be thus;
cubistic in crystal,
vibratory in place:
separate from the music
that circles away.
with the wheels that turn.

Upstanding quadrilateral,
marching up and down
in unison:
trapped by right angles ⦜
Feel the Brownian bubbles ferment.
Release the ornamental
of the perfumed bosom;
loosen the tie and
pack away the mortarboard
that clips the wing-beat.

Outside of place settings
and floor-space,
the compassed garden
escapes acreage:
the arc of planets
encircles the endless sky,

one vertex sticks out of the mud.

*[ WSB ].

The Feature Retired, Fifteen Netflix Reviews before


Before the Flood

You rated this movie:

Oh dear, the ostriches dig their heads deeper, sand scratching sclera, instead of appraising the media. Five stars for urgency. One does not need to be a trained musician or artist to make a documentary about classical music or cubists; that’s where previous study and interviews come to the fore, from an almost ubiquitous chorus of EXPERTS that say that the majority of current climate change [moving at lightspeed compared to those ice core snapshots of climate cycles on geological time scales] is, indeed, manmade. Some flatlanders may never believe in roundness, even after viewing an arc for themselves, after rides to the edge of space soon become available; such is the nature of delusion.


A Very Murray Christmas

You rated this movie:

Very sly, honest, asymmetrical joy—Christmas askew. Some sincere carols, but most are quirky. Murray always interests.


The Tiger

You rated this movie:

Are curmudgeon critics enamored with the word “glowing” ? The reason for the glowing reviews is because it glows. Acting. Pacing. Effects. Grit. Plot. Editing. Well, a list that glows. Come to think of it, the tiger did kind of levitate:  I’m ok with that. Documentaries are real, fiction is fiction. Expectation therein.



You rated this movie:

The very opposite of “Daemonium,” splendidly done — very entertaining and thought provoking. No spoon-feeding here, imagination required. Wonderful performances and direction. Endings ? O, the modern crowd, “2001: A Space Odyssey” would not have a chance these days. If the movie was tied up in a nice bow at the end, I guarantee most would forget the film in minutes; as it is, it crawls around your noggin for a while and may remain.


I Am the Pretty Thing That Lives in the House

You rated this movie:

A spectacular spectre film that experiments with structure, frames within frames, circular and open-ended. It’s like decay viewed within golden amber, so beautifully does the movie unfold like a flower destined to “fall apart.” Particularly, much of the dialogue is lyrically succinct, mesmerizing. For the (many it would seem) detractors of this understated gem, as Charley Sheen said in Two and a Half Men [S1E7], “I understand.”


The Tribe

You rated this movie:

I endured this to the end. I do not recommend that you do the same. This movie is just terrible. Unless you fancy queasiness induced by witnessing depraved humans acting out. The director favors nihilism distilled in long, unblinking shots that study humanity’s bestial edge. Pointless, banal misery despite the sign-language gimmick posing as edgy.


The Forbidden Room

You rated this movie:

There are so many classics and masterpieces available during one’s short stay; why squander precious hours on a movie that only aspires to be completely different, that’s the nutshell of the approach. The senses and contemplation of each person must name that which is art. Alas, the language of this film is foreign to my ears. It exists for those who find continuity disheartening and embrace the quantum uncertainty of packets of jest dribbled indeterminant on a roll of celluloid, then edited in the manner of a lead guitarist that gets all shake-weight orgasmic with wah-wah, fuzz and feedback effects as his fingers speed pointlessly up and down scales, instead of serving a holistic product to delight the audience. Enjoy a dose of modernity !



You rated this movie:

Excellent film. An aesthetic tied-bow closing is not required, and many times counterproductive. A meditation on the human condition. Well-made in all respects. Art !


Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close

You rated this movie:

Spectacular film. Everything is done spot-on. A film that makes you treasure life, the thousands of small joys that fill everyone’s, if they’d pay attention. Cathartic for the 9-11 national loss, but with affirmation to continue on. Thomas Horn’s performance was tremendous; it goes in my list of great young performances; The Whale Rider’s Keisha Castle-Hughes comes to mind. Well, I’m off to to get the book to read. In short, this movie is highly recommended: it visits most human emotions with aplomb.



You rated this movie:

Work of art ! I heartily concur with the 5-star crowd. The gulf between haters and lovers always baffles. I just wish more films had this level of direction, acting, and cinematic realization. That, my friends, is where the accolades come from. A gem.



You rated this movie:

A striking film. An aesthetic gem that drips noir starkly into cerebral action. The bold animation explores ethical questions typical of science fiction that promises to become the science of tomorrow, sooner rather than later. The solid plot entertains well enough; however, the animation contains enough imagination and competence to recommend it alone. So, to sum up: fantastic art with stylistic rendering, plus a compelling story, sound, and voice acting.



You rated this movie:

Beautiful and quirky. Looks like a love-it-or-hate-it movie by the ratings; reminds me of the critical split for “Blue Velvet.” Answers in nightmares. I love the dangerous kids across the lake and the child vampire.


Robot & Frank

You rated this movie:

Beautiful movie where Frank Langella shines. The movie touches on: the sadness of mental reality ebbing away before the body does; the nature of relationships with artificial intelligence; and the cost and benefits of crime. Besides, Susan Sarandon is always a bonus to any movie she is in.


Citizen Kane

You rated this movie: 

Astonishing ! The greatest movie ever made is a mystery about loss, self-exile and the limits of wealth. A tragedy with comedy. A mystery about a single word that may sum up a person’s life. Mercurial and perfectly balanced. A mythic masterpiece that embodies all cinematic elements with aplomb: screenplay, cinematography, music, acting, direction, editing; and, more than anything: innovation. Welles flawlessly achieves overall composition with many standout scenes, yet never losing focus on the fall of one man. Monolithic.



You rated this movie: 

“Life isn’t linear, it’s sideways.” — Nicolas Roeg Roeg’s movies study the human condition in montage. The jump cuts reveal continuity in apparently disparate events, insightful planning from the director. Fine film for aesthetes.

Six Words







never . . .


yes no
maybe sometimes
always never.


//Lloyd Schwartz//

Link |

*[ WSB ].

THE meek


Fury cavorts like river dancers
raging like fire or whitecaps: the tips
bullwhip crack, erasing graph edges.
The spleen full of purple blood pulses;
the liver floods the ducts with black bile;
and the heart breaks for the defenseless.
The strong have the edge, double-bladed;
in Darwinian darkness: Gnostic
sin that darkens all molecules.
Magma percolates under the crust,
explosive din of ancient belief,
thinking that volume overpowers
justice; however, the meek gain numbers
and sponsors exponential for progress
into starshine that banishes shadow:

the meek will—finally—inherit the Earth.

*[ WSB ].

Outside Your Faith


outside your faith.
Stop peacock strutting
and ram butting.
Tis the season to
study the thousands of I-am iambs
about-face, and the buzzing
extant; cults cutting each other:
no reason, just rant.

What is your judgement ?

Rabbits wrapped in magic
habits numerous,
numinous but misgiven,
circumspect of standing erect:
kneeling to much,
feeling and such,
|dead before living|
the wind from the veil
arrecting melenky hairs;
the fabric lifting: untouched.

You may judge harshly,
—heathen, heretics against heaven,
heresiarchs—, darkly.
As the chronicles of history
[by troth, a pamphlet
drawn up from the edges of rivers
and metallic ages
—dipped from conquistador inkwells, never
tipped by broken quills, those who fell—]
page past sound scrutiny,
even if found lacking

semicolon however comma

once free of the liturgy
sacred, formal;
gods of thunder storming,
naked nymphs transforming,
sky chariots warming:
mountains and volcanoes,
rivers and seas,
the moon and the sun—
physics and phenomenon:
various normal.

Without the shield of myth
circumspection circles
the seared lobes
of the hoodwinked;
condenses and soaks
the desert cracked.
Left.                                 Alone.
In the moment,
the scene green.           Now,
                                          In the beginning . . .

*[ WSB ].