Featured Artist: Snowvirus
One of our most flamboyant and colorful early contributors, Snowvirus' 
work stands out and begs...no...DEMANDS attention.  As the author of 
this page to highlight his work, I find myself completely incapable 
of adding so much as a single word to define the work itself...its 
own voice is too vibrant to be covered over by another's words, so 
I'll not even try.

I will, however, tell you a little something about the person behind 
the work.  Of all the souls I have encountered over the years, few have 
had the flair and color that marks James (Snowvirus) and makes him 
stand out from the crowd.  Generally, he's the guy you'll find cutting 
up in the corner with a Devil-may-care grin on his face and a quick 
retort for anybody who tries to rain on his parade.  It's a fun, 
infectuous attitude, and he's almost always the life of the party, but 
to take him at face value....to assume that he's nothing more than a 
good natured prankster who knows how to ride a good time for all it's 
worth would be to sorely underestimate him.  I know from having been 
on the losing end of debates with the man that he's got one of the 
sharpest minds out there, and a nose for detail that doesn't miss 
a thing.  Ever.  (Well, okay, rarely).

And, because I know he's cringing if he's reading this, I'll not 
continue to heap praise on the guy ad infinitum.  Suffice it to 
say that he's a vibrant, razor sharp mind, one Hell of a poet, and 
a good friend.

I hope they're treating you well out West, my friend, and your wit 
and company are sorely missed in these parts, so if you ever venture 
back this way, don't hesitate to look me up!

-Chris
-=Vel=-

Ponder Me Not before the 'Morrow 

I am cast in sideways-threes, 
abstracted, refracted 
by inactive trinities. 
I scale mountains-blind, 
Speak volumes 
with my bloody knees. 

I am molded in scattered-laws 
Totaled counted 
considered torn by claws. 
I fight battles never-won, 
whisper taunts 
in mid-winter thaws. 

I set teeth on edge with wolf-howls, 
disputed refuted 
found muted beneath monk's cowls. 
I preach sermons unspoken, 
Deliver dreams 
on my nightly prowls. 

I am judged by sheltered-fools, 
discerned, patterned 
drowned in perfect pools. 
I cross rivers-dead, 
Scream truths 
as broken, useless tools. 

I die in children's souls 
when society enfolds them. 
I am found impotent 
when my name is realized. 
So tomorrow rears me, 
until this day kills me. 


You Used What Kind of Filter?

Stepped on a moment, we are caught. 
Yesterday, I swear you were chocolate. 
We were not proven guilty. 
There are holes in my pajamas. 

I am entranced by the concept, 
but I don't know what you mean. 

There it is again, we're on TV. 
See right there, that's us. 
That means we are no longer real. 
We have been encased away from possession. 

I am flattered by the attention, 
but it doesn't really mean anything to me. 

Convinced by frame rates, we are taught. 
And the prime minister was right there. 
We were not responsible for those actions. 
There is chocolate around some of the holes. 

I am altered by the movement, 
but I don't understand your dreams. 

That is us, we should probably wave. 
It's the only way we can matter. 


Oppression

*This is a little ditty I wrote to protest the inability to post a 
poem containing certain words on another poetry site which will 
remain unnamed. Yes, it's childish, and bad, but humorous. And it 
sort of goes with the chatlog discussion in the general section... 
privacy, censorship, it's all in the same bucket. 

I can't say F*** here, 
but can say goddamn... 
How about Allah sodomy, 
now that's word play! 

If you build it they will come on themselves. 
Childish true, sadness really- 
I thought to express myself, 
but was reinterpreted. 

I can't say F*** here, 
but can say goddamn... 
How about Christalicious nipple lick? 
That seems to be passing too. 

See, if you define my obscenity 
with the wave of a hand, 
then you limit us all, 
tasteless and bland, 
pathetic and weak- 
quite depressing really. 

I can't say F*** here, 
But can say goddamn... 
How about Buddha butt munching queer, 
oops now I'm going to h-e-double hockey sticks. 


Speaking of Torture

Somewhere the day begins with an envious smile, 
clouds with teeth-- 
and the sun is just obvious. 
People see it, greet it, take it in, 
without even an accidental thought of understanding. 
Hot coals for your eyes. 
The ember glow will guide you through the pain, 
and the same on through the secure darkness. 
Freedom is a hobgoblin, 
beauty is the better part of valor. 
Somewhere weapons are made with love, 
out of necessity-- 
peace and tranquility valued equal 
with war and pain. 
Growth is more important than happiness. 
Somewhere all individuals accept the glory of sacrifice, 
Sometimes on altars to themselves. 
Pretentiousness is a disease. 
Lying is a commodity. 
People see it, greet it, take it in-- 
Sacrifice makes them unassailable. 
Lift you away from the earth 
with your tongue, slowly your weight pulls it free. 
The silence is your wings, fly, fly, fly. 
Money is fear. 
Somewhere death is accepted, not challenged. 
There the day ends with a pleased grin.


Digging wells I drank from Yesterday

I see faceless. 
Things in threes devouring 
speech. Thoughts in wondering, 
Ebbtide tomorrow sliced into 
healers borrowed stolen. 
I fragment. Torn into trees 
So old even they have 
forgotten. Talk is 
Luxury, silence is a gimmick. 
I see faceless. 
Paradise on the breeze sucking 
whispers crawling tears 
on blooded knees. How 
far, How far, How far? 
Healers? Heal me sliced into 
I did not mean to be. 
In the distance calling 
threes, sucking whispers, 
faceless things 
Never meant I am to be.


They had been used, that one it normalizes

Made a stage at the moment, they stop to us. 
Yesterday to swear that you were sweet, 
We tried defender. 
The pig I am, it has punctures in the mines. 

Sound system enraptured of the concept 
but I do not know, what you would like to say 

Here always, we are in the game of the television. 
To see the right here, that one is we. 
This means that we are not more truths- 
We are distant battery of the disc of the possession 

The attention is flattered, 
but I does not mean really nothing. 

For the controls of the field with us convinced, inform they 
And the main age of the Minister here the right face. 
We were not responsible for that one we fixed to the activity 
With scumble oneself ,here, around in the paths which punch. 

They are altered through moving, 
but this that handles only the dreams of the relative one. 
The fact that one is we, we must probably agitate. 
Can? it is the only way those constitute. 

*(gross experimentation is I the we what does here)


Joys the Find

Crushing earth blow river swam 
feathered sky, 
it cracks the soul. 

Drumming beat pulse canyon fly 
splintered wave, 
it flows the mind. 

Earthing lover solace paved 
weathered time, 
it smiles the toll. 

Beating heart cave nature prime 
passioned dream, 
it joys the find.


Knot tied to backward be

to the place I wanted to be, 
I give. 

holy places and tangerines, 
my love, only for you. 

Slept silently around the awhile, 
thoughts of hearts and momentines. 

significant dreams, 
and where betweens- 
only for you. 

To the give a place, 
I wanted to be. 

televisions, visions seem, 
in love, only for you. 

Crept vehemently to smile, 
thoughts of hearts and momentines. 

Held all the while 
and in betweens- 
only for you. 

to a home the things, 
I wanted 
to give.


Sideways into light

Into a house we ran, 
Comforts, not, hopes began. 

A garden remembered, 
A chance-- 
Thoughts forgotten, 
Unlimbered unto I. 

Into a house we fled, 
Shelters, yes, we dreamed. 

Dismembered. 
Glanced at, 
Caught rotten. 
Ran bled fell unto I. 

Into a house we. 
Into a house we. 
Somewhere there-- 
You embered into I


Compressed into Dollhouse Dreams
(Somewhere between Reality and Underground) 

I, wrapped in a babe's blanket, 
amidst exploding stars, 
drool with contempt-- 
like some officious worm. 
All those twisted struggles, 
perhaps not in vain, 
have brought me to this point-- 
A petty, over-sensitive child. 
Would you laugh at me? 
I too am glorious and grand 
just like you, 
Drunk on emotions from 
Underground. Insult me, 
I too am grand, 
Suddenly trapped somewhere 
between reality, the end of disease, 
and Underground. 
Perhaps I should go somewhere, 
drooling and weeping 
Pathetic before the lights 
in my tattered new born robes. 
I too am grand, 
you cannot dismiss me-- 
Give me your money so 
I might join you in your 
Laughter, at me. 
Though why am I so sensitive 
when I know those stars explode, 
at least in part, for me? 
Should I grovel? 
Surely yes, for I am petty-- 
yes unworthy, a romantic, a dreamer. 
I too am glorious, 
and if I were not 
could you cast me away 
in my tattered newborn robes-- 
Somewhere between reality and 
Underground. Insult me, 
I too am glorious and grand. 

*(points if you can name the author and title of the inspiration)


Tis the small what not with the lampshade

the fingers of loving believing 
creed the lover 
one or the other faith in the center of that one 
creed the lover 

I do not know the eye of the wells of travel of the ACK 
Tis the small what not with the lampshade 
I think about the lover 
before you more the forgotten ones to rhyme 

the system of Moscow of the comet conclude they 
Fire blood ulcers over the sky 
the cry of the angels for virginal kiss 
the Vampires, which are for scurry, blooded the luck 

it dreams then thy of the ACK in order not to see 
I am afraid that they fell imprisoned to a GOOD ONE 
Faith, if that is loved 
before one forgets, to find 

It creates the hand of that one to one 
Task to love 
It creates the hand of this with one 
creed the lover


Conservation through Hemorrhaging 

Wrote it on a post- 
You're an animal, 
This is my home. 
like a tablet from a god. 
Raped the women, 
Shot the men- 
Wrote it on a post 
This is my home. 

.......Your religion is too important, 
.......and honestly only history 
.......can tell you apart. 

Burned the houses- 
This is my home, 
pure and grand, unsoiled 
source of joy. 

.......Well Fuck, my cable is out- 
.......explorers churning hopelessly, 
.......satellites filled with sand. 

Beaten with a post, 
my home my home cry 
father said, god whispered 
blood splinter bones and lies. 

What the fuck was that? 
Problems over here, Problems over here. 
Ancestors dear, the network... 
fuck, now that's down. 

Source unsoiled 
This is my home 
die animal die, animal. 

.......Demagogues and little men, 
.......searchers pushing pins- 
.......blasphemy enrolled, 
.......God is using you 
.......for birth control. 

Wrote it on a post- 
You're a- 
looted and defamed, 
slept in a cave 
miss my television. 

Welcome to the rape tent, 
Please leave your papers at the door. 
We've come to help you disappear, 
and make your offspring pure. 

That was not funny, 
not clever, most uncalled for. 
Who the fuck are you? 
I'll write you on a goddamn post! 

This is my home. 
....idolized and truncated, 
....dangling from a fiberoptic smile. 

.......I am a sovereign nation, 
.......these people are my own. 
.......Blah blah disinfected, 
.......whatever, my information 
.......is Fucking down. 

Wrote it on a post- 
isolation fever dreams, 
tortured amusement, possesion, laughing, screams. 

.......Honestly only history, 
.......a moment passed, 
.......There's the enemy. 
.......Fuck, they all died- 
.......All, even the media. 

Wrote it on a post, 
die animal die 
quiet and alone 
self-inflicted and soiled 
This is my home.


And a Manacled god pleads for our prayers

Built of power, broken homes, and shrapnel 
from the bombs of passion, 
I surge forward, more your puppet than privateer. 

Sing of love and a weapon's grief, 
I am but a heartbeat now. 

Sat at the foot of a mountain, 
Grendal is home-- 
and I caught her talking. 

I, through clouds of truth and imagination, 
have been enshamed in temples. 
Shrines of mockery to both 
sold in packages of insecurity and satisfaction. 

Sing of hate and a holy man's tears, 
I am only a heartbeat now 

Built of solitude, and crowds, and joy 
from the fear. 
I shall be both--oh yes--puppet and privateer. 

Grendal is a mountain, 
and I'm her butter tree. 

Fear of satisfaction, fear of trees-- 
knees bent I am broken, blind to worshipping 
the need, 
Monasteries of lust and greed. 

Sing of hate and a holy man's tears.


nova revisited
~a little beat for your day 

boom pow 
how ya like me now 
woke up on the wrong side 
of the think tank 
an acid link to the way 
we drank 
so long ago holy wide eyed hungry 
kitten morsels of knowledge to say 
i am awake 
not shuttered away in the hay 
mostly baked and smiling 
driving highways blurred in nights 
authority looking 
boom pow 
man i'm barefoot preachy 
can't catch me 
bigger than the library we can read 
mozart in kansas 
stars dancing across the interstate 
fighting who me where's the need 
fist to forty-one jupiter 
nice choreography 
maybe in a movie 
badges man tripping wine 
boom pow 
man it was us right then 
and we can still win 
still be us right now


Us the Ecstasy

Kissed you in a Sunday morning 
rain. Flew briefly smiling, 
caught the lightning, 
I am home, home again. 

Cuddled in the blue sky of your 
eyes. Climbed the sun's glow, 
held the rainbow, 
I am joy, joy alive. 

Fetching true 
blossom new 
in Xanadu 
did Kublai you 
build a view 
of heaven, starshine, and the sea. 

Feeling wise 
laughed surprise 
in twinkled eyes 
and loving sighs 
souls soft replies 
in Xanadu with Kublai me. 

Loved you in a Sunday evening 
breeze. Now flying freely, 
us the ecstasy, 
we are home, home indeed.


Sometimes

Sometimes we jump into the various suicides of winter, 
Praying fervently that the stark rage of the wind 
Will purify our souls before we perish 
Against the cold and uncaring earth; 
The warm and loving earth that sired us, 
Kept us safe in times of danger, 
Eased our pains when sharp reality 
Had bared its steel and cut us to our bones. 
The kind and gentle earth that led us, 
Through so many trials, led us onward after sore defeats-- 
Led us, like the pied piper, through pleasant times, 
Times of gentle breezes and green meadows, 
Times when our senses frolicked in the joys 
Of being alive without care or sorrow. 
The precious earth that was our god 
Brought us to these precipices without recourse, 
Exiling us to ourselves, loss and abandonment. 
Now without guidance, we have become sterile and broken; 
And sometimes we jump into the alternatives left to us, 
Hoping the descent will make us young again, 
So we might land in the soft grasses 
Of those green meadows that we knew so long ago. 


*thought I'd post something without so many twists and turns, 
just good old fashioned imagery and emotion.


Inside shells of nevermind

Looking through the whining rod, 
I smacked my sister again. 
She laughed and teased me, 
then told mom. 
Now there are mercenaries at the backdoor. 
Knocking, bellowing, brandishing guns 
like drug dealers and rebels do. 

I hope you're serious, 
not crying wolf. 
something mysterious playing 
at my eye. 
slow placed lipstick drying 
on furrowed brows, 
I fuck hope she says, 
yes my love, as do I. 

Blue domed shells of peace, loving lies, 
got the poor ones out there first 
giving tries, need the money 
love the lies. 
Mom making peanut butter sandwiches 
hanging from the sky, purple faced like jelly 
rolls into surprise. 

You're not teasing rebellion, 
seething moments? 
some Pygmalion praying 
at the fire. 
careful teardrops flowing 
down marble cheeks. 
I burn she says, 
yes my love, tis our desire. 

Pushing through the pillow walls, 
I am born suffocating again. 
Mercenaries coming through the back door, 
sister screaming teasing howling mom, 
holding on to be sure bullets 
Harm preaching hold me, hold me 
falling back into nowhere warm. 

I hope you're furious, 
not watching shy. 
nightmare curious playing 
at my eye. 
darkly spent dreams gnawing 
on thin freedom chains, 
I fuck hope she says, 
yes my love, as do I. 

*not sure about this one... wrote here in this post window, 
made it hard for me to track, as I couldn't see it all as I 
did it. Oh yeah, and the damn phone kept ringing while I was  
writing it.  Freaking Users.


Caught you on the intake (slid right through for greed)

Peopled smashes things, 
stirrups and a hard on-- 
Ain't left no wonderin' 
societal rape's a where i'm smokin' to. 

Singsong a humble bee, 
flowers, sex, and most of all trees. 

Missed my calling, shattered 
in the back seat. 
Should have been a back street whore-- 
make you happy and mommy proud. 
Withstood, withstood, besotted and ash-licked, 
Saddle up ladies, we's got killing work to be about. 
10/20 
A most satisfied glass of wine, 
cigarettes, art, and somewhat shining. 

Trembled places to a casket, 
I miss filling baskets with strawberries 
like true lovers do-- 
fucked you on the way down, 
fucked you on the way down. 

It pleases to meet you, but 
all the pain is just a suggestion. 
What I really want to know is if, 
is if you know what color God is 
cause I been thinking that maybe 
He is sort of a star-filled purple, 
and a little hazy/fire around the edges. 
Janet says he is white, but she's 
just closed door minded. 
Tickled you with propane, 
made the world into a contest game. 
Beat you there-- and back. 

All the world's a mobile, 
and i'm the one beneath it spinning. 
Christmas on my back foot, 
Easter on the front-- 
buddha in my backpocket eatin' sunshine. 

I ain't got no pattern boss, 
me and the women's just killing 'em 
as we find 'em. 
They scream real pretty, 
(giggle) makes the women all kinds of hot. 

Personified and gilded twice, 
I like the way lemons make you cringe. 
I'm glory bound with a holy sound-- 
My radio is tuned in you.


pixie

Is that a pixie I spy, there upon that leaf? 
Charming all the passers-by with her wisdom and her eyes. 
If you listen close I think you'll hear 
her smile upon the wind, 
the one that makes the crickets chirp, 
and says to Spring, "Begin!" 
See how the butterflies flutter to her dust, 
as they dance and sigh and sing 
overcome with joy from the beauty of her wings. 
Indeed that is a pixie there upon that leaf, 
dancing on a dewdrop made a rainbow 
by the magic of her dreams.


{Editor’s Postscript: That’s all the work we’ve got from Snowvirus, 
but I remain hopeful that one day, out of the blue, his name will 
reappear}
-=Vel=-