tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-75911975632748170842012-02-16T03:29:31.707-05:00Solange Noirhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08872019594648701982noreply@blogger.comBlogger111100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7591197563274817084.post-18959641070589806712011-05-22T17:47:00.001-04:002011-05-22T21:20:41.180-04:00

bright smears ofsweet scented notions original hopesswaddled tightly in budsfearlessly burst forthenticing fragrance of youth to lure the brightest pollinators joining in scenes of original sinleading to fruitful conceptionlusciously juicy fertile thought becomes reality asflowers to fruits to seeds far flungpropagation seems unendingreveling in beauty of creation until work devours life among

Solange Noirhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08872019594648701982noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7591197563274817084.post-61463165722527458982011-04-19T10:27:00.005-04:002011-04-20T14:51:49.485-04:00

I took on the challenge, along with three Twitter friends and fellow writers, to create a bizarre tale with tagline Bust Down The Door And Eat All The Chickens, inspired by the magazine of the same name. This is the result. Read more fabulous stories by my bizarre chicken partners-in-crime here:  Berit Ellingsen Chris Galvin N.F.Gayle To Dance With Scorpions For The Love Of Johnny Depp As the

Solange Noirhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08872019594648701982noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7591197563274817084.post-10814336593292596202011-04-03T00:19:00.003-04:002011-04-03T12:40:40.989-04:00

I search your words for meaningsHidden in the day to dayStories of life you portray for meClues to the reasons that inspire your Interest when so many options existDifferences in place, time, idiomMatter not in contextOf the sentiments you inferA kindness that causes My jaded soul to Dare trust again. The ebb and flow of contact Once mercurial over years Shifts to a steady rhythmic tide As

Solange Noirhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08872019594648701982noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7591197563274817084.post-89133620644068155192011-03-25T00:20:00.007-04:002011-03-25T01:35:16.268-04:00

If you know me, you know I love Japan. I love it like you love football, The Beatles and a cold beer. Some of you accept this, perhaps even think it's kind of cool. Others ask me if "I think I'm turning Japanese" or did I just listen to too much Loudness in the 80s. Many have wondered why on earth I would want to learn Japanese. None of you have ever asked me why. I've decided the time has come

Solange Noirhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08872019594648701982noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7591197563274817084.post-14335706058139099032011-03-04T23:43:00.002-05:002011-03-04T23:45:22.061-05:00

Hearts keep popping up in the strangest places lately. First in oil, now ice. Is the universe trying to tell me something? Should I bury mine deeper in my sock drawer? Or pull it out, polish it and put it back on display? Still unsure about that. The poem is inspired by the photo, by bits of the past.  My heart hurtHeavy with sadness I could not dispelRarely do I give it It wandered of it's own

Solange Noirhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08872019594648701982noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7591197563274817084.post-51359919085909724862011-03-01T23:05:00.006-05:002011-03-02T00:50:26.687-05:00

Do you ever imagine what a person's voice will sound like just by looking at them? Are you often right? I was thinking about how voices affect our impressions of character and how hearing a voice can strengthen your connection with online friends. As I first read the words typed in a message or chat,  I realized that I tend to imagine them in a generic voice with appropriate accent. As I get to

Solange Noirhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08872019594648701982noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7591197563274817084.post-49524245688042815442011-02-25T19:41:00.001-05:002011-03-01T22:19:18.541-05:00

~ Echoes ~ Chance to see an image A moment trapped in time. To hear the sounds of city streets Frozen line by line. Obscure melodies are woven in Creating the ambient rhyme. Words flow through screens From bright numbered keys To keep connections alive. When voices meld electric Emotions stream sensual sights. As hunger precedes the days to touch And echoes fill the nights. For

Solange Noirhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08872019594648701982noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7591197563274817084.post-78315948383639813182011-02-17T14:01:00.002-05:002011-02-17T17:06:57.443-05:00

Nights are never ink black sky in winter, here. Chance of snow clouds reflect city light's peach glow, like a strange reverse negative of day instead of true darkness. Tree's limbs dance with the wind out my window... their clusters of seed pods, empty until spring, clacking as castanets. Their chattering rhythm joins the shrill cries of the attic vent, the lonely wails of the wind, the rattle

Solange Noirhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08872019594648701982noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7591197563274817084.post-8231316974934358052011-02-09T01:21:00.005-05:002011-02-09T01:40:24.100-05:00

Oil and water don't mix they say and chemically speaking we know it to be true. In the ordinary routines of domestic life, could something compel them to seek the allure of the unknown? Perhaps, in a rare moment, the laws of science are proven wrong. Instead of repelling each other, they are enticed by their unique differences. For a brief, glorious moment they unite... resulting in

Solange Noirhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08872019594648701982noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7591197563274817084.post-59244286030275027412011-01-15T16:04:00.002-05:002011-02-09T01:41:17.268-05:00

Listening to Massive Attack was the inspiration, along with  a hellish day. May become a full poem in the future... Look in the mirror, nothing looks back, self slips down through the crevices, the cracks, she gave it all to the ones that devour, all that's left is a grey shade... of dissolved girl.. Video of the day from my friend Jake Cloudchair. Another sweet symphony from him, for 6

Solange Noirhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08872019594648701982noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7591197563274817084.post-46961671239238919352011-01-15T15:59:00.002-05:002011-02-09T01:41:53.305-05:00

and will continue as time permits. It will be a mishmash of my photos, poetry, stories, rants on government and the state of "civilized society" mixed with music and art of friends and (hopefully) interesting bits and pics of daily life. The name was given to me by a little pink elephant that hangs around my house. "Witty is such a fun word to say... and to be. And noodles! Noodles is fun to say

Solange Noirhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08872019594648701982noreply@blogger.com0