Left Hand Poem

My CD, Dre, issued a challenge: write two poems: one using only left hand keys, and the next using only the right.
For the left hand, this means that I had to stop at 'h' - I tend to type 'y' and 'n' with my right hand.

Here's the first of my left hand poems:

We saw each drafted face
Creased, red.
Each dead as dead rafters -
we swear.

As we treaded, fears grew.
We wear grave faces,
are dressed as dread.
We, the reverse-brave crew.

Poem Art

This is not a new idea, but I heart the surrealism and visual loveliness that brings these poems to life. Billy Collins was the poet laureate of the National Library of Congress, and otherwise a literary figure and professor at various universities. His spoken word pieces are interpreted by various animation houses - each stylistically different, weirdish and hypnotic.
Wouldn't it be nice if advertising occasionally looked more like this? Or if art pieces were sponsored like ad segments - like a random piece of prettiness to stare at for a few seconds.

The above image is from the poem titled 'Budapest'

The above image is from the poem titled 'Today'.

See them all here.

Overheard at Dinner

"I took it late at night in a fountain in winter
The texture are the pennies that people threw in."