Friday, April 30, 2010

We don't need no- is a double negative...

so, really, YOU DO need some....
So there.

He's got that certain -flare-

It's called Lens Flare in Photoshop.
I don't USE it.

The Rhythm is Gonna Getcha

I call my pickup The Rhythm.
You'll understand why
when I run you down.

Old Toys

are much better than these
new fangled electrical
video game systems and
all that
horse raddish....

Shadow Shot

Might as well jump.
go ahead and jump.



Hulk Out!!!!!!!!!!!

hulk SMASH puny photoshop!!!!

I got creamed....

in front of the whole school....

Army of me...

go to

and prepare to waste 12 hours

and get ready to slice open your finger tips

and feel stupid

but have a full 16 oz of fun, too!!!!

Like a sandwich...

Other people made the parts, but I was
the one who put them together.

That is how I explain PhotoShop Art.

Then I cut it in half and eat it.

Make Your Meal a PARTY!!!

Don't be a SAD CHAD man,
get JIGGY WIT IT!!!!


PAINT the world

It looks so ugly as it is....
Give 'er a coat of acrylic.

First you...

Stab uncooked spaghetti noodles through uncooked weiners.

THEN YOU boil it up.

LASTLY YOU eat that shizzzz!!!!


Someone had to ask it...

Now someone else gets to answer it.

While I eat it.

I was evil

That's DOCTOR evil to you.
For halloween last year.
The white face paint was

Don't EVER Post Stuff On The Internets....

Or someone will copy you!
I've been doing ciggy boxes for YEARS...
And then THIS scallywag does
THIS and is probably making
ONE million dollars now.
I want some one
milllion dollars...

Redneck Seafood

Magically Delicious

... another attempt at type content...

... Did I ever mention that
I LOVE them?

Kevin and I stole this....

Tortoise and the hare lawn ornament years ago...
Then it moved to California...

Computers make you stretchy


I Love Them

The people at

It is no overstatement.

Self Portrait

A piece from a while ago- but
I still look like this...


My life is chock-full...

PS 1 beeeotches!!!

My life is standing room only...

It's a 'dead' old gift card for SEaRS...
So don't waste your time trying to decipher the numbers
and steal my identity...

My life is well stocked...

My life is crammed....

My life is over-stuffed...

My life is jam-packed

My life is cluttered

All Your Base Are Belong To Us

And darth vader turns out to BE A GOOD GUY
in the end... WHAT?
He tosses the emperor over the rail
and hugs his widdle sonny boyee...

Ruff Stuff

He is proud to be

Dog Nap

He needs his beauty sleep.
Because he wants to become beautiful.
He dreams of becoming beautiful...

It's MY turn....

Gimme the controller-thingee...

Toilet Monster

Is full of peanuts and corn.

Have You Seen This?

I love it.

Again with the Foxiness...

On A Suitcase

She is quite toothy-
Her name is Beth.
I exaggerated for effect.


I met her on my space.
And I'll never see her in real life.
So, if she falls in the forest-
Will she make a sound?

When Last I Saw Paris

It is a good song by MORRISSEY,
a good song on a bad album,
OK well, maybe not BAD,
but not his finest hour....


Not all art needs to be dark and depressing...
Just MOST of it...


She is prettier than this in real life... I swear...


Feed me whamburgers and freedom fries!!!!


He's gone- but not forgotten.....

Java Genie


She is over a painting and frame from GoodWill.
I love to recycle.

Brownie Girl

She's brown and in town.


She was sold to Michael.
And then I think he sold her to someone else.

everybody on board

Ladies on wood...

Monday, April 26, 2010


So, I've been writing a poem a day for the month of APRIL... Some are quite yucky, and yet others just stink...

Well, I am almost done with the month (thank god) and it turned out t o be alot harder than I could imagine...

Thine Tree, by nicholas liebrecht

Beneath yon tree
roots of truth do lie
growing up now towards me
as I stare at the sky-

With a stretch and a spread
more water than wood
they wrap fast 'round my head
to form a fiberus hood-

A last cry takes flight
as my hands cluth and claw
would that their physical might
be put to a saw-

An ignoble demise
I did die that day
but to my surprise
I re-sprung in May-

A most curious weed
devoid of deceit
for from such a bad seed
came then flowers so sweet-


tabletop cowboy, by nicholas jay liebrecht

a miracle dribbles sidelong
in the filth beside the curbstone
people await the bus, stopped
watchmen point their eyes at the television
fingers fingering triggers downtown
as noise makes itself known
and then there's a kind of nothingness
based on a bedsheet of lies
on a necklace of question marks
we cannot undo this horror show
with a dead dog's head on my list
underscoring the futility of romantic function....

8:05pm 4-25-2010

improvisation, by nicholas liebrecht
trying not even to hit the back key
no cross outs and no fumbles for the more right word
firing bullety letters across the white
tak tak tak

to me,
poems about poems are like
houses made from the bodies of builders
like lassoing a casting fisherman
wwwhhhip wwhhip whip

pre-crastination is what i call this
knowing there won't be time
for a decent poem tomorrow
i opt to puke some nothing
out of nowhere
urk urk uurrkk

4.24.10 (in spirit)

April 23, 2010

recipe for a late supper, by nicholas liebrecht

A half-handful of rusty wires
A dozen links of chain
A generous helping of burning tires
And three gallons of rain.

Stir in a couple hateful glares
Add petrified fear to the mix
Season it with some dangerous dares
And boil from noon until six.

Serve double dollops over rice
Uncork a cold, mulled wine
Have hate on hand, for extra spice
If you're fresh out -here- use some of mine.


modern method, by nicholas jay liebrecht
A torn down old man stopped me in the street
to tell me that there was,
at one time,
a delirious army of ink-drunk poets,
eyes red from only feverish sleep,
whose fists were tenched so clightly on their pens
you could hear their words cracking.

We sit down to write.
We sit down to write what should be shouted, nay
.s.c.r.e.a.m.e.d. from a raw throat
as we tear across a desert
shredding the clothes and skins from our bones.

We clear clutter and close curtains
before we begin.
We carefully measure -each- inch- of our sentiment,
to 'compose',
instead of violently living a messy life-
worth putting down on paper.


poetry reading, nj liebrecht
When better things are done being said
and more memorable songs all sung
after every noteworthy poet is dead
then maybe I'll loosen my tongue.

I listen to, read, and even write
words by the dozen each day
this kinship implies that it just might
be simple to simply speak away.

In conversations, I can converse
lectures do flow freely from me
but prose feels private, and even worse
it sounds silent as space can be.


phaser, by nicholas liebrecht
Gone from me now
are fresh breads and old wines
and the light lilting songs
of a woman won
or wonderfully undone

Before my inset eyes
lies a list of labors,
not Herculean, but quite unending-
and not worth even
a casual defending

Perhaps in impending years
a regression of sorts
can be brought on-
for advances taken each day
find my mind
in perceptible


deadended, by nicholas liebrecht
Hours spent talking "good"
Don't take enough hard directions.
So, occasionally you upset the euphoria,
almost to over-ride entering gentler realms-
sans some emotional leftover reminder rush.




meredith, by nicholas liebrecht
her hair is tangled razor wire
her hands are gnarled knots
her eyes are filled with greasy fire
her feet just eat her socks

she never mouths an unkind word
she aids all those with needs
she may appear evil or absurd
she doesn't look like her deeds


punchtuation, by nj liebrecht

A blurred fist
soon put paid
to questions asked.

A broken nose
-white bright pain-
all too adequate
for punctuation.


sleep walk, by nicholas liebrecht

Making his lips into a crescent
the moon unrolled a smile

and drew close his robe of clouds

Keeping an even-tempered watch
upon the Earth's blistered skin

was ample task for a night's work

Ceding slowly back under a shelf of mountains
he again entrusts our protection to the sun

for now, wakefulness will once more become a dream.


natural selection, by nicholas jay liebrecht

THE empty eyes of animals
a bird's blind, fluttering flight
two tomcats mewing at the moon
not sleeping, though it's night

IF a porpoise had a purpose, dear
if a donkey dared to dream
a fish might wish for feet, not fins
and stride beside the stream

US humans have been blessed, you see
we've come so far, my child
overruling mother nature's laws
we've learned to tame what's wild.


descriptivity, nicholas liebrecht
curling into absinthe cups
conversations felt around our ear canals
sometimes never even went in as far as the brain

the whisk of a double-you
the hush of a shhh
the promise of a drawn out, soft o

we never tried at telepathy
knowing that addicts like us
would rather have an eloquent eulogy
than a too-long, true, long life


smallest, by nicholas liebrecht
One small step for mankind
is still
one insignificant step
for my feet.


more than should be, nicholas jay liebrecht

sleepwalking in a squaredance round
the bend up in the road
work is not a thing I seek
I hide each labour's load

nevernow I see my dreams
for lover loves her games
play a while while the wheat
covers these two lover's names.


informnation, by nicholas liebrecht
careful study makes machines of men
we look too close and see no magic in an atom
naming every piece of every part
what remains to not know?
where are the foreign shores to assault with questions?
the unshaped beasts that force us to fight?

do i understand what a cloud is doing?
no, but i understand that someone understands
i understand that it is no longer a mystery-

written on 4-11-10

PETER POUND, by nicholas liebrecht

little brittle Peter Pound
went walking in the ice
and little brittle Peter Pound
felt fine, for it was nice

to hear crystals crunching underfoot
his black boots came darkly down
and little brittle Peter Pound
soon slipped and hit the ground

something snapped when Peter fell
inside, he felt a fountain
HELP HELP, we all heard Peter yell
and then we heard the mountain

little brittle Peter Pound
saw snow come like a wave
then little brittle Peter Pound
found himself an icy grave.


For Yesterday, nicholas jay liebrecht lieu of something tangible
we gave eachother rhymes

many turned out terrible
and others came out fine

we'd often spend the evening whole
just placing word on word

filling up the hollows in our soul
and the souls of all who heard...


I Come To You Not With Tales Of Sorrow, by nicholas liebrecht
On the breast of a bleat
of a thousand strong trumpets
I am the herald of my own victory

I celebrate from every inch of my skin
down into my very bones

A crown has been piously placed
on the tip of each finger, each toe

Come and fill yourself upon the feast
the banquet of my plentiful moods
each one, a living master

Take these words and cherish them, value them
for they are a gift
no less sacred than if they were to arrive
in your hand via an escort of doves
alight on golden wings

Take these words and protect them
for, although they come from a source of power,
they are still young
and need much care

Take these words and use them
to fashion your own history, to make yourself
heard above the voices of other men, and to lead us all
to a land where confidence is


building walls, by nj liebrecht
Building walls is in my blood
she said she was a type of architect
and a tumbling list of cliches followed
she said the walls weren't to keep me out
but to keep her own self in
she said that a newer, stronger one grew up
in the place of every old wall she'd ever torn down
she actually said the words that it wasn't ME
it was HER that should assume all of the fault

Well, it was me and her I said
both of us
that are here and now
neither one of us is just imagining the other
and that building walls is good practice
for one day composing a whole city


gravitas, by nicholas jay liebrecht
My shoes crest over the ledge
and push little grains of granite over
and my entire stomach shoves up
into mt throat, the back of my mouth

One too-bright moment of absolute still
then the rush of wind
like nothing I've ever felt, my god
the air is so loud, so strong, in my ears

My mouth jacks into an unsupportable grin

I knew it all along - I can, indeed, fly
before I am even done knowing that, I know something else, too
anyone who wants to - can fly
anyone who dares to- can fly

Of course, I will die without
ever revealing the secret
as to why I chose to fly
straight down
so fast, so final


focus, by nicholas liebrecht
In a voice less truthful than a scream would be
she tells me everything I've been demanding
how she dreams of her dead sister
what the name was of her first pet
the only time she hurt someone on purpose
and when she plans to go away from this place

The pencil is scribbling in my head
not omitting one detail, one nuance
even the lies get recorded in bold
maybe I should close my eyes, I think
so I can listen more truly
without colors and motion and blinking


abandon this heart, nicholas jay liebrecht

A slave on a throne of golden stones
shame is the name of your brutal game
again, it's the same stupid weakness to blame
your father turns trust into silty, fine dust
as his sweeping lust is gone in a gust...


CAndyBOnes, by Nicholas Liebrecht
Candybones for Mister Jones
he hones his razor on peppermint cones
red-mouthed children eagerly invest
in dead mother's milk to digest
paper crypts will soon stifle their moans...


redundant , by nicholas liebrecht
unfinished yellow sunlight
heats its way past my liquid eyelids
and the daytimes proud whipsnap
opens two eyes and ten fingers
willing to creak across their rusting hinges
one more time
than is probably


OKAY SO, by nicholas jay liebrecht

Okay so I have my water yes
the cap is off and on the end now
less than an inch of space to go and okay
the pen stops and waits for a brain ummm
to bunch up the fingers and skate them around on the page
okay okay just start anywhere
I tell myself that I can always go back and edit everything anytime later
yeah so okay who cares where I start
it's where I end up that matters right write okay
write about your lack of breakfast
write about your silent scurry to work
okay write about the last thing you saw when you closed your eyes
just build yourself some sort of beginning okay
start stacking your words
and check later to see if they're sturdy enough
to climb up on
just get moving and

April 1, 2010

Friday, April 23, 2010


Just a different view to show off this works'