Bright Light, Bright Light

Shots like this are a big stumbling block for me when I watch the Lord of the Rings movies. I can't help feeling like there's a car on the other side of the hill with its headlamps on.

Good thing someone thought to light those lanterns or . . . or something. I know the idea is this is supposed to be moonlight exaggerated so we can see everything--and sometimes the full moon can be pretty bright. But how much creepier would it have been if the Nazgul were barely perceptible howling shapes moving in the darkness?

I also wish there weren't so many close-ups. So much FACE in that movie. There is a reason I keep watching these films, though--mainly I'd say its sets and costumes and most of the actors and of course Tolkien.

I don't have much to say to-day, so here's some bonus metered nonsense I wrote for the regular Winterfell poetry slam;

The Floor

Reclining crashes blink lightning at top.
Dashes of rain like pins sew in fathoms.
Limbs of noodle veins wriggle through a drop.
Bruises crinkle acres of cloud bottoms.
Driftwood disintegrates in graceful arcs.
Unproved ghosts glimmer in still inertia.
Yesterday's galleons, long boats, and barques
Ships of Europe, Africa and Persia.
Bilious zoophytes pilfer lace and gold.
Ephemeral flesh is divvied by tooth.
Carapace counters take tax from each hold.
Traffic untangles without care or ruth.
Wormy lanterns lash the promise from air
And the naked skulls too cold for nightmare.

Pure War and Martini Peace

Paper's burning on the small telescope.
Naked names cross the synapses for help.
Leaves with no digits traverse vows for hope.
Although Shatner's shame is his naked scalp.
Bowls of hair hold the long logic for now.
Crushing the granite nulls the rock quarry.
Cutting comes when the wig slinks down the brow.
Jagged's the edges of crowns of worry.
Stone king seats sag under Schwarzeneggers.
Muscles built for orgasms blind the bone.
Dotty came back to work they say "preggers".
Molten steel soon stops the veins of our home.
Cromwell cast cannon of a pious shell.
But Churchill always had an olive smell.

Twitter Sonnet #447

Hourglass calculations sting the dog.
Frowning moons scream at suns for mistrial.
Misty assembly lines put thumbs in fog.
Innocent surgeons gut with no guile.
Tireless lassos swan over a kite.
Narrow rattles take apart the babies.
Whiney singers sob of Superman's might.
Silent rifles firmly finish rabies.
Dizzy dalmation showers are pointless.
Misdirected petrol tanks the book spine.
White dogs dilute into warming darkness.
Pretty dancers chuckle under the Rhein.
Elongated canines cover cat thoughts.
The quadruped plans have all gone to pots.