Works of Art by the one so cherished :) (Viggo)

[Minya Collowen]

post any of his art here! Photographs and such. TheEvenstar has a lot she could post.

[Lady Elessar]

i could post some if i had a webcam! but i dont so im screwed! ill try to find some on the internet...



that was the cover to one of his books called signlanguage





cover to coincidence of memory




behing him is one of his paintings called Finland Aerial Harvest

[Lady Elessar]

here are some thumbnails of some of his wonderful painings. I am not going to post the big pictures, but if you go to this site you can click and see them larger:
www.expression.edu/~astier/Web/artist-link.html

[Lady Elessar]

OMG!!!! *swoon*
check out these photos of viggoS!!!






1. Elijah Wood- Te Anau (1), 2000
2. Viggo and Orlando Bloom- no title, 2000
3. Orlando Bloom- Legolas, 2000
4. Karl Urban- Eomer, 2000
5. Elijah Wood- Te Anau (2), 1999
6. Viggo- Autoportrait, 2000

[Lady Elessar]

POEMS BY VIGGO MORTENSEN!

TEN LAST NIGHT

I PASS A PILE OF BROKEN CHAIRS
ON OUR STREET CORNER
AND FEEL YOU
DRYING ON ME.
I TASTE THE BLOOD
THAT SHIMMERED
ON YOUR LIPS.
LINGERING, LIKE GUILT DOES.



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JUST COFFEE

HE WANTED BIGGER LOVE,
HAD TO HAVE IT LIKE HE
HAD TO DREAM HIMSELF
TO SLEEP. RECROSSED
HIS LEGS AND WAITED
FOR HER TEARS. WHEN
THEY CAME, HE HELD
HER HAND, PRETENDED
TO BE INTERESTED IN
SOMEONE WALKING BY
THEIR TABLE.



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STONES

MET BY A LAKE NEAR THE SUN.
YOUR MOUTH AND EYES, ARMS
AND LEGS, MELTED AS THOUGH
WE'D KNOWN EACH OTHER WELL
AND NEEDED ONLY REKINDLE
WARMTH OF THE FAMILIAR.
AS IF PATIENCE WERE REWARDED
AND NOW WE'D SHARE EVERYTHING.



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LETTER FROM NEBRASKA

THERE HASN'T BEEN A SUMMER LIKE THIS SINCE BEFORE THE WAR,
SO I'M TOLD. FLASH LIGHTNING FROM A CLEAR SKY WHEN EVERYONE
IS OUTSIDE. THE ANIMALS HAVE BEEN MULTIPLYING AT NIGHT.
THERE IS NEVER ENOUGH TO EAT. FORTY OR FIFTY MURDERS EVERY DAY,
AND GOD KNOWS HOW MUCH VIOLENCE PASSES FOR DISCIPLINE
BEHIND TORTURED WALLS. CHILDREN GO AROUND CLENCHING THEIR
FISTS AND STARING DOWN AT THEIR SHOES BEFORE THEY KNOW HOW
TO READ. THERE HAVE BEEN DROWNINGS. SOMEHOW WE HAVE
FORGOTTEN HOW TO SWIM. IT CAN NO LONGER BE TAUGHT. THE WATER IS
DANGEROUS. PEOPLE ARE AFRAID TO WATER THEIR LAWNS, THE BRIDGES
ARE UNUSED. IT NEVER RAINS. THE SUN IS LOSING ITS YELLOW AND THE
CLOUDS ARE CURLING UP AT THE EDGES. THE RADIO PLAYS TWENTY-YEAR-OLD SONGS
TWENTY-FOUR HOURS A DAY. I HAVEN'T SAID A WORD
SINCE APRIL.



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INDEPENDENCE

THEY WOUND UP INTO THE HILLS, KNOWING ONLY THAT THEY
WERE CLIMBING AWAY FROM THE CITY'S MAIN DRAGS. PAST THE
STACKS OF WELL-TENDED AND UNATTENDED RESIDENCES;
INVESTMENTS FOR SOME AND JUST HOMES FOR OTHERS.
IRRIGATED, ORDERLY, PROTECTED. STEEP DRIVEWAYS TWISTING
BACK DARKLY FROM JUNGLED GATEWAYS, FORBIDDING
ENTRANCES HINTING AT MYSTERIOUS FRUITS OF MYSTERIOUS
LABOURS. NOT A DOG OR PEDESTRIAN TO BE SEEN, ONLY
CONFIDENT HEADLIGHTS WHIPPING INTO VIEW OUT OF THE
TROPICAL NIGHT. WITH EACH STARTLING TURN OF THE
PINCHED ROAD THEY'D SMELL A DIFFERENT KIND OF
FLOWER. THEY COULDN'T STOP GRINNING AT THEIR GREAT
FORTUNE: THESE WERE THE HOMES OF MOVIE STARS, OF

ILLICIT MEETINGS, INTOXICATED PALM GARDENS, UNKNOWN
PHONE NUMBERS-THE BREEDING GROUNDS OF FAME!
SUDDENLY, THEY WERE OUT IN THE OPEN AGAIN, ON A
DESERTED BEND OF MULHOLLAND WHERE THEY HUNG HIGH
ABOVE THE FIREWORKED VALLEY. THIS WAS BETTER THAN THE
VIEW YESTERDAY FROM THE GRIFFITH OBSERVATORY-OR
MAYBE JUST AS GOOD, ONLY DIFFERENT. THEY HAD DRIVEN
UP AND DOWN THE PHONE-POLE FILTHINESS OF SANTA
MONICA BOULEVARD AND FOUND IT UPLIFTING. THEY
HAD SWUM IN THE PACIFIC OCEAN. THEY HAD WALKED
HOLLYWOOD BOULEVARD, IN AND OUT OF MOVIE THEATRES
JUST TO LOOK AT THE POSTERS. REVERENT AS THEY EXAMINED
THE JAMES DEAN STORES. WILDLY EXUBERANT THROUGH
HUMPED-UP SATURDAY-NIGHT TRAFFIC. IT WAS ALL PART OF A
WONDERFUL SECRET, AN INFINITE NUMBER OF WELCOMING
GIFTS THAT HAD LAIN WAITING IN THE SUN.



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HOME

HE'S GOT A DEEP, ABIDING RESPECT
VERGING ON IDOL WORSHIP
FOR WHERE THINGS END UP.
THERE ARE UNOPENED LETTERS
IN HIS REFRIGERATOR, A FAKE
FINGERNAIL IN THE SOAPDISH,
SHOES EVERYPLACE.
THESE THINGS, AND MANY MORE
LEAVINGS, FRAGMENTS, BALANCING
REMINDERS OF A BREEZE
FROM A SLAMMED DOOR- CONFIGURATIONS OF SANCTIFIED LOOSE ENDS- HAVE BECOME THE LIVING NET
ABOVE WHICH HE PERFORMS
THE MOVEMENTS THAT MAKE
THE CLOCK WORK.



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SECOND OPINION

THE GLOW INSIDE ANOTHER RED-CROSSED PELVIS
WILL DRAIN WHEN THEY CRUSH THAT LITTLE BULB.
MENSTRUAL MINSTRELS DRIFT IN
FROM THE WEEDLESS GARDEN.
THE IMMACULATE BLUE FLAME
FROM THE FAKE FIREPLACE
BURNS THE CORNER OF MY EYE.
CAN'T STOP STARING AT NOTHING.
A GLOVED HAND OPENS THE DOOR,
AND THE MAN ENTERS SOOTHINGLY,
WITH AN AIR OF RESPECT FOR THE DEAD.
ENCOURAGES US TO LOOK ON THE BRIGHT SIDE.
BLACK PANTS HIDE YOUR PAIN AFTERWARDS,
AND THERE'S A COOKIE ON A NAPKIN
AND A PAPER CUP OF RED JUICE
TO REPLACE YOUR STRENGTH.
WE DRIVE HOME WITHOUT BLINKING
BECAUSE THE SUN ISN'T REAL.



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COMMUNION

1.
WE'VE LEFT SHORE SOMEHOW
BECOME THE FRIENDS
OF EARLY THEORY
CLOSE ENOUGH TO SPEAK
DESIRE AND PAIN OF ABSENCE
OF MISTAKES WE'D MAKE
GIVEN THE CHANCE.


EACH SMILE RETURNED
MAKES HARDER AVOIDING
DREAMS THAT SEE US
LYING IN EARLY EVENING
CURTAIN SHADOWS, SKIN
SAFE AGAINST SKIN.
BLOOM OF COMPASSION
RESPECT FOR MOMENTS
EYES LOCK TURNS
FOREVER INTO ONE MORE
VEIL THAT FALLS AWAY.


2.
THIS AFTER SEEING YOU
LAST NIGHT, FIRST TIME
SMELLING YOU WITH
PERMISSION: SHOULDERS TO
WONDER OPENLY AT
AS CAREFULLY KISSED
AS THOSE ARMS
WAITED IMPOSSIBLY ON.
THEY'VE HELD ME NOW
AND YOUR BREATH
DOWN MY BACK
SENT AWAY NIGHT AIR
THAT HAD ME SHAKING
IN THE UNLIT ANGLICAN
DOORWAY.


3.
ARE WE RUINED FOR
FINDING OUR FACES FIT
AND WANT TO KNOW MORE
ABOUT MORNING? IS
FRIENDSHIP CANCELLED
IF WE CAN'T CALL
EACH OTHER ANYMORE
IN AMNESIA, INVITE
OURSELVES TO LAST GLANCES
UNDER SUSPICIOUS CLOCKS
TELLING US WHEN WE'VE
HAD ENOUGH?


4.
YOUR STEADY HANDS
CRADLING MY GRATEFUL
SKULL: WERE YOU TAKING
IN MY FACE TO
SAVE AN IMAGE
YOU'VE RARELY ALLOWED
YOURSELF AFTER LEAVING
THAT COLD ALCOVE?
AM I A PHOTOGRAPH
YOU GAZE AT IN
MOMENTS OF WEAKNESS?


YOU ORDERED ME
OFF MY KNEES
INTO YOUR ARMS.
WASN'T TO BEG
THAT I KNELT; ONLY
TO SEE YOU ONCE
FROM BELOW.


TRIED TO SAY SOMETHING
THAT FILLED MY MOUTH
AND LONGED TO REST
IN YOUR EAR.
DON'T DARE WRITE
IT DOWN FOR FEAR IT'LL
BECOME WORDS, JUST
WORDS.

(1999-2002)



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APART

YOU FOUND MY KEYS
ON AN ANGLE'S HIP
MOVED HALF THE FALLEN TREES
FROM THE FROZEN ROAD.

THIS TRIP IS
ALL I THOUGHT
IT WOULD BE
AND WE'RE NOT
EVEN 1/2 WAY YET.

IF I CAN'T TOUCH YOU
WITH SNOW-HUNG FIRS
OUR ONLY WITNESSES
CAN'T HAVE YOUR EYES
WHEN EVERYONE'S ASLEEP
THEN THE FIRE'S ALMOST OUT.

YOU ASK THE UN-NAMED
ATTRACTIONS TO LEAVE TOWN
BUT KEEP CHECKING
IF I'M STILL AROUND.

SHOULD WE SIDESTEP
PUTTING FINGERS TO
WORDS TRACING LIPS THAT
WOULD INFORM US?

ONCE SAID I'D MISSED
YOU EVERY INSTANT
BEFORE WE'D MET.
NOW BELIEVE WE KNEW
HOW SAD WE'D BE
APART.



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Last Leg

After driving the first forty miles of the morning
you accused me of ignoring you.
Now I'm waiting for the next volley
but it isn't coming.
I've been thinking for an hour since
and I don't know what you meant.
All you probably wanted was to trade a few words.
I didn't.
My mind has been on road things.
I see that the ocotillo is greening,
the sage looks like new.
Crows everywhere.
Some of the washes are wet
and there's a three-day grass mantle
on th highway shoulder.
Even the cottonwoods show signs
of waking up.
But now that you've accused me
I don't feel like mentioning these things.
Or the roadkills.
Or the Colorado,
which we just crossed
as you bore down on yet another postcard.
Maybe you're right,
maybe this silence is opressive -
indicating some great underlying disorder.
But the year is just beginning
and this car is running perfect.



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Embrace

The rain is infected
with bacteria
from secret experiments
of lonely men
and women.
It is that time
between winter
and spring
that is dismal
and threatening,
when the city
is airing its sweat-
stained corridors,
opening its arms
and legs imperceptibly
for an hour each morning.
Calm voices give whispered
instructions and hands
flutter
in the streetlight
hiding animal faces
that glisten
with swollen
red tongues.
Quietly,
they devour
each other.
Grateful
spasms,
violent motion
of interlocking,
clawing,
taunting.



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Keepsake

Still unused,
the letter opener
she got on her birthday
has become tarnished.
It lies on the sill,
next to a seashell
she found in Flordia
before moving west.
Before becoming a writer.
Before becoming a mother.
Her son wants to use it
as a dagger,
to wield it savagely
against monsters and bad guys
that come streaming out
from the toy-cluttered corners
of his room,
but he can't reach it yet.

[Viviane]

o dear god....where do you find the time to post all of that....its crazy......and long......very long......

[Lady Elessar]

all you have to do is copy and paste...its not really that hard!

[Viviane]

you coppied and pasted all of his poems?...hmmmmm...odd

[julia]

what's so odd about that?

[Lady Elessar]

yea...whats odd...nothing odd about that...i do it all the time

[skittles]

viggo is so awesome

[Lady Elessar]

duh...why eslse would i haev posted all of those poems?

[skittles]

um...you have a lot of time on your hands?

[Lady Elessar]

yes, everyone seems to know that about me

[skittles]

no wonder you have 3000+ posts