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Thursday 17th February, 2005
Getting back in the groove
I have recently returned after a long hiatus and I can't believe how rusty my poetry is. I want to be original! I DO! How I long to be so original. Anyway, we just moved across the country and suprisingly, in my depression, I didn't create anything. Weird. So, I'm happy to be back and now the "verses" are trying to crank. (Squeak, squeak - that noise is my brain.) Maybe I'll try writing something else. Hmm.
11:43 PM | 1 comment | #


Monday 02nd February, 2004
cute
I submitted my fiction piece " The Sinkhole" here and to "The Dead Mule". Yesterday I sent my poem "Lady Savannah" to several Savannnah Publications hoping for a response. None yet. I envision myself sipping mai tais by the ocean. I could dig it.

My last blog, intended to inspire hope in my stepdaughter, was met with "Cute".
The hand was extended and slapped.

I am trying hard to remember teenage angst. Hazy memories. Rock and roll and other things will do that, won't they?
7:42 PM | 3 comments | #


Monday 26th January, 2004
blind
Why is it that only poets can understand poetry?

I am sure I cannot be the only one who has gotten that queer look from someone who has just read your work (even though you pretend to protest but let them read anyway). There you wait, with baited breath for some pure acknowledgement, a flicker of light of understanding only to find that queer look and some totally off base comment that summarizes nothing you had hoped for.

How sad and disappointing that you pour yourself into words, hoping that those around you can see the beauty or the message, only to find they don't.

(sigh)
9:46 PM | 9 comments | #


Tuesday 13th January, 2004
To Rebecca - a prologue
Rebecca dear don't cease your works
Don't listen to the callous smirks
A kindred spirit, you fly and fly
Don't let unkindness dot your eye

Rebecca you are a brighter star
Than provincial minds ever are
Do not let them silence your voice
or take away your gifted choice

Rebecca don your armour, dear
Swordsmen and hunters are always near
Your soul is what will shield the blows
With every wound your spirit grows

Rebecca let your thoughts pour out
don't censor what your soul's about
If they can't see your brilliant light
then they lack your beautiful sight

Rebecca gather all the sorrow and pain
that pokes and prods your heart's refrain
And weave it into your golden shield
all your beauty will be revealed

Rebecca some can't see the glow
Your beauty they will never know
Do not let them assign your name
your soul is not theirs to smother or tame



9:52 AM | 2 comments | #


Monday 12th January, 2004
Stardust Revealed
Her smile crackles and pops as she stretches the leather mask into a smile.

You don't know me.
She says in high lyrical notes.

I'm a mystery.

Though she never moves her pink frosted lips. I'm your friend, she lies when she does.

How long had she hated me I wondered. When did she turn? Why didn't I know that every word I said to her were lead bullets she carefully pocketed for later use?

I was fascinated by her shiny, sparkly webs that I unwittingly flew into, not knowing they were all around me.

She feigns shock when one by one those around me begin to hurl lead bullets in my direction. I duck and weave but the target is apparent.

She shakes her head and clucks her tongue. The gold nylon tendrils of her hair swing from each glue plug.

Nevermind, she says, they're just jealous! Look at my new tatoo!

She bares her forty-six year old back. The angry red and blue pattern peaks over the top of her cutoffs.

Her cell phone rings. She winks a frosted blue crepe eyelid at me and leaves to distribute more bullets.


Author's Note:
elaboration on my poem "Stardust"

11:22 PM | 4 comments | #





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