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Title Goes Here

"My own belief is that one regards oneself, if one is a serious writer, as an instrument for experiencing. Life -- all of it -- flows through this instrument and is distilled through it into works of art. How one lives as a private person is intimately bound into the work. And at some point I believe one has to stop holding back for fear of alienating some imaginary reader or real relative or friend, and come out with personal truth. If we are to understand the human condition, and if we are to accept ourselves in all the complexity, self-doubt, extravagance of feeling, guilt, joy, the slow freeing of the self to its full capacity for action and creation, both as human being and artist, we have to know all we can about each other, and we have to be willing to go naked." -- May Sarton, Journal Of A Solitude

We are no one-liners.

I am staying here with you
in spite I am straying in waterloo
I wish better for us
no more, no less, no rush

seize the moments with you
even if we are hurting
like opposing two/trains/collision,
are we time bombs?
or an Anytimeís-enigmatic-menacing-blow?
we blast time; indeed, our dove
fluttering, hovering our war-torn room
and then make love as dragonflies
to change things, reason, feelings
threesomes one cannot count two,
but all, I cannot deny trying hard
this abandoned blue Iíd die
streaming tears, tearing walls, cauterwalling
watergush! a gamut of unexplained surrenders

I hate to love you when I hate you.

sorry to hurt my only reason
it pains me to have you as a person
objects, things, thoughts: abstractions I feel
with a heart, mind, soul, gonads so real.

I am staying here with you
in spite I am straying in waterloo
I wish better for us
no more, no less, no rush

and I wish life is an option
to live with you more than a hundred years
edging in,
see more outside suns,
wait a blissful death

life is a sad drink of merrymaking
you laugh because you feel my pain
and cry happy
whoever you are, I love you
my needle --
pricking my beautiful life
merry life, as a sad drink:
toss and turn our tasteful tides

forgiveness is no automatic writing
no words can dictate our healing

my life is an open marriage
-- of all sorts --
itís a numb thought, bloody feelings scatter
coagulates then fuses
like feathered fireworks; a banter I guess

itís all sizzled up, like life,

I am staying here with you
in spite I am straying in waterloo
I wish better for us
no more, no less, no rush

to drink your oasis
in my endless deserts
you are my deadly fire,
       I can't seem to write you down
a flamingo of girth;
       you know, nothing lasts forever,
except love.

Be daring, be different, be impractical, be anything that will assert integrity of purpose and imaginative vision against the play-it-safers, the creatures of the commonplace, the slaves of the ordinary. -- Sir Cecil Beaton (1904-1980) English photographer

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The following comments are for "Title Goes Here"
by Idomis

something missing
First, you guys are no one-liners. If there was an Idomis blockbuster coming to town, you two are not to be missed in the waiting line. ;) Really thanks for your two cents (and again, I parrot worthwhile feedbacks, haha).

Seriously, I think I need inputs/insights on how to go about writing a book -- a poetry book for my works so far.

I feel it's my waterloo. I feel like I am stuck in the rut. Where do I begin? HELP!

( Posted by: idomis [Member] On: July 7, 2004 )

You leave me thinking a lot. In general, speechless, I mean! Hehehe.

And you mentioned illustrations... Poetry fused with graphics? Why, it's a mind-blowing duo!

Thanks, Claire! I will get back to you once I have the "supremely talented" goods. *smiles*

( Posted by: idomis [Member] On: July 8, 2004 )

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