![]() |
All that remains: here in my afterlife as a 'mainstream' blogger, with what little I know. |
Thanks to the following: GabriellaR45 ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() The StoryMistress ![]() ![]() ------------------------------------------ I write poems on my cellphone now. I could have never imagined that. To celebrate 11 years, I will add to this blog post throughout the day with all of my favorite moments here at Writing.com these last 1.1 decades... The first poem I offered this writing community:
Written about a girl in college who didn't think we were compatible until it was too late for us...our lives were moving in different directions. ------------------------------------------ Someone noticed me as more than a newbie within a month of joining. ![]()
------------------------------------------ Going on a high speed chase, backward through time, looking for myself. The detectives eat donuts, the coroner readies sharp instruments, the newsroom plays games with crumpled copy, while I haven't arrived yet.... The latest Apple iPhone poem... Love and Words Poetry isn't my first language It was a beating rhythm In my mother's belly My fraternal twin Conceived Undelivered Until I set pencil to spiral notebook Resurrected It revealed itself Having hidden in my flesh Imprinted on shared DNA Celtic roots Like risen cream Giving birth over and over To her traditional flavor Tamed by a foolish boy With ideas of his own Only to return Inevitable Crying For the womb To heal his eyes, ears, mouth Show all What love and words Truly are made of. ------------------------------------------ And now, I tweet about my experience as a writer via my Twitter account... https://twitter.com/glaedrfly/status/892728530580254721 Lots more treats to come today... ------------------------------------------ In 2009, I was recognized with ![]() ![]() The recognized poem...
------------------------------------------ Perfection is lost once we try to conceive. Everything beautiful we yearn has already been perfected...and lost. Ambition is now the cruel mistress, leaving me with all these unfinished projects. What keeps us going is this naive belief we can find truth...when actually we're deluding ourselves with our own fantasy. (A)ware of that, we still keep trying. There is joy in the chase, this process. Maybe it is not illusion but love of the game. ------------------------------------------ |