This will take some getting used to. Nothing looks the way it should; I guess change is worth embracing, Or it should be, when it's good -- Everything's in this weird font, now, With this vaguely shaded fill -- This will take some getting used to, And perhaps, I Never will
A blog is like a clothesline
With garments out to dry
In full sight of whoever may
By chance be passing by
And though there may be colors bright
They’ll also be some holes
(So maybe, now, a drier
Should be one of my new goals)
An old and worn technology,
To journal out one’s thoughts:
To fill up pages with regrets
And shoulds and woulds and oughts —
But there’s some comfort knowing
Whether unknown, or renown,
Like clothes upon a clothesline
All, at last are
Taken
Down
Strikes me this world is united by loneliness
Longing for love and acceptance and touch;
Everywhere, barriers: back, side and front of us
Even though most of us don’t ask that much
So we reach out through the arm of the Internet
Hoping to make some connection that’s real —
Striving with words to rein in all our demons and
Hoping there’s someone who knows how we feel
Yet, though alike, we can be at cross purposes
Needing to take what we don’t have to give:
It seems this world is united by loneliness
Distant point near
We will die thus
And live
I had a cup of coffee with
A monster yesterday;
I rather much enjoyed it, she had
Quite a bit to say
I listened to a dinosaur
(Of love instead of scales)
On wisdom that could once be found
In circulating emails
I read of childhood friends, and of
A life become adaptive;
Of where it is we place our hearts,
And how love takes us captive
I read a doctor’s poem, and
A poet’s turn at prose;
I saw a bloody thorn below
A still unbroken rose
And as I come to write again,
I finally realize
That all of us are much the same:
It isn’t tinge, or size,
Or any other earthly thing
We see, where we might zoom in —
It’s sharing our humanity
That makes us truly
Human
I read a lot of dating blogs,
As strange as it may sound
(For I have long been married
And I’m not looking around)
I like to know how women think
The things they like or hate;
For out on dating blogs they don’t
Accept guys who aren’t great
They want a man who’s dashing
And who’s wealthy, and who’s ripped;
A guy who looks good in a suit,
Or casual, or stripped
Yes, I like hearing all the things
That men are s’posed to be:
Though now I can’t account for why
My poor wife married me
"all a bit broken, most of us here" was what she said to me out in a wordpress comment thread of this community of bloggers, and our passions and the sorrows that we share the loneliness and grieving and the naked souls we bare that don't fit with the vacuous facade that is facebook's here honest ugliness counts more than model phony looks for even fiction is more real than truth that is lie-packed wordpress bloggers have at least integrity intact
(this.)
I’m not saying I like what’s happened to you
I’m saying I admire you for being in the battle
And soldiering on in spite of everything
I’m also saying I’d probably like you if I ever met you
Which I almost certainly won’t
But know this:
Somebody reads you
Somebody cares about you
Even if that somebody
Doesn’t know you
I was contacted by someone
Who lives way off in Kerala;
Whose blog I had been reading and
Whose poetry engendered awe
In me off in America
Here somewhere in the hinterlands.
To make a friend is always good;
But talent makes it own demands
I felt obliged to tell her that.
Her writing, so vibrant, alive –
A voice so brilliant and unique
Should find a place to grow and thrive –
Which she is doing, thankfully.
Reshu, my friend, may you be well:
And may your life give you the chance
To tell the tales
You tell
So well
