Journal

The Bulldog Bites

The Bulldog Bites It was my 42nd birthday last week. It's a good age I think. I'm still young and feisty enough to consider world domination, but mature enough to realise that it will never happen. Anyway, in my mind, I'll always be 25 and that's that.

In the season of womanhood

Commemorating the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory fire in New York, 1911 Woman's Day is celebrated on March 8 every year. Flipping the pages of history, I found more to present than that.

I WISH

THIS POEM IS HOW I FEELING AT THE MOMENT.

One Heart's Shadow

March 2004 No Moon. She hides tonight in the deep folds of the night sky. Gentle swirls of mist float on the stillness, leaving their breath on my hair. The strong fingers of the trees drip a steady beat to accompany the night. The rythm of that beat tugs at my soul, filling me with the fires of life.

003 a = abscence of, without

Anorexia - without appetite, asexual - without sex, anosmia - without smell, achromatic - without colour.

bless

above and below mumbled minds stumble subordinate clauses subordinate one another

a tourist visa for the "Real World"

In a flat world sailing across flat seas where flat fish don't swim, cultural chavinism rises in the West

Journal 13th December

Back home four days and it's bliss. Shutting down like the trees is much easier in your own place. I logon for the first time and try my work mail account, just in case it's not been shut down. It hasn't. Email from green eyes sitting there. From four weeks ago. To the day.

Journal 8th December

Freedom and chocolate. Doesn't get better than this.

Journal 16th Jan

Lo! Fear not! For it came to pass that morning pages begat more pages and those pages begat blogs which begat stories which begat poems. As it ever was, and shall be forever more. Hallelujah.