There are times in ones life when you think that all before was prologue and what is to come is brand new. This is one of these times. My team mates think I should now set up my own blog from scratch. Sheeit! I am still a luddite, but here goes anyway.
Now, finding the picture I want:
OK. I've got Greta Garbo...Guess that tells me
all about myself, borderline Poofta. Now I try to bring in some more copy.


Recently, on the internet, lady genre writers have been excited over expressing passion in a character, perhaps so much passion that it may overshadow the plot.
Don't know about my own writing. I've certainly been described as an actual character on many occasions. But when it comes to my own characters, there is passion aplenty.
And there are times when emotions are so powerfully felt, they must be put in the shape of a poem, for here is where you can express these emotions.
Something published quite some time ago in a Town of Newmarket promotional magazine (I knew the editor personally, a lady):



Love Poem

He saw the teardrop on the rose
And again, he saw the teardrop on a rose
And he knew he could never melt the teardrop
And he knew this was already the end.

So he kissed he face of the evening wife
As he had kissed it before, in all its vaying forms
And again said hello to the precipice of silence
A precipice of silence
For his eighteen months of loving

The Queen of Swords is crossed over
And all the king's horses and all the king's men
Are trying to get her together again
like me
To no avail

Gigolo and Gigolet
This side of the lake of mutilation
Strike a match
And the hotel burns

There is only
this path of silence
As we dump our gods
And become like them

--Ivan

And here is the experience that gave rise to the poem, though I fear the writer, at the time was more experienced than talented:

YUPPIES THREW ME OUT

Life lays down strange ashpalt for men to tread on in the dark and I have just left Yuppie City.
She was gorgeous, but she was expensive, the other guy had more and so defeat has%