Honest

I have a new bone the size of a dollar growing out of my foot as a result of "calcific tendonitis" (think OUCH). It hurts, I can't walk much, and karate is out :'(((

I looked over some of my old verses for ms. cricket. Guess what? I'm actually quite surprised I wrote them. For once, I can confidently call them poems! Not the sophisticated sort the murky modern variety, but poems nonetheless. There's some meter, a rhyme scheme and most of all, there's that indescribable aesthetic poignance about it.

I'd like couzzie's take on them someday. I doubt I shall ever send them to 'her', nor openly name 'her'. Give me some license to abuse language, and I'll say those poems capture my 'zeitgeist' during that long and lonely period, where her warmth was to me like a blanket is to a winter-beaten beggar.

Yes, for once this blog isn't used for despondent thoughts. I write these here because I've put up a verse on my other blog. This is a black hole, the other is a meadow: entries are sorted accordingly.