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Okay, after lunch for you then
Daylight Savings is over for us here, it's 8:45pm. So that works out better for me!
posted by
Discombobulated78
on April 29, 2007 at 1:47 AM
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But you are. I'll give you tomatoes when we chat. It's 2.10 here
Must ne 9.40 there. Half an hour, after Ive had lunch?
posted by
Bhaskar.ing
on April 29, 2007 at 1:39 AM
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Thanks but I'm not that great
I think I'm just good enough to post on Blogit and not be pelted with virtual tomatoes :). And if you're going to be around tonight we should try for a real chat for once!
posted by
Discombobulated78
on April 29, 2007 at 1:34 AM
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Thanks but I'm not that great
I think I'm just good enough to post on Blogit and not be pelted with virtual tomatoes :). And if you're going to be around tonight we should try for a real chat for once!
posted by
Discombobulated78
on April 29, 2007 at 1:34 AM
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Yes Tony the great. So do I take from you too. 2day I feel like discoing
posted by
Bhaskar.ing
on April 29, 2007 at 1:32 AM
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oH, now to disco 'coz i've been able to pull you in.
I'm just a first grader in poetry. No doubt, you bunch of poets are really, really great. And that cerainly is what I'm not.
posted by
Bhaskar.ing
on April 29, 2007 at 1:30 AM
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I notice you wrote a sonnet, have you been taking lessons from Tony? :P
posted by
Discombobulated78
on April 29, 2007 at 1:28 AM
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So my Fate Disco seems to have smiled on me. Makes me 'appy
posted by
Bhaskar.ing
on April 29, 2007 at 1:27 AM
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You say it's not your calling but you're better than me!
Bravo! That really pulled me in, which doesn't happen all that often.
posted by
Discombobulated78
on April 29, 2007 at 1:11 AM
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Okay then, but I'll use a lot of tyour space
To make a start more swift than weighty,
Hail Muse. Dear Reader,
Here’s a sonnet without a moral
I hope the reader will not quarrel
About a minor missing link
But if he likes it, he can think.
Memoir of an Apostate
How wonderful it is, upon waking,
To find one’s lover at one’s side;
The slow delicate light is breaking
Irresolutely through the wide
Grey windows of our bedroom, falling
On my beloved’s hair, and my recalling
How last night she undid it, how
It flowed between my hands; but now
She lies asleep, unswiftly breathing;
Her thoughts are not with me, her dreams
Traverse the solitary streams
Of inward lands, yet her hair, wreathing
The pillows in a mesh of light,
Returns to me the fugitive night.
And so I’ll end the story here.
What it’s come to is still not clear.
Whether the fates will smile or frown,
Make poor Bhaskar survive or drown,
But if raising, or even falling,
Poetry’s truly, not my calling.
posted by
Bhaskar.ing
on April 29, 2007 at 1:00 AM
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Thanks Bhas, I'd love to see you write some poetry!
posted by
Discombobulated78
on April 29, 2007 at 12:51 AM
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Discom- This is just too beautiful.You bring out the latent poet in me
posted by
Bhaskar.ing
on April 28, 2007 at 10:53 PM
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Discombulated
This was lovely! --Joy!Mary
posted by
FoliageGold
on April 28, 2007 at 2:16 PM
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Thanks all :)
posted by
Discombobulated78
on April 28, 2007 at 2:14 PM
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Great work!
posted by
teddypoet_TheGoodByeFade
on April 27, 2007 at 9:55 PM
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It's a lovely poem.
posted by
afzal50
on April 27, 2007 at 6:28 PM
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Disco
I enjoyed this alot. Not overdone, and from the heart. Well done.
-samrtdog
posted by
smartdog_670
on April 27, 2007 at 5:27 PM
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posted by
star4sky5
on April 27, 2007 at 4:58 PM
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To sleep, perchance to dream...nicely done...
posted by
scriber
on April 27, 2007 at 3:26 PM
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