I am constantly drawn as if in a dream by uncontrollable urges
Urges which press upon my being drawing me in under
And through a torrent of emotions fueled by a sensual heat yet to be fathomed.
My breathing grows laborious and my heartbeats increase in rhythmic chorus as my eyes widen in anticipation of a closer view.
Holding my hand until it is painful I am startled by your sound followed by darkness
As turning I see calls from depths I have yet to explore.
In recognition of my addiction I am alone once more questioning my love and lack of discipline as a favored chair beckons and I succumb to being seated once more
Exhaling slowly I softly touch places I have gone before and surrender once again to my awaiting computer.
We shared many things before. Now we share this addiction. I am glued to computer screen almost every day and every hour. I must echo the words of George Mateos.
Not "maybe" or "just" or "only" a writer, but you are a writer. Call it a blessing or call it a curse and you do the craft of writing quite well. May the 'addiction' continue to bless you.
Only a writer? you are more than that, you are soul, words from your heart are like fireflies on summer nights, you whisper like that garrulous Mississippi hurrying from the north towards the happy sounds of New Orleans Mardi Grass, and your smiles are reflection of the happy smiles that filled Tom Sawyer with peace but, that fimly, sent Rhett Butler away.
Robin Ouzman Hislop's poetry is certainly in dialogue with some of the key architects of the 'poetics of indeterminacy' – both the Modernist strands represented by the likes of Beckett and Stein, and the postmodernist strands represented, initially,
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Peace,
Dan
Georg
You. ARE. A. Writer. It shows in this thought provoking piece - well done.
(((HUGS))) and love, Karla.