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no one visits my blog

  1. dribblingpensioner
    Member

    @skepticdoctor, " words, not word's. misuse of apostrophes " , i do'nt worry so much about apostrophe's as long as you get what i've said , thats' the main point. :)

  2. dribblingpensioner
    Member

    @ teamoyeniyi, timethief, momfog, if you go to the site below you will see a very good way to have a blogroll which i think i will change to, he has made a very good one.

    http://thelastexplorer.wordpress.com/

  3. @dribblingpensioner I think I'll make a blog page as well. I only have a few of the blogs I like on the blogroll right now and making a page will allow me to include a few more without crowding the sidebar and all the other negative things TT pointed out.

    Thanks for the reference.

  4. dribblingpensioner
    Member

    i'm going to try it out very soon as well

  5. dribblingpensioner
    Member

    @momfog, have a look i made a start :)

  6. @Harry
    Yes it's a static page like the one I created {shrug}.

  7. dribblingpensioner
    Member

    thats the word, static, i knew there was something i forgot, it's my memory TT :) shrugs back

  8. @dribbling i agree. :P and as i said before, good points... btw, wouldn't have ever learnt of muphry's rule either!

  9. dribblingpensioner
    Member

    @skepticdoctor, Muphry's law yes indeed i remember it well, i was in the pub when he wrote a few of them.

  10. OP, you're obviously passionate about poetry. I suggest you visit other blogs wherein poetry may be found and comment on them. This will raise your profile with minimal effort.

  11. Same here. no one knows that im blogging, rather im the one who owns the blog.so no one views my blog. though everything written there is true, but my identity is hidden. i made my blog for me to express myself, without bothering others. so there, not even a single viewer. hehe! funny isn't it? :)

  12. littledebbieoatmealcookie,
    Your poems are edgy, they bite, you have talent. Your not writing s--- and calling it poetry. There is a definite rhythm in your style. And you're funny: "I guess I could cut my feet off in the city square to get some TV time on the local news ..." A good writer cuts right down to the core and you seem to be able to do that. Plus, writers tend to be solitary. So why are you blogging this poetry? Why aren't you sending it out?

  13. This is good. Why aren't you sending this out? Take this off your blog and send it out. It's poetry because it leaves you with an image. All you people that read this and don't get it --read it 5 times until you can see that the orange juice spilling from some fractured decanter onto "our plates, our spread" is akin to a war that's over and gone but never really over and gone b/c it finds its way into your life. This is beautiful. Send it out!

    see here, I don’t even recall
    the war
    though it goes on every day, probably
    the way
    arthritis does for worn out ladies.
    The war – it – doesn’t action, you see.

    more like it sits, maybe, I don’t know,
    like a spikey nail at our dinner
    table
    who in your family holds the seat
    of the end table - and orange
    juice spills from some fractured
    decanter into our plates, our spread

  14. I love this. I can relate. Artists need to support each other. You can get that support without GIVING these beauties away. They need to be published and you need to be paid for your work. This is really beautiful work.

    Some Mennonites moved in next door and warmingly offered
    a pound of asian rice to me and my family
    I told them they were stupid for giving away their rice
    of course they said they were sorry and they offered
    an australian pear to me and my family
    I told them they were stupid for giving away their pear
    in return they, being so kind, gave me a regret for my distress and a freshly baked bread
    I explained how stupid they were.

    because they were such good people they
    said they were sorry and
    they offered to me and my family a sack of peruvian potatoes
    and a pail of milk with flakes of utter skin
    I looked at them into their beady eyes and told them
    that they were unrealistic, stupid, and unwelcome
    in my neighborhood
    for their behavior was out of touch with the reality that
    I wish for my family to adhere to
    they felt horrible and gave me two cuts of London Broil
    I told them they were stupid for giving away their steaks
    of course they said they were sorry and they offered
    apples, raisins, and canadian granola
    I told them they were stupid, knowing what I knew

  15. I'm reading the first one over and now the war is the war at home. The one that sits at the end table is in charge and the fractured decanter is the mask that covers the lies, where people pretend their lives are prettier than they are.

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