[I wonder]

I was sitting at my desk this morning letting my mind wonder (procrastinating), while half heartedly flicking through the AD website, and i began to wonder.

How many people, poets, authours, the musical coner of the website, and anyone else i've missed out. how many of you consider yourselfs as artists?

If so/not, then why aren/aren't you an artist?

I pondered this and decided that i never saw myself as an artist. allways seen myself as someone with absolutly 0 creative talent what so ever... and therefor don't see myself as an artist... i wonder aobut everyone else?

[untitled]

Why would you submit a first effort without at least editing it yourself? It only takes a few minutes, much less time than writing the poem would, and the presentation is much more effective if you do so. It's rather like proofreading a paper before handing it to a college professor. Not doing that doesn't allow your best work to be seen.

Sorry

This poem is pretty close to the heart, and I meant more, unfinished and unperfected than unedited.

I posted this now because it felt right (how cheesy of me). the poem is much like me unfinished and unperfected. one day in teh futrue i do hope to have this poem completed, finished, more of a sign of moveing on or maybe even 'closure' because when i managed to finish this I'LL be finished and how i want to be.

God look at my intropective blubbering. i jsut wanted to explain the reasoning behind my aparent maddness

The anonymous P

[Forgotten]

heres another late night creation

Forgotten

One night.

Spent in bliss

Ignoring the future

Forgetting the past

While intoxicated by the present.

One day it?ll all catch up,

We hope its long in coming.

For how will we all cope

When years of pain come crashing down?

[on a lighter tone]

I never seam able

I never seam able

When sat at the table

To voice what I know I need

I want to be gay

Never lead astray

Yet my voice is never readied

To walk out of the closet

Unlike you dear abbot

Would sow an important seed

For then I could start

To practise my art

And then be happy indeed

Derek

There once was a man named Derek

Who dreamed of a being cleric

found he was gay

Threw his dreams away

And now loves the man named Erik

late night inspiration and a bit of fiddling lead to these 'creations'

P

[untitled]

To A From P

Fleeting moment embossed with beauty

Pleasure beyond compare

Seeing the world anew, more real than ever

Purpose and meaning enter the world

Feeling younger and yet wiser

Permitting that door to be opened

The door with more potential than any other

Potential to free you soul and see it soar

Potential to gain what we all want

Potential to loose all we have

my love, let in and given the tour

Certain only good times could follow

Blinded by love, unable to see his lack

Lack of feeling remorse, humanity even

Realisation of the mistake wasn't enough

A seemingly never ending cycle of pain

Knowledge and logic wasted and useless

Cracks appear in the veneer followed by a leak

Compassion feeling love and humanity even

Drained then stolen by my first love

to A from P

so my first ever real poem. more than a bit apprehensive. read most of the other poems on here and since been compelled to write and terrified to post.. how can i compare?

neither rushed notmhurried now... looked over it and amde a couple oif changes from orginal

feed back greatly appreciated

P