When I posted a poem here someone told me “You need a girlfriend” Itold her, I have a cute girlfriend. That lady unsubscribed and left.What the hell was she thinking about me or my poems? I don’t know. Justbecause I write opposite of what I feel don’t make me less of a poet.Now being a poet, I have seen many older people writing poetry onXanga. For the experience they have with life, their poetry sucks. Inthe meanwhile some of the young poets I recently read shown amazingability to express. Many shown much more capacity in expressing thanmany classical poets. But it is a free world and everyone got the rightto express. Probably many of the older poets will learn from theyounger ones many lessons.
There are people who really don’t know what to write that is theproblem for almost all the poets one or the other time of their life.See it is quite simple, as a poet you can only write what is felt inyour heart. Poetry comes from heart not from your brain as a mechanicalaction. So the subjects one should write is right around the poet.Those simple events that one goes through everyday have a point ofpoetry in it. Then the material you read, the shows you see on T.V, themusic you listen all can be blended together to make wonderful poetry.But the process through which one makes those events to poetry is amatter for the individual. It cannot be imitated, if imitated it willonly end up irritating readers. That is well evident in the poetry ofmany people here, especially those who are well experienced with life.In all honesty they are pathetic.
The gentle breeze of the evening fought,
With the screams of the downtown life,
Wednesday fell tired to the mongering life,
That went by like a monster machine none designed.
When night gnawed the evening away,
Laughs filled the sideways of streets,
Colorful dresses, color filled faces,
Oh’ they flocked like the flamingos in oasis.
Then there were men out there for the exploits,
Tall men, short men, muscular men, and big bellied men,
Some men walked hand in hand looking at other men,
Many men stayed as far away from those men.
The battle lines were formed,
Inside the mostly dark clubs and bars,
In the flashing lights one can find,
The moving shapes of dancing dames.
Empty bottles crashed into trash,
Minds left every normalcy anyone known,
Beauties became more beautiful,
Rest of the womanhood earned, compliments undeserved.
Time at its pace moved,
But for many time ran away fast,
When blinking lights died and bright light birthed,
Many ladies yearned to be beauties of any drunken man.
All left with one or the other,
Some women left with women who looked like men,
Many men left flexing muscles or caressing bellies,
And time stood perplexed not knowing the passing era.
From the corner of the bar he slowly walked,
Out into the spring night where the wind gained strength,
A smile stretched cheek to cheek, back at him all smiled
Some women from the speeding cars in disappointment waved.
When alone in the alley, away from crowds,
His own mind filled with a wonderful face,
Danced in the happiness of a conquerer,
And step by step through dark he moved.
Still a kiss upon his lips he missed,
And the wind brought the drizzles from heavens,
When drizzles fell he too felt a kiss,
None he saw deserved to give to a wonderful soul.
Well, I am working on the last part of Tess but I decided to rewrite it, straightening some of my own thoughts about it. There is only person who will truly understand how twisted my mind can be now. 
