monnae

I’m so glad to see you on my Social Feed. How have you been? I was very surprised at the lack of response for so long to your “Old Poets” posting. So many people have left Wattpad it feels like a ghost town. I guess taking away private message had a lot to do with it. I’m glad you’re alive and kicking. I think of you often.

Thank you, Seas. I've thought you often as this stroke tried to erase me, even here it has tried to make me a begone event, but I would have nothing to with it, smile. yes, i am happy and trying write again, slowly starting out with vignettes and added it to my short stories by Olan L Smith here on Wattpad.

Old Poets - Joyce Kilmer
          
           (For Robert Cortez Holliday)
          
          If I should live in a forest
          And sleep underneath a tree,
          No grove of impudent saplings
          Would make a home for me.
          I'd go where the old oaks gather,
          Serene and good and strong,
          And they would not sigh and tremble
          And vex me with a song.
          The pleasantest sort of poet
          Is the poet who's old and wise,
          With an old white beard and wrinkles
          About his kind old eyes.
          For these young flippertigibbets
          A-rhyming their hours away
          They won't be still like honest men
          And listen to what you say.
          The young poet screams forever
          About his sex and his soul;
          But the old man listens, and smokes his pipe,
          And polishes its bowl.
          There should be a club for poets
          Who have come to seventy year.
          They should sit in a great hall drinking
          Red wine and golden beer.
          They would shuffle in of an evening,
          Each one to his cushioned seat,
          And there would be mellow talking
          And silence rich and sweet.
          There is no peace to be taken
          With poets who are young,
          For they worry about the wars to be fought
          And the songs that must be sung.
          But the old man knows that he's in his chair
          And that God's on His throne in the sky.
          So he sits by the fire in comfort
          And he lets the world spin by.

Dear I've had a small stroke and I am in recovery. I wanted to write to you to let you know that I am recovering.

seas, i had a dream of you last night. not knowing what you look like, but of your words and poems. I hope you're doing amazing beautiful friend. :)

If you miss us, drop by and leave a note on our conversation page, smile. I switched back to writing novels for the time being and am having some success at it. I miss you as well. You drop by from time to time, you hear now. LPF, Olan

Hi there seasofme  good to hear from you. I’m just a wondering lost bee that doesn’t like just one type of flower but wants every variety . Problem is I never finish many things I do.  Really enjoy it though , the multiple ways of creativity.  Weird Rose.

@openadoor34 oh, how cool to hear from u, karen! please just check in now and then if nothing else? i will see about writing something. how about u writing something. i am okay. (why is there no word for how things are that denotes something specific, haha?) maybe i just don't have the vocabulary. i'm content, is what. there. take care. write me.

I got on here.!!! Haha <3 

Actually Ajay's prize was for the 2024 Srinigar prize, got that wrong.