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Secret Writers Business - by quatro

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I like this one;
A few days ago I saw a young lady, probably about 20 years of age, nothing unusual in that, except she had the saddest eyes I’ve seen for a while. I thought about those sad eyes and decided they spoke volumes about her loneliness. The next step was easy. I decided that those sad eyes were caused by her need to be loved and to love, to not feel lonely any more. I know it’s far fetched, but that’s my poetic interpretation. Anyway, it moved me enough to write this little poem a week later. To make another point about my poem, I am writing this with the movie “a street car named desire” playing in the background. I do not know of any other movie about the complete and utter destruction of a soul so fragile.
Please enjoy.


Your sad eyes are a highway to your soul.


You do not want much,
other than true love,
you long sincerity in its uncomplicated open guise,
but above all else you long for the freedom to be you.

Yes, you have ambitions,
you’re human after all,
the same desires, and inhibitions,
as most people in control.

You often dream a secret dream,
a dream of belonging of being loved,
of freely wanting to devote your time,
in a relationship that acknowledges who you are.

sad eyes love lonely


A monumental task, your prejudices in check,
to look beyond yourself in your world,
to know what is truly of great consequence,
to be you.

Reality is real,
because it’s always in motion,
it’s never to be induced, made to obey,
live in it or die in it, it’s your choice.


Original poem by
Alexander Teligioridis
February 2010.
22
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What would I do if I lost my hair!

February 18th 2010 10:19
I guess I am going through a child phase. I have a four year old at home and I am always making up stories for him and we both act them out. When you read this prose please read it with some cheek, making faces, and being generally silly. The four year old listening and watching you will love you for it. For the record, I am bald.


bald eagle rub tub fun




What would I do if I lost my hair!

Start collecting combs, what else!
Why not, it’s better than collecting scrambled and horribly fumbled pieces of coloured paper. I know that I would be ever so happy to never be in a position to see, how much hair was left for me to glee. Imagine washing my head, rub, rub, rub, with no hair on it, like a sub.
A wonderful, delightfully enjoyable, but sometimes categorical, if not in the least bit rhetorical, it was indeed, a time for me to flee. Well it’s not every day I lose my hair, I thought as I looked into the mirror and to my surprise there was no hair anywhere in sight. It was gone, gone to sea I think, on a ship with wings to fly in on the edge of darkness in a blink.
There’s nothing more to say, I will be counting how many combs I have so far and soon to have some more, ‘cause collecting combs, the thing for me. That’s of course if I lost my hair, in the first place, you see.

Is the bald eagle really bald?



sub bald tub


Original silliness for my toddler
by Alexander Teligioridis
February 2010
13
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A FUN POEM FOR YOUNG PEOPLE THE AGE OF FOUR OR MAYBE EVEN THREE. SO GET READY AND BE MERRY, FOR WHEN YOU READ THIS POEM OUT LOUD, READ IT WITH A SMILE AND MAKE FUNNY FACES STAND OUT, BUT ONLY IF YOU WANT TOO.

There’s a pebble in my shoe
and
I think it’s hiding a secret!


I sometimes tend to wobble
a kind of a misdirected gobble,
I’d like to fly and talk out loud,
but mostly I end up doing the hobble.

I like to run,
I like to hide,
I even think a bike, I’d like to ride,
jumping help’s but not too much,
rolling is great but gets all dirty in mud.

Tried walking,
on my own two hands that is,
came to a corner and needed to stop,
because all I could think of,
was a mighty sneeze.

There’s a pebble in my shoe you know,
and it’s bothering my middle toe,
there’s no way around it this morning,
I have to tell it I’m sorry,
because,
you see it’s not a pebble at all,
it just happens to be,
truly duly,
no fibs, cross my heart for surely,
the smallest dinosaur in the whole wide world,
with his red bow tie reading a poem,
really!



intelligent dinosaur with glasses

original work by
Alexander Teligioridis
February 2010
13
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HAPPY SAPPY MOON.

February 1st 2010 06:13
A FUN POEM FOR YOUNG PEOPLE THE AGE OF FOUR OR MAYBE EVEN THREE.
SO GET READY AND BE MERRY, FOR WHEN YOU READ THIS POEM OUT LOUD, READ IT WITH A SMILE
AND MAKE FUNNY FACES STAND OUT, BUT ONLY IF YOU WANT TOO.


happy fun child moon


HAPPY SAPPY MOON.


I woke early one morning,
one very early morning indeed,
and to my unexpected surprise,
I saw a big round moon in full bloom,
mourning,
looking very anxious,
skimming for some long lost glimmer,
looking indispensably trimmer,
likened to a kite; flying high,
and that’s when I realized the glimmer was not dimmer,
the glimmer was me!

A big round happy sappy moon,
is sometimes laughing and maybe even playing,
but only when no one is prying,
he has all the time in the world to see,
how beautiful he can really be,
if he just simply stays put,
and hides his uncontrollable glee.

I woke up early one morning,
one very early morning indeed,
spoke to a flower in love with lots of colour,
and we laughed and hugged,
came to mutual understanding,
that even if it was not really at all demanding,
a big round happy sappy moon,
will always be, indeed, overwhelming.



Original work
by Alexander Teligioridis
January 2009
24
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Love! And be cheerful about it.

January 20th 2010 03:31
Am I a cheerful meadow or am I a blissful tree,
never mind I have so much cheer I could even be a bumblebee,
I smile with abandon as I sway with zeal,
it is the sweetest of all of this life's deals.
To fall in love is what I am on about,
to love with passion high above in the clouds,
to want to announce it to the world so loud,
to tell my love that my heart is willing and ever so proud.

love cheer song happy


A cheerful prose, it is indeed,
one of song and unquenched glee,
one that has weathered out so many storms,
and one that now finds itself calm and warm.



original prose by
Alexander Teligioridis
from 2007.
27
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Why do donkeys eat artichokes?

January 2nd 2010 05:24
artichokes donkey smart funny


Why do these hardworking quadrupeds eat artichokes? If all donkeys eat artichokes, then it follows that if you eat artichokes you must be a donkey.
But then again when artichokes are served with oven cooked broad beans garnished with chopped dill, some crushed garlic, and a squeeze of lemon they are too good for any old donkey to eat.
So, do you eat artichokes? Or maybe you prefer something greasy served with chips cooked in artery clogging saturated fat, accompanied by other delights that are inundated with an obscene amount of sugar to send your pancreas in free fall. I wonder if donkeys eat artichokes in fast food convenience stores?
I guess they don’t, ergo I also guess I have answered my own question about donkeys and their sensible habit of eating artichokes.
I confess I am a closet artichoke eater and I have come out; I also do not think that I am a donkey.
Therefore, not all donkeys eat artichokes, because some of them are indeed, human and proud of it.


original prose by
Alexander Teligioridis
2 January 2010
26
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What do you mean, STUPID?

December 10th 2009 03:23
Well, what do you mean? Are you calling me stupid or are you asking me what stupid is?
Either way I find it abhorrent that you would even consider me remotely stupid, which is not the same as considering me entirely delinquent stupid! I do not understand, in fact I’d be surprised, if anyone has ever understood the true meaning of stupid. I assume off-course that everyone knows and understands the false meaning of that word. There you go again, how can anyone say I’m stupid if they themselves do not understand the bloody meaning of the word in the first place.
I know what inchoate means so who are you to call me stupid!
Don’t call me names!
You hear me loud and clear now son! Don’t call me stupid…


angry stupid


Original nonsense and drivel
by Alexander Teligioridis
December 2009
58
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A life soon to be forgotten.

A life without hope.
It’s a place nobody ever wants
to visit and hardly ever thinks about.


Her eyes tell a story,
it’s volumes they’re screaming,
for anybody willing to listen,
a beautiful pair of eyes,
striking to look at.

A hidden sadness is always there,
for anyone eager to see,
an impression of her ails,
those eyes are sad, indeed, gloomy.

A lost hope, far flung long ago,
there’s never a smile,
not now,
the pain is deeply entrenched.

She’d prefer to die,
but not before she speaks her story,
someone must be told,
a fine-looking pair of eyes.

Aspirations long gone,
a ballerina in flight,
a loss that will soon be forgotten,
wasted life, painful life,
tears never acknowledged,
a pity really.


beautiful sad ballerina love


Original work by
Alexander Teligioridis
December 2009.
32
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A free spirit in mourning.

December 2nd 2009 04:09
I often stop and prioritise my thoughts, I often stop and smell the daisies, and that is a deliberate act to remind me who I am and where I am. It seems to work for me.

A free spirit in mourning.

Stare into a blank concrete wall,
comparing your life to an insurmountable goal,
budgets, budgets, budgets,
all matters in life are budgets,
a buoyant economy,
the current account deficit is good,
comparing to other blank concrete walls,
that appear in daily life.
Have you forgotten about the daisies?

Check out the figures,
but wait!
Check out the figures sixty times a minute,
make sense of it all,
compare your concrete wall to other concrete walls,
keep telling yourself you are happy.
Have you forgotten about the daisies?

Surround yourself in another five concrete walls,
make love totally enclosed,
watch the world below,
clip on the latest,
tell yourself you’re happy,
hit the remote, everything that spins and opens,
drive into a brightly lit night,
long time in limbo.
Have you forgotten about the daisies?

Life matters,
empathy is king,
hold onto your dreams,
economic dreams that is.

You have forgotten about the daisies!



free spirit lost soul happy


Original work by
Alexander Teligioridis
December 2009
19
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The dilemma with loving so complete

November 19th 2009 02:10
The dilemma with loving so complete!


You run the chance of succumbing,
to a never ending pain,
a solemn promise to stop hurting,
never seemed so vain.


alone flower love


Original prose by
Alexander Teligioridis
Written November 2009
33
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