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Project H – IS Home Where The Heart Is?

Every one seems to write poetry, so that is kinda not novel really is it?
An Idiot, writing poetry, living in a home away from home, in her virtual home, with all her heart?
Old news – its quirky to call yourself an idiot and write ‘deep meaningful’ poems.

So what ? Who gives a toss – really?

Well damn – I paint too OK, and my name is Belinda. My writing name is Idiot, but my art name is and always has been – Belinda. That is how people have always identified me. Belinda, the little girl who likes drawing and colouring. Belinda, the chick who draws cool things. Belinda, that young woman who lives in her own world painting.

Belinda, the artist.
Belinda, the idiot, still pursuing her childhood dreams. ;)

I play guitar too, which is shockingly bad (but slowly improving) so that is fairly stereotypical too.

I hope to write a book…

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Excess Heat

This excess heat
Will defeat
My erratic thought.
Me caught
Between the desire
For fire
And water.
Yet Poseidon’s daughter
Does cavort
Killing all thought.

Desire
Fire
Water
Daughter.
Forgetfulness in arms
‘Ere the alarms
Of morn
Warn
Of another sultry day
Where man must work, not play.

There Was A Poet Called Kevin

There was a poet called Kevin
Who said, “It being well after eleven,
‘Tis time, I think
To take a drink.
Yes that would be very heaven!
His friend made reply
With a sorrowful sigh,
“It has only just turned seven
In the morning, Kevin”!