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Writers on this Site

XraymanXrayman Veteran
edited January 2006 in General Banter
Okay there was a discussion a while ago-sorry i'm not advanced enough to tell you which thread/discussion it was but, we were talking about the amount of writers to the Buddhist forums.

Q1. How many of you are Writers? Published or at least had material accepted for printing?

Q2. Who is always "unsure" of their abilities with respect to this pursuit?

zenMonk, InfiniteKnot, Federica and I think "Foot" (Buddhafoot) was involved in the discussion.

regards, love and peace.

can't wait for your responses:thumbsup:

Comments

  • buddhafootbuddhafoot Veteran
    edited January 2006
    Sorry... no writer here.

    I've written stories for my son.

    I've written some pretty tall tales here about my dashing good looks and that time I arm wrestled all those crocodiles - but I stretched the truth a little. All the croc's were really in the stuffed animal department of Toys R Us.

    But, I sure looked cool in my cape doing it.

    -bf
  • federicafederica Seeker of the clear blue sky... Its better to remain silent and be thought a fool, than to speak out and remove all doubt Moderator
    edited January 2006
    And your diaper....
  • buddhafootbuddhafoot Veteran
    edited January 2006
    Yeah, baby.

    And you said you wouldn't peek! You're insatiable and incorrigible, my dear.

    -bf
  • federicafederica Seeker of the clear blue sky... Its better to remain silent and be thought a fool, than to speak out and remove all doubt Moderator
    edited January 2006
    ...Well, I could hardly help it could I? Superman wears his pants outside of his tights, you wear your diapers over your fluorescent orange bri-nylon negligée.... hardly subtle...

    Bright - I'll give you that....!
  • KnightofBuddhaKnightofBuddha
    edited January 2006
    None of my peers would guess, but I have written numerous poems in the past. One poem through some online poetry site I went to, actually was accepted and I received a letter about my poem being published in some fancy expensive book just for members. My Dad immediately dismissed it as a scham and I saw no other letters again. Almost all of my poems were written about 2 years ago and I have written other ones occasionally. The main reason was because I was in a play with a long solo. I had a major crush on another girl in the play. I felt compelled to write out all my feelings out. I gave the girl a poem and she didn't talk to me for a long time...anyway....

    It feels akward talking about writing poetry. I am a tree climbing, weight-lifting, sword wielding, former football player with broad shoulders and a husky frame. Not your average poet.

    I think of my poetry days as something of the past. I don't really like writing them anymore although I might make one for Valentine's Day. I rather like debating and writing fun fiction stories none of which I ever finsish.
  • XraymanXrayman Veteran
    edited January 2006
    KOB,
    nice post, interesting just how varied some of us are..

    I'm an (Insert label) Electronics Engineer with 3 years of Art and Design schhol, 9 Years military service, Artist/Writer, Salesman, Now an Instructor/Proofreader I occasionaly write the most dismal (federica should attest to this) haiku poetry.

    Many people get Disgruntled/unsettled when you tell them what you do and what you do in your spare time-it upsets their comfort-zone. I like that.

    Admit it you're a poet-forget the "Blokey/macho" aspect of your masculinity-its irrelevant and inconsequential in the big scheme of things. haha

    regards
  • federicafederica Seeker of the clear blue sky... Its better to remain silent and be thought a fool, than to speak out and remove all doubt Moderator
    edited January 2006
    There is nothing girly about writing poetry, just as there is nothing girly about painting in watercolours, nor is there anything girly about cooking a meal every night for three hundred paying guests....In England, we have a Poet Laureate... never been a woman, as far as I know.....
    And Silvester Stallone, is known mainly for the macho, brawny, violent film rôles he's played... byut his art and literature collection is only to be marvelled at....and he's a pretty good artist too.
    Write away guys....
    The best and only critics you should really take any notice of is yourselves....
    XRAY, I love your haiku....! ;)
  • zenmonk_genryuzenmonk_genryu
    edited January 2006
    federica wrote:
    There is nothing girly about writing poetry...

    Could I embody and unbosom now
    That which is most within me,—could I wreak
    My thoughts upon expression, and thus throw
    Soul, heart, mind, passions, feelings, strong or weak,
    All that I would have sought, and all I seek,
    Bear, know, feel and yet breathe—into one word,
    And that one word were Lightning, I would speak;

    - Lord Byron
  • XraymanXrayman Veteran
    edited January 2006
    Phew, Federica.

    I feel much better now I thought I was just wierd when I dressed in that skirt and stockings and frilly... Um perhaps I shouldn't write anything else... um just look away please

    very embarrassing.
  • federicafederica Seeker of the clear blue sky... Its better to remain silent and be thought a fool, than to speak out and remove all doubt Moderator
    edited January 2006
    XRAY......

    Your slip is showing.....! ;)
  • SimonthepilgrimSimonthepilgrim Veteran
    edited January 2006
    If you think that poetry is "girly", I wish you could come to some of our monthly poetry slams! Most of us are evil old socialists and poetry is another of the tools of the political struggle. Some of it gets very, very angry.
  • SatoriSatori
    edited January 2006
    Simonthepilgrim wrote:
    Most of us are evil old socialists and poetry is another of the tools of the political struggle.

    Do you happen to remember this poem about Reagan from the early '80s?

    Tall Tale of the Tall Cowboy

    How the Great Cowboy rode to the Rio Grande
    and gave the President of Mexico a hunting rifle a bad omen
    How the Great Cowboy took over from the Great Charmer
    who faded away into Georgia to be born again
    How they lined up at the Rio Grande to take their stand
    How they lined up at the great trough across the land
    How they reconquered the West and resettled Washington
    How the Metternich of Foggy Bottom
    still moved behind the scenes
    How they anointed generals to run countries
    How they redrew the maps of the known world
    How they forgot the barrios North and South
    How they lassoed the red lions of Latin America
    How the Great Cowboy ruled over all with a schoolboy grin
    How his lady had a handgun with a pearl handle
    How his tall shadow reached over the Rio Grande
    How they gave human rights back to the right rulers
    How they gave the land back to the old guarders
    How the high rollers got back in the saddles again
    How the Great Cowboy shook his head with a sheepish grin
    for the benefit of a nation of sheep
    How they reversed the irreversible revolutions
    How they corralled the tough hombres North and South
    How they buffaloed both sides
    How they gave them bullets to bite
    How they swallowed hard
    when the Great Cowboy laughed on TV
    How the Great Cowboy waived his hand
    and disappeared over the horizon
    How he walked softly and carried a big nuke
    How he brandished it like a hunting rifle
    How the President of Mexico gave him a great stallion
    How he tried to mount it as the cameras rolled
    How he slung his hunting rifle behind him and swung up
    How the people hid in their houses
    How the hot sun beat down on the mined land of the world
    How the swinging-door saloons stood empty and silent
    How the natives were restless and beat their drums
    in the concrete jungles of the world
    How the Indians said How Come instead of How
    How the Indians hid in the hills
    How the Great Smiler smiled no more on TV

    How he came on his great white stallion
    propped up from behind with a big stick
    How he stood tall in the saddle
    and looked straight into the cameras
    How the old hands hid in the old corrals
    How the deputies deputized themselves
    and took to the roofs
    How the people trembled in their houses
    How they thought it was the final shoot-out
    How a great hush fell upon the plazas of the world
    How the Great Cowboy put on one black glove
    How his eyes narrowed and his hand reached behind him
    How suddenly there was nowhere to hide
    How suddenly there was no turning back
    How suddenly it was High Noon


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