AhA,
significant dae to suddenly publish a blog again, after a what, 6 month hiatus???? that's crazy, some may sae, in todae's hi-tec, wi-fi, neterrifying world of cyberspeed.

yup 6 mths have just zipped by lidat...lotsa significant tings have happened, a BIG pity i havent had time to jot em down. perhaps a blog is realie the most convenient way to pen it down like a diary; it's been extremely hard dor me to craft both drifting emotions and fiery feelings into so-called poems...that partly explains the hiatus.

Yes yes, todae is 3rd anniversary of that much-publicised terrorist kawabunga that shook the ol' cowboy up. All i realie hope for is that nothing much of copycat incidents or other terror acts will occur all around the world todae...especially now with my dear brother in UPenn and beloved teacher Mr Lim in New York!

Well it may sound childish that i still prayed for world peace yesternite on my bed in the bunk, yet i almost never fail to do it on nites when a terror incident is fresh on my mind....what with the recent bombing of Aussie embassy in Jakarta....hiyaz. Sometimes i dunt mind being childish n retreatring to my own small little world and space, take a step back in life n try to look at tings simply, thru the eyes of a child....

okie enaf, the sardonic, melancholic n sadistic john didnt like get possessed or anything....just feel an urge to express this softer side that sometimes props up...yet revealed to few...

Robert Frost: The Man and His Work - 1923

"Sometimes I have my doubts of words altogether, and I ask myself what is the place of them. They are worse than nothing unless they do something; unless they amount to deeds, as in ultimatums or battle-cries. They must be flat and final like the show-down in poker, from which there is no appeal.

My definition of poetry (if I were forced to give one) would be this: words that become deeds."

"All poetry is a reproduction of the tones of actual speech."

"There are two types of relists: the one who offers a good deal of dirt with his potato to show that it is a real one, and the one who is satisfied with the potato brushed clean. I'm inclined to be the second kind. To me, the thing that art does for life is to clean it, to strip it to form"

"A poem begins with a lump in the throat; a home-sickness or a love-sickness. It is a reaching-out toward expression; an effort to find fulfillment.

A complete poem is one where an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found the words."