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Location: Dublin, Republic of, Ireland

Friday 29 September 2006

I've enjoyed the re-invention of my writing voice on this blog, after a long break in creative writing. I wrote heaps in my teens and early twenties, then I became a fashion/celebrity journalist and later stopped writing creatively for about 5 years. Working as a journalist, I wrote no poetry. Yet for me, poetry shapes the essence of everything
I also had poems published in the small poetry presses in England before I had anything published anywhere at all.

But here on this blog, just having fun experimenting with my voice, I forgot for awhile the agents & publishers. Recently, I discovered a flair for comedy-writing. And I also love my children's stories. In fact, this blog has proved a good experiment for me.

But I must get back to the agents and publishers. I must, just must endure that gruelling task. I promise to keep you all updated if good news comes around.

Next week, I'll be back to sketching comedy and perhaps even trying out a play excerpt on this blog. This is the first poem I wrote when I returned to creative writing recently. Poetry is like my shadow. I take it for granted when it's there but miss its elongated whims when it's not around. This short simple poem - which was my first disconcerted effort - has already appeared in 2 websites online in America & India.

I must say I feel a bit wimpish as the rest of you write fabulous poetry.

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When You Come To Me

by Susan Abraham

In tossed-up dreams, like a whirlpool
cascading up a sunlit storm,
your soft skin stored in a dusty calm
and from when
the loving hour dates, you appear
now late, my handsome, washed-up king
a gift from the late night shift.

Just now tired, jaded
and a sight in the darkness, asking
for a kiss, that I must give lest
we miss the bliss that pleases
to the tune you bring for me
in which to sing.

Your beauty...prying, silent and
unseen to the waking eye arches my
sleepy sigh like a melodramatic spy...
gushing smiles, surprise and all things
nice to bug open a rushed sweet hug.

I am torn between loving or snoring,
sinking or embracing where
possibilities abound like a comet,
poised for a rocket on the majestic,
soar of your brash romantic roar
somewhere in my lovelorn stash.