the nine emotional lives of cats

Well, I wrote poetry, Rosina. And for me that's a good day, whether or not it happens to fall on February 14th. 15th 16th... I've often said poetry is my lover... from a 2007 poem: Speak To Me Of Poetry Speak to me of Poetry I asked, my Soul answered: All That Is, Was and ever Shall Be Poetry is my tormentor, my Lover drowning me in ecstasy, near as my breath, near as the skin I'm in, unknowing who is who, Poetry is my heartless jailer, like a jealous God, never to set me free, chained to a Baobab tree the plains of the Serengeti in my golden hair, Poetry is a crack of truth breaking through my prison cell, raising me from the dead like Lazarus, through Milton's Heaven and Dante's Hell Poetry is my child's milk breath, my empty arms as they fly away, too soon, too soon, Poetry is a fist raised in anger, so full of hate and eyes so full of light, ready to slay you, slay me, Poetry is a greyhound, lying at your feet, content in the warmth of the sun, Poetry is my begging bowl, a sand mandala, brushed away by unseen hands, Poetry is a clueless life arriving from nowhere, going everywhere at once, a chaotic order of the spinning Universe, like rivers flowing, keeping secrets in hissing rocks spawned from Vesuvius Poetry is the last breath of the dying on a dirty cot in Calcutta, in a school hall in Cleveland, a blinding snowstorm on a mountain in Tibet, a sunlit hospital room in Switzerland, Poetry is the sound of ice breaking in a longing heart, a green oasis along a silk road to a Teahouse of the February Moon speaking in tongues speaking of silence, Poetry is an aria to the falling stars, and the flight of the condor, eagle and phoenix, rising in the last Poem of earth. Poetry is my name. ~A

Ohhhh.... I don't do so well with engineers and architects. lol. love to you Anni...have a brilliant day~