Oh, Deb, I didn't realize who the ghost was. That will make for a much more intense and intriguing tale. I can't wait to read it. Of course, I still haven't read the last one you sent me; lazy, lazy, lazy, as my mother would say. Or, you know, busy or something. I can't seem to find time to read anymore. I don't know where the time goes some days.

RL, you write beautiful poetry. I very much enjoy your acrostics.

Deena, the entire basis of this pile o' stuff is that the song is just PR, and generally either a) doesn't tell the whole story, or b) was put out to actively hide the real story.

So the real story behind this one would have to be a corker.

Damn! Back to 1,248,000 on Amazon. Someone must have found another truck full of OotP....

I just put all (nearly all of) my acrostics here.

Lovely Lizard, *you* are the sole reason I tried my hand at acrostics. Now, I can't even pretend to come close to yours, but I'm quietly pleased with a couple of them. So thank you for stretching my writerness.

Between you and Steph, I'm feeling lovely.

Oh, I love Deb. So much.

Steph, it was like the pair of you stroking my back, or my brain, or my spirit or something. Liz's are passionate and have quiet centres, and yours just rocked the hammock and made me go all Pavlovian in search of a cold glass of something (in this case, lemon lime diet soda).

I have 2 that I am quietly pleased with. The first is by way of an homage to the dress I wore at the F2F Prom (you may have seen this acrostic; I can't remember):

Cherry Girl

Cock the hip and toss the
Hair as I stride across the room;
Evoking retro, fever, bad girl.
Rarely does this me get
Revealed; when she does, you say oh
Yes.

Steph, that's enchanting!

The other one I rather like is...well, I'm just going to post it without explanation. And I don't mean to be coy, but it has to stand as is, w/o author info.

Coda

Beyond the words, past the syllables' edges (listen; this
Is for you, you said), murmurs blossom deep inside. Lighting
This fire, warming this ice-white flesh, making it
Tingle as it slowly comes to life: whispers, urgent and low,
Evoke pianissimo, largo, allegro, forte!
Rest.

Since these are memories (ghosts) of something
Which never happened, there is no
Explanation for notes still hanging in the air. No
Excuse makes sense of the repeated sharp
Twinge: phantom limb pain that lingers.

Damn. I think you just broke me.

It broke me, too. But it says everything I wanted to say, and I'm not sure any other piece of writing I've done has actually been able to do that.

And thank you! That's high praise.

I posted the last piece of poetry I wrote (October 1994) in my livejournal a few weeks back. It took this long before I could deal with the death it deals with.