I had made the last post twice in the hope that you may see it. I even highlighted the gray areas, took the pain, yet you didn't get it still, obviously. Alas the wonder of it.

Here is what you got wrong. None of the comments I made suggested that the poet-persona had a girlfriend before, during, or even after the poem was written. None even said the one to whom the poem was addressed was a girlfriend. The word *girlfriend* much less the implication of more than one of them was not even suggested anywhere in the present which the poem tried to portray. You brought it in. That was why I said you contradicted yourself when you brought it up, saying that:

somegirl:


---

If you say that it was "her" responsibility to understand from some hidden message in a poem that you already have a girlfriend, then you blame "her" for the resulting situation. (Emphasis mine)

---

Since you were the same person who said, in the same post thus:

somegirl:


In this poem, the first person narrator has broken up with his lover. It’s Valentine’s Day and he feels lonely. That’s why he remembers the good old days when he still was part of a twosome. She seems to feel the same and, since neither of them is in a new relationship yet, they decide to spend Valentine’s together, to make each other a gift (e.g. a little poem) or something alike, pretending for one day that they still were in love with each other but both of them knowing that it is just a fantasy, that, now, they are singles and that, one day, they each might have a new partner and new priorities.

---

Look again dear. I have highlighted the contradictions so you can see. There's nowhere in my post where I have said anything capable of corroborating that claim. But don't take my word for it, ask anyone else to read up the thread and offer some words of explanation. You never know with these things. But, really, when exactly did I say that I had another girlfriend, and that she should read that fact between the lines? No you didn't hear that from me. What I said was that the poem was a personal narrative of a situation. And it was addressed to a personality who on receiving it was able to read the meaning of the poem correctly. I knew this. Don't ask me how.

Now to you, when I say "read between the lines", I don't mean that you should take the liberty to deliberately invent/insert events not expressed within the confines of the poem. That would be reading *outside* the lines. I said read *between*. If you invent another fact *outside* the poem, then you divert from the discussion of the poem, and you should do that on another thread.

If you think that artists are generally bad lovers, then make a scientific survey, asking questions from victims of their *bad* love, and create a graph. Individual cases are at best presumptious. That's why I said it's not mine to refute, notwithstanding what anyone says on the internet.

So in all your three questions, only one now seemed non-redundant - the first one - and I intend to answer it in another breath since you appear sufficiently curious. But first, let's allow you to get this one in first. Apparently there're much more angles to this poem still to explore.

Now a question for you. When one of two people (more or less) in love/besotted with (aspects of) each other decides to present his partner with such a poem as Valentine Fantasy on Valentine's day in which he honestly/correctly/frankly assesses their predicament while making no hasty presumptions whatsoever, what is wrong with it?

gwatala: Now a question for you. When one of two people (more or less) in love/besotted with (aspects of) each other decides to present his partner with such a poem as Valentine Fantasy on Valentine's day in which he honestly/correctly/frankly assesses their predicament while making no hasty presumptions whatsoever, what is wrong with it?

A poem might be misunderstood.

gwatala: it was addressed to a personality who on receiving it was able to read the meaning of the poem correctly. I knew this. Don't ask me how.

Why then does she now claim to have been your girlfriend since FIVE years? I am doing my maths and 2006 minus 5 makes 2001. Coincidence?

gwatala: I wrote the poem on the eve of St. Valentine's day of 2001 (or 2002. I'm not sure, but I'll vote for 2001.)

You do NOT know who this poem was written for. And you may never know it.

What I meant to say of course was that the poem was written for someone you DO NOT know.

She is still my friend. We are still very much in touch. We still value and fancy each other's trust and friendship like we did then in 2001, and we still respect each other although like the poem forcasted, each of us have moved on. Like her, I still keep in mind the pain of a deeper relationship that could have been, but was not because of certain imperatives.

With this I have answered your last non-redundant question. The others have been answered in more or less detail in my earlier posts.

Finito(?)

What I meant to say of course was that the poem was written for someone you DO NOT know.

She is still my friend. We are still very much in touch. We still value and fancy each other's trust and friendship like we did then in 2001, and we still respect each other although like the poem forcasted, each of us have moved on. Like her, I still keep in mind the pain of a deeper relationship that could have been, but was not because of certain imperatives.

With this I have answered your last non-redundant question. The others have been answered in more or less detail in my earlier posts.

Finito(?)

Ah. One more thing. I just re-read your answer to my last question.

Here is what you said when I asked you what was wrong with writing frankly in verse to state an intent or describe a situation:

somegirl:

A poem might be misunderstood.

Am I reading you right, or you have been misread? Every piece of writing is capable of being misunderstood. Even the Bible is misunderstood. This does not remove from the need of a people for spiritual guidance. A letter can be misunderstood. This does not remove from the need of two people to correspond. Even a simple word/statement can be misunderstood. That does not mean that we should all seal our mouths with paper tape and stop talking to one another.

The fact that a poem MAY be misunderstood doesn't mean that one should stop writing them, or giving them to those who one thinks WOULD understand them. If it is addressed to one person, it is for him/her alone to see. All other witnesses to the contents only have themselves to blame for their misreadings/misunderstandings of the words. People like you. More than anything therefore, this imperative goes to re-inforces the poet's need to speak more in words exclusive to the knowing space between him (the poet) and his addressee (his love), especially when the message is one of privacy. It won't concern them if anyone else don't understand it. The better, actually.

Now, it seems to be a tetragon and not a triangle ---  or, maybe, two triangels instead? 

But it's pointless. Your midnight rant shows me that you are still stuck at the same place. I had hopped that you would have journeyed by now. On the other hand, why should I care? You are there; I am here. And that will probably never change ---

Hush now little baby don't you cry
Everything's gonna be alright
Stiffen that upper lip up little lady, I told ya
Daddy's gonna hold ya
through the night

Eminem (Mockingbird)

My tea's gone cold I'm wondering why
i got out of bed at all
Morning rain clouds up my window
and I can't see at all
Even if I do it would all be grey
but your picture on my wall
It reminds me that it's not so bad, not so bad.

Eminem (Stan)

  Actions speak louder than words.

ONE MORE VERSE BEFORE I GO

Oh what to give to move the bridge, even Christ spoke alike.
A human bond which though we see we but can't reach beyond.
Once false, once real. It stretches through a burning filial bond,
just like a mile of rage sewn thin astride a path of spikes.

Look deep and you might glimpse what tired eyes have spied
If only you would peep from here you'll see how much I've tried.
It's nothing now like was before though still the sparks remain.
The paths across the hedge of dreams we call our own restrain.

Oh what to give to move the bridge, even Christ spoke alike.
It winds alike on miles of rage astride a path of spikes.

Admit, I surely haven’t asked for much,
   no more than a journey - you laugh?
   not even to somewhere far or strange,
   just home, it’s within your range.


"The elevator to success is out of order. You'll have to use the stairs, one step at a time. " Joe Girard

Away, away to a place of restlful seas, waters running light.
I alone, grieving the world and swimming in joyful plight.
Run across, not without peace, I'd stare upwards alone
And this past behind, fume, and roll, in love alone, and moan.

mhh, good work in here

from a mountain summit,
dizzy, you glance back down
to seven years of bad luck;
the liable arrow juts from
your broken image
and crimsonly cracks
the pale skin of love.

For Y.

There's more to the singing bird than just a guilded cage.
and odes than ring the night, throaty, as with stifled rage.
My bard calls with flapping wings, squawky as it pecks the mist
of a past less benign - but what exactly have we missed?.

My noise will still frisk the night even when you rest, reclined.
Home will call, with my thoughts for you only the more refined.

it needs a twosome to sing a duet, not you alone,
querty reveals the true target of your misplaced tone,
but am I the right partner for a professional bard?
me, the one with the lousy voice and the broken heart?

"Tu m'aime un peu, beaucoup, passionnément, à la folie ou pas du tout?"

"Time alone, oh time will tell, |

And how much more time - how many years again - do you need to make up your mind? Time does not tell anything by the way. It's just you and me and at the moment it is you and me on two different continents! Time is endless, my life is not.

THIS IS A THREAD FOR POETRY, SO,

We have not rode alone, who dwell not just on hope
though yet against rote we sought around ageing wheels
Is it not the same song we once sang that now reveals?
What we are, we are, hanging on a fading rope!

Can I get a translation for this? 
Oh, and for the rhyme: Why don't you take a piss?

Il ne t'aime pas du tout. Vraiment. Finis?

No, why did he pret[b]end[/b]?
Is this the end?

Well, maybe I've grown, cos there's nohow else to say
why the world now seems strange - the one I knew before.
Old faces fade, new ones blend like a bad rag's day,
and now I seek in vain, tracing a once known shore.

Maybe it's the air, that blows to clear an erring tone.
Maybe it's the wind. Maybe it's the mind drooling old.
Maybe it's I who, not knowing, had walked the world alone.
Maybe I have slept when all days crept off untold.

The wet winds blow coool but vain droplets of waste.
A land known and warm now denies with a long silent stare.
No, nothing remains here but memory, shed in vile distaste.
What stares back are rough remains of such random care.

Known days are gone but remain only in the head.
Age recalls, recoils, in bits of a thrill too long fled.

great lyrics

I walked right bye
I watched them talk
Lofty words, and my my my!
The lad and las full as bold
Told the world that they could talk!

Words with meaning, some without
I stood I stared, lost in doubt
She won he lost, but up came he
Quiet, I thought, she better be

I walk on now, I might be back
To see who wins and who lay down
t'was much fun to watch them talk
Might be back, I walk on now.

Love is not a game.
   If just one looses,
   The pain cuts both ways.
   To win, both of you
   Need to loose
   The wish to win.
   That’s what we call
   Compromise.
   You’ll loose
   If just one wins,
   But you win
   If both do win.
   That is what we call
   Compromise
   And that is love.

Aye aye! I heard you
I do think lov's just a game
Something serious done by two
A cool lad and a fine dame

A game-- like a game of chess
Though differs in anatomy
The less pieces, lesser the mess
Both take time and scrutiny

Lov's a beauty when both know the rules
They play knowing it's just a game
Not for the win or for the lose
But with time to heights attain

But then when they two miss the point
Amiss they play and fingers point
There goes love, its hardest fall
There goes baby buff craddle and all

A poet 's a poet
A lov'r is himself
I'm the star u're the commet

There'a place
There's a stage
Where men write, so boys can play

There's a mind
Where life lives
Where stages play, and lov'rs blind.

somegirl:

Love is not a game.
If just one looses,
The pain cuts both ways.
To win, both of you
Need to loose
The wish to win.
That’s what we call
Compromise.
You’ll loose
If just one wins,
But you win
If both do win.
That is what we call
Compromise
And that is love.

How do you say
Love's not a game
but still talk compromise?

did you intend a picture
Which the game is compromised
That both win so none lose?

In a game, one party looses the other wins, there is no compromise. However, they do exist in the real world.