I haven't posted here since Friday, but by Monday morning I had most all the poetry from the 1990's and the Aughts online. I did a bunch of transcribing over the weekend, and I think I finally have all the links fixed. I've sent emails to at least 131 souls at Yahoo, and I don't know how many at MSN, probably about 40. I've received many replies, and have three guestbook signings, including one from Percy Wells, a fellow poet with a website, and Judy Puckett, who has a group on Yahoo called FlowerChildren. I seem to be back in the swing of things, and so far, (I've even started to join groups and use message boards again) I haven't been "slammed" by anyone. No one has made fun of my cats, like they did on Classmates.com when I got to be too liberal for the gung ho marine types whose message board I found myself on. The eighties are next. Then to the Seventies, and I'll be "done". Just what is next, I don't know.

Conversations with thought in Reality Do Not Exist
1/27/04 5:00pm pdt poetry by Michael F. Nyiri

Words.....walk.......slowly, and thought stops in her tracks to woo the muse
Alarmingly real, words.........Call
Out
And then run back again into the house and slam the door.
thought.......beakons to the poet,
"Look, you had it in your grasp, Your muse is nigh, you let her go.
"Look, you had it all planned, and executed, in deathful throe,
So........"
Looking to the left
And to the right away I ponder uselessly, loosely paraphrasing
past prerogatives to the letter,
And nothing better writes a word, thus, like this, on the page.
Fervently typing with no care for thought, no rhymer's rage.
There is "I', and thought is fallible, foolishly looking to be paid.
Hitching a ride with poetic license
Was an easy mistake well made.
Further fathering doubt and hope supreme remains amix with musing.
The human race remains apace with thought, and she thinks it most amusing.
Slowly
Thought
Stops........................................and rests awhile on her laurels.
This moment was sublimely solipsistic,
And with thought one hardly ever quarrels.

Alone, with thought for naught but compassion.
An ashen look adorns my face, and words.......
Walk.......
Slowly to the sound of thought stopping in her tracks to chase away
My thoughts for today.