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No part of this poetry should be reproduced in any form without written consent from the author, Joe DiMino, who retains all rights: contact


"I Thought to Write" by Joe DiMino

I thought to write…
So I sat down
Thinking write
Can never be
Wrong—the way I see it:

A writer has
Two choices—
To write
Or to write; and if wrong,


The critics
Never see eye-to-eye,

Always reading
With one-jaundice—for
Each their own;

So …it is more,
Write to taste…or write tasteless
But all
For self alone
(The magnanimous
Thought comes later)

(A seasoning or not seasoning-writer)—
Writes whether he/she
Offends or supports;

Fills with health
Or sickens—
A reader always having option
To flee…or tread heedlessly forward:
And often
Fearfully strange the terrain—
Of our most enchanting authors

But never proceed
On a full stomach;

Especially when reading


Greatly debatable!

Often outrageous
Spiritual stuff—
Best digested 
By fasting
—the ancients warned:
(On such Highly
Lit planes)—can sear clouds,
Incinerated fields,
And made barbecue
Out of our best heifers
Meant for breeding
And not feeding…

Life’s greatest novels
Always, involuntary ignition;

Needed evacuation
(Mind dumping to make ready)
However, cannot be provided
By body-mechanics

So writing, then,
Is as much 
Conscious emptying
As it is filling;
And most of all
Having other worlds to
Speak into being
Only after annihilating
The ones we know—really
The works of others—
The first thought of
Our own, original:

Must always be
A new dimension-word

From somewhere unseen
And best left
That way—for above all;
Writing must remain
That tingle and then
Chill in the dark—
A mysterious dread—especially
For the author)

Not a reader by nature

But a creator
By divine
Both the Atheist
And priest

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