P/H Blues

At first you look without success inside the inbox, what a mess! But no one sent you any news so is it time for P/H Blues? Then you wake up and do recall that inboxes are not at all the only place you ought to peek if it is company you seek. Go to the forum, look around you'll find dull Rupert and the Hound and some who are ashamed to show their true identities, you know. Then, when you get so sad and bored just knowing that you are ignored you saunter to the page where some post poems, half of which are dumb. But, worry not, you'll always find the fruits of a poetic mind. And, like a veil that's lifted high you kiss the P/H Blues good bye, and within minutes you're immersed in stanzas, rhymed or loosely versed. You see the brilliance, all its worth and wish you'd seen the actual birth. Each poem as it starts to live and takes its breath with which to give itself some immortality was made by a proud entity and like a child craves human nods and in the end, beats all the odds. How dare those who will judge with eyes another's skin, and spread new lies it pays to smile at every creature but you must be your only teacher.