tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-51424238362959807232024-03-05T15:44:56.134-08:00It Is ALL ThatRona Gohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04970460661320206913noreply@blogger.comBlogger43125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5142423836295980723.post-84416540169857375922012-03-02T06:36:00.001-08:002012-03-02T06:37:40.068-08:00INTERLUDE: Short Story—Get Your Copy for FREE<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/zPDkwrbwUCY?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br />
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A wedding proposal, an upcoming promotion, a lifestyle to die for—a woman’s dream come true. But not for Ella. Somehow, somewhere she knows she is missing out on something. That something which the picture-perfect of what the moment has to offer cannot quench the thirst for what she calls life.<br />
Loving life amidst the imperfections for being real… <br />
<br />
Hit the button below to get your free copy:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/135202"><br />
<img border="0" src="http://ronagobooks.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/images1.jpg" /></a></div>Rona Gohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04970460661320206913noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5142423836295980723.post-22404248785730783832011-09-19T08:35:00.000-07:002011-09-19T08:37:09.713-07:00The One<div style="font-family: inherit;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small; line-height: 115%;">I don't have any other terms for these kinds of characters in our lives except for — <i>The One</i>. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small; line-height: 115%;">Well, <i>The One </i>is not your supernumerary character who passes through your life without you taking notice. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small; line-height: 115%;">In fact, <i>The One</i> is such a potent mark in your life that you can only hail him in a pedestal that nobody can ever match. For some reason like a fight, distance, time or even without a why, he does not really stick around in your lifetime to be there for always. And yet you know, he is <i>The One</i>. </span></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small; line-height: 115%;">I cannot also consider <i>The One</i> to be better than who you are with now. In fact, he can even rate as an ugly duckling. And yet, when he did his cameo role in your life, you are just taken to heights beyond your wildest imagination. And there's the firm belief that nobody can ever take you there again. </span></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"> </span><br />
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</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small; line-height: 115%;">If you have watched John Cusack's movie, Serendipity—somewhere in 42 minutes and 28 seconds (just kidding, I really don't know the exact time frame </span><span style="font-size: small; line-height: 115%;">J</span><span style="font-size: small; line-height: 115%;">) he said something about wanting to see Godfather the original even if Godfather Part II was better! Well, it is a bit like that with regards to one's attraction to <i>The One</i>. Although, you are happier with who you are with in the present moment, there seemed to be that unconscious attachment and endearment to <i>The One</i>. </span></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"> </span><br />
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</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small; line-height: 115%;">Is it possible to end up with <i>The One</i>?</span></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"> </span><br />
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</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small; line-height: 115%;">I don't know if I got the whole story right or I just conjured the whole thing up but I think my friend, Percy, said, studies show that people don't really end up with their <i>The One</i>. The ratio would be 2:100 for the odds to bring you and <i>The One</i> to live happily ever after. <i> </i></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small; line-height: 115%;">I have my own share of experience with <i>The One</i>. His name's the male counterpart of mine. We were seatmates and became friends. But somewhere down the road, we parted. We are probably both happier now in our present lives. And yet, there remains the nagging awareness on my part, he is <i>The One</i>. </span></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small; line-height: 115%;">If you get to read my novel, NOT QUITE GODLY, you will be introduced to a character named Apollion. I built him up as <i>The One</i>. Although, I plan to release the sequel late 2012, I still don't have any idea how it will all end up. Somehow, I would like to enjoy the feeling of having someone in your life that will fill your heart with both sadness and happiness. Call me nuts—but I often associate real joy when I cry and smile at the same time. </span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small; line-height: 115%;">Do you have your own experience of <i>The One</i>? I would love to hear from you. Tell me in the comments below your experience. </span></div>Rona Gohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04970460661320206913noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5142423836295980723.post-36499878126147497582011-09-05T23:32:00.000-07:002011-09-05T23:32:54.991-07:00Once (A light romantic piece of flash fiction)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGEjhezdxEXvhOMdpL9UzH1y77oqR36E5-ADBj3a8lB0b5ygfZsABPF6b2bB1rKrqifjk9AMt_TrRf4JZ3vDMAxNNJd20FFnUqX0fcojHnMCRqvbtPQ_Rgkz2eZaKUKFgE0784uLGLsl_C/s1600/New+Image.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="304" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGEjhezdxEXvhOMdpL9UzH1y77oqR36E5-ADBj3a8lB0b5ygfZsABPF6b2bB1rKrqifjk9AMt_TrRf4JZ3vDMAxNNJd20FFnUqX0fcojHnMCRqvbtPQ_Rgkz2eZaKUKFgE0784uLGLsl_C/s320/New+Image.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<br />
Rain began to fall softly, as he gazed around the room. She stood silently in one corner. Her luggage sat beside her. She was wearing the perfume he insisted her to use. <br />
<br />
"I don't want to confront you," she said. "I was about to leave this letter when you came." <br />
<br />
He looked at her. Then, he looked towards their bed. The covers were neatly tucked, just the way he wanted it. He looked back at her. "Are you going somewhere?" he slowly asked. <br />
<br />
She nodded. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. She couldn't understand the feelings rushing through her. <br />
<br />
"Would you like me to accompany you?" he asked. <br />
<br />
"No, I can go by myself, " she said. <br />
<br />
"I'll drive you to the bus stop," he insisted. <br />
<br />
"No!" she told him. <br />
<br />
"To the airport then?" <br />
<br />
She shook her head. <br />
<br />
"Why not?" he demanded. <br />
<br />
"Because I don't even know where I'm going." <br />
<br />
"You're leaving me?!" It was more of a statement than a question. <br />
<br />
"Yes," she answered uncomfortably. <br />
<br />
"Why?" he asked. <br />
<br />
"I don't know," she said. They sounded stupid to her. This was not the conversation she pictured out to be. She was hoping that he'd beg her to stay. Instead, he was asking her questions she couldn't even answer herself. <br />
<br />
"Is this some kind of a joke?" he asked a little annoyed. "Are you having one of your moments?" <br />
<br />
"I'm not!" she quipped. "I just can't find words to express what I'm feeling right now." <br />
<br />
"Try me," he challenged. "Or better yet, why don't you read the letter you prepared." <br />
<br />
"I don't have to," she said. <br />
<br />
"I've given you everything you wanted, everything you need - everything!" he said silently. <br />
<br />
"I didn't ask for it," she said indignantly. <br />
<br />
"I just assumed that-" he started to say. <br />
<br />
"You assumed," she cut him off. "You always decide for me. You didn't-not for once-give me the chance to decide on my own. I'm losing me with you." <br />
<br />
"I thought you wanted it," he said. <br />
<br />
"You thought!" she cried. <br />
<br />
"I have to do it. I might lose you..." he said softly. <br />
<br />
"You're about to lose me. All you can think of is yourself. I find it selfish," she said. <br />
<br />
He dug his foot on the carpet. She knew he was nervous. All of a sudden he changed. Gone was the sure-of-himself guy. What stood in front of her was the vulnerable boy she once knew. <br />
<br />
"You can do it your own way from now on. Just stay, please..." he pleaded. <br />
<br />
She avoided his eyes. She knew that if she met his gaze, she would stay. She loved him so much. "I can't!" she answered. <br />
<br />
"Where are you going to stay?" he asked. <br />
<br />
"I don't think I have to tell you," she said. <br />
<br />
"Will you call me?" he asked shyly. <br />
<br />
"Probably!" she said. <br />
<br />
"Take care of yourself," he told her. <br />
<br />
"Thank you," she said and turned to leave, "goodbye!" <br />
<br />
"Bye," she heard him say, "I love you!" <br />
<br />
She looked back at him. He looked down and raised his arm in a wave. She was torn between the right thing her mind instructed and what her heart claimed as the right thing to do. <br />
<br />
"I'll be back in a couple of weeks," she said. They smiled at each other. <br />
<br />
He ran to catch up with her. They walked outside the house hand in hand. When she comes back, a new beginning would welcome both of them. <br />
<br />
"Will you marry me- when you get back?" he asked. <br />
<br />
"As soon as I get back here," she said happily. <br />
<br />
"Give me a ring wherever you may be," he said. <br />
<br />
"I'll visit my folks," she said. <br />
<br />
"I'll wait," he said as he hailed down a cab. He opened the passenger door for her. "Do you love me?" he asked doubtfully. <br />
<br />
"Once," she said as he frowned. "And always!" <br />
<br />
Both of them smiled.<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.freedigitalphotos.net/images/view_photog.php?photogid=987">Image: graur razvan ionut / FreeDigitalPhotos.net</a></div>Rona Gohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04970460661320206913noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5142423836295980723.post-8872849557043282802011-08-25T23:01:00.000-07:002011-08-25T23:01:09.257-07:00Author Interview: Amy Miles<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4kuSokHsF7oxWDudyPsLc7vEPAWedX4hh9C5nnubtn73IYiiiUHxsDd06FrLO5SFwfQtPcCDd5PvOxdPVQgmTWg6dG80mweSFk0N3hUAfmNTBaUWZzUVvde7AujR2p96vpNlVz9fRk7d_/s1600/Defiance+Rising.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4kuSokHsF7oxWDudyPsLc7vEPAWedX4hh9C5nnubtn73IYiiiUHxsDd06FrLO5SFwfQtPcCDd5PvOxdPVQgmTWg6dG80mweSFk0N3hUAfmNTBaUWZzUVvde7AujR2p96vpNlVz9fRk7d_/s320/Defiance+Rising.JPG" width="230" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 1.75pt 0.25in;"><br />
<blockquote><div style="text-align: justify;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"></span></b><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">Eighteen-year-old Illyria Anderson has found the one thing she desires most. But choosing him will bring about Earth’s destruction. </span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: small;"> </span></div><div style="background-color: white; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="background-color: white; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;">A darkness is growing within Illyria’s soul, threatening to assume control of her mind and her unstable powers. The sinister thoughts that flash before her eyes are filled with images too brutal to put into words. For a normal person this wouldn’t be a problem. Popping a few pills before heading to a weekly counseling session would be enough to control the insanity, but Illyria isn’t normal. She’s not even sure she’s human. The only thing she is sure of is that she’s dangerous.</span><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></div><div style="background-color: white; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="background-color: white; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;">Bastien Lewis, a sinfully handsome stranger, is the only person who can bring Illyria back from the brink of destruction as she struggles to control her powers. He’s the only one that isn’t afraid of her or the Darkness that threatens to unleash its devastating power on the universe. But being near him is almost more than Illyria can bear when she learns that her destiny does not lie with Bastien, but with another. Illyria must decide if her love for Bastien is worth giving up everything, even if the price to be paid is Earth’s enslavement.</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div></blockquote><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCD8HGWuXafwaiSzpQ1xctjVdsAAB8s1lAKGUnido1aqXxZtrwXQVVDcktzXiSgg9R5rJpfnYz4hDd8gs6mt_eu35qbcg4mdnuYFB4TDpqCEVWmLrNKvMK-GNs_Sl7w33HiB_UlXJloGyR/s1600/Amy+Miles.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCD8HGWuXafwaiSzpQ1xctjVdsAAB8s1lAKGUnido1aqXxZtrwXQVVDcktzXiSgg9R5rJpfnYz4hDd8gs6mt_eu35qbcg4mdnuYFB4TDpqCEVWmLrNKvMK-GNs_Sl7w33HiB_UlXJloGyR/s320/Amy+Miles.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-size: small;">Hello, everyone! I am so excited to share with you my interview with <b>Amy Miles</b>, author of <b>Defiance Rising</b>. </span><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-size: small;">Amy lives in Southern Illinois with her husband and son, and is a proud stay-at-home mom. When she’s not writing, Amy can be found goofing off with family, cuddled up on the couch with a good book, or helping to renovate her home. Amy is currently working on <i>Relinquish, </i>the second book in her Defiance Rising Trilogy, which will be available Fall 2011.</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><span style="color: #2a2a2a;">What kind of reader are you? What are your favorite books? Who are your favorite authors? </span></b></span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><span style="color: #2a2a2a;"> </span></b></span><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-size: small;">I’m an avid reader of teen books at the moment. Always trying to do comparisons for my own book, <i>Defiance</i><i> Rising. </i>I’m the type that when I get a book that’s really good I will willingly give up a night of sleep just to finish it. I love Mysteries, Romance, Adventures, Fantasy/Sci-Fi and Christian romance. Some of my favorite authors are Sophie Jordan, J.K. Rowling, Ted Dekker, Frank Peretti, Janette Oke, Stephenie Meyer and I’m just now getting into reading Amanda Hocking’s books. </span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin: 0in 0in 1.75pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin: 0in 0in 1.75pt 0.25in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><span style="color: #2a2a2a;">Please describe what your writing day is like. (your writing process including schedules, number of words or pages in a day, if any). </span></b></span><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-size: small;"> </span><br />
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<span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-size: small;">As a stay at home mom my day’s can are never the same. I write when I can, snatching bits here and there. Typically my best time to write, which thankfully coincides with my moments of inspiration, are between 9pm and 2am. The house is quiet and I can truly focus on my book. Typically I will write for 3 to 4 hours a night, normally finishing a chapter or two depending on how easily it flows. The one thing I am very strict about is making sure I write something every day. Even if it’s only a paragraph.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin: 0in 0in 1.75pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin: 0in 0in 1.75pt 0.25in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><span style="color: #2a2a2a;">Please describe your process of editing and revisions (including any work with your beta readers or critique partners and your editor). </span></b></span><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-size: small;"> </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-size: small;">When I was writing <i>Defiance Rising, </i>I actually completed my entire rough draft in 3 days. But…it took me 2 years to complete the book. Most of that was because I doubted myself as a writer, but a lot of it was rewrites, editing and more rewrites. Even after all of that work I still found silly typos.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin: 0in 0in 1.75pt 0.25in;"><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-size: small;">Editing is far more critical than writing the book. If it doesn’t flow, if your threads aren’t tied together perfectly or if people find themselves stumbling over typo after typo, then no matter how good your content is, your readers will get a negative impression. So even though it may feel tedious, put in the time to make your manuscript perfect. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin: 0in 0in 1.75pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin: 0in 0in 1.75pt 0.25in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><span style="color: #2a2a2a;">Who are your writing mentors or models? </span></b></span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-size: small;">I learned a lot from reading Sophie Jordan’s books. I’ve always been a descriptive writer, but her books opened my eyes to just how powerful words can truly be. Sometimes reading a historical romance is all you need to expand your vocabulary. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin: 0in 0in 1.75pt 0.25in;"><br />
<span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-size: small;">I grew up reading countless books by countless authors and each one of them impacted me as a writer. Each<b> </b>one taught me a new style, a new idea or expanded my skills as a writer. I’m a firm believer that in order to be a good writer you have to be a good reader.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin: 0in 0in 1.75pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin: 0in 0in 1.75pt 0.25in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><span style="color: #2a2a2a;">How would you describe your work?</span></b></span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-size: small;">The word work isn’t even in my vocabulary. Doing what you love, what you’re passionate about is never work. I spend a couple hours throughout the day promoting <i>Defiance Rising, </i>and working on my blog <a href="http://www.self-published-authors.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">www.self-published-authors.<wbr></wbr>blogspot.com</a> to help promote other authors. Self promotion is by far more tiring than writing a book! But all of it is necessary to make a name for yourself.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin: 0in 0in 1.75pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><span style="color: #2a2a2a;"> </span></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin: 0in 0in 1.75pt 0.25in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><span style="color: #2a2a2a;">What do you want your readers to take away from Defiance Rising? </span></b></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><b><span style="color: #2a2a2a;"> </span></b></span><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-size: small;">I didn’t want <i>Defiance Rising </i>to be another “in-thing.” I didn’t want to write about vampires, werewolves, angels or any of the other fantasy themes swarming the teen sections today. I wanted to write a book filled with action, excitement and also a love triangle to complicate things. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin: 0in 0in 1.75pt 0.25in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="color: #2a2a2a;">Defiance Rising </span></i></span><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-size: small;">is a tale of one teenage girl’s journey to self-discovery, self-sacrifice and learning the ultimate meaning of love. Illyria Anderson is just a normal girl faced with extraordinary circumstances. I want teens to be able to sit back and think “what would I do if that were me?” </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin: 0in 0in 1.75pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin: 0in 0in 1.75pt 0.25in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><span style="color: #2a2a2a;">What keeps you writing? </span></b></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><b><span style="color: #2a2a2a;"> </span></b></span><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-size: small;">I’m one of those authors that if I don’t write I feel like I will burst. My mind never shuts down, never stops writing. I can be standing at a bus stop and see a near miss of a car accident and my mind already begins playing out the scene, writing every detail of what I would jot down if I had a piece of paper. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin: 0in 0in 1.75pt 0.25in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin: 0in 0in 1.75pt 0.25in;"><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-size: small;">I had to learn early on that if I wanted to make sure my ideas were remembered the next day I had to keep a notebook beside my bed. I could write pages of really good material while I lay tossing and turning at night but it’d be completely forgotten the next day. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin: 0in 0in 1.75pt 0.25in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin: 0in 0in 1.75pt 0.25in;"><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-size: small;">Writing is a passion of mine. It’s not what I do, but who I am. It’s an extension of me. So writing could never just be a job, it’s a way of life.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin: 0in 0in 1.75pt 0.25in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><b>Thank you, Amy! I can't wait to get a copy of your book. </b></span></div><b><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> <span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span></span></span></b></div>Rona Gohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04970460661320206913noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5142423836295980723.post-10693943605673679402011-08-21T05:38:00.000-07:002011-08-21T05:38:28.564-07:00All Night Long, I Remember You— Ebook For Free<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/tZiEUN95jHg?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br />
<br />
They fell in love when their past wouldn't have allowed them to. Two friendship crossed the boundaries of a horizon where only a few had gone. Those who survived vowed never to return again. <br />
<br />
When Ricah met her thesis mentor,Juffy Howe, in college, she never expected to fall in love. But she did.<br />
Unknown to both of them, they both shared a past that has not ceased to gnaw them until the present. <br />
<br />
With such a potent emotion for one another, they attempted to get over and heal themselves from the past only to realize, they cannot forget. <br />
<br />
Will the future be kinder?<br />
<br />
Get <a href="http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/82513">All Night Long, I Remember You</a> for free! Available only for a limited time. </div>Rona Gohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04970460661320206913noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5142423836295980723.post-64455119617807898052011-08-16T07:24:00.001-07:002011-08-16T07:24:25.176-07:00Unleash the Genius Within: How to be a WriterAsk a writer how to be a writer and you can bet that the cursory response would either be knitted brows or a scratch in the head. Honestly speaking, the how-to of being someone like how to be a writer, how to be an artist, how to be a mother, is not really defined but lived. That is probably the reason why it is be-ing in the first place. It is because it is a process that is ongoing in the present moment. <br />
<br />
So when you ask someone how to be a writer, you can only recommend a few tools that he can use to guide him in his endeavor in becoming a writer. These guiding tools may include the following: <br />
<br />
1. Think of an idea <br />
<br />
Best-selling author of Eat, Pray, Love, Elizabeth Gilbert gave a talk on Ted about nurturing creativity and discussed that all of us "have" a genius. And this genius is forever giving each one of us ideas. There are some people who believe that the same ideas are given to various people. The ones who listen are the ones who give life to these ideas. <br />
The first guide on how to be a writer is to think of an idea, to capture the gift from the genius that is within us. You will be surprised that the one thing that has been bugging you is the very idea that you are meant to give life to— to write. <br />
<br />
2. Record the ideas that come up from your original idea <br />
<br />
Should you be gifted with an idea by your genius, you need to listen some more and a myriad of other ideas will come rushing forth. Like a tree that suddenly grew millions of branches, your idea gives birth to other ideas and you need to record them. <br />
<br />
3. Get the string of ideas organized <br />
<br />
After you have gathered the ideas springing forth from your original idea, get them organized. Pruning and tweaking takes place. Discard what is redundant. Put in order what is important. And behold, you have your skeleton of chapters before your eyes. <br />
<br />
4. Write <br />
<br />
The last guide on how to be a writer, which is really an endless step, is to write, write and write some more. This is where praxis meets the theory. And the how-to becomes a process. This is when how to be a writer becomes real. <br />
<br />
How do you write? Do you listen to the genius within you? What do you want to write about? Rona Gohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04970460661320206913noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5142423836295980723.post-66157888246992500572011-08-09T04:33:00.000-07:002011-08-09T04:43:32.325-07:00Meet Pilcrow, the Best Tool Indie Book Authors Cannot Do Without<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfLPHMdPtD6B-ox6jdZxDiUhIFjhPp45HuiutTw7CbSvr9pRqYFZ_pUWmKaM00MlqQMiHBDPAm7i3odcLlHVE_Na5D_juP-PEpvujPN2TkHXyBYUMmKStPwPvAVhxlMoMBkhnlLVNZ69Bv/s1600/2011-08-09_1920.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfLPHMdPtD6B-ox6jdZxDiUhIFjhPp45HuiutTw7CbSvr9pRqYFZ_pUWmKaM00MlqQMiHBDPAm7i3odcLlHVE_Na5D_juP-PEpvujPN2TkHXyBYUMmKStPwPvAVhxlMoMBkhnlLVNZ69Bv/s1600/2011-08-09_1920.png" /></a></div>Gone were the days when self-publishing has been scoffed at because it was believed to be the simpler alternative to an impatient or rejected author who wants to bypass the processes of traditional publishing. <br />
<br />
In its place is an era about authors taking charge with what they would often consider their “babies,” “pride and joy,” “glory” and more. Would you think that these authors will undermine the handling of their precious ones? While traditional publishing will limit the authors about their say on certain aspects of their books, independent publishing is a call and commitment to excellence in editorial, cover design and more. For then again, majority of authors are artists and less of business people. Their works are manifestation, often revelation and extension of who they are as individuals. For this impetus, the readers can expect a work of art which goes beyond mediocrity from a real author…a self-published author.<br />
<br />
I have recently joined the rostrum of authors who have chosen the independent publishing route. By independent publishing, we can categorize it through print books and electronic books. In this article, I would like to discuss the ebook platform and publishing. <br />
<br />
Contrary to what others may think, self-publishing is not a simpler route. In fact, it can be a daunting journey if one focuses on the aspect of being “on your own.” However, it is also a great and rewarding experience. When one has conquered the first step, going up the other levels is like opening a gift encased in different wrappings— coaxing and intriguing one to mystery, joy and fulfillment. <br />
<br />
Keep on reading at <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/author_blog_posts/1449234-meet-pilcrow-the-best-tool-indie-book-authors-cannot-do-without">Goodreads</a> Rona Gohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04970460661320206913noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5142423836295980723.post-70641781441522516472011-08-04T04:53:00.000-07:002011-08-04T04:53:24.403-07:00Untitled Poem #35<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="text-align: center;">I want to shield<br />
Myself from you<br />
The necessity of it so<br />
Emphatic<br />
It’s hurting me…<br />
Then you surprise me<br />
By saying<br />
You have penetrated<br />
Invaded<br />
And you found out<br />
How disgusting<br />
My world is…<br />
Now, what is left of me?<br />
Not my shield<br />
Not myself<br />
Not even my disgusting world<br />
I have nothing…<br />
You took what I had<br />
Once I had everything<br />
I thought I<br />
Even had you…</div><br />
</div>Rona Gohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04970460661320206913noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5142423836295980723.post-6511943505212151792011-07-28T06:10:00.001-07:002011-07-28T06:10:52.341-07:00Untitled Poem #34<div style="text-align: center;">I don’t know<br />
When I am going<br />
To die<br />
But I know<br />
When I am<br />
Not going to die…<br />
I just wish<br />
I don’t live<br />
Long enough<br />
To learn how<br />
To hate life…<br />
I also wish<br />
I don’t live<br />
Short enough<br />
To hate death…<br />
As it is…<br />
I keep holding on<br />
To life<br />
Or to the<br />
Shadow of<br />
Death.</div>Rona Gohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04970460661320206913noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5142423836295980723.post-80228121835984236522011-06-23T09:44:00.000-07:002011-07-28T06:07:14.923-07:00Sleeping Child - Get Your Copy Now!<div style="text-align: justify;">SLEEPING CHILD is now out. This is a decade of poetry collection mostly about life, love, death, faith and relationships. Join our mailing list and you will have access of SLEEPING CHILD for free. </div><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.lulu.com/spotlight/ronago"><br />
<img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7Rom9_ERpppJbwaFaUrv4uvgmDEg04V4OieF51BIfoSzzI-droNX7TdgFlcm3KDKO304ee_PCS_avZuDmymU1bhsT8mDm0IFy-BJ-219GT44xAZFddvTDn-wRh_bIuFfC-8ImCxa0H4UQ/s320/Sleeping+Child.jpg" width="247" /></a></div><br />
<div align="center"><br />
<a href="http://www.lulu.com/commerce/index.php?fBuyContent=10857376"><img alt="Support independent publishing: Buy this e-book on Lulu." border="0" src="http://static.lulu.com/images/services/buy_now_buttons/us/book_blue2.gif?20110617142844" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">Just like a sleeping child, the poems included are a mixture of tranquility and mystery. For then again, looking at the face of a sleeping child draws us to both awe and peace.</div>Rona Gohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04970460661320206913noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5142423836295980723.post-45297696592872916172011-06-20T06:24:00.000-07:002011-06-20T06:24:16.206-07:00Untitled Poem # 33<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="text-align: center;">I must bid</div><div style="text-align: center;">Farewell</div><div style="text-align: center;">For my own sake</div><div style="text-align: center;">And yours, too,</div><div style="text-align: center;">Perhaps…</div><div style="text-align: center;">Leaving</div><div style="text-align: center;">Wouldn’t mean</div><div style="text-align: center;">Loving you not</div><div style="text-align: center;">For in fact</div><div style="text-align: center;">I have come to</div><div style="text-align: center;">Love you more</div><div style="text-align: center;">In fact</div><div style="text-align: center;">More than</div><div style="text-align: center;">You can</div><div style="text-align: center;">Ever think of…</div><div style="text-align: center;">But because of this</div><div style="text-align: center;">I have come</div><div style="text-align: center;">To fear</div><div style="text-align: center;">Myself…</div><div style="text-align: center;">Because I know</div><div style="text-align: center;">You will never be mine</div><div style="text-align: center;">And mine you’ll not be</div><div style="text-align: center;">Foolish me to keep</div><div style="text-align: center;">What is not mine</div><div style="text-align: center;">But was meant for me</div><div style="text-align: center;">in the first place…</div></div>Rona Gohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04970460661320206913noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5142423836295980723.post-42552115495177045842011-06-16T01:41:00.000-07:002011-06-16T01:41:21.238-07:00Untitled Poem #32<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="text-align: center;">It hurts<br />
Me to think<br />
That I can do<br />
No more<br />
Than stare<br />
At death<br />
As it slowly<br />
Snatches<br />
Your life<br />
Away from you<br />
From me…<br />
I feel so<br />
Helpless<br />
For I cannot<br />
Protect you<br />
For I too<br />
Am powerless<br />
From death<br />
Not even God<br />
Can help it<br />
It seemed…<br />
For He, too, died…</div><br />
</div>Rona Gohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04970460661320206913noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5142423836295980723.post-34025365505058908612011-06-14T02:15:00.001-07:002011-06-14T02:15:20.491-07:00Untitled Poem #31<div style="text-align: center;">‘twas Being<br />
That I sought<br />
‘tis nothing<br />
That I found<br />
‘tis a journey<br />
Without end<br />
‘twas even<br />
Without<br />
A why-<br />
Let it be…</div>Rona Gohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04970460661320206913noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5142423836295980723.post-51172651550757960082011-06-09T05:39:00.000-07:002011-06-09T05:39:18.038-07:00Untitled Poem # 30<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="text-align: center;">I pray fervently...<br />
Fearful thoughts have invaded my mind.<br />
Making my heart so scared.<br />
Prompting my body to be restless.<br />
You said, “Peace be with you.”<br />
I claim that peace.<br />
Calm my thoughts.<br />
Appease my heart.<br />
Let me be still.<br />
Let me hold on to your bleeding hands.<br />
Let me look at your bloodied face.<br />
Let me embrace your weakened body.<br />
That your blood may give me strength and vitality.<br />
And your Christic peace fill me.<br />
Your lordship and friendship crucified, glorified Jesus<br />
protects.</div></div>Rona Gohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04970460661320206913noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5142423836295980723.post-70558255608140079332011-06-06T06:10:00.000-07:002011-06-06T06:10:41.892-07:00Untitled Poem # 29<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="text-align: center;">How could one express<br />
Such<br />
Pain<br />
Such<br />
Sorrow<br />
Such<br />
Anguish<br />
For live<br />
For love<br />
For death<br />
If<br />
Crying<br />
Seemed<br />
Insufficient?<br />
Would<br />
Laughing be enough, then?</div><br />
</div>Rona Gohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04970460661320206913noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5142423836295980723.post-26210061261710526052011-06-02T04:32:00.000-07:002011-06-02T04:32:58.063-07:00Untitled Poem # 28<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEdUNg0VEBddUoYQLlxtbN_Hq23Lr1u-SMXiCiKXwSL7GU9L39YdonkJJII7_olIxaX2QtXZhdMkHkF5rN7BNps1XlpCYB4EfWm-6fjgATfzKGWy2t0lmSWslZP6IoKsgq1Hf4EJsAuVMj/s1600/New+Image.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEdUNg0VEBddUoYQLlxtbN_Hq23Lr1u-SMXiCiKXwSL7GU9L39YdonkJJII7_olIxaX2QtXZhdMkHkF5rN7BNps1XlpCYB4EfWm-6fjgATfzKGWy2t0lmSWslZP6IoKsgq1Hf4EJsAuVMj/s320/New+Image.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">There’s something<br />
Unknown to man<br />
Which keeps<br />
Him<br />
From asking questions<br />
and believe<br />
something unfamiliar<br />
something called<br />
faith…<br />
I have asked<br />
Searched for so long<br />
Now, I simply<br />
Submit to faith<br />
I believe…</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><a href="http://www.freedigitalphotos.net/images/view_photog.php?photogid=739">Image: Photography by BJWOK / FreeDigitalPhotos.net</a></div>Rona Gohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04970460661320206913noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5142423836295980723.post-76607884207914815392011-05-29T21:10:00.000-07:002011-05-29T21:10:22.115-07:00Untitled Poem # 27<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="text-align: center;">I would like to think<br />
I am the very<br />
First mortal<br />
He has ever revisited<br />
From the land<br />
Of immortality<br />
His growing beard<br />
So vividly pressed<br />
Against my cheek<br />
His grasped, fatherly embrace<br />
Warming my fearful<br />
Soul<br />
Then, tears welled up<br />
In acceptance<br />
He is dead<br />
The encounter retold<br />
Re-enacted<br />
Yet, mine and mine alone<br />
Let it remain<br />
Mine and mine alone…<br />
For he was mine<br />
And I was his<br />
Yet he’s dead<br />
And I still live…</div><br />
</div>Rona Gohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04970460661320206913noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5142423836295980723.post-39650124489545041632011-05-26T04:41:00.000-07:002011-05-26T04:41:44.908-07:00Untitled Poem # 26<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="text-align: center;">Each second is fleeting<br />
The rapidity of it almost unconquerable<br />
I became explicitly aware of<br />
The air which enters my nose<br />
The very same air which my life<br />
Depended on…<br />
Each minute is a toil<br />
The burden of waiting<br />
Yet, I continue to breathe<br />
Not giving up on dear life…<br />
Each hour seemed like a race<br />
Between a team of turtles<br />
And a herd of snails<br />
That it seemed difficult<br />
For me to live another minute<br />
Therefore<br />
I will love myself<br />
Because nobody can ever truly<br />
Love me other than myself<br />
That way<br />
Every second, every minute<br />
Every hour<br />
Would be bearable<br />
That way,<br />
I can continue to live…<br />
Even if I have nothing<br />
And nobody<br />
Even life itself is not worth living for.<br />
For in reality<br />
I live alone<br />
And I die alone…</div><br />
</div>Rona Gohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04970460661320206913noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5142423836295980723.post-32305680412899999872011-05-23T08:44:00.001-07:002011-05-23T08:44:51.844-07:00Untitled Poem # 25<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="text-align: center;">I am filled with anger and resentment<br />
Towards the life I have now<br />
Not because I am not satisfied<br />
Because somehow I am<br />
But because I seemed to have not<br />
Satisfied the world, the people<br />
And life itself<br />
I am filled with sadness<br />
Not because I have never felt<br />
Happiness before, for certainly I have<br />
But because of the sadness that goes<br />
Along with the happiness which<br />
Seemed inseparable, inescapable<br />
I am filled with despair<br />
Not because of a life suddenly turned wrong<br />
Because everything seemed right<br />
But because nothing more can be done…<br />
I seemed to be dead<br />
Not because of a lifeless life<br />
But because I continue to live…<br />
Life is filled with emptiness<br />
Not because of nothingness<br />
Because everything seemed full<br />
But because of that fullness itself,<br />
That suffocating fullness…</div></div>Rona Gohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04970460661320206913noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5142423836295980723.post-66951932962832541812011-05-18T09:37:00.000-07:002011-05-18T09:38:54.151-07:00Untitled Poem # 24<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPyrAVqL6OA82k_gcB6fA4l9Yknemle4-V3z6VqQ1dhrya9wsq8vKBeoZOfBDeKiRMSmyY6AvCVEoe2mYQkDZwurak-a8AtVZrHzF3wfYYitXXKLniaPv1zzpz5OHLxisxy1QLcOZeF_SX/s1600/New+Image.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPyrAVqL6OA82k_gcB6fA4l9Yknemle4-V3z6VqQ1dhrya9wsq8vKBeoZOfBDeKiRMSmyY6AvCVEoe2mYQkDZwurak-a8AtVZrHzF3wfYYitXXKLniaPv1zzpz5OHLxisxy1QLcOZeF_SX/s320/New+Image.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Look at the flowers<br />
They are so full of beauty<br />
So full of hope<br />
So full of passion<br />
So full of life<br />
For now<br />
For tomorrow<br />
For the next ten to fifteen days<br />
Then, comes<br />
The inevitable…<br />
Listen to me<br />
Hear me speak<br />
I sound so real<br />
So full of thoughts<br />
So full of life<br />
So full of dreams<br />
For now,<br />
For the fleeting now<br />
Then, the unexpected…<br />
Flowers live for days<br />
I live for years<br />
Flowers live for butterflies<br />
For nature, for people<br />
For bees<br />
I live for nothing, for nobody<br />
For years…<br />
Flowers are merely flowers<br />
I am a human being<br />
This world does not deserve me<br />
The world deserves the flowers<br />
But the flowers deserve me<br />
One day, I went to the cemetery<br />
Stopped in front of a deathbed<br />
Which cuddles<br />
An unknown person<br />
I saw flowers with blood red<br />
Petals, picked two of them<br />
And brought them home<br />
Look at the flowers…<br />
Look at the flowers again<br />
By this time perhaps they don’t look that<br />
Beautiful anymore the way they once were<br />
Listen to me again…by this time perhaps<br />
I don’t sound so alive<br />
For the inevitable, the unexpected<br />
Has finally arrived.</div><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.freedigitalphotos.net/images/view_photog.php?photogid=879">Image: luigi diamanti / FreeDigitalPhotos.net</a></div>Rona Gohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04970460661320206913noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5142423836295980723.post-15260157684728711442011-05-16T07:00:00.000-07:002011-05-16T07:00:27.692-07:00Untitled Poem # 23<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="text-align: center;">Death is<br />
Birth<br />
Birth is<br />
Death<br />
Death<br />
Birth<br />
One mournful<br />
The other joyful<br />
Some mistake<br />
One for the other<br />
Others<br />
Just<br />
Don’t<br />
Care<br />
Until<br />
They<br />
Themselves<br />
Face<br />
Their<br />
Own<br />
Fate<br />
That’s<br />
When<br />
One can say<br />
If death is death<br />
And birth is birth…</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Today is the first day of the rest of your life! </div><div style="text-align: center;">A new beginning! </div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">Dying and being born...</div><br />
</div>Rona Gohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04970460661320206913noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5142423836295980723.post-36860064577610352622011-05-11T23:10:00.000-07:002011-05-13T13:30:31.212-07:00Untitled Poem # 22<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ9Rhc9m0yErHWgRNQNfObAd-b_N0ZyIHxXR4I0eVTFCF0vRjYvHGkdyX47pPryi5efx36oiOX2krDiLOarpfUT-IfWLnhrQSdpztQrKt8vdq5FH4T_Y6P_zoL_HYgqH36qhz_yFkmrAxm/s1600/sample+6.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ9Rhc9m0yErHWgRNQNfObAd-b_N0ZyIHxXR4I0eVTFCF0vRjYvHGkdyX47pPryi5efx36oiOX2krDiLOarpfUT-IfWLnhrQSdpztQrKt8vdq5FH4T_Y6P_zoL_HYgqH36qhz_yFkmrAxm/s320/sample+6.JPG" width="187" /></a></div>Let the face<br />
Remain<br />
Hidden<br />
Unknown<br />
A mystery<br />
So mortals<br />
May continue<br />
To seek<br />
To pursue<br />
To listen<br />
To believe<br />
And to<br />
Look forward<br />
To immortality<br />
Where<br />
When<br />
The face<br />
Will<br />
Surface<br />
Finally…<br />
I will wait until then.</div><br />
</div>Rona Gohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04970460661320206913noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5142423836295980723.post-81314854931757836842011-05-09T22:21:00.000-07:002011-05-09T22:21:17.953-07:00Untitled Poem # 21<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT5gTtJa5iXSSx7KHcURbCZpcqswdEWbWaW5f2I7w2LS0-ttQCe_FWnLH7PLnO48-6f95RnuGnHQ6r7uJNCYQm_V6KDam92uNhI3YJt7uDEZCy5HllwiVpfymutSBAxNOs9a5z7Omqvhj5/s1600/New+Image.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT5gTtJa5iXSSx7KHcURbCZpcqswdEWbWaW5f2I7w2LS0-ttQCe_FWnLH7PLnO48-6f95RnuGnHQ6r7uJNCYQm_V6KDam92uNhI3YJt7uDEZCy5HllwiVpfymutSBAxNOs9a5z7Omqvhj5/s320/New+Image.JPG" width="320" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">He felt so old and fulfilled<br />
Very much fulfilled in fact<br />
Yet so alive<br />
How can life lose<br />
Its meaning all of a sudden?<br />
How can one reconcile<br />
Such a paradox<br />
Of a completed life<br />
To that of an empty<br />
Well-understood patterns<br />
Intricate patterns<br />
So familiar<br />
So commonly called life…<br />
How can one be so eagerly<br />
Waiting, anticipating<br />
Of gravediggers<br />
And old churchyards<br />
Turned into<br />
Sepulchers<br />
Yes…how can one talk<br />
So freely of death?<br />
Ahh… at his stage<br />
Death is no longer a mystery<br />
But just another clumsy step…</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="http://www.freedigitalphotos.net/images/view_photog.php?photogid=1803">Image:africa/freedigitalphotos.net</a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div></div>Rona Gohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04970460661320206913noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5142423836295980723.post-62062724551601436822011-05-04T22:21:00.000-07:002011-05-04T22:21:47.034-07:00Untitled Poem # 20<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5mByGAUuy88OqWQAZSqALKQ3Az1fKJ6IQVrCC9QZBv-HcSAIvPUoSiJ11ACc_ZPIvotiHly7MZ7tTJks7yutRmQmatQaYqO9KNZ4zgY0GLwjhaE3DR5Jw4Gbh7DMhnVW4xUM9NEJi-PrK/s1600/New+Image.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5mByGAUuy88OqWQAZSqALKQ3Az1fKJ6IQVrCC9QZBv-HcSAIvPUoSiJ11ACc_ZPIvotiHly7MZ7tTJks7yutRmQmatQaYqO9KNZ4zgY0GLwjhaE3DR5Jw4Gbh7DMhnVW4xUM9NEJi-PrK/s320/New+Image.JPG" width="268" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;">The fine network of wrinkles<br />
Cover overload of questions<br />
The long deep black lashes<br />
Cast not only shadows<br />
But deep worries<br />
The closed-tight lips<br />
Curtain words<br />
Which remain not<br />
Uttered<br />
In her deep slumber<br />
The deepest<br />
Darkest dream<br />
Overshadows fear<br />
Fear of a mother<br />
Losing her child…<br />
Finally…<br />
(I fear more of the vision<br />
Of losing a mother…)</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="http://www.freedigitalphotos.net/images/view_photog.php?photogid=1836">Image: Vlado / FreeDigitalPhotos.net</a></div><br />
</div>Rona Gohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04970460661320206913noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5142423836295980723.post-36442514089376164012011-05-02T01:48:00.000-07:002011-05-02T01:48:11.337-07:00Untitled Poem # 19<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK7vza9WQ5VPOgldFXTjZ92TMM94ee-T3_aL89MExhg_O5feqOGCTMFhSQxD8NvW1wPZwsRWzle4zfikP6XIN_HexAwO5AnmgDPnOkZoClGSIDwzL3qYYNjSlt_K5Hy3rFbPDJvrec0jHW/s1600/New+Image.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="255" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK7vza9WQ5VPOgldFXTjZ92TMM94ee-T3_aL89MExhg_O5feqOGCTMFhSQxD8NvW1wPZwsRWzle4zfikP6XIN_HexAwO5AnmgDPnOkZoClGSIDwzL3qYYNjSlt_K5Hy3rFbPDJvrec0jHW/s320/New+Image.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">You have once touched<br />
The heart of a numb soul<br />
You made a song<br />
Out of the crumbled dreams<br />
The soul had<br />
You made her whole again<br />
Now, you’d be lowered<br />
Down to your grave<br />
And solitude<br />
The soul knew<br />
What you wished for<br />
She, too, wanted the same thing…<br />
But you, yourself can tell<br />
How your majesty<br />
Was left unmoved, unexplored<br />
Down to your deathbed<br />
There’s no solace<br />
Only turmoil<br />
Which would constantly<br />
Thunder in your head<br />
Like wrathful gods<br />
But the soul and you<br />
Would be like inextricable coils<br />
Nothing will ever keep you away<br />
From each other<br />
And although you<br />
Can’t be together<br />
You’d never ever be apart…<br />
When you died<br />
She ceased to live along with you<br />
For you and the soul are one<br />
A creator of life<br />
Beauty<br />
Art<br />
Poetry<br />
And in your deathbed<br />
There’s a desperate wish<br />
That it may just be<br />
An ephemeral cessation<br />
I whispered the same wish to<br />
The gods too.<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><br />
<a href="http://www.freedigitalphotos.net/images/view_photog.php?photogid=1041">Image: Kenneth Cratty / FreeDigitalPhotos.net</a></div>Rona Gohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04970460661320206913noreply@blogger.com0