Jay Dougherty, this name is not important in the grand plan of this world, neither is Robin B Lipinski. Both are just names. Both are just people.
Jay Dougherty started a website called, Poetry Circle. It is a place where people express poetry, prose, pictures, and reveal just how they too, are not important.
Life as you may have figured out by now, is not fair, nor is it all that appealing. Though there are a few moments this world is tolerable, but only if the the beauty in the simple things in life are embraced. A butterfly, food, animals, fish, birds, a sunset.
Once I wrote a journal at Poetry Circle, I did so because the addiction to writing is powerful indeed. It only took me less than a week to discover Poetry Circle is no different than the rest of this world. It was full of people who expressed the desire for expression. They write/wrote about vagina’s, sex, politics, love… All great topics, all open for choice and opinion, but for 99% of those there, they are only open for expression if it is their way.
The writers there left me alone, thinking thoughts of whatever it is those wearing blinders think. Yes, I wrote much of what they did not approve of. God. Politics. Most topics and ways I write are not accepted by the current crop of elites. The same elites sad Hillary Clinton did not become president.
I attacked no one, in fact I pointed out the fallacy of the elites there, exposing poems the editors rejected of others, much better poems than the ‘accepted’ norm. They did not like this.
One day, on a discussion board I read an opinion by a woman more blind and self-centered than normal and I responded. Oh, I was attacked by herd. “Why are you here?” “You don’t belong here.” “Your kind is not welcome here.” And I engaged with a man of no importance in this world, Jay Dougherty. Jay was the man who started the website and he did not like what I had to say.
The next day, my writing on that discussion thread was deleted. The hostile comments by others not only deleted, but ‘changed’ to fit the new thread. This brought to mind how books of the past were burnt in Germany as the Nazi’s purged. It brought to mind how history is changed to fit the moments of power.
As a result of engaging in open and constructive dialogue, and without even them following their own rules of ‘warnings’ I was subtly banned. Yes, I still have a ‘user name’ Robin B. Lipinski – a name I am proud to be a monster with. I still have a password. But when attempting to log on, Jay has fixed it so I have been expelled, and with full blessing by the rest of those writing about pussies, evil Republicans, sucking cock, and in one of the ‘poets’ (Tom Riordin, or Ridern, or some kind of R) a poem about fucking angels in the ass.
I write this tonight because I tried to reach out to Jay but he hides, and I suppose for good reason. Cowards usually do hide in the corners. I tried starting a new account using a different email address but using my name as I never hide, and I fear nothing. (Monsters fear nothing, even when they should…) This was rejected also by ‘not’ rejecting, rather just clicking some buttons on their side. I tried to reach out to communicate as civilized people will try to communicate but people for the most part at Poetry Circle only communicate in a ignorant and hurtful way.
Oh, I was finished that day after the discussion, what needed to be done on that site was complete but I wanted to read other poets work that I like, and one from a poet I love. To do so you have to register, log in, and this new way started very shortly after I got the boot.
No, I wanted to read and now I want to get back some of the poetry I had there on my journal, but for all I know, Jay deleted it all, or whatever it is unimportant people do to other unimportant people.
Yes, It is Jays site, one he shares with poets who write about fucking God, fucking angels in the ass. About men sucking cock, wanting to suck cock. About a lot a ‘good’ topics…And yes, there are some wonderful poets there also, those writing love poems, poems in honor of God, but those people are few in number.
Since it is their site they have the right to ban such monsters as myself. They can do as they wish, just as I can write about it here. This is one of the reasons I don’t just sit and write my crap in a paper journal.
I tried to find a way to communicate tonight with those such as Jay and failed. And it feels good. My poetry and writing is mostly horrible, I know this, but I do not fear writing, nor should you fear your passions, be it collecting stamps or striving to dive to the deepest parts of the ocean. My poetry at Poetry Circle was needed to be written when I wrote it, now I care less if it exists or was just another unimportant moment to be.
To Poetry Circle, Jay and those others who hate/hated me and those others like me- writers who express with passion and try- I don’t hate you. I feel pity for you in how you think, in how you act, in what you write. And since nobody will read this except maybe a Nigerian pervert doing a “Robin’s Titty’s” search on Google and ended up here, I feel like writing a poem as inspired by my much appreciated learning experience with Poetry Circle.
***
Angelic Smile
Swimming in mud the tadpole.
Bubbles burping dirt, rocks submerged, and weeds.
Pond a world where life can or cannot be pretty.
In town there were the people; proud, clean, wealthy
Paved streets and home sitting brightly painted
a world so far from the muddy scene.
Two worlds so far apart, one wet, cool, chaotic…
one dry, warm, serene…
The people smiled as they addressed the many faults of others.
The tadpole could not see, mud filled eyes steering.
The people said, “Hello,” while tipping their hat with one hand,
driving the knife in the back after passing.
The tadpole struggled to breath.
Cheery families, rich with conversation. Playing in the park. Vibrancy setting this town.
Pond covered in scum as the wind polluted the air with cattail seeds, and a heron on search
for food.
Time comes and goes, moments of towns and people.
Ponds, that have been, are, and always will be.
When the buildings fade and crumble, the streets crack and buckle, people move away
The pond will see the tadpole free itself from the mud, it will eat the bug, watch the sky
and dream…
Robin Lipinski 