A Poetic Strategy

Each trader is having a strategy.

Market is also having a strategy.

And market is documenting it.

The document is called chart.

Whose strategy wins in the end?

Trader's strategy or market's strategy?

The Pro Trader's strategy wins atlast!

Because his strategy is "no strategy".

He just grasps the chart and responds.

He has no secret but simply responds.

By simply responding he is succeeding.

He visualises the chart as a one picture.

He won't see the chart in bits and pieces.

For him the chart is one objective picture,

An objective strategy of market unlike ours.
@Baron : muffle this guy; 15th spam post; gibberish; many others say same thing
 
My Step Father's brother was a famous Poet. He taught at Harvard and did a very nice book of poems about owls. A distant cousin of mine is Harry Crosby a great poet as well. I consider myself naturally talented in the coupling art... you Sir are no poet! ~stoney
 
My Step Father's brother was a famous Poet. He taught at Harvard and did a very nice book of poems about owls. A distant cousin of mine is Harry Crosby a great poet as well. I consider myself naturally talented in the coupling art... you Sir are no poet! ~stoney

I am glad that you thought my poem is worth your critic!

See guys I am worth a critic !
 
Last edited:
My Step Father's brother was a famous Poet. He taught at Harvard and did a very nice book of poems about owls. A distant cousin of mine is Harry Crosby a great poet as well. I consider myself naturally talented in the coupling art... you Sir are no poet! ~stoney
"The Owl

Downhill I came, hungry, and yet not starved;
Cold, yet had heat within me that was proof
Against the North wind; tired, yet so that rest
Had seemed the sweetest thing under a roof.

Then at the inn I had food, fire, and rest,
Knowing how hungry, cold, and tired was I.
All of the night was quite barred out except
An owl’s cry, a most melancholy cry

Shaken out long and clear upon the hill,
No merry note, nor cause of merriment,
But one telling me plain what I escaped
And others could not, that night, as in I went.

And salted was my food, and my repose,
Salted and sobered, too, by the bird’s voice
Speaking for all who lay under the stars,
Soldiers and poor, unable to rejoice."
 
Baron has saved his life by allowing him to post and nobody forces you to read them.

Online users now:
Total: 395 (members: 19, guests: 312, robots: 64)

Guests cannot post.

Every passing hours thousands are reading the posts.
 
Back
Top