If I could sketch or, paint or, Build impressive sculptures, My poetry would be in those. I mean to say, poetry would Be superfluous for me if I had Those other media to express My vision of my world. I only Have words. And I am grateful. I observe and put it all in my Words. Little thoughts or Hey What's the big idea? crop up.
Often they stay around and I Can use them to build and Shape what I have seen or Done so you can feel it too. I am sharing the bits and The scenes, the drama or The ordinary but beneath It and out of all that is the Sensation, the emotion, the Wanting and the having of It all. Of the whole world.
My process, such as it is, has been to let inspiration lead me to a blog draft. There I tweak and rewrite, add flourishes and post an image. I hit publish and share my newly molded words with you, kind and gentle reader.
To meet the criteria for submission, I had to hold back. Rules are rules and the New Yorker accepts only original creations.
My trigger finger may have itched to advance to a self-published state but I mustn’t.
The quartet I created for this project was for the editors’ eyes only. We’ll hear back in maybe 6 months. In the meantime, there’s a large body of work on one or the other of my blog sites that was created like the sample above just for you.
P.S. I am setting aside 5 more poems for another submission to the magazine I love. And working on some poetry to post and share now.
While he might not recall or Expands and stretches his Own, he is aware that others Have a personal history they Share, sometimes sparingly, And revere. He knows his is Worth a great deal to those He has loved, who love him. These memories are precious.
All The Best 