Words from Inside My Head

I’m only printing here the poetry I’ve written that I haven’t submitted somewhere for publication.

And I have no expectation that anyone, anywhere will publish anything – nor do I know why I even want anything published. Why? I guess to be acknowledged as a published poet, but I actually don’t want that. It’s too much like work.

Published poets have to perform, don’t they? Or produce. I don’t want to do either of those, not anymore. I do like it when someone likes what I write, understands what I’m saying, identifies with it – broken relationships, recognized signs of depression, rejection or other things not clearly stated. Clues strewn around.

Poetry somehow aligns with my interest in genealogy – not the statistical stuff, dates and names and locations – but the stories that go along with the births and deaths, marriages, moves and mysteries of ancestors who’ve left hints of DNA, names of children or the first names only of their mothers. In poetry, there are some family stories and clues to tales that may be true, stories that vary from person to person, depending on the perspective and interpretation.

I suppose those are the reasons some people dislike poetry or aren’t interested in genealogy. It can be ambiguous, unclear, and incidental to one’s own life. Who cares, right?

Ah, well. Now that I’m approaching the end of it all (or is it?), I figure it’s time to stop keeping my poetry locked up inside my laptop, my paper files, my head and put it out “there”, somewhere. Who cares if it gets published? I’m in a local poet’s group, I have friends and relatives who either like or dislike poetry (mine included). Do I care? I don’t even know for sure, except I keep on writing it down, so it has to go somewhere, at least until I’m gone

So here it is, for now.