I was realizing today that it will not be easy to gather my poetry so I can consider what to publish in my chapbook. My poetry has been strewn across something like twelve blogs over the years and several reams worth stuck in old archives in various places. Isn’t that a terrible, no good, very bad thing to concern myself over? *smirks*
My life is just downtrodden with horrid things I must do each day. *snork!*
What a pleasurable thing to create a book of poetry and to have countless poems to choose from and the endless ability to generate a few more at whim.
Such as now
I grace this page with
A smattering of
Grace that’s lacy
Imparting meaning to a friend,
Hither, thither in rhyme
Times mated and then there they are
A composing matter
Heart’s glittering mime.
Yep, whenever I want, there ’tis; a poem. They may not always be great, but they express a moment that’s full of meaning to me.
Let it be said that I am grateful that I have a good home, a loving warm community, music, tea, good books, a loving man. I have a seemingly endless list of things that are wonderful and still I get the simple pleasure to ponder poetry each day. What a life I have! If I died next year or even next week, I’d have lived a happy life. That’s a good thing. A truly, wonderfully good thing. Thank you Remus for sharing it with me.
Your sweet composing Dora.