I’m writing a new book. I’ve noticed I’ve paused in the writing of it. Though, not for lack of material. I’ve plenty of that. It’s because it’s too important to get this right. I want to write so well it can’t go unnoticed. And to rush it, would be to ruin it. I’ve done that before. I need to remember the only rules to the writing of this book are the ones I place within myself.
Thanks for reading. I have snippets of time to publish poems on this platform, write the book, and comment back. So please, for me, have some fun today, and a drink (even juice) so you can mentally cheers me. I’ll need the push! Next spring we build our new house. A long time dream finally coming to fruition.
p.s. Most of my time is happily placed exactly where it ought to be.
hell is a closed door-
even when starving
the rejection slips hardly ever bothered me:
I only believed that the editors were
and I just went on and wrote more and
I even considered rejects as
action; the worst was the empty
if I had a weakness or a dream
that I only wanted to see one of these
who rejected me,
to see his or her face, the way they
dressed, the way they walked across a
room, the sound of their voice, the look
in their eye…
just one look at one of
you see, when all you look at is
a piece of printed paper
telling you that you
aren’t very good,
then there is a tendency
to think that they editors
are more god-like than
hell is a closed door
when you’re starving for your god-
but sometimes you feel at least like having a
young or old, good or bad,
I don’t think anything dies as slow and
as hard as a
-The Last Night of The Earth Poems. Charles Bukowski.
I’ve just now read this poem for the first time. Which is fitting. I received a rejection email yesterday. I was told they needed to pass because my poems were *****, however they also wished me luck concerning my revision process and continued writing.
I considered the feedback from the editor to be incredibly helpful. I am determined.