I have wrote poems for many, 47, years. And I used to wait for my muse to come with something to write. Then I start to go looking for my muse instead. Before I wrote maybe one poem a month. Now I write about 12 a week.
It’s interesting to me that my form of writing seems to have little or nothing to do with what everyone else in the world seems to be writing that as I look at what’s called poetry out there today it seems to me to be nothing but short stories Reformatted into cute lines somehow this is not what I want to write even if it is the only thing that is selling I think there so many be said for some semblance of poetic form I really wonder if poets writing poetry for other poets is the best way ever found to kill poetry yet.
I have always been a ham. Joy is a microphone and people to listen. BUT when I get up to read my poetry it scares me silly! It is something that I must overcome.
I believe that there are people who are Poets. They write poetry because they are a Poet. If you prick their finger they bleed a poem. And there are people who write poems. If you prick their finger they bleed blood.
If you want to be a published poet then know this, I have sent about 54 poems total off to these magazines; agni, broad river review, burnt district, Cardinal Sins, Dressing Room Poetry Journal, dual coast magazine, HERON TREE, isthmus, jitter press, off the coast, peeking cat, poetry quarterly, prime number, rattle, The Meadow, The Other Herald, utahlife, Vita Brevis. And I have had one poem printed. I spent about 6 hours a week writing and about 2 hours a week looking for magazine I can sent poems.
Writing something for people to read. Yet no one reads any of this at all. There is a need to have a blog and to update it for all of those to never have and never will read it.
After being published in Poetry Quarterly people started acting like I now was someone else. and I would say, hey it is just me, I haven’t changed. But I have charged I find. It has change how I see myself and how I write.