One of my friends (I have five) has told me he thinks my poetry is not as interesting as my tatting. I like and indeed I admire honesty in a person, but am currently considering their friendship status.
I have just sent some poems to a magazine, and it took me longer to read their submissions guidelines than it did to write the actual poems. That can’t be write, can it?
I was going to try my hand at some concrete poetry but the bag of cement in the cellar has gone hard and I can’t lift it. I shan’t worry, and shall stick to the usual stuff. Experiment is hugely overrated.
I am thinking about publishing all my poems in a book – “The Collected Poems” – but I don’t know if there will be the demand in the marketplace to tempt any prospective publisher. I have never really understood the marketplace. The only market place I ever understood is only there on Wednesdays, and is a car park every other day of the week.
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Eric Eric
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