I compiled a list of all the drafts, and came up with a rough "table of contents" containing 33 poems. (This number was derived from a number higher than 50 poems....but some were cut/unfinished/unreadable, etc.)
I typed and printed a list of the poems with which I am going to work, and have no begun making changes and trying them out. I'm even posting some to Facebook to gather feedback from people in the outside world. So far....mostly unsuccessful. This is not because people don't offer good suggestions, but because I'm a relative nobody, and no one is interested in reading the work of nobody.
...Which reminds me, I thought I would post a poem here just for kicks. Think of it as a treat.......a treat for all of my non-readers. This is such a mind-trip, talking about my general unpopularity to...well, a group of readers that may or may not exist.
Either way, enjoy!
The Skipping Stone
Jonathan A. Peacock
George said living life is like hearing
the scraping of a stone bounding across
a lake, that between each hop is
uncertainty of what’s coming, or what
isn’t, that in those leaps we’re
falling, and at the end we’re sinking
beneath the ripples and we watch them
scuttle to the shore to make tiny
tidal waves where that stone was picked,
that this was why people scrape
their heels along the floor, that they
search for a way to hang on, that
one day they’d walk right through
that floor, worn soles and all, and tread
the dirt, and those who’re left to listen would
be lucky to hear anything at all: That
those heels take the place of the stone and
plunk and plunk and plunk and gone.
-John
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