Footprints On The Sands Of Time

Poetry.  It’s an art form I don’t claim to be very good at, yet it’s something I like to write when the mood hits.  My poems are personal; I don’t share them because they’re a form of catharsis for me.  Sometimes, there are emotions I’d rather keep to myself: sadness, frustration, fear, or anger.  Also, as I mentioned, I’m not that great at poetry.  Whenever I write it, I feel like a dolphin that suddenly finds itself in the middle of a barren desert and has no idea how to get back to the ocean.  Although, I’d assume the solution would involve a whole lot of flopping.  And dehydration.


You Gotta Keep Your Head Up

A few days ago, I submitted a poem to a magazine.  Why is that so unusual? Because I’m pink as a newborn when it comes to poetry.  I’m used to writing popular fiction short stories.  That’s my niche, my strawberry jam.  As a writer, however, there are times when I desire to sample other styles or genres.  You know, like forgoing the strawberry jam and spreading peanut butter on your toast instead.  Or having butter on your bagel instead of cream cheese (I know, I know, it’s borderline breakfast blasphemy).  This particular poem has been sitting in my hard drive for years, collecting imaginary dust.  I finally thought, why not send it out? I’ve never attempted to get a poem published before.  It’ll be a fun experience, right? What could possibly go wrong?