Wordsworth wrote an endless poem in blank verse on” the growth of a poet’s mind.” I shall attempt a more modest feat for a more distracted age: a blog, “Things which a Lifetime of Trying to Be a Poet has Taught Me.”
To pursue the calling of a poet of any kind in today’s debased world is to tread a lonely path. To attempt real poetry as opposed to the fractured prose known as free verse is to ask for automatic rejection by the literary establishment. One has to get used to discouragement in order to persevere at all. Yet an audience still exists, if only the editors and publishers (or their even more cynical financial and marketing departments) could find the faith to believe it. My work has never overcome the dynamics of the age to be popular or even well known. But I find just enough appreciative readers to keep me going in spite of the ever present cloud of near despair.
I don’t think that is what I was thinking about when I wrote this; but it is what I’m thinking about now.
Hello, dog—you back again?
Well, come along; I need a friend.
Wish you could tell me where you’ve been
Or where’s your home.
I’ve been around and back again,
The paths I’ve taken have all been long;
My back is straight; my legs are strong;
But though I’ve battled all that’s wrong,
I have not won—
Except to save, here and there, a song
Or sight of the sun.
Remember: for more poetry like this, go to https://www.createspace.com/3562314 and order Stars Through the Clouds!
Donald T. Williams, PhD