Wednesday, September 16, 2009

difficult shmificult how bad can it get

October issue will be coming out soon but probably not the first of October. I'm doing the best I can while the world keeps crumbling around me. Gone to shit! I'm scrambling to keep this Cartier going but it takes several hours per day.
I am also trying to get together my column for the October issue. I plan to review and write up a phone interview with John Yamrus and you can bet you'll see it here too as well as Birthdays of Poets and!

On another note, if anyone would like to buy A Spot Of Bleach and Other Poems & Prose, for 10 bucks plus $3 shipping give me a shout and send through pay pal to They make great holiday gifts.

Don't forget to visit dubblex diaries.

Yamrus' style and humor inspired me to come up with the following little write.

In reverie of john yamrus permit me to say

I’ve put up with my fair share of despair and let me downs -some hard - some easier
It’s all the same, my disappointment about disparaging remarks about my pink hair. It’s gone and faded from bright red I admit
to hearing insults from important poets known on the scene about my poetry not being “real” poetry
My poetry is not authentic; it’s eccentric
I don’t know how you can get more real than me
My poetry is me and then some more
It has room for me and you in store
You find yourselves in here, inside a poem
Be careful what you say round me
I will quote you
in a poem
It’s no good to say I should delay
You say you pray I won’t consider putting your words in a poem even though you know that’s what I do
repeat after me – I forbid you to put this in a poem
so if it’s not goose for the gander stop feeding me
Give me some respect for what I do
I spill my blood and guts for you
I receive letters from people who read what I write
I received one today from a very nice girl.
She said she’s sorry for my life, she feels so sad for me, she’s just glad she’s not here where I am, she wouldn’t know what to do if she stood here where I stand in my shoes
She doesn’t know anyone who’s had it this bad
She just don’t know how I manage to survive a life this sad
I told her suicide’s a waste of time
I spend my energy writing poetry
She said you suck at poetry
You can’t write “real” poetry anyway
You think I’m pulling your leg?
Then whose leg am I pulling -
Damn if I had my legs pulled a little maybe I wouldn’t feel this hip pain so bad
So I’m an old fool who writes poetry –
What did you say you do?