Poem of the Month - May 2010

Every poet yearns to be published - yes? Some might argue this point, preferring to think of their poetry as part of  their secret lives, but I think they are lying to themselves and to the world.

Whatever other people think they want, I can state unashamedly that I would be thrilled to see my poetry in print. Of course, I would also like people to buy my poetry book, and some positive words of encouragement about my work would not go astray either.

So the egomaniac in me happened across http://www.lulu.com/ a couple of weeks ago. This is a great site that, amongst other things, guides anyone with a basic understanding of the web to prepare, publish and print their book. They even supply you with a free ISBN if you wish. The only problem I have found so far is getting the time to wade through all the options. Do I want a print version and/or an e-version? If I  want a print version, what size book do I want, and what kind of paper do I want it printed on? How can I get my cover design into a useable form? How will I make sure their are no spelling mistakes or typos? So I want it to be listed on amazon.com and on the lulu pages? Of course, the people behind lulu envisage that customers will run aground sooner or later, and so they offer various add-ons (at a price), which is where they make their money. It is a cunning plan, but also one that I am sure many people would appreciate. I am as yet reluctant to take up any of these extras, but will let you know how I go over the coming months as I move closer to getting myself published.

In the meantime, I have been working in a  range of day jobs over the last month so haven't written any poetry, so I am going  to drag out something from last year, just to maintain the momentum.

Five O’clock Shadow

I’m thinking of words to describe you …
Creepy-pathetic-sleeze-bag

As I walk towards a spare seat not far from the bar
You are there IN MY FACE, but not wanting to talk to me

I am invisible to your male-who-fools-himself-that-he-is-a-stud gaze
You have your target in sight,
You look right through me, as you smile at her.
She is obviously not interested, but she smiles anyway

As women are taught we must.
After a few words she moves past you, totally uninterested
And you creep back to your perch,
Not quite in the corner, not far enough
To hide your too obvious demeaner.

I’m thinking of more words to describe you …
Hunter-prowler-tragic-menace-stalker.
The three women, late forties-fresh-from-a-matinee
(‘Priscilla’, the show not the movie)
Sitting close by, chatting loudly, are oblivious to your leer.

They don’t need you or even know you exist
But that doesn’t stop you fantasising.
You scratch yourself down there
It’s horrible to watch but I can’t help myself
And I’m still thinking of words to describe you …

Pudgy-paunchy-balding-pitiful-Loser
Your clothes are last millennium,
Who wears olive green patchwork leather jackets any more,
Corduroy brown pants,
And a plastic greasy smile without a sense of shame?

How often do you come here?
How often have you stood there in wait?
There you go again, moving forward, target in sight -
Retreat as she doesn’t even take the trouble to smile.
Another approaches with two drinks in hand, sadly not one for you.
I think of some more words that seem to describe you …
Sad-little-loner-man-that-the world ignores
You retreat to an available seat,
It must be hard work, all that ogling.
You don’t know I exist, so I am safe observing you
I can see why you have no one, men like you are so shallow.

My love approaches, drink for me in hand,
Smiles and kisses for me; wondering what is capturing my attention.
I don’t disclose, but I tell him it is nice to be wanted
Smugness coloured by a tinge of sadness.

And I look at you once more, and think of new words to describe you
Human-frailty-needing-friendship-more-than-sex
But you don’t know how to make that happen,
Men are trained to prey, not to ask for what they need
And desperate acts result.

A part of me wants to come back tomorrow,
To check if this is a regular thing
But I know I won’t, I don’t really feel proud of myself
Or my too-easily developed opinion. In any case,
I’ll have moved on once I have finished writing this poem,
I doubt that your tawdry life will provide any further fascination for me

And I’ve run out of words to describe you …

January 2008