One poem. Finally published. They (Do South Magazine) selected the one poem I submitted, Emotion. Now that it’s in print, I wish I’d submitted something else. But wishing is an idiotic undertaking, isn’t it? So I’ll try to stop. I have written dozens upon dozens of poems, most of which have never seen the light of day. Most of which should never see the light of day. Most of which were errors I allowed to erupt into word-farts. Still, most of them meant something to me when I wrote them. More so, in many cases, than the prose I write. Prose tends to need a structure around which it is built; otherwise, its story is meaningless. That’s true of most of my prose. It has a structure around which it is built, but that structure remains in my head, instead of finding its way to the story. And so the story is a half-thought, riddled with impossible bridges to nowhere, crafted on the edge of a cliff that’s dangerously close to disappearing into the empty sky below.

I wrote a day or two ago, or maybe today, that I’m not, nor will I ever be, and expert. I wish (there’s that idiocy again) I would have willed myself to be an expert in the expression of emotions through language. Such is life, though. It passes by and, unless one takes the early opportunities, it leaves one sad and regretful that one ignored taking advantage of all the opportunities.

Without further ado, here’s the link to the magazine in which my poem was published. It’s on page 6 or page 8 or some page with a number either close to or far away from those numbers.

About John Swinburn

"Love not what you are but what you may become."― Miguel de Cervantes
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