T’is a cold-hearted addiction I have,
a laughable wild-goose chase
to trade this reclusive life of
the honey-tongued mimic, to attempt elbowing
my way into the company of the published.
But who am I kidding? I’m the uneducated go-between
of hot-blooded youth and cruel hearted
old age, without a hint about joining
the ranks of the bold-faced names,
the ones that are read trippingly
on the tongue there beneath the title,
perhaps earning their publishers’
money’s worth from what small advertising they
might grant them. But I a publisher will never
I am the noiseless one, eschewing
the foul-mouthed pageantry of the readings,
staying home and puking out more verse
on this new-fangled whirligig of a QWERTY
quill, stringing half-assed, well-behaved
ruminations dexterously down this alleged page
that really isn’t. How can I be disheartened
if I do not choose to champion myself out in the
infinite space, if I remain faint-hearted it is
but a foregone conclusion that the game is up?
I’m not some bloody Shakespeare, you know.
Poem #26 in my poem-a-day quest for NaPoWriMo 2015. This piece was in answer to a prompt to use a word coined by William Shakespeare as the basis of the poem. You know me, dear readers…in for a penny, in for a pound. There are at least 30 words or phrases reportedly coined by the Bard of Avon in this ponderous piece of ever-to-be-unpublished fappery–including the title. This would probably be a funnier bit of business if it wasn’t true. I haven’t submitted anything to a journal in almost a year. And you can’t win if you don’t play.