HEY, IT'S GOOD TO BE BACK HOME AGAIN. . .

Poetry feeds my soul.

It always has. So it's no wonder that, during downtimes between the bigger projects (writing, revising, or marketing book length manuscripts or sending out short stories to journals and/or contests) that I return to my first love: poetry.

And so it has been recently, having come to an intermission in my work on Godtalk, that I have gravitated back to the old box of poetry I keep in the cupboard of my classroom. Far from a conscious effort, I had been reading more poetry, surfing the websites of journals for new or interesting sample poems, and felt the tug toward my own poetic creations.

I am, after all, a slave to the muse.

I was telling another teacher recently that, as much as poetry has the reputation as being for overly-sensitive, unmanly, even overtly non-heterosexual types that, for nearly my entire life, poetry has been one of the few things that has fulfilled my heart and soul in a way that only music and religion/spirituality has (and probably, it bears noting, in that order).

Consquently, I rummaged through the box of old poetry, found nine or so poems that I'd written in roughly the last ten to fifteen years, retyped them, and readied them to be sent out. This, naturally, made me want to have more product for the market, and so I dusted off an old poetry book I had sitting in a drawer somewhere, turned on some music, grabbed a cup of coffee, and started writing. Before I knew it, I was happy in a way I'd totally forgotten was possible. Working with words. Playing with language. Writing in a way that valued the efficiency, economy, and concentration of language; indeed, relied on it for its impact. It was like being in a literary amusement park.

In a sense, I was home.

I currently have about five or six packets out in the mail. In the old days, though, I tried my best to get credits in the finest literary journals with the loftiest reputations, but during this go-round, I am just in it for the sheer fun of the process. It's a hobby. I always said that if, at the end of a decade or so, I had ten or fifteen journals with my poetry in it that I could show my children, then that would be worth the price of admission. I've surpassed that, but I still enjoy the thought that maybe a new piece of mine will come out in an attractive book or booklet. And, thanks to free contributors copies, I am not only in the journals, but I am sent a book full of free poetry by other poets! Free poetry! What a country! I was thrilled by publication in my high school literary journal twenty-five years ago, and nothing's changed.

What did that writer once say? Novel writing is my marriage partner, but poetry is my mistress.

That sounds pretty damned heterosexual to me.

(On the other hand, it's a metaphor. . .so who knows. . .)