Well, time to fess-up and spit-it-out: My Nobody Status increases as I write this. Four books and a rather full website since 2010 and nary a peep. A few buys and perhaps a few little reads — but no response. Well, what did I expect: self-published, no collegium, no university connections, no Ph. D. — no connections with anybody in the areas I write about — Poetry-Philosophy-Psychology-Spirituality. Well, I’ve absolutely no marketing program either. And not being some kind of Guru-Illuminati-Mentor in anything for anybody, I write for myself — sharing a little with friends and family. But I’m the only one I know who follows-feels the thrust of my poetry and philosophy of life. Then, there’s the loneliness that nags. Dogless, too. Am I depressed! Well, could be. But no!!!! That would be a waste of time and purpose. I’m doing what I have to do and still have, at 85, the strength, vision, and adequate clarity of mind to carry-on. Gads! I’ve three children-family stories, a book of 101 poems, a major work, THE HOLD, from my website, and a few other things that keep popping-up for attention. And no secretary as these “yell” to be completed/published(??) within a year. And no Agent, ever: perhaps I should look for one. I haven’t entered contests — so no prizes won or recognitions. Well, I’ve enough to do as it is with all: laundry, property projects, shopping, cooking, yardwork; various heath-aging managements and cruises in memory. This poem rather sums it up. It’s titled THE WAITERS — with recalls of De La Mare’s THE LISTENERS — Yeats’ UNDER BEN BULBEN (the horses of both): a touch of Thomas’s DO NOT GO GENTLE….
They’re out there…waiting!
Some sense it more than some.
But, no surprise with waiting done,
As someday the news reports “I died.”
Oh, head crowned with laurels spun,
But no quarried stone on lonely sod
With cuts for passers-by to ponder-on.
Oh, the wait for “such-a-me” to be gone!
Any Day! Any Day! — He died! He died!
Then the little bit obits of Goodbye!–
Of that “do not go gentle” expected Any Day! —
Saying — “It’s ‘OK!’A long life had he!”
I say “Wait just a minute! Look at this Me O’My!
I’m not an age. I’m a personal quest!
More than able for the inevitable!
But still saddling-up my personal best!
EVERYDAY! EVERYDAY!………… ifffff….
Not shot, run down, or diseased with death —
My time’s still a lively gait to howsoever far the far.
So, the Waiters must just wait their wait —
To say “we’ll miss” and “passed-on!” —
Watching, as my gallop continues its passing-by;
Portents of passage casting a steady eye, reins in hand,
Shake of head held high of laurels spun:
Striding past where the Waiters stand,
With their bedazzled bedraggle behold,
Till the waiting’s done, this hold a told,
And my plunging hooves are gone.