Someone once told me
It doesn’t matter
If you land a book deal
Or not
MY ASS
It matters more than
They could know
Told them to think about it
Think about the aplomb
That comes with it
The generous faces
The free meals
I know
It’s not a rock star lifestyle
Or that of a movie makers
But it’s something
Better than remaining unpublished
But how do you do it?
How do you make it over the line…
I keep on keeping on
That’s what I do
Can you imagine it…
A book drenched in
My poems
Dripping with inclination
Rhyme
The lot
You’ll be remembered
That’s for sure
They said
Then they asked if
They might read some of my stuff
I said
They might
But I doubt it
Poetry’s pretty pretentious
Not my cup of tea
At all
I mean I wouldn’t read it
And I’m supposed to be a ‘poet’
You’re odd to want to
Write all of these quirky poems
Without anyone out there
All that interested
It only takes one
Person who turns out
To be a publisher
And I’m jammed inside the pages
Of a book for eternity
I’d publish you
If I was a publisher…
But I’m not
My mother is though
And that’s how I got published
But this is the thing
You see
And please tell no-one
But I’d to go above and beyond
To seal the deal
If you can read between the lines
Not nice
But I’ve landed my book deal
And now I’m off to write
Another one
One about what it took
To get the first one
Over the line
Some people are desperate enough to do
Anything really
Only thing that worries me is
The foreword that woman wrote
She said I was quick off the mark
That in time I’d be able to create longevity
Doesn’t that mean last a little longer…
I hope to God she was
Talking about my poetry
The cheeky so and so

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