What on earth would I do if the dream became a reality, most probably go nuts, raise my hands in the air, tell everyone that I no longer own a single care
Absurd perhaps, but as soon as you do get to cross that finish line it might just be time to go with the flow
If that includes no despair then so be it
I’ll sit down, plea with my publishers on another book… deal, realise that I’ve now gained the right to decide what works best when it comes to me… my poetry of course
If you take my poems, submit each and every one for a song I’d be the hoarsest guy in the room
If the dream became a reality I’d finally get to wine and dine with the best of them, although at the end of the night I would always return to my family and friends, the real people who helped set me on my way to an insatiable literary trend
This dream, it really does all depend on how good the writing can be, if I take a little more time when it comes to editing the rhyme will there be more success heaped upon
Fulfilling my utter necessity to impress
I really don’t know but it is most certainly on with the show
And it’s oh so good that the poetry does seem to flow out of me, even if I have to keep a watchful eye out when it comes to repeating certain words
Again rather absurd because this can be a trademark all of its own
Right now, the personal poems are selling for sure, I get to sit down with a businessman, a housewife, come into their lives and pit them with my ten questions
As soon as I find a laptop it will only ever be me managing to make those words dance, having gone through a filter system marked ‘Suggestions’
A different question though
Why words… in particular, why poetry
I mean I may have got a B+ in the Leaving Cert. when it came to English but I was hardly what you’d call intelligent, more like something of a troublesome squirt when it came to completing his homework
“The dog ate my homework, Sir!”
So on with the word search, although I’m crap at them too, the ones inside the papers at least
Christ almighty, now there’s a pastime that leads to nothing but mind-hurt
The poems are far too long, or maybe I’m testing myself, seeing if my rhyme is still good enough to hold strong, stand the test of time in keeping your interest while you purchase, place my book atop your shelf
I’m simply a guy trying to make a living in a game where there’s more chance of you winning the lottery than this pursuit ever turning into a lottery all of its own
But that taste inside of me always let me know that time spent at my laptop will never turn out a waste