I am working on a second book of poems. I have written so many poems over the years and they are saved in a folder. I noticed they were in alphabetical order when I saved them. How did I do that? Anyway, I’m down to the H’s and have 35 poems I feel are suitable for a book of poems, and my goal is 100 poems for a second book.
My first book of poems only had 27 pages. I published it through Amazon’s self-publishing site and it is available for purchase. It’s called Pet Poetry by Constance Barr Corbett.
If I can find 100 already written poems that I think readers would enjoy reading, I’ll publish this second book of poems on the same site.
I was surprised to find haiku. It looks like there was some kind of haiku contest that I never entered, but I did write 7 or 8 haiku poems. Some amused me, most were just thoughtful. That raised the number of poems quickly.
My daily goal is to find seven poems that appear well done to me and add them to the list. I stop at seven, because I’m usually tired of reading poems after seven. But then those short haikus popped up and they were good, in my opinion, so I’m up to 35.
What can I call a second book of poems that are about different things? Eclectic? Is that even spelled right?
I am tired. One of my adult children is coming to visit me tomorrow to see how I’m doing. I’m better. Maybe not completely well, but closer to it than I have been in eight months. I’ve been trying to clean this place. I can’t get it too clean, or she will doubt I really live here. Housework has seldom interested me.
So I found a good reason to stop that foolishness. I’ll work on my writing! The poetry book seemed most enjoyable.
The book of Public School Teacher stories still sits by my bed waiting for more editing. If I have to read that book one more time after this one (and I will, at least one more), I might set my brain on fire. I think the stories are good, but I’ve read them, and reread them, and reread them ad infinitum. Look at that. It’s gotten me talking in Latin. But when anyone else reads it, I want it to be as perfect as it can be.
Who likes to clean house? For free? I’ll sit and write a poem about you doing it, if you want to come over. Meanwhile it’s back to cleaning with a nagging whisper in my head “When are you going to finish editing that schoolteacher book?”