In a happy development during this strange year, another two poems have been accepted for publication. It’s a weird time. I am both ok and not ok. I am managing to write new things and edit other things, and do everything else I need to. Meanwhile, I am full of loathing for the spring for making my sinus pain intolerable, I am yet full of hope because the sunshine is almost warm, even though if I go beyond my yard I need to wear a mask. Not that I go out much. If I do, it will rain.
Sometimes, when this place gets kind of empty
Right now the lorikeets and magpies are chirping and singing, there is an insistent chainsaw above the intermittent traffic noise, there is a a breeze, and every now and again I can hear a contented chicken from my neighbours back yard. While there is much to bemoan and mourn because of Melbourne’s Covid19 lock-down, somehow, there is still a lot going on too.
Under the Milky Way tonight
So there’s nothing more to do, today, tonight, than to keep doing what I do. But if titles matter, I suppose I am a poet now. Perhaps, I always was.
The writing statistics as of today:
- 50 rejections
- 8 acceptances
- 29 pending
So far, one piece accepted for every 6.25 submissions.