I never let my family or friends read my
stories. They don’t count on my list of
well-wishers or critics. As a matter of fact,
I don’t confide in anyone, not even my wife.
All of my work is private, made-up only for
me and Poet’s Dream. I’ve asked in the past
but no one is interested. It is not worth my
effort to solicit artistic opinion or to correct
poor spelling from those who take things,
too personal. If I did, it would stifle my life
and freedom. I need to complain about every-
Once, I sent memory sticks to all of my kids,
at Christmas. I got no response. They all had
too much to do to waste their time on the words
of a Dad. I’m not welcomed in my own city.
I told myself that when they get older, they will
recognize the benefits of scholarly grammar.
But, perhaps they already know that a washed-
up matriarch poet, has nothing funny to say.
Never mind. Even though it may be helpful
to have a judge and executioner on board, …
… an exquisite wordsmith or a true believer to
hold my hand, the struggle is always fruitful
and soulful. As a means to waste time, I’m ready.
This is my own secret life. I get perturbed if
someone steals a glance at my page. I’m over
the need of asking, receiving, doubting or over-
achieving. Inspiration is my only close mistress.
She knows what I want and how to please me.
The results are spread out, … all over Google.
Copyright © The JR Collection
of Told In Time, ~ Set For A New Record