MORE ABUT SELF PUBLISHING....

It used to be that self publishing was considered vanity publishing. Truth was, is, commercial publishers are not entirely interested in promoting literature, or art , but are more (self) interested in running a business and making a profit. If you weren't given the nod by academics , or the commercial crowd, then it was decided that you weren't worth publishing. So, when the ebook came along those that felt that they had something worth saying, or had a story to tell, jumped at the chance to tell the world. Some have enjoyed incredible success, catching the eye of paper book publishers and film. Some of us just poke along satisfied that our thoughts, our ideas, through the internet are reaching a global audience, and, just maybe, will survive lifetimes to be read and enjoyed through search engines such as Google. That we've had the opportunity to write and post our thoughts, our ideas,  to be shared freely, is more than enough. So, in keeping with my thoughts about self publishing, here's something that I wrote awhile back that would seem apropos for this time of the year....

WINTER 

Crystals made from water,

Frozen in the sky,
Each one slightly different,
Form snowflakes ,

That drift, 

Silently, 

Blanketing the ground.

A chipmunk stands at the entrance to its burrow, 

Paws clenched tightly,
Shivering in the cold, 
Watching snowflakes falling.  

Chickadees, 

Dee-dee deeing,

Impervious to the snow,
Seek out hidden morsels, 

To keep away the cold.

High above there’s honking, 

The geese are departing.

Snow keeps on falling.

Chipmunk chips one last time, 

Then departs.
Deep beneath the falling snow,

Warm in its den, 

It dreams away winter’s cold.

Winter with its cold and darkness, 

Has come to stay, 

Until one day,

When,....

The days grow longer, 
And the sun appears,.... 

The snow melts away.

EAS

Okay, so it's not a great poem, but by posting it, publishing so to speak, I've put it out there.... and, perhaps, it might just inspire someone to write their own poem about winter.

Here's another to either inspire, or simply bore the heck out of you....

 

 

 

 

The Marsh

 

Winds blow steadily from out of the north, 

and whip

darkening clouds

across the once blue ,

sunlit, 

sky. 

The marsh,

once green and lush,

with waters filled with life, 

is now frozen,

snow covered, and

seemingly,

devoid,....

of all life. 

The snow swept shore

is ringed by dead cattails, that 

clatter,

and chatter,

defying...

the wind. 

A coyote,

chased by the wind,

sniffs the air, and

finding nothing there,

seeks shelter in the Dogwoods, 

and cedars, that

cling to the shore. 

Dried grasses swirl, and sway

in the wind, and 

create patterns

on new fallen snow. 

Ravens,

that once circled high in the sky,

seek shelter,

in nearby pines. 

The wind blows relentless

with no end in sight, 

but with the night

thereʼs quiet, and 

the stars,

slowly,

come into sight. 

Snow,

and cold comes,

and stays,

until,

one day, 

the sun lengthens its stay. 

Out on the ice there are patches of water.

The wind, 

once threatening,

is now beckoning, 

and geese soon appear. 

 

Life banished by the cold,

slowly,

creeps back,

here,

and there. 

Spring, 

finally, 

........itʼs here. 

EAS

March 2020