Not sure what to say today. I really ought to write for posterity, with my thoughts about the current situation, but, if I’m honest, I don’t have many. Madmen will be mad, nations will follow like sheep and that’s all there is to it. We know this because we’ve done it in the UK and USA too. Even if this is all sorted out there are still plenty of problems scattered round the world and plenty of people willing to make things worse.
So I’m going to ignore what is happening. Why worry about something I can’t change? I have, as I keep saying, declining brain power, and I don’t intend wasting any of the remaining capacity in worrying.
Instead, I will write. Writing keeps me sane. I was about to say that you never hear about a poet invading his neighbours, but the words Gabriele D’Annunzio came to mind. Let’s just say that you rarely hear about a poet invading his neighbours.
So, having let posterity know why I won’t be writing about serious matters I will now turn to poetry. The year 2022 has seen me struggle to write. I have made 11 submissions, mostly using old material. I had to go back into the archives and polish up some old work. Some of it has been rejected before, and some didn’t work at the time. After a bit of effort, I have knocked some of it into shape and it is doing OK so far. Of course, that still leaves the problem that I don’t have enough for this month’s submissions.
Of the eleven submissions, one was lost in cyberspace and three were rejected. Four have been accepted and I am waiting for answers on the other three.
And that, I’m afraid, is what I want to write about. I feel I ought to be more sensitive and empathetic, but I’m not.