Poetry Schmoetry

            This week Shelly Brown is putting on a poetry blogfest. So far, she has successfully convinced 57 bloggers to participate in the event, including myself. No easy feat since I enjoy reading an occasional poem, but blanch at the thought of writing one.

            How did Shelly do it? How did she convince me to write a poem and post it as part of my blog?

            Bribery.

            Oh, not the sordid, back alley kind of enticement you’re probably thinking about. Instead she has dangled the irresistible carrot in front of my nose that has insured my participation. More on the brilliance of that maneuver later this week just know for the moment that the prospect of getting a first page critique (which I am badly in need of right now), a custom button, and most importantly a week with Shelly has generated an intense interest in poetry.

            Imagine a whole week with Shelly focusing her blog on – ME. I’m certainly imagining it. All of my fellow authors in training should be imagining it as well. It is a great opportunity to finally register on the radar of a larger audience. Don’t get me wrong, I dearly appreciate the following that I have so far. I just wouldn’t mind being able to get a few more people to read my blog and be interested in how my latest manuscript is coming along.

            All of us authors in training need to watch for opportunities like this. The path to publication is taken in steps. None of them small when you consider where they will eventually take you.

           

            Writing craft and careers aside, Shelly is a lot of fun. This poetry blogfest is a lot of fun. Through it I am sure I will meet some more great people. I mean, who knew that advancing my writing career could be so much fun and rewarding on a personal level?

            I do now.

  

            Without further ado – here is my poem for the blogfest. 

           

 

Angels Fall

Into our arms

            Angels fall

They cry

            We weep

 

Crawl

            Walk

                        Run

Out of our homes

            Angels flee

They curse

            We weep