If Wishing Made It So

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I never feel that ought I write
is good enough for publication.
Instead, I dream each night
that I’m in print in all the nations.
A poet can dream, of course,
when the truth is mere blight.
Though it surely would be better
to sit my backside down and write.


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My current favourite genre is Young Adult Fantasy: vampires/angels/werewolves/fairies
(the Fae, I ought to say).
I am immersed in non-reality.

These books have me entrapped, spellbound.
It’s a craving I cannot seem to quell.
I’m fifty-three – this has to be some sort of anomaly.

Please, I beg you, please:
throw me a chick lit text, a comic, a cartoon strip,
literature not covered in any degree
and set me free.


I feel honour-bound to tell you that, actually, I feel no shame in reading any of the above-mentioned genres. I completed a degree in Literature and didn’t read for pleasure for years afterwards, so tired as I was of reading for study. So called ‘lowbrow’ books restored the joy; and I receive eight cartoons in my inbox every day, because I like to start the day with a laugh.