My only successful love poem was written in red ink:
Roses are red
Violets are blue
I like peanut butter
Do you skate?
I wrote it for Sandra next door, who, at ten, was older than me but had lots of freckles and a gap-toothed smile that drove me wild. She told me shyly that she liked peanut butter, too.
Great from start to finish, though, er, of course, I am partial to ‘Sydney’
Wow, that's a surprise.
My only successful love poem was written in red ink:
Roses are red
Violets are blue
I like peanut butter
Do you skate?
I wrote it for Sandra next door, who, at ten, was older than me but had lots of freckles and a gap-toothed smile that drove me wild. She told me shyly that she liked peanut butter, too.
Ah, the days when you could unabashedly write innocent love poetry and everyone wasn't allergic to peanuts.
"While The Undertaker Sleeps:
Truscon, A Division of Republic Steel, 1969-70"
Great stuff, Peter!
Picking up the book at this very moment,
I noticed for the first time the epigraph
you used to kick off the collection:
"These happenings happened at one time or another,
or almost did, or never did, but their virtue is that
they happen every time they are told." - Eduardo Galeano
Isn't this what all fiction writers desire and love:
Freedom from the facts?
Yes, I don't believe in Kelly Ann Conway's "alternative facts," but I do believe in "facts of the imagination."
Orwell smiles
from the grave.