I'm making a fuss over this, I know. I've more or less finished my first poem in about 15 years. First poem exclusive of the lovely little things my wife and I exchange at birthdays, anniversaries, et al. This one is a narrative s.f. piece, the words of a dying astronaut whose vehicle has just had a catastrophic touchdown on a distant place. He's obviously the first there.
That's about it.
I wish I had a decent image to accompany this post. Maybe I'll find one.
The fuss - my fuss - owes to the fact that back in the 80s of the last century, writing poetry for me to read in what was then a rather flourishing bar poetry community here in Chicago, was my reentry into writing...writing anything at all.
Since then, I segued into writing (then selling) full-out unversed fiction and have more or less continued doing that full-time in the last decade.
So out of touch am I with the forms, though, I'm not even certain if this qualifies as poetry. We'll see. I just recorded it and I believe it'll be podcast in the near future.