Ideas potentially going nowhere

There are a few bits and pieces on my mind. My knee is improving all the time, I have a few projects ahead, but there's one idea I want to consider.

If I carked it tomorrow, my poetry would be scattered across years and PCs. I don't really know whether to submit them to poetry journals or try to create a little book of them. My brother would heartily disapprove of the latter:




And though Whimsy's been all about me publishing a poetry volume for years, she wants it to look like something I cannot possibly create; rough edged, hand pressed, spine tied with a ribbon, a sweet delicate thing that would be a beautiful present even before reading. My dear friend forgets that I can't cut wrapping paper straight. My art projects would shame a five year old, so some cobbled affliction of badly chopped pages would have the opposite effect to the one she posits; folk would not be soothed by its physical beauty into admiring the words, they would be too frustrated at its godawful appearance to connect to the writing.

But poetry journals and magazines.... I don't know, who reads them? Who resonates with them? If I can't name one, how many people can? Why not just collect my poems in one place, turn them into a book, maybe on Lulu, and just let people know it's there if they want?

I'll think about that.

I read a review of The White Lotus Season 3 on Forbes with the title: I’m Starting To Worry About This Show. Couldn't agree more. It's so on point I may as well link to it. https://www.forbes.com/sites/erikkain/2025/03/30/the-white-lotus-season-3-episode-7-recap-and-review-im-starting-to-worry-about-this-show/

Sting

A sorrow, I'll not describe it here. It's easily 50 years old, an unwelcome memory brought up by some recent events. Triggered? Stupid word but yes.

Half a century and more. God, I wish I remembered useful things and forgot this. I do not have a Holmesian Mind Palace, I have an 'antique' shop with attached sundry portals. Not saying I'm the junk lady from Labyrinth, only that I could give her a job if she wanted one. But see, that in itself made me laugh, made me forget this sad painful old thing.

I have stuff to do tomorrow. So tonight I will go to sleep and let this awful business rampage around until it's so dull it bores itself away. And tomorrow I will do something necessary, nice too, and remember that the pain's imaginary but Spring is real.