Book of Poems
I've been so busy lately
there's not been time to dwell,
among the poems and people,
the Poetry Soup clientele.
To the friends I've made, I apologize,
my excuse, I'm sure well known,
I've been writing and publishing a poetry book,
but the editing had me thrown.
I'm too anti to use MSWord,
they hijack everything written,
so I use Wordpad with all of its faults,
and suffer greatly when I get bitten.
To move a line down, to take up a gap,
is fraught with a terrible trait,
as everything moves, then days of despair,
as I sort and I try to collate.
A title appears black and bold on its own,
with the text shifted to the next page.
But bringing the text back to meet with its mate
is a practice that could bring on rage.
For everything below the text now has been moved,
upwards, confusing the order,
so its juggling and sweating and biting of nails,
red faced, as I try to re - order.
Laying out a book is a fearsome task
I could get it done by a pro,
But where's the fun in doing it so,
and the cost is a place not to go.
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