Whatever you sign up for, there are consequences.
Paraphrasing Lincoln: some yawn, some cheer, some scream
Newton N. Minow called television a vast wasteland. The internet is all that and more. It's a dead planet. And yes, what I write is part of the dead planet.
The greatest causes are freedom and democracy whether you command a weapon, a camera, a keyboard, a pen, a brush, paint, a musical instrument, tools, the body, or just your voice.
Hopefully, you will wake up from sleep everyday. Then, one day, you will wake up, not from sleep but from the slumber of a false life. Everything will be changed and you will have to navigate a new life in a new world. This awakening may happen many times in your life.
I write many bad poems. I've written roughly 3500 poems in 50 years. Most stink. 1 out of 10 is acceptable. 1 out of 100 is okay. 1 out of 500 is good. 1 out of 1000 could be really good and 1 out 3500 I'm hoping is great. In fact, I don't know. My readers are my editors. Oh, I do change my poems often removing or adding words. Nothing in the boxes or online is written in stone. If I allowed publication, I couldn't change anything. That's why I don't try to publish. I've sent out poems. But even with a SASE I don't hear back. Also, if published in a small or moderately sized or famous publication, it's locked there forever.
Also, mailing submissions is expensive. If I put everything online, I can make changes. Also, when poems get more traffic, I know poems have been shared. More sharing means, I hope, a better poem.
If you find 1 poem you like. Thank you. If possible, help me out by sending something to my PayPal account: firstname.lastname@example.org. If you think I'm getting rich doing this, far from it. I squeak by on Social Security mostly. Medicare. Part D meds with "extra help." Yeah, I qualify for that. Thanks if you do send something, and thanks for reading. I just write. It's an urge.
If anything, tell someone about my blog so they can read my bad poetry...or 1 or 2 good ones they might like?
Barry G. Wick