Bucket List Item #5: Publish a book of poems

I read these lines of this verse when I was a child:

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands)

nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands

of the poem, “somewhere i have never travelled” by (Edward Estlin) e.e. cummings—and I fell in love with language.

I knew then, that the stuff of poems were inside me and I would be forever compelled to ink them onto a page.

It is not merely a hope, nor ambition to compile them into a book, but a compulsion to get them out.

Out of me, into a collection.

A published one.

 

To poets and the words they love: the tangible, the delectable—

the poems.

 

(c) Zara Alexis D. Garcia-Alvarez

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