Middle Aged White Poet

I finally figured out how to format my chapbook "Rough Around the Edges" for Kindle and it is available on my Amazon Author Page here. It is only available in Kindle format at this time. If you do not own a Kindle there is a free Kindle Reading App for Mac, PC, Smartphones and Tablets available for download here. I intend to publish print copies in the future if there is a positive response on Kindle. 

I am posting the poem "Middle-aged White Poet" from the chapbook as a bit of shameless self-promotion. This poem was originally conceived for the Velvet Verbosity 100 Word Challenge earlier this year, however, it has since been reworked and edited beyond recognition. If you follow my blog you will see that about half of the 28 poems premiered on my Blog in some draft or partial form. The other half are original to this publication. The poems are presented sequentially to represent some of my life's experiences. 

This is my first stab at publication and I am basically winging it. If you do decide to pick up a copy please leave a constructive review on Amazon or a comment on this thread. I am interested in how to become a better Poet & Author so all comments are appreciated (including critical ones)

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Middle-aged white guy writing poetry

It’s not pretty

But I really love it - I always have.

A word nerd since my early teens

John Lennon Imagining,

Bob-Dylan-Thomas, Lizard King

Blew my mind with poetry

And it’s never been the same for me.

Let it be Lord, let it be.

And right away I could see

these dudes were inside my head.

They said the things I’d I wished I’d said.

They understood and spoke to me

with innocent experience

iconoclasts in past and present tense.

Feelings so intense they circumvent

my conflicted disobedience.

Feelings from so deep inside 

that sometimes even I don’t realize

the blood stains on the page are mine.

So why not me, Lord, why not me?

Because I was born without a pedigree -

A white suburban refugee where

we never mention child-abuse,

and we always get the right to choose,

and never ever get refused service for not wearing shoes.

So I turned my cap back to hide my bald spot.

My angst is in my pudding cup.

But don’t tell me I didn’t earn my seat

and I don’t have the right to speak

and be heard if I wannabe.

Word.

I’m just an aging word-nerd who knows what

it’s like to hurt and not be heard.

But proud enough to stake a spot out in the crowd

and use my voice to shout it out

and tell my story loud enough

that anyone who gives a shit can sit and listen to another …

Middle-aged white poet