One of my poems was published

014sept_poem in Good Times_Page_1About a year ago, I sent off a poem I’d written to Good Times Magazine, a Canadian magazine for 55+ (quite a good magazine, actually, with lots of interesting articles) that has a poetry section open to submissions. I never did receive a response, so I promptly forgot all about it.

Fortunately, a friend of my sister-in-law’s was reading the magazines’s September issue and noticed my poem published in there! Thankfully, she told my sister-in-law who then told me, otherwise I never would have known, since I’d missed that issue. (Which would have been a shame, for it’s always a big deal to a writer when a piece has been published.)

I’m not sure what the lesson is here. Perhaps it’s that once you’ve submitted a piece of writing for publication, you should take care to read every single consecutive issue of the magazine just in case they happen to feature you without any notice?

Oh well. It was still nice to see myself in print, since I very rarely make the effort to submit any of my stuff.

That’s my poem to the right, on the magazine page. Since it’s a small photo, I’ve reprinted it again below for you to read. It’s a poem that’s close to my heart—about childhood and best friends and candy. 🙂014sept_poem in Good Times_Page_2

The Corner Store

Thinking back about my best friend,
Sue, who lived next door,
I recall the times we treasured most,
Our journeys to the corner store.

First we’d do a hasty search
Through both our kitchens’ trash,
For empty soda bottles,
The next best thing to cash!

Beneath the bluest summer sky,
Along the dusty, country road,
We’d skip and chat and sing and laugh,
Cradling our precious load.

Looming like a sweet mirage,
The corner store would catch our sight,
Thoughts of what we’d find inside,
Made us run with all our might.

The clatter of penny loafers
Upon creaky steps in need of stain,
The tinkling of a screen-door bell,
Announcing we were back again

Although his name escapes me now,
I can see the bloke who ran the shop,
His smile, as wide as licorice string,
Aglow above the counter top.

As we surrendered all our bottles,
He’d scratch his chin in calculation,
And silently, we’d watch him
In breath-held anticipation.

Three quarters, two dimes and a nickel
Were enough to stoke our glee.
In those days that meant plenty
Of treats for Sue and me!

In a flurry, we made our selections
From a maze of candy jars:
Jellies, gumballs, fat wax lips,
Chocolate coins, licorice cigars.

Chirping thanks through caramel chunks,
Clutching plump brown paper sacks,
Out the door and down the steps,
Knowing that we’d soon be back.




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