“Seeds falling 
from an autumn meadow flower…”

Whilst one is busy seeding and reseeding, judiciously fertilizing their “poetry” as needed, there will be weeds that will grow. These tares are difficult to ignore; others, critics, appearing in the writer’s self-visualized pastoral meadow with their diverse and divergent ideas regarding the production and cultivation, how it should be “properly” addressed. Arrrggghhh!  It may be tempting, dismissing these intruders: the “poetry” writers, preachy-teachers, editors, mom, dad or your pushy little sister—but not to be too hasty.

Before placing too great a stock in unsolicited (even solicited and-or expected input) a writer primarily, needs to be aware of the particular “critic’s” qualifications. Your mother: heaven bless her, may know nothing of “poetry,” wanting only the best for you; remember, you’re the one who told her, you had a real job; a piano player in a bawdy house. And, Wolf, your H.A. biker brother-in-law has an entirely different set of warped expectations from that oddity he thinks he knows as, “poetry.”

In fact, you will discover, the majority of those who attempt an “understanding of poetry,” still believe, Cat in the Hat, is high poesies.

This ticky-dot-cat (deep inhale of my Crooks Bros. cigar—pause for emphasis) kids you not (satisfying exhale) Exclamation point

Knowing, a successful writer writes not only for themselves, but for a readership, an audience—any of these journeyers visiting your flower plot, may have that sought after, magic bean. Listen to the silence.

Be gracious.

In finality, only two who matter have any influence over your writing—you, and if you choose, the editor of a publication offering to print your work—

if so, congratulations on that…

Good gardening to you,  Max tdc