Surplus Poems

The other day, while I was browsing through my old blogs, because I’m planning a ‘best of’ book, I came across a poem I’d posted, as a blog entry for  the day, some time in the spring of 2010.  The thing is, I didn’t remember the poem, and couldn’t remember what book it was in.  I’ll have to check a bit more thoroughly, but it doesn’t seem to be in The Alchemist’s Notebook, The Guru Kalehuru and Other Poems, or The This of the That, and all of the others would be far enough away from the 2010 date to have been contenders.  And, it was a good poem.  So, I’ll check deeper, but I think I’ve just found a nine year old poem which will go in my next book.
While I was searching for it in past books, I came across a poem written on a ripped off piece of notecard.  Just a couple of lines, but again, I didn’t remember writing them (my handwriting, though, and definitely mine), so it could be I just intended to expand them into a full poem and forgot about them.
I guess that’s an inevitable byproduct of writing poems all the time, and I’m happy about it.
Then, I wrote one this morning about a very specific story, and posted it as a comment, and it got completely ignored, the way they do, and that one’s probably lost forever, because of it’s over specific application, but that’s O.K., too.  Folk poetry.  Much of the art, and music, of human history, has been in live performances in living rooms, improvisations around campfires, and doodles on napkins.
There was one poem that I posted the other day on a workshop site.  Not because I pay  too  much attention  to the criticism I get, but at least it’s evidence that somebody’s reading the stuff.  Anyway, this was one I was  very pleased with and will  read at the next poetry  gathering.  Someone wrote “I like your rhymes very much.  Keep working at it and some day you’ll  be good.”
I’m sure she  meant well.