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In her saner and more centered moments, this poet remembers to be thankful for the blessings of her relative anonymity.

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Recorded Reading (1:30): https://www.dropbox.com/scl/fi/8qquuowvnlbb6jsymy96c/Ghost-Writer.aac?rlkey=ciwx4cy8p045tlzt4xywtq8kx&dl=0

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Ghost Writer

I died “unsuccessful”
In my chosen field
My gift unto the multitudes
Persisted unrevealed
Until post mortimal decay
Had these bones congealed ~
But, strange although it sounds to say,
I feel my sentence was repealed

Yes, I escaped th’attentions
Of those lost in their books
Peering fearfully at life
From their secluded nooks
At readings giving such as I
Patently adoring looks,
Whom if they passed me on the street
Clung to their pocketbooks

Without the introduction
Which lead them all to flirt
Without that big production
They’d treat me just like so much dirt
Without the glamour authorship
Briefly round me girt
These same would scuttle by me
Careful to their eyes avert

Whom, at a signing, simper
Giggle madly, and agree
To anything I in the mood
To say might happen be
Did I aver that submarines
Are made of filligree?
One must find an epigram
Amenable to me

I’m happy with a quiet life
Among quiet friends
With time and peace with self and God
To make my genuine amends
Unwishing for existence
To opinion public bends
Free agent — writing only to
My own well chosen ends

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This poet is physically disabled.

Public housing being insufficient to her medical and creative needs, in order to continue working she is presently living in her minivan, publishing all of her works using one thumb on the touch screen of her smartphone and surviving at a fraction of her nation’s poverty level.

If her work has touched you, she would treasure any contribution you might be good enough to offer ~ http://www.UgiftABLE.com ● #72D-31S.

Please be aware that it takes several days for her to be notified of patronage. Thank you for caring.

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