The poems presented in this volume are the winners in an arduous contest as to which ones would make the cut. I apologize to the “losers," trying to placate them with the fact that the author's judgment can often be suspect. Those presented here refused to be abandoned. Some have been slightly revised—a word, a phrase, some punctuation.
I don’t remember exactly when it happened. The Muse, in the form of a very devoted and provocative friend, suggested (actually, insisted) that I could create the bridge between conscious and subconscious, normally in dreams, if I would sit quietly and touch thoughts, feelings, and fantasies through the pen in my hand. (Most of the poems were written on an old Sears typewriter.) “You will learn a lot about yourself" she promised.
What came out is what can be called the expurgation, the initial commitment to expression. It then became necessary to craft the initial drafts into respectable pieces of literature.
And so it began, much to my surprise, because I had never thought of myself as a writer. My friend, sadly, has been gone for many decades, but her spirit continues to reside in the Muse. And subject to her moods and when she desires, she sits on my shoulder or on my head and whispers all kinds of things in my ear. (Some are much too personal to share here.) I learned long ago that I have no choice but to do her bidding.
She also demands an excruciatingly careful examination of every idea, every line, every word. Rewriting a poem twenty or thirty times has been surprisingly fulfilling. I enjoy immensely getting her to finally nod her head in approval. And then I can nod mine, too.
D. E. A.