Lady Luck and Poetic Virgins

Last night at my toastmasters club meeting, there was an impromptu talk on the question of luck in determining the success of any vocation or pastime. There is even a famous formula or equation that mathematically formulates the essence of luck in determining the future outcome of a budding practitioner in any trade, science, medicine or even writing. Yes, the latter – writing – is a notoriously famous trade whose success is determined by the clemency of probability or luck or if not shot down by a pair of snake eyes.

Writers of acclaim are like an ice shelf covering a near-frozen body of water. They are the authors that have crept to the top echelon of writing, authoring a good book or two along the way. However, there are millions of closet writers and open bloggers, who are never short of blade-sharp talent, or metaphors or other rhetorical devices, or even knowledge of world affairs even history, but who, like the fish that swim underneath the ice shelf, never seem to crash to or cash in on the public eye. This is evolution is her most cruel dimension, after all in evolution, there is the survival of the fittest, and of course, in writing too, endurance is an essential skill, after all, no writer will bleed genius from the nib, at first try. He or she will need to churn in the magic and do the chores as well as the genius to master the craft of writing. There is no hard and fast rule at the winning game but there should never be an inclination for the crying game too, after all crying foul or crying wolf, will only hemorrhage you of your budding audience.

However, just like a see-saw which determines who goes up and who stays down, there is that dueling or feuding sense between favoration/cronyism and prejudice. It is a truth that the tall poppy will rarely win. After all some authors are handpicked even when they are armchair elitists faking the common man syndrome. Just like any man of experience can tell if his woman is faking an orgasm, the seasoned reader can tell where talent falls short of making inroads in to the human heart. After all, it is the human heart, that bathes in buckets of emotion drawn from wells of feeling and only the inspiration of emotions can sculpt the nucleus of a good piece of writing or poetry. No man admittedly wants information overload or a script dripping of boredom, what he or she needs is the human experience quantified from the eyes of the author and extrapolated into words that catch both eye number ‘one and two’ and even the meadows of the third eye. After all imagination is rich in emotion and short of fact.

The other side of the coin is prejudice faced by the budding authors. The ‘unknown’ fish under the frozen lake, will resort to publish e-books and to use small publishing houses, paying their own hard-earned dough, as an attempt to leapfrog on to the stage of the ice shelf. This is the tragedy of the times, when only a selected few get to be on the national or world stage.  However, just like the statement ‘the world is not a fair place’, there will always be the co-existence of limelight and lemon-light, after all there will always be Harry Potter and 50 Shades of Grey on the same stage and that is a big letdown of our times – when the potential reader is determined by the media and the popular adoration and not on merit or the aesthetic beauty of the choice, arrangement and flow of words. The good news is limes and lemons both give lemonade, something to quench the thirst of reading and appreciation of a book or a piece of poetry.

Where I stand in the whole scheme of things, I really have no clue. Like mentioned in my toastmaster’s speech yesterday, I will only know with time where I will end up as a poet and writer. An extract from my toastmasters speech is below.

A poet can never be tamed. So is my destiny as a rebel of words. Sometimes you don’t find a hobby, a hobby finds you. That my friends, is the beauty of a petit edition of fate.

To end, I will quote a saying by Che Guvera.

‘At the risk of seeming ridiculous, let me say that the true revolutionary is guided by the great feeling of love’

And my poetry too is guided by the greatest notion and labor of the love of words.  And Poetic Justice is all I ask”

Poetic justice is no magic wand or genie, nor is it karma or a black hole, it is an edition of luck that will see a writer find a readership who appreciates the tapestries of words weaved by the needle point of a nib. For now I wait, a virgin in every sense of the writing game, waiting for a long-awaited consummation with destiny. How far my virginity will endure, I can only predict.

As for now, I will keep on churning word of poetry, knowing that my passion comes from the profound love I have for words. They say a picture speaks a thousand words but a good poem leaves behind a million memories of poetic lust, just like a buxom goddess in a summer dress walking with a skip in her step and no care in the world. That lust can only be consummated between the hips of Lady Luck. I hope and pray my wait will be short-lived and I will experience a beautiful agony or a little petite morte in the hands of Lady Luck. After all, all I ask is for my first culmination, my first time and till then my cherry is for sale.



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