The First & Last Failure of The Poet.

As you can no doubt see, this is the first time I have blogged in a while. It's not that i've been neglecting it as such, but have been quite busy on proper paying submissions of late, including a version of Graduation Day, the prototype parts of which first saw light here. It has now grown into something rather larger than originally intended, rather selfishly running away with itself and making independent demands of its own. Which is both exciting and nightmarish in equal measure.

Anyway, this week, it came to light that a competition submission I made way back in July last year was unsuccessful. I'm not massively surprised, not least because it was a poetry competition, and I am in no way a poet; if I'm being totally honest, I don't actually like poetry that much at all. I am a storyteller through and through, and more than happy to stay that way. I tried something new, it didn't work out. Meh.

So, to give a little, merciful outlet to an unloved idea, I thought I would share my failure of an entry here. Hope you enjoy my first and last foray into non-prize-winning poetry, but if not, don't worry, you'll not be troubled by it again.

Yours,

J. Swike

Miss Cigarette

I pick her, not quite deliberately, from a group of many.

She knows my hands, and fits my lips familiarly, as those who came before her did.

I arouse her. I feast on her scent, her poison, gorging on each intoxicating breath, until -

She is spent. No longer slender, beguiling beauty, but drained of all her worth,

and with no sentiment at all, despite what i have taken, i abandon her;

crushed, face down, amongst the dirt we made together, and the bodies of her former friends.