The poem below has been rejected by five different publishers in the last 3 years.

What's the matter with them? Don't they know I was once called a genius?


Haunted

Dead men linger �round your window
most nights
as you lie in bed, sleeping.

Unaware of the dead,
you divide the dark between dreams and oblivion.
You never hear them creeping.

Once, flickering into consciousness,
you mistook a pale face for the moon.

When morning comes they wander
into bar rooms, alleys,
the bushes beside the freeway.

They mingle and hide as best they can,
haunted by your sleeping face
all through the burning day.

No, I suppose they don't. I can't even recall the name of the teacher who so honored me.

Nor do I recall being published in the July/August issue of Starquest.

I have no record of ever (as in never) submitting any material to this publication.

But the folks at Locusmag.com seem to believe that my old poem, The Ballad of Young Jack Shaugnessy , saw print in the pages of a magazine called Starquest back in '94.

Hmmmmm. . .

Time to don the old detective hat.