Dear Jon uncovers rejected poetry submissions.
by Dear Jon
February 22, 2001
Twenty-Sixth Sort_Dear Jon-Dear Jon uncovers rejected poetry submissions.
[Editor's Note: This installment of "Dear Jon Letters" appears one day late as a result of my inability to keep track of which day of the week it is. Some might accuse the webmaster of taking revenge, but this is not the case. (Or is it?) My apologies for the delay.]
ACTUAL LETTER TO DEAR JON
Dear Jon: How come in these very flattering letters, no one ever mentions S.E. Shepherd's great poetry? Surely the well-educated readers of the Partial Observer recognize his genius of poetry and prose. But perhaps he is one of those rare artists, who will not receive the acclaim he is due until it is too late. I, for one, am here to say "well done!" to Mr. S.E. Shepherd. May we continue to receive poetry not only from him but other budding artistes as well!
Not S.E. Shepherd
Dear Not, It is true that the writings of Shepherd lift the total quality of the PO to something approaching marginally palpable. My personal opinion is that he is in a class by himself at this point, but hopefully your clarion call will rally the literate so that he will no longer be alone.
On the other hand, there is no accounting for the tastes of the "Webmaster" who rules his contributors with a fist of iron, and with about as much imagination. I have become privy to a number of poems that were rejected by the "Webmaster." The author behind these is someone I know intimately. To protect his identity, I will call him, "Jon Deer." He is a sensitive and, I might add, often misunderstood genius trying to break into the elite world of internet literature. The "Webmaster" did not want to give this avante-garde visionary a chance. But, since I am the flagship columnist loved by millions, I can do anything I want now. So I have taken it upon myself to publish, for the first time, the poetry of "Jon Deer."
"Bay Watch Haiku"
run to me.
"Stopping By A Log on a Snowy Evening"
I took a road less travelled,
Thought I stepped in muddy gravel,
Looked down and saw a log of doggy doo.
I had squashed it clean in half,
in my boots of hide from calf.
My friend said, "better you than me."
The snow-dropped sign above me said,
"No pets allowed by here to tread."
Scraping my boots on an exposed rock peeking through the snow,
I reflected on the irony of it all.
In the twilight of my youth
I sit upon a bench in the old cemetery,
and it occurs to me,
as the shadows lengthen beneath the setting October sun,
that graveyards sure are spooky in the dark.
Readers, I hope you are as moved as I am. Be sure to write to the editor and let him know. Let's get "Jon Deer" some poetic justice!
Confidential to Freedom Fighter: If you want to see your latest diatribe in print, send it as a "letter to the editor" or put it on the forums. My
advice is that you get over it.
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