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I need to share this with you. Back in 1995 I entered a poetry competition for the first and only time and my poem, called 'Rush Hour', was one selected to be published in a book called 'Island Moods and Reflections'. I got the letter from the publishers with the proof of how it would look on the page and I was very excited, understandably. Unfortunately at that time I was very broke and at ?30 I couldn't afford to buy the book, though I felt content enough knowing that somewhere, someone may be reading my poem.

Fast forward 14 years to the present day. I discovered the original paperwork in my old suitcase and decided to track down the book and pay for my own copy - something to show the grandkids, I thought. Sure enough, on Amazon I found a used copy, for sale at ?20. Being flush (relatively speaking) I paid the money and waited for the book to arrive. It did, but I missed the postie so had to go to the sorting office to collect it, which just added to my anticipation.

Back at home I opened the parcel and sure enough there was a pristine copy of the book - hard back and beautifully bound. I read a few poems at the front then went to the index page to find my own poem. Well, can you believe it - it wasn't there!! I searched the pages thinking maybe the index page was wrong. It wasn't. I felt duped and utterly deceived - a deceipt that has lasted some 14 years.

So there it is. Hope you didn't mind me sharing this with you.

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Thanks folks I appreciate your empathy. I like Keef's idea to turn this experience into something positive - I may just do that. So shall I 'publish' Rush hour in this thread as boosboss suggests? Well I expect it will be a bit of an anti-climax after the story, but why not. I'll fetch my suitcase and dig it out....

Rush Hour


Dusk in the City Centre

Cars queue, engines running

Anticipating. Soon to be home.

I walk beside them

Head down, avoiding the glaring headlights

And the bitter-sweet taste of their fumes.

Soon to join them. My car

Awaits, alarmed, secure on Level One.


A figure approaches me, shuffling against the flow.

Thick heavy coat, threadbare scarf

Hangs loosely under grey-stubbled chin.

A withered palm - outstretched and empty.

I look up. He speaks softly whilst

Hardened eyes examine, evaluate my own.

Got 50p for a cup of tea?

I shake my head briskly

I look away. Must walk on.


Though he is still, his eyes still

Follow me. I feel ashamed.

Excuses rush through my mind.

I'm in a hurry - another time maybe -

Why Me? Never mind, soon to forget....

I'll be in my car, in my queue,

Just like all the others. Guilty...

Thanks everyone - I'm really glad I decided to vent my disappointment now! I like the idea of starting up a Poets Corner with contributions from anyone - nice one Mick. I'm not a prolific writer of poetry by any means but I'm happy to kick it off tomorrow night with something.

Jeremy Wrote:

-------------------------------------------------------

> For some reason, the mood of the poem reminds me

> of Jam lyrics... particularly "down in the tube

> station at midnight". Don't know if you'll take

> that as a compliment or an insult.


Aren't you thinking of The Jam's "Going Underground!":))

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