First post here:(

[milo]

I just discovered this forum literally a few minutes ago, so I apologize if I break any rules.

I spent 10 years sending submissions to Fiddlehead/Malahat/New Quarterly, and they were always graceful but I never got published...so I gave up. But I wrote this recently and I know it's far from perfect but I wanted to share it.

My name is Shawn Gibson, I'm 44, and live in Toronto:

Hi Shawn, welcome to the pigpen, don't forget to leave feedack for others.

I miss being Buddhist
I miss having hope
I miss being young and cocky
And I miss my hate

I miss looking at women.
I miss my mother's words
I miss dreaming of a better tomorrow
And my old uncomplicated world

I miss Leonard Cohen and I miss Jesus
I miss Gautama too
I miss how powerful it was
when science said a supernova blew

I miss Einstein and Feynman, I do
And Schopenhauer and Hegel
for turning my little world into stew
I miss being young and stupid, I really do

i miss being able to walk up to anyone
and say hey can I photograph you?

I don't really see how this list of things you miss could be considered poetic. If I were sitting across from you at a table, and you were an old friend, my eyes would glaze over as you prattled on and on about things you missed, but, being stuck at a table with you and a friend, I would continue pretending to listen.

how do you think a stranger thousands of miles away will react at being presented this to read?

That world is gone and now I think
about my liver and yet I think of you

this is an odd non-sequiter. Why are you thinking about your liver and your addressee again?

I may die tomorrow and I'm sure I will
But I wish those times had never left
where I could be with you
I really do.I really do. I love all of you.

this part here is mawkish, unoriginal and boring. I feel like I have read these words 1000 times before and I am sure you do as well. You need to think of ways to present this in new refreshing ways.

Who is you, is all of you,

"are"

The best of you have always been my guide.
I miss my mom, I miss new friends,
I miss my confidence, I miss my pride.

Tomorrow I will wake up new and ask:
Can I start over and forget the past?
I know I can, I am the little train that could
Gautama, Einstein, Mom, here I come and fast.

As a whole, this doesn't reall work as a poem. First, it fails by presenting old ideas in pretty unoriginal ways. Second, it attempts to communicate too much by "telling' the reader instead of showing.

Poetry should communicate through refreshing language, image, metaphor and poetic devices.

Sorry I couldn't be more positive.

Thanks for posting.