Days of Discontent

Good morning--
Today started off with coffee and getting to talk with a friend. Yay! That is a GOOD start, by the way. :)

Last night I was working on putting together a collection of poems from this blog, with vague ideas of sending said collection to publishers...What I came up with was 13-14 poems whose common theme is discontent. The working title of the collection is "Grumblings and Growings." :) which reminds me of Gurgi from the Prydain Chronicles. i don't know that that's something he'd actually say, but there you go. Anyway, the poems I have included are (and you don't have to remember these): the Nose Poem, the Scrawny Snail Poem, Silkie Shrimp, Smaller Sidney and Whiffle Jack, Orangutans, Little Lester Limabean, Fozzle Fox, Harold the Llama, Besty-Bonnie Bitty-Bat, Vernon the Vulture, Oracle (the song), The Dying Leaf, one other random poem that may or may not remain in the collection.
In the 'manuscript', I tried to group them together by: discontent with physical appearances (ex, the snail), discontent with one's character (ex, fozzle fox), and discontent with purpose/not knowing the future (ex, oracle or smaller sidney). Does that sound reasonable to you? Do you think that thirteen poems, which can be illustrated of course, is too few? I guess it all depends on what a company's looking for. and is 'discontent' too pessimistic for a children's book, even if some of the characters are just ridiculous? i don't think the collection leaves you without hope--the dying leaf comes to terms with his fate and is content, and whiffle-jack seems to indicate that you'll be better off if you just don't stress out too much :) Anyway, with that in mind, i wrote a sonnet on discontent this morning. it's from a child's perspective, but i think that it's autobiographical for me now, in many aspects...

I wish I were a different type of child,
Less-prone to fear, perhaps a bit more wild,
With deep green eyes that saw straight to the truth,
Past tricks and condescensions* to my youth.
I wish that it were easier to smile,
To drop my guard, and play a little while,
To dance outside in thunderstorms--to know
No harm will come from either friend or foe.
I wish I glared at Danger till it fled,
Instead of hiding underneath my bed
(Of course, I fear that refuge in the night
When sleeping monsters stir, and I've no light.)

I wish so much, and yet someday, I trust,
My fears and fear-born-dreams will turn to dust.


*how do you spell that?!