I fell upon your note as I was browsing and listening to contributors from the poetry festivals. You caused my mind to jump back and ask a question that’s only entered the abyss recently. “Why hold on to it for a while…?”
I’m now 59 and started writing poetry in the fourth grade. At that time and place, I was successfully intimidated by my teacher, and I rarely ever talked about or shared my poetry with anyone. Later, as scientist and professor, I often published technical papers in journals, books and the like. I could simply call a publisher and start a book. Although I loved my work and writing was productive, putting out text was hell. I came to hate my pages’ and paragraphs’ dyslexic style.
Even though poetry was not part of profession, I did hang on to its privacy, discourse, and exhilarating exploits. Having an option to write is exceptional. Having the option of when to share poetry is a top luxury. You’re right to let the mass hang on a bit longer, but you may be short changing yourself and your artistry.
Events about a decade ago revealed something new to me, as with most other people, Life’s events would defy gravity and stack, forming one dramatic mass. After a few major setbacks and added brain surgery, I was trying to orient myself. “Where/what to now?”. I searched in old boxes for inspiration. In some very dilapidated boxes, I found my old poetry. That together with the new material (written under morphine’s influence) provided me with an identity benchmark that I still rely upon, eight years after surgery. When I left my work and had decided to have surgery, I decided to reference my moods and behaviors, so that I could look back and see who I had been and what I would be after it all.
I decided to make a stronger than usual effort and compulsively write and collect any old stuff I could find. The remains of my old yellowish brown paper fragments coalesced, emerging from boxes with acorns and squirrel nests. All started coming together. This compost and paper would comprise a description of me, with time and contextual reference. It would be a gift to my daughter and a reference to the past. Within weeks after surgery, I recovered and was better off than anticipated. Partly thanks to that poetry. More so, I’ve depended on the package quite badly during the last decade. Its value didn’t come to fruition for me, until it was bound and shelved.
You may underestimate the value of publishing now for both yourself and your friends.
Ever gone fossil collecting?
The rock and geologically preserved specimens provide a combined temporal and contextual reference for life. If you fail to record the find or select to modify, adapt the contents’ sequence and reference points, you’ll have distorted the validity and identity of the find– specifically for poetry, you will have destroyed its added candor. It’s inevitable isn’t it? As time passes, you’re a saint if you don’t pick up a pen when glossing over an old piece that’s slept interminably. Don’t you give it a going over before that eventual release for publication?
Having quasi published that first big pile (bought a publisher rather than being pursued by one), I’ve had second thoughts about publishing the rest. Publishing poetry, as opposed to text, detached me emotionally. How? I wasn’t sure. The thought of sharing time and contexts was exciting. But the event of publishing left an odd vacuum. Still, I’ll do it again, I’m now deciding.
Aside from ego, the batch of poetry you’ve written is your unique temporal and contextual reference regarding your growth, artistry, skills and perceptions. Your poetry, at any given time, is the benchmark that traces your development (irrespective of fame) and places your artistry it in an accurate context. Sitting on hold, just may shortchange your learning about yourself.

Don’t wait too long.