The Unwilling Poet

Kitty & George

I'm a rotten person. There is

No one underneath me.

Feelings that create a soul

Are unknown to me.

Some people loved me in the past

But no one tried to know me.

He grabs and holds the cat while I

Administer the med.

Already now the cat

Will not come near him.

He's crying at the hatred of the cat -

Called a halt to everything -

Relented – we continue

With the medicine that ought to cure him.

 

Better Books

The songs I'm writing now are better

Than the songs I wrote

Before I went insane though I

Have always thought those best.

They're not the best. They're juvenile

Though not in what they say

But how they say it.

Time not practice!

With anticipation I await

The coming of new books.

Not resignation.

6-4-14

 

A Fan

She said one poem was Shakespeare

And a phrase in still another

Was genius. And she told me that

My poems are “mundane”,

Taking care I know the word

Means “ordinary”. She

Was a true believer in

“Tough love” - and I am not.

She was just as critical

As she was flattering.

A healthy mix of both. Thank god

She's gone.

6-4-14

 

Maybe What I Want To Write

These are what I want to write

In lieu of something better,

Like I wrote when I was young,

Like Keats except in pictures.

But thinky poems are wordy
(Images are words)

Unless they're thoughts about a feeling.

Just let the poem come!

6-4-14

The Unwilling Poet

There was a man who had no skills,

Born to animosity.

Treachery and selfish wills

Led him to maturity.

In such a home in such a day

He had no one to talk to.

Though lovers' talking anyway

Makes quiet sounds to walk to.

Then he found a poem and

He read it and was touched.

By an ocean on the sand,

Pen and paper clutched

He wrote a poem of his own

And it came out not dreadful.

Then somewhere heretofore unknown,

He found he had a headful.

He kept writing as the years

Passed. He was not inclined to.

Without lovers, friends or peers,

As though he was designed to

Without a single verse in print

And wrote but with no urge to.

He died. Of verse he left no hint.

And left the sea to surge too.

6-4-14

Worlds

Rich men live and die in castles,

And the indigent in slums,

Each men born into a truth,

Hoping Jesus comes.

Revived and walking, each one happy

Having gotten past The Fall.

Where is my world? Where is it?

I have no truth at all.

6-4-14

 

The Sonnets

If all of Shakespeare's Sonnets

Were as good as they are claimed,

A perfect small companion

To carry through my life!

All a bit oblique,

Metaphors and phrases,

About himself and love

In warm pentameter.

I wish that I had written

A small book like The Sonnets.

I have written poems,

But not compact. They sprawl.

6-4-14

 

Escape

One car turned a corner out of

Turn, another ran

A red light and they

Nearly hit each other.

America! Where everyone goes first.

Get me out of here

While I'm still

Young enough to care!

6-3-14