...neither does talking like Yoda
or quasi intelligent inferences
with no motive
other than meeting literary quota.
So put your thoughts in some orda'.
Embrace the slang
of a man like me
who makes you his #1 fan
cause he takes a stand like me,
grabs the fantasy
of the Poet Divine
and lets you have it
to plant the magic seed
for verses tragic to bloom.
Then flip to page x-y-z
of some obscure artisan
that serves as your inspiration
for life.
Point down at the tripe Gonzalez
who shamelessly plugs his name
into pieces far from flawless.
So lawless,
I commit the crime
of rhyme with no solace
in bibliography,
and underline the history
of poetry
as mystery
draped around the common.
Does it work from inside out
or outside in?
Are we born with metered breath
or do we assimilate the clever?
Is writing treasure or sin?
An endeavor to stamp a lasting movement
or another playing field
on which to win?
Is a metaphor
a set up for love
or a falcon in dove's skin?
Guess we'll never know.
But the ones who slice through the sweet talk
to shake the balance
get thrown to the vultures
labelled uncultured anti-talent.
No, they don't make poems, but they DO get one's attention!
I really like this piece, especially the final quatrain. People who slice through the facade usually get vilified for it. People want to recline in televised bliss, and poets . . . well, even BAD poets, to some degree . . . tend to disturb the illusion.
Kudos. Keep writing.