painting from fineartamerica.com
Panning for Poetry
"Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your life is
burning well, poetry is just the ash,”
There is no more exquisite expression than
Oh, they think they know what a poet is;
a perfumed dandy in a ruffled shirt, just
an effeminate coward who hides behind the
edifice, the mantle & trappings of poetry,
abounds in those sing-song verses of
love, fairies, and suicide--not real life,
not being fired or mugged or abandoned. If
poems weren’t penned by sad spinsters
and bi-polar banshees, then your
audience would be larger, because their life
would be represented.
I would disagree with them. Perhaps a poet is
or can be as they say, but I see poets burning
down stereotypes. Poets can be anyone who
That’s what I love about all poetry.
It is about everything, it is
not really hampered by form or style, not just
a pale reflection of reality, rather it is the
shadow of truth, the cutting edge, the ash
off Liberty’s torch.
Hell, a poet can be homeless,
or a bar fighter and a drunk,
a politician or a priest,
a cop or a pick-pocket,
a saint or a slut.
Poetry can blossom from every orifice,
every loin, and
It is a word fungus.
It thrives everywhere.
It is every color, every emotion,
majestic, scatological, naked, armored, thorny,
bashful, boisterous, belligerent, bellicose, even
It can be shrill or whispered,
proud or pedestrian,
prickly or pussy-willowed,
bestial or bumpy,
honied or haughty.
and it is the wind
in my sails.
The Golden Shovel form
Posted over at d'Verse Poet's Pub