Panning for Poetry

 

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,”

--Leonard Cohen.

There is no more exquisite expression than 

Poetry.

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,

evidence

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

writes well.

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 heart,

                                         every spleen,

                                         every loin, and

                                         every pen.

                             It is a word fungus.

                             It thrives everywhere.

It is every color, every emotion,

majestic, scatological, naked, armored, thorny,

bashful, boisterous, belligerent, bellicose, even

bullshit.

It can be shrill or whispered,

proud or pedestrian,

prickly or pussy-willowed,

bestial or bumpy,

honied or haughty.

Poetry is,

and it is the wind

in my sails.

Glenn Buttkus

The Golden Shovel form

Posted over at d'Verse Poet's Pub