Melissa A. Howells

 [ My Poetry List ] | [ Poetry Poem ] | Today's Poetry | Sign In

  Sign Guestbook
  Read Guestbook

 Poets Have No Place? (This may be long, but its worth reading)

A poet
is useless,
a worn out remnant
from the distant past.
How were we ever meant to last?
We can't eke
a living off a street corner
this is what some would have us believe.
But the language they speak
exists in quips anecdotes insults
one liners on the web.
Would it be better to be a rapper
But do they know a rapper
is a poet getting paid?
Most poets are very poor,
the better ones are sometimes suicidal, I'm afraid.
And yeah,
I'm sick of
the blank stares
and how the stale stagnant air
gets blown into a conversation
when I state my relation
to words
and being a Poet.
There's a scoff imprinted
on the face
a tattoo that can't be erased
the mockery, disdain is plainly implied.
Its almost as if,
I've lied
about myself...
how can call it a skill
if it doesn't bring you money.
I find these people oddly funny...
so disconnected from themselves.
The lack of art in their communication
is evidence
by an total immersion in themselves...
and in an inability to recognize beauty in the world
except when it is about flattery.
What's life about, they're saying,
if its not about me, me, me?
Why not give credit
only to themselves?
Perhaps we've recycled back to the 70's?
Yes I do believe we may have arrived there once again.
There's an obvious abundance of selfish women, hoarding men.
Let them try to pry the poetry
out of the world, out of me.
They're merely advertising
a useless proposition
on deaf ears.
has made them lost,
Its no small wonder they don't care.
Poets contribute.
We've long claimed our shining voice ...
Think of Ovid, Sappho and other ancients
who made self-expression their life's choice.
If the future doesn't want us,
We'll go on writing
all poets
who live in poverty
possess an iron heart, an iron will.

Copyright August 21 2001. All Rights Reserved by the Author.
Melissa A Howells. Meloo of Tilt-a-World

Free write directly to the "page."
This poem prompted by an idiotic discussion with a Utilitarian gentleman on the bus. One of
those, what do you for a living, what do you do for fun kind of inane, mundane questions. He
had no idea the he offended me, because I didn't let him know. Best way to preserve ones

Vote for this poem

Please Comment On This Poem


 Email Address


Vote for this poem
 [ My Poetry List ] | [ Poetry Poem ] | Today's Poetry | Sign In

©2000 - 2019 Individual Authors. All rights reserved.