In Modern madness...Old poets Perhaps Linger.

 

In Modern Madness...

 Old Poets perhaps Linger.

© -MFB III

 

Would that I could
by candlelight
on stiff parchment
in quilling strokes,
write in fine calligraphy
my poetic bliss.

That all would stand
in awe of when the
hand scribed copies
reached their destinations,
seven weeks later
by horseback or messenger.

Alas I face a screening
of white glass and keys
that rattle like
chattering teeth as I work.

Where the dangers of
losing my greatest thoughts
are constantly looming,
as I compose myself
to become tangled in a
web of thoughts.

if the computer freezes
does it becomes a
modern day- Robert Frost?


And if the power goes out
would it scare the
-Charles Dickens out of me?


I am not -Poe by any standards,
I have quite -Hardy
means to write with.


I have some of the
finest electronic equipment
and consider myself
a bit of a -Whit man.


But I am often plagued
by the glitches of
modern writing
even if I do a
fairly -Thoreau job of it.


I often find my tribute to -Yeats
becoming a "Yeaks!"
and my -Keats style becoming deletes
as it vanishes into
a page that cannot be displayed,
causing me to lose my -Wordsworth.


I Pound the keyboard in frustration
as the last few hours of work
get printed somewhere in limbo.


I am developing -Bunyans
on my fingertips
from punching that refresh key
and each lost work -Burns me up.


Perhaps the ghosts
of the classic poets are simply
making themselves known,
and then vanishing with my newest read
much to my dismay
as I weave words into
unstable electronic blips.


it is of course because

of the great poets that I
began to write poetry myself
and so I will not begrudge
this offering, if that is the case.

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