The Poets Puzzle
Not that the world doesn’t appreciate him
The world just cannot see him
Among the throngs of those who pretend to be him
Day dreamers who might fantasize themselves him
Lost in the tumult of thousands who imagine themselves poets.
When pen and word were the play ground of the trained few
The masses pleased enough to read the works of the blessed
And words were so much more than the means to the end
But words were the end unto themselves
When words mattered, as a mans word did
Reading, if not well read, better fed, better off and better bred
If breeding their only pursuit, in theory and practice
Opining of flowers and deflowering
while knowing not the noun from the verb
Whilst words are counted rather than measured
So the poet struggles onward, in an ocean of pretenders
Self aggrandizement and sexual prowess unveiled rewarded
Whilst the humble craft of the word smith languishes
Starving at the tables edge of fashionable consumerism
Oft spitting out the crumbs for lack of flavor
Rather to starve on quality than fatten on scraps of mediocrity
The poet is thin, and gaunt in spirit
But smiling through anonymity he fights on
sword in hand that he might strike a blow for words
In a world of deaf ears to cast his words upon
Deafened to the noble sound of words
A world that hears only the well marketed cacophony
The poet sings on in hopes that one voice might be heard
Amongst the millions of cries, one song might carry out
Above the thunderous racket that is our latest century
Amongst all the words that the mind might devour
These few words might find their own hour
And be found more sweet than sour
In the ears of those who world hear their power
And understand the poets puzzle
an explanation from the author;
I just thought i should explain this rambling non-sense,....
It seems that poets are rare these days,... real ones,.. good ones. In an age of the internet and self publication, anyone can merely pronounce themselves a poet, pay hard cash to see their own words in print and bully their friends into buying a copy or ten in order to finance the next literary debacle to be foisted upon their unsuspecting friends at a later but inevitable date.
In an age when literally every one can pretend to be a writer by publishing a Tweet, Blurb, Blog, Post or hub, the world is overwhelmed by the avalanche of written material. The literary pallet is quite assuredly drowning in the material available to it. Gorging ourselves intellectually on reality TV and what passes for the well crafted story, we are growing mentally obese on the high calorie low nutrition drivel we’ve come to crave. Like the sugar laden soda and carb filled convenience snacks we’ve become addicted to, we devour the fast food style entertainment from our flat screen shrines as much as we pull our gigantic cars through the drive through window.
In a world that enables the delusional in their self aggrandizing dreams of being a published great author,… the real poetry,… the words worthy of midnight ponderings, and care worn re-readings,.. True works of literary greatness,… are lost in the ocean of literary mediocrity,… like a message in a bottle praying to be picked up by just one person who would be willing to put down the I-Pod, turn off the flat screen,… and read.
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