A Poet and a Poem
Music mingles in my mind
with withering thoughts waiting
to be brushed by with brilliance
of the pounding percussion.
Thus, those thoughts think themselves
into an oblivion on
orchestrated pen strokes playing
perjury on paper: pliant
paper, the recipient
required to relegate
ink blots blundering forth
from frolicking fools such
as myself aspiring to be
pompous preening poets, perhaps.
Perhaps not.
January 1995
About This Poem
This one is definitely from the vault. It's about poetic aspirations and whether or not I am worthy of being read by others. I can't answer that, yet I persist in writing them and making my stab at publishing them both here and in the more traditional sense of books. Sometimes that happens... The photo is a selfie of me just messing with effects on my phone.
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